THE BRAZEN AGE. AN HISTORICAL PLAY [PUBLISHED 1613]. BY THOMAS HEYWOOD Venus courts Adonis. Ven. Why doth Adonis fly the Queen of Love, To be thus scarf'd the dreadful God of War My beauty that charms Gods, makes Men amaz'd With my white fingers will I clap thy cheek; Adon. Madam, you are not modest. I affect Would make your cheek seem much more beautiful.1 I have heat to melt thee; I am Queen of Love. Of which I am not mistress, and can use. I have kisses than [that] can murder unkind words, Men covet not These proffer'd pleasures, but love sweets denied. Where's fear, or doubt, men sue with best good will. 1[Four lines and a half omitted.] 2[Four lines.] I'll sleep this night upon Endymion's bank, [Act ii., Sc. 2, p. 186.1] Phoebus jeers Vulcan. Vul. Good morrow, Phoebus; what's the news abroad?— Phob. Sometime I cast my eye upon the sea, With my warm fervour to give metals, trees, Yonder the laboring Plowman drives his team. Here spy I cattle feeding; forests there Stored with wild beasts; here shepherds with their lasses, In cities I see trading, walking, bargaining, Buying and selling, goodness, badness, all things— Vul. Thrice happy Phoebus, That, whilst poor Vulcan is confin'd to Lemnos, I see all coronations, funerals, Marts, fairs, assemblies, pageants, sights and shows. Than they that rouse the game. What see I not? And, shall I tell thee, Vulcan, t'other day Vul. God Mars Phob. As I was peeping through a cranny, abed Vul. Abed with whom?-some pretty Wench, I warrant. 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 ? 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 Jas. Woman, we know thee not: Th' Erimanthian bear, the bull of Marathon, That Cacus slew, Busiris sacrificed, 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, Pol. That Hercules by whom the Centaurs fell, And the Cremona giants: where is he? Tel. That trait'rous Nessus with a shaft transfixt, Jas. He that the Amazonian baldrick won; Atr. To him we came; but, since he lives not here, Her. Stay, Lords Jas. 'Mongst women ?— Her. For that Theban's sake, Whom you profess to love, and came to seek, Tel. It works, it works Her. How have I lost myself! Did we all this? Where is that spirit become, That thou be'st strange to them, that thus disguised 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? [The next six lines not given by Pearson.] 2[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 So she, redoubling her former force, Ranged through the woods, and rent the breeding vaults [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 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 1 [Peele's Works, ed. Bullen, vol. i. For other extracts from Peele see note on p. 13.] |