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And reads but some part of it only, cannot judge
What praise the whole deserves, because his knowledge
Is grounded but on part-as thine, friend, is,

Ignorant of that black mischief I have done thee. (aside.

[Exeunt.

Albert, after the marriage of Carracus, struck with remorse for the injury he has done to his friend, knocks at Carracus's door, but cannot summon resolution to see him, or to do more than enquire after his welfare.

Alb. Conscience, thou horror unto wicked men,
When wilt thou cease thy all-afflicting wrath,
And set my soul free from the labyrinth
Of thy tormenting terror? O but it fits not !
Should I desire redress, or wish for comfort,
That have committed an act so inhuman,
Able to fill Shame's spacious chronicle?

Who but a damn'd one could have done like me?
Robb'd my
dear friend in a short moment's time
Of his love's high-priz'd gem of chastity:
That which so many years himself hath staid for.
How often hath he, as he lay in bed,
Sweetly discours'd to me of his Maria!

And with what pleasing passions did he suffer
Love's gentle war-siege: then he would relate
How he first came unto her fair eyes' view;
How long it was e'er she could brook affection;
And then how constant she did still abide.
I then at this would joy, as if my breast
Had sympathiz'd in equal happiness

With my true friend, but now, when joy should be,
Who but a damn'd one would have done like me?

He hath been married now at least a month;

In all which time I have not once beheld him.
This is his house.

I'll call to know his health, but will not see him;

My looks would then betray me, for, should he ask
My cause of seeming sadness or the like,

I could not but reveal, and so pour on
Worse unto ill, which breeds confusion.

A Servant opens.

Alb. Is the master of the house within?

[He knocks.

Serv. Yes, marry, is he, sir: would you speak with

him?

Alb. My business is not so troublesome : Is he in health with his late espoused wife? Serv. Both are exceeding well, sir.

Alb. I am truly glad on't: farewell, good friend. Serv. I pray you, let's crave your name, sir; I may else have anger.

Alb. You may say, one Albert, riding by this way, only inquired their health..

Serv. I will acquaint so much.

[Exit serv.

Alb. How like a poisonous doctor have I come
To enquire their welfare, knowing that myself
Have giv'n the potion of their ne'er-recovery;
For which I will afflict myself with torture ever.
And since the earth yields not a remedy
Able to salve the sores my lust hath made,
I'll now take farewell of society,

And the abode of men, to entertain a life
Fitting my fellowship in desart woods,

Where beasts like me consort; there may I live,

Far off from wronging virtuous Carracus.

There's no Maria, that shall satisfy

My hateful lust: the trees shall shelter

This wretched trunk of mine, upon whose barks
I will
engrave the story of my sin.

And there this short breath of mortality
I'll finish up in that repentant state,

Where not the allurements of earth's vanities
Can e'er o'ertake me: there's no baits for lust,
No friend to ruin; I shall then be free
From practising the art of treachery.

Thither then, steps, where such content abides,
Where penitency not disturb'd may grieve,
Where on each tree and springing plant I'll carve
This heavy motto of my misery,

Who but a damn'd one could have done like me?

LINGUA; A COMEDY BY ANTHONY BREWER.

Languages.

The ancient Hebrew, clad with mysteries;
The learned Greek, rich in fit epithets,
Blest in the lovely marriage of pure words;
The Chaldee wise, the Arabian physical,
The Roman eloquent, and Tuscan grave,

The braving Spanish, and the smooth-tongued French-
Tragedy and Comedy.

-fellows both, both twins, but so unlike

As birth to death, wedding to funeral:

For this that rears himself in buskins quaint,
Is pleasant at the first, proud in the midst,

Stately in all, and bitter death at end.

That in the pumps doth frown at first acquaintance,
Trouble the midst, but in the end concludes

Closing up all with a sweet catastrophe.

This grave and sad, distain'd with brinish tears:

That light and quick, with wrinkled laughter painted:
This deals with nobles, kings, and emperors,

Full of great fears, great hopes, great enterprizes;
This other trades with men of mean condition,
His projects small, small hopes, and dangers little :
This gorgeous, broider'd with rich sentences;
That fair, and purfled round with merriments.
Both vice detect, and virtue beautify,

By being death's mirror, and life's looking-glass.

THE TRAGEDY OF NERO. AUTHOR UNCERTAIN.

Scenical Personation.

'Tis better in a play

Be Agamemnon, than himself indeed.
How oft, with danger of the field beset,
Or with home-mutinies, would he un-be
Himself; or, over cruel altars weeping,
Wish, that with putting off a vizard he
Might his true inward sorrow lay aside!

The shows of things are better than themselves,
How doth it stir this airy part of us

To hear our poets tell imagin'd fights
And the strange blows that feigned courage gives.
When I Achilles hear upon the Stage
Speak honour and the greatness of his soul,
Methinks I too could on a Phrygian spear
Run boldly, and make tales for after times:
But when we come to act it in the deed,
Death mars this bravery, and the ugly fears
Of th' other world sit on the proudest brow:
And boasting valour loseth his red cheek.

THE MERRY DEVIL OF EDMONTON.
AUTHOR UNCERTAIN".

Millisent the fair daughter of Clare was betrothed, with the consent of her parents, to Raymond, son of Mounchensey; but the elder Mounchensey being since fallen in his fortunes, Clare revokes his consent, and plots a marriage for his daughter with the rich heir of Jerningkam. Peter Fabel, a good magician, who had been Tutor to young Raymond Mounchensey at College, determines by the aid of his art to assist his pupil in obtaining fair Millisent.

PETER FABEL, solus.

Fab. Good old Mounchensey, is thy hap so ill,
That for thy bounty, and thy royal parts,
Thy kind alliance should be held in scorn;
And after all these promises by Clare,
Refuse to give his daughter to thy son,
Only because thy revenues cannot reach
To make her dowage of so rich a jointure,
As can the heir of wealthy Jerningham?
And therefore is the false fox now in hand
To strike a match betwixt her and the other,
And the old grey-beards now are close together,
Plotting in the garden. Is it even so?
Raymond Mounchensey, boy, have thou and I
Thus long at Cambridge read the liberal arts,
The metaphysics, magic, and those parts
Of the most secret deep philosophy?

Have I so many melancholy nights

Watch'd on the the top of Peter House highest tower? And come we back unto our native home,

It has been ascribed without much proof to Shakspeare, and

to Michael Drayton.

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