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XLII. (G.)



Invocation for Secrecy at a Love-Meeting. Tamyra. Now all ye peaceful Regents of the Night,

Silently-gliding Exhalations,

Languishing Winds, and murmuring Falls of Waters,
Sadness of Heart, and Ominous Secureness,
Enchantment's dead Sleeps; all the Friends of Rest,
That ever wrought upon the life of man,

Extend your utmost strengths; and this charm'd hour
Fix like the centre; make the violent wheels
Of Time and Fortune stand; and great Existence,
The Maker's Treasury, now not seem to be
To all but my approaching friend* and me.


At the Meeting.

Here's nought but whispering with us: like a calm Before a tempest, when the silent air

Lays her soft ear close to the earth, to hearken
For that she fears is coming to afflict her.

Invocation for a Spirit of Intelligence. D'Ambois. I long to know


How my dear Mistress fares, and be inform'd
What hand she now holds on the troubled blood
Of her incensed Lord. Methought the Spirit
When he had utter'd his perplext presage,
Threw his chang'd countenance headlong into clouds
His forehead bent, as he would hide his face :
He knock'd his chin against his darken'd breast,
And struck a churlish silence thro' his powers. –
Terror of Darkness, O thou King of Flames,
That with thy music-footed horse dost strike
The clear light out of crystal, on dark earth;


* D'Ambois; with whom she has an appointment.

And hurl'st instructive fire about the world:
Wake, wake the drowsy and enchanted night,
That sleeps with dead eyes in this heavy riddle.*
Or thou, Great Prince of Shades, where never sun
Sticks his far-darted beams; whose eyes are made
To see in darkness, and see ever best
Where sense is blindest: open now the heart
Of thy abashed oracle, that, for fear

Of some ill it includes, would fain lie hid,
And rise Thou with it in thy greater light.†



The Friar dissuades the Husband of Tamyra from revenge.

Your wife's offence serves not, were it the worst
You can imagine, without greater proofs,
To sever your eternal bonds and hearts;
Much less to touch her with a bloody hand:
Nor is it manly, much less husbandly,
To expiate any frailty in your wife,

With churlish strokes, or beastly odds of strength;
The stony birth of clouds will touch no laurel,
Nor any sleeper. Your wife is your laurel,
And sweetest sleeper; do not touch her then :
Be not more rude than the wild seed of vapour
To her that is more gentle than it rude.


Love's Panegyric.

-'tis 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



He wants to know the fate of Tamyra, whose intrigue with him has been discovered by her Husband:

This calling upon Light and Darkness for information, but, above all, the description of the Spirit-"Threw his chang'd countenance headlong into clouds "-is tremendous, to the curdling of the blood. I know nothing in Poetry like it.

The thunderbolt.

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 resolutions, and divine discourse.

Love with Jealousy. --such Love is like a smoky fire

In a cold morning. Though the fire be cheerful,
Yet is the smoke so foul and cumbersome,
"Twere better lose the fire, than find the smoke.


Bailiffs routed.

I walking in the place where men's law-suits
Are heard and pleaded, not so much as dreaming
Of any such encounter; steps me forth
Their valiant Foreman with the word "I 'rest you."
I made no more ado but laid these paws

Close on his shoulders, tumbling him to earth;
And there sat he on his posteriors
Like a baboon: and turning me about,


I straight espied the whole troop issuing on me.
I stept me back, and drawing my old friend here,
Made to the midst of 'em, and all unable
To endure the shock, all rudely fell in rout,
And down the stairs they ran in such a fury,
As meeting with a troop of Lawyers there,
Mann'd by their Clients (some with ten, some with


Some five, some three; he that had least had one),
Upon the stairs, they bore them down afore them. 30
But such a rattling then was there amongst them,
Of ravish'd Declarations, Replications,
Rejoinders, and Petitions, all their books
And writings torn, and trod on, and some lost,
That the poor Lawyers coming to the Bar
Could say nought to the matter, but instead,
Were fain to rail, and talk beside their books,
Without all order.

XLIV. (G.)



VINCENTIO, a Prince, (to gain him over to his interest in a love-affair), gulls BASSIOLO, a formal Gentleman Usher to a great Lord, with commendations of his wise houseordering 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 every eye beheld and therewithal,
The fit attendance by the servants used,
The gentle guise in serving every guest,
In other entertainments; everything
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.
The most fit simile that ever was.

Vine. I see, you have me.

Even as in that quaint engine you have seen
A little man in shreds stand at the winder,
And seems to put in act all things about him,
Lifting and pulling with a mighty stir,-
Yet adds no force to it, nor nothing does :
So, though your Lord be a brave gentleman,
And seems to do this business, he does nothing.

* Turn.



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.

Some man about him was the festival robe,
That made him shew so glorious and divine.

Bass. I cannot tell, my Lord; but I should know, If any such there were.

Vine. Should know, quoth you?

I warrant, you know well. Well, some there be
Shall have the fortune to have such rare men,
(Like brave Beasts to their arms) support their state;
When others of as high a worth and breed,

Are made the wasteful food of them they feed.- 10
What state hath your Lord made you for your service?

The same BASSIOLO described.

Lord's Daughter. —his place is great; for he's not only

My father's Usher, but the world's beside,
Because he goes before it all in folly.

XLV. (G.)




Imperial Cæsar, at your sacred charge,
I drew a milk white ox into the Temple,
And turning there his face into the East,
(Fearfully shaking at the shining light)
Down fell his horned forehead to his hoof.
When I began to greet him with the stroke,
That should prepare him for the holy rites,
With hideous roars he laid out such a throat
As made the secret lurkings of the God
To answer, Echo-like, in threat'ning sounds:
I struck again at him, and then he slept;
His life-blood boiling out at every wound
In streams as clear as any liquid ruby.



the beast cut up, and laid on the altar, His limbs were all licked up with instant flames;


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