Vul. God Mars—

Phob. As I was peeping through a cranny, abed—

Vul. Abed! with whom?-some pretty Wench, I warrant.

Phob. She was a pretty Wench.

Vul. Tell me, good Phoebus,

That, when I meet him, I may flout God Mars;

Tell me, but tell me truly, on thy life.

Phob. Not to dissemble, Vulcan, 'twas thy wife!

[Act ii., Sc. 2, p. 232.]

The Peers of Greece go in quest of Hercules, and find him in woman's weeds, spinning with Omphale.

Jason. Our business was to Theban Hercules.

"Twas told us, he remain'd with Omphale,

The Theban Queen.

Telamon. Speak, which is Omphale? or which Alcides ?
Pollux. Lady, our purpose was to Hercules;

Shew us the man.

Omph. Behold him here.

Atreus. Where?

Omph. There, at his task.

Jas. Alas, this Hercules!

This is some base effeminate Groom, not he
That with his puissance frighted all the earth.
Her. Hath Jason, Nestor, Castor, Telamon,
Atreus, Pollux, all forgot their friend?

We are the man.

Jas. Woman, we know thee not:
We came to seek the Jove-born Hercules,
That in his cradle strangled Juno's snakes,
And triumph'd in the brave Olympic games.
He that the Cleonean lion slew,

Th' Erimanthian bear, the bull of Marathon,
The Lernean hydra, and the winged hart.1
Tel. We would see the Theban

That Cacus slew, Busiris sacrificed,
And to his horses hurl'd stern Diomed

To be devour'd.

Pol. That freed Hesione

From the sea whale, and after ransack'd Troy,

And with his own hand slew Laomedon.

Nes. He by whom Dercilus and Albion fell;

He that calia and Betricia won.

Atr. That monstrous Geryon with his three heads vanquisht, [Eleven lines omitted.]

With Linus, Lichas that usurpt in Thebes,
And captived there his beauteous Megara.1
Pol. That Hercules by whom the Centaurs fell,
Great Achelous, the Stymphalides,

And the Cremona giants: where is he?

Tel. That trait'rous Nessus with a shaft transfixt,
Strangled Antheus, purged Augeus' stalls,
Won the bright apples of th' Hesperides.
Jas. He that the Amazonian baldrick won;
That Achelous with his club subdued,
And won from him the Pride of Caledon,
Fair Deianeira, that now mourns in Thebes
For absence of the noble Hercules!

Atr. To him we came; but, since he lives not here,
Come, Lords; we will return these presents back
Unto the constant Lady, whence they came.
Her. Stay, Lords-

Jas. 'Mongst women ?—

Her. For that Theban's sake,

Whom you profess to love, and came to seek,
Abide awhile; and by my love to Greece,
I'll bring before you that lost Hercules,
For whom you came to enquire.

Tel. It works, it works

Her. How have I lost myself!

Did we all this? Where is that spirit become,
That was in us? no marvel, Hercules,

That thou be'st strange to them, that thus disguised
Art to thyself unknown !-hence with this distaff,
And base effeminate chares; hence, womanish tires;
And let me once more be myself again.
Your pardon, Omphale!

[p. 244.]

I cannot take leave of this Drama without noticing a touch of the truest pathos, which the writer has put into the mouth of Meleager, as he is wasting away by the operation of the fatal brand, administered to him by his wretched Mother.

My flame encreaseth still-Oh Father Eneus;
And you, Althea, whom I would call Mother,

But that my genius prompts me thou'rt unkind :

And yet farewell!

[p. 201.2]

What is the boasted "Forgive me, but forgive me!" of the dying wife of Shore in Rowe, compared with these three little words?

1[The next six lines not given by Pearson.]

[For other extracts from Heywood see note to page 100.]

THE BATTLE OF ALCAZAR. A TRAGEDY [PUBLISHED IN 1594. BY GEORGE PEELE]

Muly Mahamet, driven from his home into a desart, robs the Lioness to feed his fainting Wife Calipolis.

Muly. Hold thee, Calipolis; feed, and faint no more. This flesh I forced from a Lioness;

Meat of a Princess, for a Princess' meet.

Learn by her noble stomach to esteem
Penury plenty in extremest dearth;
Who, when she saw her foragement bereft,
Pined not in melancholy or childish fear;
But, as brave minds are strongest in extremes,

So she, redoubling her former force,

Ranged through the woods, and rent the breeding vaults
Of proudest savages, to save herself.
Feed then, and faint not, fair Calipolis;
For, rather than fierce famine shall prevail
To gnaw thy entrails with her thorny teeth,
The conquering Lioness shall attend on thee,
And lay huge heaps of slaughter'd carcases
As bulwarks in her way to keep her back.
I will provide thee of a princely Ospray,
That, as she flieth over fish in pools,
The fish shall turn their glistering bellies up,
And thou shalt take the liberal choice of all.
Jove's stately Bird with wide-commanding wings
Shall hover still about thy princely head,
And beat down fowls by shoals into thy lap.
Feed then, and faint not, fair Calipolis.

[Act ii., Sc. 3.1]

This address, for its barbaric splendor of conception, extravagant vein of promise, not to mention some idiomatic peculiarities, and the very structure of the verse, savours strongly of Marlowe; but the real author, I believe, is unknown.

THE SEVEN CHAMPIONS OF CHRISTENDOM. BY
JOHN KIRK. ACTED 1638

Calib, the Witch, in the opening Scene, in a Storm.

Calib. Ha! louder a little; so, that burst was well.

Again; ha, ha! house, house your heads, ye fear

-struck mortal fools, when Calib's concert [consort] plays

[Peele's Works, ed. Bullen, vol. i. For other extracts from Peele see note on P. 13.]

A hunts-up to her. How rarely doth it languell
In mine ears! these are mine organs; the toad,
The bat, the raven, and the fell whistling bird,
Are all my anthem-singing quiristers.

Such sapless roots, and liveless wither'd woods,
Are pleasanter to me than to behold.

The jocund month of May, in whose green head of youth
The amorous Flora strews her various flowers,

And smiles to see how brave she has deckt her girl.

But pass we May, as game for fangled fools,

That dare not set a foot in Art's dark, se

-cret, and bewitching path, as Calib has. Here is my mansion.

Within the rugged bowels of this cave,

This crag, this cliff, this den; which to behold

Would freeze to ice the hissing trammels of Medusa.

Yet here enthroned I sit, more richer in my spells

And potent charms, than is the stately Mountain Queen,
Drest with the beauty of her sparkling gems,
To vie a lustre 'gainst the heavenly lamps.
But we are sunk in these antipodes; so choakt
With darkness is great Calib's cave, that it

Can stifle day. It can ?-it shall-for we do loath the light;
And, as our deeds are black, we hug the night.
But where's this Boy, my GEORGE, my Love, my Life,
Whom Calib lately dotes on more than life?
I must not have him wander from my love
Farther than summons of my eye, or beck,
Can call him back again. But 'tis my fiend-
-begotten and deform'd Issue,1 misleads him:
For which I'll rock him in a storm of hail,
And dash him 'gainst the pavement on the rocky den;
He must not lead my Joy astray from me.
The parents of that Boy, begetting him,
Begot and bore the issue of their deaths;
Which done, the Child I stole,

Thinking alone to triumph in his death,
And bathe my body in his popular gore;
But dove-like Nature favour'd so the Child,
That Calib's killing knife fell from her hand;
And, 'stead of stabs, I kiss'd the red-lipt Boy.

[Act i., Sc. 1.]

1A sort of young Caliban, her son, who presently enters, complaining of a bloody coxcomb" which the Young Saint George had given him.

2 Calib had killed the parents of the Young Saint George. [See Old English Drama, 1830, vol. iii.]

TWO TRAGEDIES IN ONE. BY ROBERT YARRINGTON, WHO WROTE IN THE REIGN OF ELIZABETH. [TWO LAMENTABLE TRAGEDIES, PUBLISHED 1601]

Truth, the Chorus, to the Spectators.

All you, the sad Spectators of this Act,
Whose hearts do taste a feeling pensiveness
Of this unheard-of savage massacre :
Oh be far off to harbour such a thought,
As this audacious murderer put in act!
I see your sorrows flow up to the brim,
And overflow your cheeks with brinish tears:
But though this sight bring surfeit to the eye,
Delight your ears with pleasing harmony,
That ears may countercheck your eyes, and say,
"Why shed you tears? this deed is but a Play."1

[Act ii., Sc. 6.2]

Murderer to his Sister, about to stow away the trunk of the body, having severed it from the limbs.

Hark, Rachel! I will cross the water strait,

And fling this middle mention of a Man
Into some ditch.

[Act iii., Sc. 1.]

It is curious, that this old Play comprises the distinct action of two Atrocities; the one a vulgar murder, committed in our own Thames Street, with the names and incidents truly and historically set down; the other a Murder in high life, supposed to be acting at the same time in Italy, the scenes alternating between that country and England: the Story of the latter is mutatis mutandis no other than that of our own "Babes in the Wood," transferred to Italy, from delicacy no doubt to some of the family of the rich Wicked Uncle, who might yet be living. The treatment of the two differs as the romance-like narratives in "God's Revenge against Murder," in which the Actors of the Murders (with the trifling exception that they were Murderers) are represented as most accomplished and every way amiable young Gentlefolks of either sex-as much as that differs from the honest unglossing pages of the homely Newgate Ordinary.

1 The whole theory of the reason of our delight in Tragic Representations, which has cost so many elaborate chapters of Criticism, is condensed in these four last lines: Aristotle quintessentialised.

[Old Plays, ed. Bullen, 1885.]