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And with the best collection of my thoughts
Bell. You have?
Gio. O 'tis a brave profession and rewards All loss we meet, with double weight in glory; A calling, Princes still are proud to own; And some do willingly forget their crowns, To be commanded. 'Tis the spring of all We here entitle fame to; Emperors, And all degrees of honours, owing all Their names to this employment; in her vast And circular embraces holding Kings, And making them; and yet so kind as not To exclude such private things as I, who may Learn and commence in her great arts.—My life Hath been too useless to my self and country; 'Tis time I should employ it, to deserve A name within their registry, that bring The wealth, the harvest, home of well-bought honour.
Bell. Yet I can see
Gio. You may be angry,
Bell. I may therefore justly suspect there is
Gio. At this command I open my heart. Madam,
I must confess there is another cause,
Bell. It would ill
Bell. In love with whom?
Gio. With one I dare not name, she is so much Above
birth and fortunes.
But does she know it?
Bell. And you think absence
Gio. Or death
Bell. I may presume
Gio. I dare as soon question your beauty, Madam,
THE DEVIL'S LAW CASE: A TRAGI-COMEDY. BY JOHS
I have heard some talk of it very much, and many
Cap. For pity's sake, you that have tears to shed,
Rom. Denied Christian burial ! I pray, what does that?
Cap. Not a scruple.
• Slain in a duel.
Rom. Very well thenI have a certain meditation, (If I can think of,) somewhat to this purpose ;I'll say it to you, while mother there Numbers her beads.“ You that dwell near these graves and vaults, Which oft do hide physicians' faults, Note what a small room does suffice To express men's goods : their vanities Would fill more volume in small hand, Than all the evidence of Church Land. Funerals hide men in civil wearing, And are to the Drapers a good hearing ; Make th' Heralds laugh in their black rayment; And all die Worthies, die with payment To th' Altar offerings : tho' their fame, And all the charity of their name, 'Tween heav'n and this, yield no more light Than rotten trees, which shine in th’ night. O look the last Act be best in th’ Play, And then rest gentle bones! yet pray, That when by the Precise you're view'd, A supersedeas be not sued; To remove you to a place more airy, That in your stead they may keep chary Stockfish, or seacoal; for the abuses Of sacrilege have turn d graves to vilder uses. How then can any monument say, Here rest these bones to the Last Day ; When Time, swift both of foot and feather, May bear them the Sexton knows not whither ?What care I then, tho' my last sleep Be in the desart, or in the deep; No lamp, nor taper, day and night, To give my charnel chargeable light?
I have there like quantity of ground;
O that he should die so soon!
Why, I pray, tell me:
Oh take heed
Last Love strongest.
* Webster was parish clerk at St. Andrew's, Holborn. The anxious recurrence to church-matters ; sacrilege ; tomb-stones; with the frequent introduction of dirges ; in this, and his other tragedies, may be traced to his professional sympathies.