There was a shooting in of light, when Richmond
(Not aiming at the crown) retired, and gladly,
For comfort to the Duke of Bretagne's Court.
Richard, who sway'd the sceptre, was reputed
A tyrant then; yet then, a dawning glimmer'd
To some few wand'ring remnants, promising day,.
When first they ventur'd on a frightful shore,
At Milford Haven.
Daub. Whither speeds his boldness?
Check his rude tongue, great Sir.
King H. O let him range:
The player's on the stage still; 'tis his part:
He does but act.- -What follow'd?
Warb. Bosworth field:
Where at an instant, to the world's amazement,
A morn to Richmond and a night to Richard
Appear'd at once. The tale is soon applied:
Fate which crown'd these attempts, when least assured,
Might have befriended others, like resolved.
King H. A pretty gallant! thus your Aunt of Burgundy, Your Duchess Aunt, inform'd her nephew; so
The lesson prompted, and well conn'd, was moulded
Into familiar dialogue, oft rehears'd,
Till, learnt by heart, 'tis now received for truth.
Warb. Truth in her pure simplicity wants art
To put a feigned blush on; scorn wears only
Such fashion, as commends to gazers' eyes
Sad ulcerated novelty, far beneath
The sphere of majesty: in such a court
Wisdom and gravity are proper robes,
By which the sovereign is best distinguish'd
From zanies to his greatness.
King H. Sirrah, shift
Your antick pageantry, and now appear
In your own nature; or you'll taste the danger
Of fooling out of season.
No less than what severity calls justice,
And politicians safety; let such beg,
As feed on alms: but if there can be meroy
In a protested enemy, then may it
Descend to these poor creatures, whose engagements
To the bettering of their fortunes, have incurr'd
A loss of all: to them if any charity
Flow from some noble orator, in death
I owe the fee of thankfulness.
King H. So brave?
What a bold knave is this!
We trifle time with follies.
Urswick, command the Dukeling, and these fellows,
To Dighy, the Lieutenant of the Tower :
With safety let them be convey'd to London.
It is our pleasure, no uncivil outrage,
Taunts, or abuse, be suffer'd to their persons:
They shall meet fairer law than they deserve.
Time may restore their wits, whom vain ambition
Hath many years distracted.
Warb. Noble thoughts
Meet freedom in captivity. The Tower :
Our childhood's dreadful nursery!
King H. Was ever so much impudence in forgery?
The custom sure of being styl'd a King,
Hath fast'ned in his thoughts that he is such.
Warbeck is led to his Death.
Oxford. Look ye, behold your followers, appointed
To wait on ye in death.
Warb. Why, Peers of England,
We'll lead 'em on courageously. I read
A triumph over tyranny upon
Their several foreheads. Faint not in the moment
Of victory! our ends, and Warwick's head,
Innocent Warwick's head (for we are prologue
But to his tragedy), conclude the wonder
Of Henry's fears: and then the glorious race
Of fourteen kings Plantagenets, determines
In this last issue male. Heaven be obey'd.
Impoverish time of its amazement, friends:
And we will prove as trusty in our payments,
As prodigal to nature in our debts.
Death! pish, 'tis but a sound; a name of air;
A minute's storm; or not so much; to tumble
From bed to bed, be massacred alive
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, ekiertains an illicit love for his Sister. He asks counsel of Bonaventura, a Friar."
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,
• 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.
To you have I unclasp'd my burthen'd soul,
Emptied the store-houso of my thoughts and heart,
Made myself poor of secrets; have not left
Another word untold, which hath not spoke
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 1
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 ?
Friar. 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 case 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, behavior, 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-
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.
Anna. What to do?
[Offers his dagger to her.
Gio. And here's my breast. Strike home, Rip up my boson; there thou shalt behold.
|