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THE CASE IS ALTERED. A COMEDY. BY BEN. JONSON.
The present Humor to be followed.
AURELIA, PHENIXELLA, Sister : their Mother being lately dead.
Aur. Room for a case of matrons, color'd black :
llow motherly my mother's death hath made us !
I would I had soine girls now to bring up;
O I could make a wench so virtuous,
She should say grace to every bit of meal,
And gape no wider than a wafer's thickness,
And she should make French court'sie's somnost low
louch should turn lier over backward.
l'hern. Sister, the so words become not your attire,
Nor your esiato; our virtuous mother's death
Slwuld print more deep etficis of surrow in us,
be worn out in so liule time.
Aur. Sister, i' faith you take too much tobacco,
lı makes you black within as you 're without.
Whai, truc-stitch sister, both your sides alike!
Be of a slighter work; for, of my word,
You shall be sold as dear, or rather dearer.
be bound to customs and to rites,
Shed profitable tears, w cep for advantage ;
Or else do all things as you are inclined ?
Eat when your stomach serves, saith the physician,
Not at eleven and six. So, if your humor
Be now affected with this heaviness,
Give it the reins, and spare not; as I do
In this my pleasuruble appetite.
Ji is Precisiunism to alter that,
With ausiere judginent, that is giv’n by nature.
I wept (you saw ) 100, when my mother died ;
For then I found it easier to do so,
And fitter with my mode, than not to weep :
But now 'tis otherwise. Another time
Perhaps I shall have such deep thoughts of her,
That I shall weep afresh some twelvemonth hence ;
And I will weep, if I be so disposed ;
And put on black as grimly then as now.-
Let the mind go still with the body's stature:
Judgment is fit for judges; give me nature.
Presentiment of Treachery, tanishing at the sight of the person suspected.
Lord Paulo FARNEZE. (Speaking to himself of ANGELO.)
My thoughts cannot propose a reason
Why I should fear or faint thus in my hopes
Of one so much endeared to my love:
Some spark it is, kindled within the soul,
Whose light yet breaks not to the outward sense,
That propagates this timorous suspect.
llix actions never carried any forco
Of change, or weakness; then I injuro him,
In being thus cold.conceited of his faith.
O here he comes.
[While he speaks ANGELO enlers. Angelo. Ilow now, sweet Lord, what 's the matter ?
Paul. Good faith, his presence makes me half ashamed or my stray'd thoughts.
Jaques (a Niser) worships his Gold.
Jac. Tis not to be told
What servile villainies men will do for gold.
O it began to have a huge strong smell,
With lying so long together in a place:
I'll give it vent, it shall have shift enough ;
And if the devil, that envies all goodness,
llave told them of my gold, and where I kept it,
I'll set his burning nose once more a work
To smell where I removed it. llere it is ;
I'll hide and cover it with this horsc-dung.
Who will suppose that such a precious nest
Is crown'd with such a dunghill excrement ?
In, my dear life, sleep sweetly, any dear child,
Scarce lawfully begotten, but yet gotten,
And that's enough.
Rot all hands that come near thee,
Except mine own. Burn out all eyes that see thee,
Except mine own. All thoughts of thee be poison
To their enanor'd hearts, except mine own.
I'll take no leave, sweet prince, great emperor,
But see thee every minute: king of kings,
I'll not be rude to thee, and turn my back
In going from thee, but go backward out,
With my face toward theo, with humble courtesics.
(The passion for wealth has worn out much of its grossness by tract of lime. Our ancestors certainly conceived of money as able to confer a distinct gratificalica in ilsell, not alone considered simply as a symbol of wealth. The oldest poels, when they intruduce a miser, constantly make him address his guld as his misusess; as something to be seen, tell, and hugged: as capable of satisfying two of the senses at least. The substitution of a thin unsatisfying medium for the good old tangible gold, has made ava. rice quite a Platonic atfertion in comparison with the sering, wuching, and handling pleasures of the old Chrysophilites. A bank note can no more satisfy the much of a true sensualist in this passion, than Creusa could return her husband's embrace in the shades. ---Sec the care of Mammun, in Spenser; Barabar's conteinplation of his wealth, in the Jew of Malta; I.uke's raptures, in the City Jadain, &c. Above all, hear Guzman, in that excel. lent old Spanish Nuvel, The Rogue, espatiale on the “ruddly checks of your golden Rudilocks, your Spanish Pistolets, your plump and full-faced Portuguese, and your clear-skinn'd pieces of eight of Castile," which he and his fellows the besgars kept secret to themselves, and did “privately enjoy in a plentiful manner." " For to have them, for to pay thein away, is not to enjoy them; to cujoy them, is to have them lying by ws, having no other need of them than to use them for the clearing of the cye-sight, and the comforting of our senses. These we did carry about with us, sewing them in some patches of our doublets near unto the heart, and as close to the skin as we could handsomely quilt them in, holding them to be restorative.")
POETASTER; OR, HIS ARRAIGNMENT. A COMICAL SATYR.
BY BEN JONSON.
Orid bewails his hard condition in being banished froma Court and the
Society of the Princcu Julia.
Banish'd the court ? let me be banish'd life,
Since the chief end of life is there concluded.
Within the court is all the kingdoin bounded;
And as hier sacred sphere doth comprehend
Ten thousand times so much, as so much place
In any part of all the empire else,
So every body, moving in her sphere,
Contains ten thousand times as much in him
As any other her choice orb excludes.
As in a circle a magician, then,
Is safe against the spirit he excites,
But out of it is subject to his rage,
And loseth all the virtue of his art,
So I, exil'd the circle of the court,
Lose all the good gills that in it I joy'd.
No virtue current is, but with her stamp;
And no vico vicious, blanch'd with her white hand.
The court's the abstract of all Rome's desert,
And my dear Julia th' abstract of the court.
Methinks, now I come near her, I respire
Some air of that latu comfort I receiv'il:
And while the evening, with her molesi veil,
Gives leave to such poor shudow's as myself
To steal abroad, I, like a heartless ghost,
Without the living buly of my love,
Will here walk, and attend her. For I know
Not far from hence she is imprison's,
And hopes of her strict guardian to bribe
So much admillance, as to speak to me,
And cheer my fainting spirits with her breath.
Julia appears above at her Chamber-window. Jul. Ovid ! my
love! Ovid. llere, heav'nly Julia.
Jul. Here! and not here ! O how that word doth play With both our fortunes, differing, like ourselves ; But one, and yet divided, as opposed; I high, thou low ! O this our plight of place Doubly presents the two lets of our love, Local and ceremonial bcight and lowness ;
Both ways, I am too high, and thou too low.
Our minds are even, yet : O why should our bodies,
That are their slaves, be so without their rule ?
I'll cast myself down to thee; if I die,
I'll ever live with thee : no height of binh,
of place, of duty, or of cruel power,
Shall keep me from thee; should my father lock
This body up within a tomb of brass,
Yet I'll be with thee. If the fornis, I hold
Now in my soul, be made one substance with it;
That soul immortal; and the same 'ris now;
Death cannot raze the effects she now retaineth:
And then may she be anywhere she will.
Tlie souls of parents rule not children's souls ;
When death sets buth in their dissolu'd estales,
Then is no child nor father : then eternity
Frees all from any temporal respect.
I come, my Ovid, take me in thine arms;
And let me breathie my soul into thy breast.
Orid. O stay, my love; the hopes thou dost conceive
of thy quick death, and of thy future life,
Are not authentical. Thou choosest death,
So thou might'st joy thy love in th' other life,
But know, my princely love, when thou art dead,
Thou only must survive in perfect soul ;
And in the soul are no affections :
We pour out our affections with our blood;
And with our blood's affections fude our loves.
No life hath love in such sweet state as this;
No essence is so dear to moody sense,
As flesh and blood, whose quintessence is sense.
Beauty, compos'd of blood and Aesh, moves more,
And is more plausible to blood and Aesh,
Than spiritual beauty can be to the spirit.
Such apprehension as we have in dreams
(When sleep, the bond of senses, locks them up)
Such shall we havo when death destroys them quite.
'f love be then thy object, change not life;