And she (I sigh and spoke of) were things innocent, That know not what, nor why, yet do effect Did so to one another; what she liked, Was then of me approved; what not condemned, Till she had such another, and commit it That the true love 'tween maid and maid may be More than in sex dividual. Palamon and Arcite repining at their hard condition, in being made cap tives for life in Alkens, derive consolation from the enjoyment of each other's company in prison. Pal. How do you, noble cousin ? Arc. How do you, sir? Pal. Why strong enough to laugh at misery, And bear the chance of war yet; we are prisoners I fear for ever, cousin. Arc. I believe it, And to that destiny have patiently Laid up my hour to come. Pal. Oh cousin Arcite, Where is Thebes now? where is our noble country? Where are our friends and kindreds? never more The hardy youths strive for the games of honor, Like tall ships under sail; then start amongst them, Arc. No, Palamon, Those hopes are prisoners with us; here we are, Loaden with kisses, arm'd with thousand cupids, 66 Remember what your fathers were, and conquer." The fair-eyed maids shall weep our banishments, And in their songs curse ever-blinded Fortune, Till she for shame see what a wrong she has done To youth and nature. This is all our world: We shall know nothing here, but one another; Hear nothing, but the clock that tells our woes. The vine shall grow, but we shall never see it: Summer shall come, and with her all delights, But dead-cold winter must inhabit here still. Pal. 'Tis too true, Arcite. To our Theban hounds, That shook the aged forest with their echoes, Arc. Yet cousin, Even from the bottom of these miseries, Whilst Palamon is with me, let me perish Pal. Certainly 'Tis a main goodness, cousin, that our fortunes Arc. Shall we make worthy uses of this place Pal. How, gentle cousin? Arc. Let's think this prison holy sanctuary, The poison of pure spirits, might (like women) Can be, but our imaginations May make it ours? And here being thus together, We are an endless mine to one another; We are one another's wife, ever begetting New births of love; we are father, friends, acquaintance: We are, in one another, families ; I am your heir, and you are mine. This place Dare take this from us; here with a little patience We shall live long, and loving; no surfeits seek us; Pal. You have made me (I thank you, Cousin Arcite) almost wanton With my captivity: what a misery It is to live abroad, and everywhere! "Tis like a beast methinks! I find the court here, I see through now; and am sufficient [This scene bears indubitable marks of Fletcher: the two which preceda it give strong countenance to the tradition that Shakspeare had a hand in this play. The same judgment may be formed of the death of Arcite, and some other passages, not here given. They have a luxuriance in them which strongly resembles Shakspeare's manner in those parts of his plays where, the progress of the interest being subordinate, the poet was at lei. sure for description. I might fetch instances from Troilus and Timon. That Fletcher should have copied Shakspeare's manner through so many entire scenes (which is the theory of Mr. Steevens) is pot very probable, that he could have done it with such facility is to me not certain. His ideas move slow; his versification, though sweet, is tedious, it stops every moment; he lays line upon line, making up one after the other, adding image to image so deliberately that we see where they join: Shakspeare mingles everything, he runs line into line, embarrasses sentences and metaphors: before one idea has burst its shell, another is hatched and clamorous for disclosure. If Fletcher wrote some scenes in imitation, why did he stop or shall we say that Shakspeare wrote the other scenes in imitation of Fletcher? that he gave Shakspeare a curb and a bridle, and that Shakspeare gave him a pair of spurs: as Blackmore and Lucan are brought in exchanging gifts in the Battle of the Books?] THE CITY MADAM: A COMEDY. BY PHILIP MASSINGER. Luke, from a state of indigence and dependence, is suddenly raised into immense affluence by a deed of gift of the estates of his brother, Sir John Frugal, a merchant, retired from the world. He enters, from taking a survey of his new riches Luke, 'Twas no fantastic object but a truth, That without a charm Didst make my entrance easy to possess [To the Key. What wise men wish and toil for. Hermes' Moly; Imagin'd only by the alchymist; Compar'd with thee, are shadows, thou the substance And guardian of felicity. No marvel, My brother made thy place of rest his bosom, |