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In this place work a quicksand,

And over it a shallow smiling water,

And his ship ploughing it, and then a fear.
Do that fear to the life wench.

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,
To shew a soul so full of misery

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.
I stand upon the sea beach now, and think

Mine arms thus, and mine hair blown with the wind,
Wild as that desart, and let all about me

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,
Let them be dry and leaveless; let the rocks
Groan with continual surges, and behind me
Make all a desolation; look, look, wenches,
A miserable life of this poor picture.

Olym. Dear madam !

Asp. I have done, sit down, and let us

Upon that point fix all our eyes, that point there;
Make a dull silence, till you feel a sudden sadness
Give us new souls *.

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,

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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;
Though I am tame and bred up with my wrongs,
Which are my foster-brothers, I may leap
Like a hand-wolf into my natural wilderness,
And do an outrage: pray thee do not mock me.
Evad. My whole life is so leprous, it infects
All my repentance: I would buy your pardon
Though at the highest set, even with my life.
That slight contrition, that's no sacrifice
For what I have committed.

Amin. Sure I dazzle:

There cannot be a faith in that foul woman,
That knows no god more mighty than her mischiefs.
Thou dost still worse, still number on thy faults,
To press my poor heart thus. Can I believe

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 !
Would there were any safety in thy sex,
That I might put a thousand sorrows off,
And credit thy repentance: but I must not;
Thou hast brought me to the dull calamity,
To that strange misbelief of all the world,
And all things that are in it, that I fear
I shall fall like a tree, and find my grave,
Only rememb'ring that I grieve.

Evad. My lord,

Give me your griefs: you are an innocent,
A soul as white as heaven; let not my sins
Perish your noble youth: I do not fall here
To shadow by dissembling with my tears,
As all say women can, or to make less

What my hot will hath done, which heaven and you
Knows to be tougher than the hand of time

Can cut from man's remembrance; no I do not;

Iar pen the same, the same Evadne,
Drest in the shames I v'd in, the same monster.
But these are names of honour, to what I am;
Dr Test: Hyed the foclest creature,
Vat poisonous, dangerous, and despis'd of men,
Terna e in lead, e Nas; I am hell,

Til you, my dear lord, shoot your light into me,
The beams of your forgiveness: I am soul-sick,
And wither with the fear of one condemn'd,
21.7 have got youz pardon.

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Those harreny powers that put this good into thee,
Grant & Coatiz Unce of it: I forgive thee;

Make thyself worthy of it, and take heed,
Take heed. Evažne, this be serious;

Vack not the powers above, that can and dare
Give the a great example of their justice
To all ensuing eyes if thou play'st
With dy repentance the best sacrifice.

Fraud I have done nothing good to win belief,
My 16 hath been so faithless; all the creatures

Made for heaven's honours have their ends, and good ones,
All but the cousening Crocodiles, false women;
They reign bere like those plagues, those killing sores,
Mea pray against; and when they die, like tales
Il told and unbeliev'd, they pass away

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,
Though in my evening, yet perceive a will,
Since I can do no good because a woman,
Reach constantly at something that is near it;
I will redeem one minute of my age,
Or like another Niobe I'll weep

Till I am water.

Amin. I am now dissolved:

My frozen soul melts: may each sin thou hast,
Find a new mercy: rise, I am at peace:
Had'st thou been thus, thus excellently good,
Before that devil king tempted thy frailty,
Sure thou had'st made a star: give me thy hand;
From this time I will know thee, and as far
As honour gives me leave, be thy Amintor:
When we meet next, I will salute thee fairly,
And pray the gods to give thee happy days:
My charity shall go along with thee,

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!
There is a vile dishonest trick in man,
More than in women: all the men I meet
Appear thus to me, are harsh and rude,
And have a subtilty in every thing,

Which love could never know; but we fond women
Harbour the easiest and smoothest thoughts,

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,

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