And bid her quickly don her shroud.—
Much you had of land and rent;
Your length in clay's now competent.
A long war disturbed your mind;
Here your perfect peace is signed.

Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin, their conception; their birth, weeping:
Their life, a general mist of error;

Their death, a hideous storm of terror!
Strew your hair with powders sweet,

Don clean linen, bathe your feet:

And (the foul fiend more to check)

A crucifix let bless your neck.

'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day:

End your groan, and come away!

Car. Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers!

Alas!

They are

What will you do with my lady? Call for help!
Duch. To whom? to our next neighbours?

mad folks.

Farewell, Cariola !

I pray thee, look thou giv'st my little boy

Some sirup for his cold; and let the girl

Say her prayers ere she sleep.-Now what you please:
What death?

Bos. Strangling. Here are your executioners.
Duch. I forgive them.

The apoplexy, catarrh, or cough o' the lungs,

Would do as much as they do.

Bos. Doth not death fright you?

Duch. Who would be afraid on't, Knowing to meet such excellent company In th' other world?

Bos. Yet, methinks,

The manner of your death should much afflict you;
This cord should terrify you.

Duch. Not a whit.

What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut

With diamonds? or to be smothered

With cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls ?

I know, death hath ten thousand several doors
For men to take their exits; and 'tis found
They go on such strange geometrical hinges,

You may open them both ways, any way (for Heaven's sake)
So I were out of your whispering.

Tell my brothers,

That I perceive, death (now I'm well awake)

Best gift is, they can give or I can take.

I would fain put off my last woman's fault;

I'd not be tedious to you.

Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength
Must pull down heaven upon me.

Yet stay heaven gates are not so highly arched

As princes' palaces; they that enter there

Must go upon their knees.-Come, violent death,
Serve for mandragora to make me sleep.

Go tell my brothers; when I am laid out,

They then may feed in quiet. [They strangle her, kneeling.

FERDINAND enters.

Ferd. Is she dead?

Bos. She is what you would have her.

Fix your eye here.

Ferd. Constantly.

Bos. Do you not weep?

Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out!

The element of water moistens the earth,

But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.

Ferd. Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle: she died young.

Bos. I think not so: her infelicity

Seemed to have years too many.

Ferd. She and I were twins;

And should I die this instant, I had lived

Her time to a minute. . .

...

John Marston.

THE HISTORY OF ANTONIO AND MELLIDA.

ANDRUGIO, Duke of Genoa, banished his Country, with the loss of a Son, supposed drowned, is cast upon the territory of his mortal enemy the Duke of Venice, with no attendants but Lucio, an old Nobleman, and a Page.

Andr. Is not yon gleam the shudd'ring Morn, that flakes With silver tincture the east verge of heaven?

Luc. I think it is, so please your excellence.

Andr. Away! I have no excellence to please.
Prithee, observe the custom of the world,
That only flatters greatness, states exalts.
And please my excellence! O Lucio,
Thou hast been ever held respected, dear,
Even precious to Andrugio's inmost love:
Good, flatter not.

My thoughts are fixed in contemplation

Why this huge Earth, this monstrous animal

That eats her children, should not have eyes and ears.
Philosophy maintains that Nature's wise,

And forms no useless nor unperfect 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 Dutchman,
Paints me a puppet even with seeming breath,
And gives a sot appearance of a soul.

Go to, go to; thou ly'st, Philosophy!
Nature forms things unperfect, 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,
And in her ear halloo his misery,

Exclaiming thus: O thou all-bearing Earth,

Which men do gape for till thou cramm'st their mouths
And chok'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 rolled up upon the Venice marsh,

Let's clip all fortune, lest more low'ring fate

Andr. More low'ring fate! O Lucio, choke that breath. Now I defy Chance! Fortune's brow hath frowne,

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 tombed in the swelling main?
And in more low'ring fate? There's nothing left

989283A

Unto Andrugio but Andrugio: And that
Nor mischief, force, distress, nor hell can take!
Fortune my fortunes, not my mind shall shake.

Luc. Speak like yourself; but give me leave, my lord, To wish you safety. If you are but seen,

Your arms display you; therefore put them off,
And take-

Andr. Wouldst have me go unarmed among my foes? Being besieged by Passion, entering lists

To combat with Despair and mighty Grief:
My soul beleaguered with the crushing strength
Of sharp Impatience. Ha! Lucio; go unarmed?
Come, soul, resume the valour of thy birth;
Myself myself will dare all opposites;
I'll muster forces, an unvanquished 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.
Andr. 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 harquebuse.
Oh, a fair cause stands firm, and will abide;
Legions of angels fight upon her side!