What stirr'd it so. Alas! I found it love, Yet far from lust, for could I have but liv'd My birth no match for you, I was past hope Abide with you: then sate 1 by the fount Where first you took me up.* sex. • The character of Bellario must have been extremely popular in its day. For many years after the date of Philaster's first exhibition on the stage, scarce a play can be found without one of these women pazes in it, following in the train of some pre-engaged lover, calling on the gods to bless her happy rival (his mistress) whom no doubt she secretly curses in her heart, giving rise to many pretty equivoques by the way on the confusion of sex, and either made happy at last by some surprising turn of fate, or dismissed with the joint pity of the lovers and the audience. Our ances tors seem to have been wonderfully delighted with these transformations of Women's parts were then acted by young men. What an odd double confusion it must have made, to see a boy play a woman playing a man: one cannot disentangle the perplexity without some violence to the imagination. Donne has a copy of verses addrest to his mistress, dissuading her from a resolution, which she seems to have taken up from some of these scenical representations, of following him abroad as a page. It is so earnest, so weighty, so rich in poetry, in sense, in wit, and pathos, that I have thought fit to insert it, as a solemn close in future to all such sickly fancies as he there deprecates. The story of his romantic and unfortunate marriage with the daughter of Sir George Moore, the Lady here supposed to be addrest, may be read in Walton's Lives. ELEGY. By our first strange and fatal interview, Natural Antipathies. Nature that loves not to be questioned Begot in thee, and by the memory Of hurts, which spies and rivals threatened me, Rage from the seas, nor thy love teach them love, The fair Orithea, whom he swore he lov'd. His warm land, well content to think thee page, And knows she does well, never gave the world As he and I am: if a bowl of blood Drawn from this arm of mine would poison thee Interest in Virtue. Why, my lord, are you so moved at this ?- CUPID'S REVENGE: A TRAGEDY. BY FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER. Leucippus, the King's Son, takes to mistress Bacha, a Widow; but being questioned by his Father, to preserve her honor, swears that she is chaste. The old King admires her, and on the credit of that Oath, while his Son is absent, marries her. Leucippus, when he discovers the dreadful consequences of the deceit which he had used to his Father, counsels kis friend Ismenus never to speak a falsehood in any case. Leu. My sin, Ismenus, has wrought all this ill: When I am gone, dream me some happiness; Assail'd, fight, taken, stabb'd, bleed, fall, and die. Augur me better chance, except dread Jove Think it enough for me to have had thy love. Will make that seed which thou hast sown of lics, Upon thine head, as they have done on mine. Leucippus and his wicked Mother-in-law, Bacha, are left alone together for the first time after her marriage with the King, his Father. Bach. He stands As if he grew there, with his eyes on earth. Sir, you and I when we were last together Leu. Madam, 'tis true, Heaven pardon it. Bach. Amen, sir: you may think That I have done you wrong in this strange marriage. Leu. 'Tis past now. : Bach. But it was no fault of mine: The world had call'd me mad, had I refus'd The king: nor laid I any train to catch him, Leu. 'Tis a truth, That takes my sleep away; but would to heaven, A son owes to a mother; more than this When they have given me punishment enough. Bach. Grown so godly? This must not be, and I will be to you Leu. Bless me, I should urge you! Bach. Nay, but swear then, that I For I do feel a weakness in myself may be at peace, That can deny you nothing; if you tempt me Leu. If you knew how far It were from me, you would not urge an oath. Bach. Swear not. I cannot move him. This sad talk Shall I send one for my musicians, and we'll dance? Leu. Dance, madam? Bach. Yes, a lavolta. Leu. I cannot dance, madam. Bach. Then let's be merry. Leu. I am as my fortunes bid me. Do not you see me sour? Bach. Yes. And why think you I smile? Leu. I am so far from any joy myself, I cannot fancy a cause of mirth. Bach. I'll tell you. We are alone. Leu. Alone! Bach. Yes. Leu. 'Tis true: what then? Bach. What then? You make my smiling now break into laughter: |