Lel. Carthage did.

Mass. To her what's Carthage!

Lel. Know 'twas her father Asdrubal, struck off His father's head. Give place to faith and fate. Mass. 'Tis cross to honour.

Lel. But 'tis just to state.

So speaketh Scipio: do not thou detain

A Roman prisoner due to this great triumph,

As thou shalt answer Rome and him.

Mass. Lelius,

We are now in Rome's power. Lelius,
View Massinissa do a loathed act

Most sinking from that state his heart did keep.
Look, Lelius, look, see Massinissa weep!
Know I have made a vow more dear to me
Than my soul's endless being. She shall rest
Free from Rome's bondage!

Lel. But thou dost forget

Thy vow, yet fresh thus breathed. When I desist
To be commanded by thy virtue, Scipio,
Or fall from friend of Rome, revenging gods
Afflict me with your tortures!

Mass. Bondage! Roman bondage!

Soph. No, no!

Mass. How, then, have I vow'd well to Scipio!

Soph. How, then, to Sophonisba ?

Mass. Right which way?

:

Run mad!—impossible-distraction!

Soph. Dear lord, thy patience : let it 'maze all

power,

And list to her in whose sole heart it rests, To keep thy faith upright.

Mass. Wilt thou be slaved ?

Soph. No, free.

Mass. How, then, keep I my faith?
Soph. My death

Gives help to all! From Rome so rest we free;
So brought to Scipio, faith is kept in thee.

Enter Page with a bowl of wine.

Mass. Thou darest not die-some wine-thou darest not die!

Soph.

[She takes a bowl, into which MASSINISSA puts poison.] Behold me, Massinissa, like thyself,

A king and soldier; and, I pray thee, keep
My last command.

Mass. Speak, sweet.

Soph. Dear! do not weep.

And now with undismay'd resolve behold,
To save you-you-(for honour and just faith
Are most true gods, which we should much adore)
With even disdainful vigour I give up

An abhorr'd life! (She drinks.) You have been good to me,

And I do thank thee, Heaven. O my stars!

I bless your goodness, that, with breast unstain'd, i
Faith pure, a virgin wife, tied to my glory,
I die, of female faith the long-lived story;
Secure from bondage and all servile harms,
But more, most happy in my husband's arms.

FROM ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. ACT In. SCENE 1.

Representing the affliction of fallen greatness in ANDRUGIO, Duke of Genoa, after he has been defeated by the Venetians, proscribed by his countrymen, and left with only two attendants in his flight.

Enter ANDRUGIO in armour, LUCIO with a shepherd's gown in his hand, and a Page.

And. Is not yon gleam the shuddering morn, that flakes

With silver tincture the east verge of heaven?
Luc. I think it is, so please your excellence.
And. Away! I have no excellence to please.
Prithee observe the custom of the world,
That only flatters greatness, states exalts;
And please my excellence! Oh, Lucio,
Thou hast been ever held respected, dear,
Even precious to Andrugio's inmost love.
Good, flatter not. Nay, if thou givest not faith
That I am wretched; oh, read that, read that.

My thoughts are fix'd in contemplation
Why this huge earth, this monstrous animal,
That eats her children, shouldnot have eyes and ears.
Philosophy maintains that Nature's wise,
And forms no useless or imperfect thing.

Did nature make the earth, or the earth nature?
For earthly dirt makes all things, makes the man
Moulds me up honour; and, like a cunning Dutch-
man,

Paints me a puppet even with seeming breath,
And gives a sot appearance of a soul.
Go to, go to; thou liest, philosophy;
Nature forms things. imperfect, useless, vain.
Why made she not the earth with eyes and ears?
That she might see desert, and hear men's plaints:
That when a soul is splitted, sunk with grief,
He might fall thus upon the breast of earth,
[He throws himself on the ground.

And in her ear, hallow his misery,
Exclaiming thus: Oh, thou all-bearing earth,
Which men do gape for, till thou cramm'st their
mouths,

And choak'st their throats with dust open thy breast,

And let me sink into thee. Look who knocks ; Andrugio calls. But, oh! she's deaf and blind. A wretch but lean relief on earth can find.

Luc. Sweet lord, abandon passion, and disarm.
Since by the fortune of the tumbling sea,
We are roll'd up upon the Venice marsh,
Let's clip all fortune, lest more low'ring fate-
And. More low'ring fate? Oh, Lucio, choke
that breath.

Now I defy chance. Fortune's brow hath frown'd,
Even to the utmost wrinkle it can bend :
Her venom's spit. Alas, what country rests,
What son, what comfort that she can deprive ?
Triumphs not Venice in my overthrow ?
Gapes not my native country for my blood?
Lies not my son tomb'd in the swelling main?
And is more low'ring fate? There's nothing left
Unto Andrugio, but Andrugio:

And that nor mischief, force, distress, nor hell, can take.

Fortune my fortunes, not my mind shall shake. Luc. Spoke like yourself: but give me leave, my lord,

To wish your safety. If you are but seen,
Your arms display you; therefore put them off,
And take-

And. Wouldst have me go unarm'd among my foes?

Being besieged by passion, entering lists,
To combat with despair and mighty grief;
My soul beleaguer'd with the crushing strength
Of sharp impatience. Ah, Lucio, go unarm'd?
Come soul, resume the valour of thy birth;
Myself, myself, will dare all opposites:
I'll muster forces, an unvanquish'd power;
Cornets of horse shall press th' ungrateful earth,
This hollow wombed mass shall inly groan,

And murmur to sustain the weight of arms :
Ghastly amazement, with upstarted hair,
Shall hurry on before, and usher us,
Whilst trumpets clamour with a sound of death.
Luc. Peace, good my lord, your speech is all
too light.

Alas! survey your fortunes, look what's left
Of all your forces, and your utmost hopes,
A weak old man, a page, and your poor self.

And. Andrugio lives, and a fair cause of arms; Why that's an army all invincible.

He, who hath that, hath a battalion royal, Armour of proof, huge troops of barbed steeds, Main squares of pikes, millions of arquebuse. Oh, a fair cause stands firm and will abide ;

Legions of angels fight upon her side.

Luc. Then, noble spirit, slide in strange disguise Unto some gracious prince, and sojourn there, Till time and fortune give revenge firm means.

And. No, I'll not trust the honour of a man: Gold is grown great, and makes perfidiousness A common waiter in most princes' courts : He's in the check-roll: I'll not trust my blood: I know none breathing but will cog a dye For twenty thousand double pistolets. How goes the time?

Luc. I saw no sun to-day.

And. No sun will shine where poor Andrugio

breathes :

My soul grows heavy boy, let's have a song; We'll sing yet, faith, even in despite of fate.

FROM THE SAME.

ACT IV.

Andr. COME, Lucio, let's go eat-what hast thou
got?
Roots, roots? Alas! they're seeded, new cut up.
O thou hast wronged nature, Lucio;

But boots not much, thou but pursu'st the world,
That cuts off virtue 'fore it comes to growth,
Lest it should seed, and so o'errun her son,
Dull, pore-blind error. Give me water, boy;
There is no poison in't, I hope they say
That lurks in massy plate; and yet the earth
Is so infected with a general plague,

That he's most wise that thinks there's no man fool,
Right prudent that esteems no creature just :
Great policy the least things to mistrust.
Give me assay. How we mock greatness now!
Luc. A strong conceit is rich, so most men deem;
If not to be, 'tis comfort yet to seem.

Andr. Why, man, I never was a prince till now.
'Tis not the bared pate, the bended knees,
Gilt tipstaves, Tyrian purple, chairs of state,
Troops of pied butterflies, that flutter still
In greatness' summer, that confirm a prince;
'Tis not th' unsavoury breath of multitudes,
Shouting and clapping with confused din,
That makes a prince. No, Lucio, he's a king,
A true right king, that dares do ought save wrong,

K

Fears nothing mortal but to be unjust;
Who is not blown up with the flattering puffs
Of spungy sycophants; who stands unmoved,
Despite the justling of opinion;

Who can enjoy himself, maugre the throng,
That strive to press his quiet out of him;

Who sits upon Jove's footstool, as I do,
Adoring, not affecting majesty ;

Whose brow is wreathed with the silver crown
Of clear content: this, Lucio, is a king,
And of this empire every man's possess'd
That's worth his soul.-

GEORGE CHAPMAN was born at Hitching-hill*, in the county of Hertford, and studied at Oxford. From thence he repaired to London, and became the friend of Shakspeare, Spenser, Daniel, Marlowe, and other contemporary men of genius. He was patronised by Prince Henry, and Carr Earl of Somerset. The death of the one, and the disgrace of the other, must have injured his prospects; but he is supposed to have had some place at court, either under King James or his consort Anne. He lived to an advanced age; and, according to Wood, was a person of reverend aspect, religious, and temperate. Inigo Jones, with whom he lived on terms of intimate friendship, planned and erected a monument to his memory over his burial-place, on the south side of St. Giles's church in the fields; but it was unfortunately destroyed with the ancient church.

Chapman seems to have been a favourite of his own times; and in a subsequent age, his version of Homer excited the raptures of Waller, and was diligently consulted by Pope. The latter speaks of its daring fire, though he owns that it is clouded by fustian. Webster, his fellow dramatist, praises his 'full and heightened style,' a character which he does not deserve in any favourable sense; for his diction is chiefly marked by barbarous ruggedness, false elevation, and extravagant metaphor. The drama owes him very little; his Bussy D'Ambois is a piece of frigid atrocity, and in the Widow's Tears, where his heroine Cynthia falls in love with a sentinel guarding the corpse of her husband, whom she was bitterly lamenting, he has dramatised one of the most puerile and disgusting legends ever fabricated for the disparagement of female constancyt.

FROM THE COMEDY OF ALL FOOLS. Speech of Valerio to Rynaldo, in answer to his bitter invective against the Sex.

I TELL thee love is nature's second sun,
Causing a spring of virtues where he shines.
And as without the sun, the world's great eye,
All colours, beauties, both of art and nature,
Are given in vain to men; so without love
All beauties bred in women are in vain,
All virtues born in men lie buried,
For love informs them as the sun doth colours.
And as the sun, reflecting his warm beams
Against the earth, begets all fruits and flowers,
So love, fair shining in the inward man,
Brings forth in him the honourable fruits
Of valour, wit, virtue, and haughty thoughts,
Brave resolution, and divine discourse.
O'tis the paradise! the heaven of earth!
And didst thou know the comfort of two hearts
In one delicious harmony united,

As to joy one joy, and think both one thought,
Live both one life, and there in double life,

Thou wouldst abhor thy tongue for blasphemy.

* William Browne, the pastoral poet, calls him "the learned Shepherd of fair Hitching-hill."

Ryn. COME on, I say;

Your father with submission will be calm'd !

[Chapman, who assisted Ben Jonson and some others in comedy, deserves no great praise for his Bussy D'Ambois. The style in this, and in all his tragedies, is extravagantly hyperbolical; he is not very dramatic, nor has any power of exciting emotion except in those who sympathise with a tumid pride and self-confidence. Yet he has more thinking than many of the old dramatists. His tragicomedies All Fools and The Gentleman-Usher, are perhaps superior to his tragedies."-HALLAM, Lit. Hist., vol. iii. p. 621.

Chapman would have made a great Epic Poet, if indeed he has not abundantly shown himself to be one; for his Homer is not so properly a Translation as the stories of Achilles and Ulysses re-written"-LAMB.]

THOMAS RANDOLPH was the son of a steward to Lord Zouch. He was a king's scholar at Westminster, and obtained a fellowship at Cambridge. His wit and learning endeared him to Ben Jonson, who owned him, like Cartwright, as his adopted son in the Muses. Unhappily he followed the taste of Ben not only at the pen, but at the bottle; and he closed his life in poverty, at the age of twentynine, a date lamentably premature, when we consider the promises of his genius. His wit and humour are very conspicuous in the Puritan characters, whom he supposes the spectators of his scenes in the Muse's Looking-Glass. Throughout the rest of that drama (though it is on the whole his best performance) he unfortunately prescribed to himself too hard and confined a system of dramatic effect. Professing simply, "in single scenes to show,

How comedy presents each single vice,
Ridiculous"

he introduces the vices and contrasted humours of human nature in a tissue of unconnected per

sonifications, and even refines his representations of abstract character into conflicts of speculative opinion.

For his skill in this philosophical pageantry the poet speaks of being indebted to Aristotle, and probably thought of his play what Voltaire said of one of his own, "This would please you, if you were Greeks." The female critic's reply to Voltaire was very reasonable, "But we are not Greeks." Judging of Randolph however by the plan which he professed to follow, his execution is vigorous his ideal characters are at once distinct and various, and compact with the expression which he purposes to give them. He was author of five other dramatic pieces, besides miscellaneous poems*.

:

He died at the house of his friend, W. Stafford, Esq. of Blatherwyke, in his native county, and was buried in the adjacent church, where an appropriate monument was erected to him by Sir Christopher, afterwards Lord Hatton.

Enter BIRD, a feather-man, and MRS. FLOWERDEW, wife to a haberdasher of small wares-the one having brought feathers to the playhouse, the other pins and looking-glasses-two of the sanctified fraternity of Black

friars.

Mrs. Flowerdew. SEE, brother, how the wicked throng and crowd

To works of vanity! not a nook or corner
In all this house of sin, this cave of filthiness,
This den of spiritual thieves, but it is stuff'd,
Stuff'd, and stuff'd full, as is a cushion,
With the lewd reprobate.

Bird. Sister, were there not before inns-
Yes, I will say inns (for my zeal bids me
Say filthy inns), enough to harbour such
As travell'd to destruction the broad way,
But they build more and more—more shops of Satan?
Mrs. F. Iniquity aboundeth, though pure
zeal
Teach, preach, huff, puff, and snuff at it; yet still,
Still it aboundeth! Had we seen a church,
A new-built church, erected north and south,
It had been something worth the wondering at.
Bird. Good works are done.

Mrs. F. I say no works are good; Good works are merely popish and apocryphal. Bird. But the bad abound, surround, yea, and confound us.

No marvel now if playhouses increase,

For they are all grown so obscene of late,
That one begets another.

Mrs. F. Flat fornication!
I wonder anybody takes delight
To hear them prattle.

Bird. Nay, and I have heard,
That in a tragedy, I think they call it,
They make no more of killing one another,
Than you sell pins.

Mrs. F. Or you sell feathers, brother;
But are they not hang'd for it?

Bird. Law grows partial,

And finds it but chance-medley: and their comedies
Will abuse you, or me, or anybody;

We cannot put our monies to increase
By lawful usury, nor break in quiet,
Nor put off our false wares, nor keep our wives
Finer than others, but our ghosts must walk
Upon their stages.

Mrs. F. Is not this flat conjuring,
To make our ghosts to walk ere we be dead?
Bird. That's nothing, Mrs. Flowerdew! they
will play

The knave, the fool, the devil and all, for money.

* 1. Aristippus, or the Jovial Philosopher.-2. The Con- ! ceited Pedlar.-3. The Jealous Lovers, a comedy.-4. Amyntas, or the Impossible Dowry, a pastoral. 5. Hey for Honesty, Down with Knavery, a comedy.