« PředchozíPokračovat »
THE FATAL DOWRY: A TRAGEDY. BY PHILIP
MASSINGER AND NATHANIEL FIELD.
The Marshal of Burgundy dies in prison at Dijon for debts
contracted by him for the service of the state in the wars. His dead body is arrested and denied burial by his creditors. His son, young Charalois, gives up himself to prison to redeem his father's body, that it may have honourable burial. He has leave from his prison doors to view the ceremony of the funeral,
but to go no farther. Enter three gentlemen, PontALIER, Malotin, and
BEAUMONT, as spectators of the funeral.
Pont. In a man but young,
Mal. Come, 'tis a golden precedent in a son,
sit on this Charalois ?
So recent in him, as the world may swear
Mal. This morning is the funeral.
(CHARALois appears at the door of the prison.) See the young son interr’d, a lively grave.
Beaum. They come. Observe their order. The funeral procession enters. Captains and soldiers,
mourners. Romont, friend to the deceased. Three creditors are among the spectators. CHARALOIS speaks.
Char. How like a silent stream shaded with night. And gliding softly with our windy sighs, Moves the whole frame of this solemnity! Tears, sighs, and blacks, filling the simile; Whilst I, the only murmur in this grove Of death, thus hollowly break forth L-vouchsafe To stay awhile. Rest, rest in peace, dear earth! Thou that broughtst rest to their unthankful lives, Whose cruelty denied thee rest in death! Here stands thy poor executor, thy son, That makes his life prisoner to bail thy death; Who gladlier puts on this captivity, Than virgins, long in love, their wedding weeds. Of all that ever thou hast done good to, These only have good memories ; for they Remember best, forget not gratitude. I thank you for this last and friendly love. And though this country, like a vip'rous mother, Not only hath eat up ungratefully All means of thee, her son, but last thyself, Leaving thy heir so bare and indigent,
He cannot raise thee a poor monument,
Char. Peace ! O peace ! This scene is wholly mineWhat! weep you, soldiers ? - blanch not. - Romont
you prophane rogues Must not be mingled with these holy relics : This is a sacrifice-our show'r shall crown His sepulchre with olive, myrrh, and bays, The plants of peace, of sorrow, victory : Your tears would spring but weeds.
Rom. Look, look, you slaves ! your thankless cruelty, And savage manners of unkind Dijon, Exhaust these floods, and not his father's death.
Char. One moment more,
That yet ne'er made his horse run from a foe.
Jailor. You must no farther.-
His father's sword.
THE OLD LAW: A COMEDY. BY PHILIP MASSINGER,
THOMAS MIDDLETON, AND WILLIAM ROWLEY.
The Duke of Epire enacts a law, that all men who have reached
the age of fourscore, shall be put to death, as being adjudged useless to the commonwealth. Simonides, the bad, and Cleanthes, the good son, are differently affected by the promulgation of the edict.
Cle. Whither, sir, I pray ?
Sim. Yes, from our growth,
Cle. Jubilee ! no, indeed ; 'tis a bad year with me.
thee. Cle. I know not how to answer you, Simonides. He is too old, being now expos’d Unto the rigour of a cruel edict; And yet not old enough by many years, 'Cause I'd not see him go an hour before me.
Sim. These very passions I speak to my father.
Cle. Why, here's a villain,