By some physicians for a month or two,

In hope of freedom from a fever's torments,
Might stagger manhood; here, the pain is past
Ere sensibly 'tis felt. Be men of spirit;

Spurn coward passion: so illustrious mention
Shall blaze our names, and style us Kings o'er Death.

'TIS PITY SHE'S A WHORE: A TRAGEDY.
BY JOHN FORD.

Giovanni, a Young Gentleman of Parma, entertains an illicit love for his Sister. He asks counsel of Bonaventura, a Friar*.

FRIAR. GIOVANNI.

Friar. Dispute no more in this, for know, young man, These are no school-points; nice philosophy

May tolerate unlikely arguments,

But heaven admits no jests! wits that presumed
On wit too much, by striving how to prove
There was no God, with foolish grounds of art,
Discover'd first the nearest way to hell;
And fill'd the world with devilish atheism.
Such questions, youth, are fond; far better 'tis
To bless the sun, than reason why it shines;
Yet he thou talk'st of is above the sun.
No more; I may not hear it.

Gio. Gentle father,

To you have I unclasp'd my burthen'd soul,
Emptied the store-house of my thoughts and heart,
Made myself poor of secrets; have not left

Another word untold, which hath not spoke

The good Friar in this Play is evidently a Copy of Friar Lawrence in Romeo and Juliet. He is the same kind Physician to the Souls of his young Charges; but he has more desperate Patients to deal with.

All what I ever durst, or think, or know;
And yet is here the comfort I shall have?
Must I not do what all men else may, love?
Friar. Yes, you may love, fair son.

Gio. Must I not praise

That beauty which, if framed anew, the Gods
Would make a God of, if they had it there;
And kneel to it, as I do kneel to them?
Friar. Why, foolish madman!

Gio. Shall a peevish sound,

A customary form, from man to man,
Of brother and of sister, be a bar

'Twixt my perpetual happiness and me?

Fri. Have done, unhappy youth, for thou art lost. Gio. No, father: in your eyes I see the change Of pity and compassion: from your age,

As from a sacred oracle, distils

The life of counsel. Tell me, holy man,

What cure shall give me ease in these extremes ? Friar. Repentance, son, and sorrow for this sin: For thou hast moved a majesty above

With thy unguarded almost blasphemy.

Gio. O do not speak of that, dear confessor.
Friar. Art thou, my son, that miracle of wit.
Who once within these three months wert esteem'd
A wonder of thine age throughout Bononia?
How did the university applaud

Thy government, behaviour, learning, speech,
Sweetness, and all that could make up a man !
I was proud of my tutelage, and chose
Rather to leave my books than part with thee.
I did so; but the fruits of all my hopes
Are lost in thee, as thou art in thyself.
O Giovanni, hast thou left the schools
Of knowledge, to converse with lust and death?

For death waits on thy lust.Look through the world, And thou shalt see a thousand faces shine

More glorious than this idol thou adorest.

Leave her, and take thy choice; 'tis much less sin :
Though in such games as those they lose that win.
Gio. It were more ease to stop the ocean
From flows and ebbs, than to dissuade my vows.
Friar. Then I have done, and in thy wilful flames
Already see thy ruin! heaven is just.

Yet hear my counsel !

Gio. As a voice of life.

Friar. Hie to thy father's house, there lock thee fast Alone within thy chamber, then fall down

On both thy knees, and grovel on the ground;
Cry to thy heart, wash every word thou utter'st
In tears, and (if't be possible) of blood:
Beg heaven to cleanse the leprosy of lust
That rots thy soul; acknowledge what thou art,
A wretch, a worm, a nothing: weep, sigh, pray
Three times a day, and three times every night;
For seven days' space do this, then, if thou find'st
No change in thy desires, return to me;
I'll think on remedy. Pray for thyself
At home, whilst I pray for thee here; away.—
My blessing with thee- we have need to pray.

Giovanni discloses his Passion to his Sister Annabella.-
They compare their unhappy Loves.

Anna. Do you mock me, or flatter me?

(He has been praising her beauty.)

Gio. If you would see a beauty more exact Than art can counterfeit, or nature frame, Look in your glass and there behold your own. Anna. O you are a trim youth.

Gio. Here.

(Offers his dagger to her.)

Anna. What to do?

Gio. And here's my breast.

Strike home,

Rip up my bosom; there thou shalt behold
A heart, in which is writ the truth I speak.
Why stand you?

Anna. Are you in earnest ?

Gio. Yes, most earnest.

You cannot love.

Anna. Whom?

Gio. Me.- -My tortur'd soul
Hath felt affliction in the heat of death.
O Annabella, I am quite undone.
The love of thee, my sister, and the view
Of thy immortal beauty, have untuned
All harmony both of my rest and life.
Why do you not strike?

Anna. Forbid it, my just fears.

If this be true 'twere fitter I were dead.

Gio. True, Annabella! 'tis no time to jest ; I have too long suppress'd my hidden flames, That almost have consum'd me: I have spent Many a silent night in sighs and groans, Ran over all my thoughts, despis'd my fate, Reason'd against the reasons of my love, Done all that smooth-cheek'd virtue could advise, But found all bootless: 'tis my destiny That you must either love, or I must die. Anna. Comes this in sadness from you? Gio. Let some mischief

Befall me soon, if I dissemble aught.

Anna. You are my brother, Giovanni.
Gio. You

My sister, Annabella, I know this:

And could afford you instance why to love:
So much the more for this.-

He gives some sophistical Reasons, and resumes.

Must I now live or die?

Anna. Live: thou hast won

The field, and never fought. What thou hast urg'd,
My captive heart had long ago resolv'd.

I blush to tell thee (but I tell thee now)
For every sigh that thou hast spent for me,
I have sigh'd ten; for every tear shed twenty:
And not so much for that I lov'd, as that
I durst not say I lov'd, nor scarcely think it.
Gio. Let not this music be a dream, ye gods,
For pity's sake I beg ye.

Anna. On my knees,

(She kneels.) Brother, even by our mother's dust, I charge you, Do not betray me to your mirth or hate;

Love me, or kill me, brother.

Gio. On my knees,

(He kneels.)

Sister, even by my mother's dust, I charge you,

Do not betray me to your mirth or hate;

Love me, or kill me, sister.

Anna. You mean good sooth, then?

Gio. In good truth I do;

And so do you, I hope say, I'm in earnest.

Anna. I'll swear it; and I.

Gio. And I.

I would not change this minute for Elysium.

Annabella proves pregnant by her Brother.

Sorano, her Husband, to whom she is newly married, discovers that she is pregnant, but cannot make her confess by whom. At length by means of Vasques, his servant, he comes to the truth of it. He feigns forgiveness and reconcilement with his Wife: and makes a sumptuous Feast to which are invited Annabella's old Father, with Giovanni, and all the chief Citizens in Parma; meaning to entrap Giovanni by that bait to his death. -Annabella suspects his drift.