O sacred towers, sacred in your height,
Mingling with clouds, the villas of the Gods,
Whither for sacred pleasures they retire;
Sacred because you are the work of Gods;
Your lofty looks boast your divine descent:
And the proud city which lies at your feet,
And would give place to nothing but to you,
Owns her original is short of yours.

And now a thousand objects more ride fast
On morning beams, and meet my eyes in throngs;
And see, all Argos meets me with loud shouts!

Phil. O joyful sound!

Thy. But with them Atreus too

Phil. What ails my father, that he stops, and shakes, And now retires?

Thy. Return with me, my son,

And old friend Peneus, to the honest beasts,
And faithful desart, and well-seated caves;
Trees shelter man, by whom they often die,
And never seek revenge: no villainy
Lies in the prospect of an humble cave.

Pen. Talk you of villainy, of foes, and fraud?
Thy. I talk of Atreus.

Pen. What are these to him?

Thy. Nearer than I am, for they are himself.

Pen. Gods drive these impious thoughts out of your mind.

Thy. The Gods for all our safety put them there.

Return, return with me.

Pen. Against our oaths?

I cannot stem the vengeance of the Gods.

Thy. Here are no Gods: they've left this dire abode.1

Pen. True race of Tantalus! who parent-like

Are doom'd in midst of plenty to be starved.

His hell and yours differ alone in this:

When he would catch at joys, they fly from him;

When glories catch at you, you fly from them.
Thy. A fit comparison, our joys and his

Are lying shadows, which to trust is hell.

[Act iv., Sc. 1.]

The day of the pretended Nuptials.—Atreus feigns a returning love for his Queen.

Erope. O this is too much joy for me to bear:

You build new palaces on broken walls.2

'[Seventeen lines omitted.]

2[Two pages.]

Atreus. Come, let our new-born pleasures breathe sweet air;
This room's too vile a cabinet for gold.

Then leave for ever, Love, this doleful place,
And leave behind thee all thy sorrows here;
And dress thyself as this great day requires.
"Twill be thy daughter's nuptials; and I dream'd,
The Sun himself would be asham'd to come,
And be a guest in his old tarnish'd robe;

But leave my Court,' to enlighten all the globe.—

[Act iii., Sc. 1.]

Peneus to Atreus, dissuading him from his horrid purpose.

Pen. Fear you not men or Gods?

Atr. The fear of Gods ne'er came in Pelops' House.

Pen. Think you there are no Gods?

Atr. I find all things

So false, I am sure of nothing but of wrongs.

[Act i., Sc. 1.]

Atr. Come, brother, sit.

Thy. May not Philisthenes

Sit with us, Sir?

Atr. He waits upon the Bride.2

A deeper bowl. This to the Bridegroom's health.

Thy. This to the Gods for this most joyful day.Now to the Bridegroom's health.

Atr. This day shall be

To Argos an eternal festival.

Thy. Fortune and I to-day both try our strengths.

I have quite tired her left-hand Misery;

She now relieves it with her right-hand Joy,

Which she lays on me with her utmost force;

But both shall be too weak for my strong spirit.

Atr. (aside). So, now my engines of delight have screw'd The monster to the top of arrogance;

And now he's ready for his deadly fall.

Thy. O these extremes of misery and joy

Measure the vast extent of a man's soul.

My spirit reaches Fortune's East and West.

A hint of the dreadful banquet which he meditates, at which the Sun is said to have turned away his horses.

[Six lines omitted.]

HEY FOR HONESTY. A COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1651]. BY THOMAS RANDOLPH [1605-1635]

To Plutus.

Did not Will Summers break his wind for thee?
And Shakespeare therefore writ his comedy?
All things acknowledge thy vast power divine,
Great God of Money, whose most powerful shine
Gives motion, life; day rises from thy sight,
Thy setting though at noon makes pitchy night.
Sole catholic cause of what we feel and see,
All in this all are but the effects of thee.

[Act i., Sc. 1.1]

Riches above Poverty; a syllogism.

-My major, That which is most noble, is most honorable.3 But Poverty is more noble. My minor I prove thus. Whose houses are most ancient, those are most noble. But Poverty's houses are most ancient; for some of them are so old, like Vicarage houses, they are every hour in danger of falling.

[Act ii., Sc. 5.] Stationer's Preface before the Play.

Reader, this is a pleasant Comedy, though some may judge it satirical, 'tis the more like Aristophanes, the father; besides, if it be biting, 'tis a biting age we live in; then biting for biting. Again, Tom Randal, the adopted son of Ben Jonson, being the Translator hereof, followed his father's steps. They both of them loved Sack, and harmless mirth, and here they shew it; and I, that know myself, am not averse from it neither. This I thought good to acquaint thee with. Farewell. Thine, F. J.a

THE EXAMPLE.

A TRAGI-COMEDY [PUBLISHED 1637: LICENSED 1634]. BY J. SHIRLEY

The humour of a wary Knight, who sleeps all day, and wakes all night, for security.-He calls up his Household at midnight.

Plot. Dormant, why Dormant, thou eternal sleeper!

Who would be troubled with these lethargies

About him? are you come, dreamer?

1 [Works, ed. Hazlitt, 1875, vol. ii., p. 397.]

8

* [Should be "preferable ".]

2[This is an interpolation.]

"["Dormant."]

4 [For further extracts from Randolph see pp. 582, 583.]

Dormant (entering). Would I were so happy.

There's less

noise in a steeple upon a Coronation-day. O sleep, sleep, tho' it were a dead one, would be comfortable. Your Worship might be pleased to let my fellow Old-rat watch as well as I.

Plot. Old-rat! that fellow is a drone.

Dorm. He has slept this half hour on the iron chest. Would I were in my grave to take a nap; death would do me a courtesy ; I should be at rest, and hear no noise of "Dormant."

Plot. Ha! what's the matter?

Dorm. Nothing but a yawn, Sir, I do all I can to keep myself waking.

Plot. "Tis done considerately. This heavy dullness

Is the disease of souls. Sleep in the night?

Dorm. Shall I wake my fellow Old-rat? he is refreshed.

(Exit.)

Plot. Do; but return you with him: I have business for both.
Dorm. To hear us join in opinion of what's a clock!
They talk of Endymion: now could I sleep three lives.
Plot. When other men measure the hours with sleep,
Careless of where they are and whom they trust,
Exposing their condition to danger

Of plots, I wake and wisely think prevention.
Night was not made to snore in; but so calm,
For our imaginations to be stirring

About the world; this subtle world, this world

Of plots and close conspiracy. There is

No faith in man nor woman.

Where's this Dormant?

Dorm. (re-entering with Old-rat). Here is the sleepy vermin.1

Old. It has been day this two hours.

Plot. Then 'tis time for me to go to bed.

Dorm. Would my hour were once come!

Plot. Keep out daylight, and set up a fresh taper.

Dorm. By that time we have dined, he will have slept out his first sleep.

Old. And after supper call for his breakfast.

Plot. You are sure 'tis morning?

Dorm. As sure as I am sleepy.

1[Eleven lines omitted.]

[Act i., Sc. 1.2]

2 [Shirley's Works, vol. iii. For other extracts from Shirley see note to page 393.]

LOVE'S DOMINION. A DRAMATIC PASTORAL [PUBLISHED 1654]. BY RICHARD FLECKNOE [DIED 1678?]1

Invocation to Silence.

Still-born Silence, thou that art

Floodgate of the deeper heart;

Offspring of a heavenly kind;

Frost o' th' mouth and thaw o' th' mind;
Secrecy's Confident, and he

That makes religion Mystery;
Admiration's speaking'st tongue,—
Leave thy desart shades, among
Reverend Hermits' hallowed cells,
Where retir'd'st Devotion dwells:
With thy Enthusiasms come;

Seize this Maid, and strike her dumb.

Fable.

[Act ii., Sc. 6.2]

Love and Death o' th' way once meeting,
Having past a friendly greeting,

Sleep their weary eye-lids closing,

Lay them down, themselves reposing;
When this fortune did befall 'em,
Which after did so much appal 'em ;
Love, whom divers cares molested,
Could not sleep; but, whilst Death rested,
All away in haste he posts him:
But his haste full dearly costs him;
For it chanced, that, going to sleeping,
Both had giv'n their darts in keeping
Unto Night; who (Error's Mother)
Blindly knowing not th' one from th' other,
Gave Love Death's, and ne'er perceiv'd it,
Whilst as blindly Love receiv'd it:
Since which time, the darts confounding,
Love now kills, instead of wounding;
Death, our hearts with sweetness filling,
Gently wounds, instead of killing.

[Act iv., Sc. 4.]

[Also entitled "Love's Kingdom, A Pastoral Tragi-comedy," see ed. of 1674.]

2 [Edition of 1654.]