In this place work a quicksand, And over it a shallow smiling water, And his ship ploughing it, and then a fear. Ant. "Twill wrong the story. Asp. "Twill make the story, wrong'd by wanton poets, Live long and be believ'd; but where's the lady? Ant. There, Madam. Asp. Fie, you have miss'd it here, Antiphila, You are much mistaken, wench; These colours are not dull and pale enough, As this sad lady's was; do it by me, Do it again by me the lost Aspatia, And you shall find all true but the wild island. Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind, Tell that I am forsaken, do my face (If thou hadst ever feeling of a sorrow) Thus, thus, Antiphila, strive to make me look Like Sorrow's monument; and the trees about me, Olym. Dear madam ! Asp. I have done, sit down, and let us Upon that point fix all our eyes, that point there; One characteristic of the excellent old poets is their being able to bestow grace upon subjects which naturally do not seem susceptible of any. I will mention two instances: Zelmane in the Arcadia of Sidney, racises va ter as a ler faveur, ELE DRAMs MMten” u sufer a sweet violation. ཞིག ལུ 1 ལྡན པ ཡཁ གངཨབྱེའི་སྐབནྟཾ སཱིཀ me na vio lai ne nași a mulet Yeti sarfully outa wale we at der, we respert her, and she descents without tegratacie. Si much me very and pessun can de to confer EARLY 1968. SI Nects wich do dit seem cochie of t. But Aspatia #ust and be commend at all pins with Helena; she does not alwoestety predominate over her staten bet she sudes some being ton, some abatement of the fall lustre of the female character; wh Helena never does: her character has many degrees of sweetness, some of delicacy, but it has weakness which if we de not despise, we are sorry for. After all. Beaumont and Fletcher were but an inferior sort of Shakspeares and Sidneys. Heaven knows I have too many; do not mock me; Amin. Sure I dazzle: There cannot be a faith in that foul woman, There's any seed of virtue in that woman Left to shoot up, that dares go on in sin Known, and so known as thine is? O Evadne ! Evad. My lord, Give me your griefs: you are an innocent, What my hot will hath done, which heaven and you Can cut from man's remembrance; no I do not; Iar pen the same, the same Evadne, Til you, my dear lord, shoot your light into me, Those harreny powers that put this good into thee, Make thyself worthy of it, and take heed, Vack not the powers above, that can and dare Fraud I have done nothing good to win belief, Made for heaven's honours have their ends, and good ones, And of to dust forgotten: but, my lord, Those short days I shall number to my rest, (As many must not see me) shall, though too late, Till I am water. Amin. I am now dissolved: My frozen soul melts: may each sin thou hast, Though my embraces must be far from thee. Men's Natures more hard and subtil than Women's. How stubbornly this fellow answer'd me! Which love could never know; but we fond women And think all shall go so; it is unjust That men and women should be matcht together. PHILASTER; OR, LOVE LIES A BLEEDING: A TRAGI COMEDY. BY FRANCIS BEAUMONT FLETCHER. AND JOHN Philaster tells the Princess Arethusa how he first found the boy Bellario. I have a boy sent by the gods, Not yet seen in the court; hunting the buck, I found him sitting by a fountain side, Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst, |