Second Lord. Your Roman end, to make men

Imagine your strong conscience fortified,

No! nor your ground, Religion. Examine all men
Branded with such foul sins as you now die for,
And you shall find their first step still Religion.
Gowrie in Scotland, 'twas his main pretension;
Was not he honest too, his Country's father?
Those fiery spirits next that hatch'd in England
That bloody Powder Plot, and thought like meteors
To have flash'd their Country's peace out in a moment,-
Were not their barrels loaden with Religion?

Were not they pious, just, and zealous subjects?

Humble your soul for shame, and seek not now, sir!

To tumble from that happiness even Angels

Were thrown from for their pride! Confess, and die well!

First Lord. Will ye confess your faults?

Barn. I come not hither

To make myself guilty; yet one fault I must utter,
And 'tis a great one.

Second Lord. The greater mercy.

Barn. I die for saving this unthankful Country.

First Lord. Play not with heaven!

Barn. My game's as sure as yours is,

And with more care and innocence I play it.
Take off my doublet! And I prithee, fellow!
Strike without fear!

Executioner. I warrant I'll fit ye.

I pray forgive me, sir!

Barn. Most heartily!

And here's my hand. I love thee too: thy physic
Will quickly purge me from the world's abuses.
When I speak loudest, strike!

Exec. I shall observe ye.

Barn. Farewell, my lords! to all your counsels fortune,

Happy success, and profit! peace to this Country!
And to you all, that I have bred like children,

Not a more faithful father, but more fortunate!

Do not I stay too long?

Second Lord. Take your own time, sir!

Barn. I have a wife, my lords! and wretched children
Unless it please his Grace to look upon 'em,

And your good honours, with your eyes of favour.
'Twill be a little happiness in my death

That they partake not with their father's ruins.
First Lord. Let not that trouble ye! They shall not find it.
Barn. Commend my last breath to his Excellence!

Tell him the Sun he shot at is now setting,
Setting this night, that he may rise to-morrow,
For ever setting! Now let him reign alone,
And with his rays give life and light to all men!
May he protect with honour, fight with fortune,
And die with general love, an old and good Prince!
My last petition, good Countrymen! forget me:
Your memories wound deeper than your malice:
And I forgive ye all !-A little stay me!
Honour and World! I fling ye thus behind me!
And thus a naked poor man kneel to Heaven.
Be gracious to me, hear me, strengthen me !

I come, I come, O gracious Heaven! now, now,
Now, I present-

Executioner. Is it well done? mine Heeres!

First Lord. Somewhat too much! you have struck his fingers

too.

But we forgive your haste. Draw in the body!

And, captains! we discharge your companies.

Make clear the court! Vain glory! thou art gone ;

And thus must all built on Ambition.

Second Lord. Farewell, great heart! full low thy strength now

lies:

He that would purge Ambition this way dies.

RICHARD BROME.
16. .-1652.

THE ANTIPODES.

In the Antipodes, everything goes contrary to our manners; wives rule their husbands; servants govern their masters; old men go to school again.

SON. SERVANT. GENTLEMAN, and LADY, natives. ENGlish Tra

VELER.

Servant (to his young Master). How well you saw
Your father to school to-day, knowing how apt
He is to play the truant!

Son. But he is not

Yet gone to school.

Servant. Stand by, and you shall see.

Enter three OLD MEN with satchels.

All three (singing). Domine! domine! duster:
Three knaves in a cluster.

Son. O, this is gallant pastime ! Nay! come on.
Is this your school? was that your lesson? ha!
1st Old Man. Pray now, good son! indeed, indeed—
Son. Indeed

You shall to school. Away with him; and take Their wagships with him, the whole cluster of them! 2d Old Man. You sha'nt send us now, so you sha'nt. 3d Old Man. We be none of your father, so we be'n't. Son. Away with them! I say; and tell their school-mistress What truants they are, and bid her pay them soundly!

All three. O! O! O!

Lady. Alas! will nobody beg pardon for

The poor old boys?

English Traveler. Do men of such fair years here go to school?

III.-13

Gentleman. They would die dunces else.

These were great scholars in their youth; but when
Age grows upon men here, their learning wastes,
And so decays, that if they live until

Threescore, their sons send them to school again;
They'd die as speechless else as new-born children.
English Traveler. 'Tis a wise nation; and the piety
Of the young men most rare and commendable.
Yet give me, as a stranger, leave to beg
Their liberty this day.

Son. 'Tis granted.

Hold up your heads, and thank the gentleman,

Like scholars, with your heels now.

All three. Gratias! gratias! gratias!

JAMES SHIRLEY.

1596-1667.

Exeunt singing.

THE TRAITOR.

LORENZO, cousin to the DUKE OF FLORENCE, is conspiring against him. DEPAZZI is LORENZO'S creature, but ready to betray him to save himself. The DUKE has received letters from Siena, apprising him of LORENZO'S treason, and has just shown them to two of his Council, ANTONIO and FLORIO, when LORENZO and DEPAZZI enter.

Alonzo. He is here:

Shall we apprehend him?

Lorenzo. Happy morning to

My gracious Sovereign!

Duke. Good morning, coz!

(Aside.) Can treason couch itself within that frame?

Gives LORENZO the letters.

We have letters for you.

Lor. Letters! These, dread sir!

Have no direction to me; your Highness
Is only named.

Duke. They will concern your reading.

Alonzo! now observe and watch him. Florio!
Depazzi! come you hither. Does Lorenzo

Look like a traitor?

Dep. How, sir! a traitor?

Duke. Ay, sir!

Dep. I, sir! by my honour, not I, sir! I defy him
That speaks it. (Aside.) I am in a fine pickle.

Lor. I have read.

Duke. Not blush? not tremble? Read again!

Lor. The substance is that you maintain a vigilant eye over Lorenzo, who hath threaten'd, with your death, his Country's liberty; and other things touching reducing of a commonwealth.

Duke (aside). I like not that.

Dep. (aside). All's out! A plague upon him for a traitor! he has hedged me in; but I'll confess.

Duke. What answer make you to this? Lorenzo !

Lor. This, o' the sudden :

Sir! I must owe the title of a Traitor

To your high favours; envy first conspired,
And malice now accuses. But what story
Mention'd his name that had his prince's bosom
Without the people's hate? 'Tis sin enough
In some men to be great; the throng of stars,
The rout of common people of the sky,
Move still another way than the sun does,
That gilds the creature; take your honours back,
And, if you can, that purple of my veins

Which flows in yours, and you shall leave me in
A state I shall not fear the great ones' envy
Nor common people's rage. And yet, perhaps,
You may be credulous against me.

Duke. Ha!