I have there like quantity of ground;
And at the last day I shall be found."

Immature Death.

Contarino's dead.

O that he should die so soon!

Why, I pray, tell me :

Is not the shortest fever best? and are not

Bad plays the worse for their length?

Guilty Preferment.

I have a plot, shall breed,

Out of the death of these two noblemen;
Th' advancement of our house-

Oh take heed

A grave is a rotten foundation.

Mischiefs

are like the visits of Franciscan friars,

They never come to prey upon us single.

Last Love strongest.

as we love our youngest children best,
So the last fruit of our affection,
Wherever we bestow it, is most strong,
Most violent, most irresistible;

Since 'tis indeed our latest harvest home,
Last merryment 'fore winter; and we Widows,
As men report of our best picture-makers,

• 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.

We love the Piece we are in hand with better,
Than all the excellent work we have done before.

Mother's Anger.

Leonora. Ha, my Son !

I'll be a fury to him;

I'd cut off this right

like an Amazon lady,
pap that gave him suck,

To shoot him dead. I'll no more tender him,
Than had a wolf stol'n to my teat in th' night,
And robb'd me of my milk.

Distraction from Guilt.

Leonora (sola). Ha, ha! What say you?
I do talk to somewhat methinks; it may be,
My Evil Genius.-Do not the bells ring?
I've a strange noise in my head. Oh, fly in.
Come, age, and wither me into the malice
Of those that have been happy; let me have
One property for more than the devil of hell;
Let me envy the pleasure of youth heartily;
Let me in this life fear no kind of ill,

That have no good to hope for. Let me sink,

Where neither man nor memory may find me. (Falls to the ground.)

Confessor (entering). You are well employ'd, I hope; the best pillow in th' world

For this your contemplation is the earth,

And the best object, Heaven.

Leonora. I am whispering

To a dead friend

Obstacles.

Let those, that would oppose this union,
Grow ne'er so subtle, and entangle themselves
In their own work, like spiders; while we two
Haste to our noble wishes; and presume,

The hindrance of it will breed more delight,—
As black copartaments shews gold more bright.

Falling out.

To draw the Picture of Unkindness truly
Is, to express two that have dearly loved
And fal'n at variance.

THE BRIDE: A COMEDY. BY THOMAS NABBS, 1640.

Antiquities.

HORTEN, a Collector. His friend.

Friend. You are learned in Antiquities?

Hort. A little, Sir.

I should affect them more, were not tradition

One of the best assurances to show

They are the things we think them. What more proofs,

Except perhaps a little circumstance,

Have we for this or that to be a piece

Of Delphos' ruins? or the marble statues,

Made Athens glorious when she was supposed
To have more images of men than men?
A weather-beaten stone, with an inscription
That is not legible but thro' an optic,
Tells us its age; that in some Sibyl's cave
Three thousand years ago it was an altar,
'Tis satisfaction to our curiosity,

But ought not to necessitate belief.-
For Antiquity,

I do not store up any under Grecian;

Your Roman antiques are but modern toys

Compared to them. Besides they are so counterfeit

With mouldings, tis scarce possible to find
Any but copies.

Of

Friend. Yet you are confident

yours, that are of more doubt.

Hort. Others from their easiness

May credit what they please. My trial's such
Of any thing I doubt, all the impostors,
That ever made Antiquity ridiculous,
Cannot deceive me. If I light upon
Aught that's above my skill, I have recourse
To those, whose judgment at the second view
(If not the first) will tell me what Philosopher's
That eye-less, nose-less, mouth-less Statue is,
And who the workman was; tho' since his death
Thousands of years have been revolved.

Accidents to frustrate Purpose.

How various are the events that may depend
Upon one action, yet the end proposed
Not follow the intention! accidents

Will interpose themselves; like those rash men,
That thrust into a throng, occasioned

By some tumultuous difference, where perhaps Their busy curiosity begets.

New quarrels with new issues.

THE GENTLEMAN USHER: A COMEDY. BY
G. CHAPMAN, 1606.

Vincentio, a Prince, (to gain him over to his interest in a loveaffair) gulls Bassiolo, a formal Gentleman Usher to a Grest Lord, with commendations of his wise house-ordering at a great Entertainment.

Vinc. besides, good Sir, your Show did shew so well

Bass. Did it indeed, my Lord?

Vinc. O Sir, believe it,

'Twas the best fashion'd and well-order'd thing,

That ever eye beheld: and therewithal,

The fit attendance by the servants used,
The gentle guise in serving every guest,
In other entertainments; every thing
About your house so sortfully disposed,
That ev'n as in a turn-spit (call'd a Jack)
One vice* assists another; the great wheels,
Turning but softly, make the less to whirr
About their business; every different part
Concurring to one commendable end:

So, and in such conformance, with rare grace
Were all things ordered in your good Lord's house.
Bass. The most fit Simile that ever was.

Vinc. But shall I tell you plainly my conceit,
Touching the man that (I think) caused this order?

Bass. Aye, good my Lord.

Vinc. You note my Simile?

Bass. Drawn from the turn-spit

Vinc. I see, you have me.

Even as in that quaint engine you have seen

• Turn.