Leaving mortal company, In the cool streams shalt thou lie, I will give thee for thy food, But trout and pike that love to swim Through the pure streams may be seen. Will I give thy love to win, But when thou wilt, come sliding by, Do not fear to put thy feet Think not leach, or newt, or toad, Will bite thy foot, when thou hast trod; Nor let the water rising high, As thou wadest in, make thee cry And sob, but ever live with me, And not a wave shall trouble thee. Amo. Immortal power, that rulest this holy flood; By thee, a god: for ere this, but for thee, River God. May he prove to thee as true. [Sings. Fairest virgin, now adieu, I must make my waters fly, Lest they leave their channels dry, Two white lambs of three weeks old For which this year they shall be free Amo. For thy kindness to me shown, Cross thy streams to stop thy course: To wash their hemp, and spoil the fry. River God. Thanks, virgin, I must down again, Thy wound will put thee to no pain: Wonder not so soon 'tis gone; A holy hand was laid upon. [If all the parts of this Play had been in unison with these innocent scenes, and sweet lyric intermixtures, it had been a Poem fit to vie with Comus or the Arcadia, to have been put into the hands of boys and virgins, to have made matter for young dreams, like the loves of Hermia and Lysander. But a spot is on the face of this moon.-Nothing short of infatuation could have driven Fletcher upon mixing up with this blessedness such an ugly deformity as Cloe: the wanton shepherdess! Coarse words do but wound the ears; but a character of lewdness affronts the mind. Female lewdness at once shocks nature and morality. If Cloe was meant to set off Clorin by contrast, Fletcher should have known that such weeds by juxta-position do not set off but kill sweet flowers.] THE FALSE ONE: A TRAGEDY. BY JOHN FLETCHER. Ptolomy, King of Egypt, presents to Cæsar the head of Pompey. Cæsar rebukes the Egyptians for their treachery and ingratitude. CESAR, ANTHONY, DOLLABELA, SCEVA, Romans; PTOLOMY, PHOTINUS, ACHILLAS, Egyptians. Pho. Hail, conqueror and head of all the world, Now this head's off. Cæs. Ha! Pho. Do not shun me, Cæsar. From kingly Ptolomy I bring this present, Thy travail and thy loss of blood no recompence ; Because 'tis easily got, it comes the safer. Friend to his father, and when he was expell'd Sce. Give me hate, gods. Pho. This Cæsar may account a little wicked; But yet remember, if thine own hands, conqueror, Had fall'n upon him, what it had been then ; If thine own sword had touch'd his throat, what that way: He was thy son-in-law, there to be tainted Had been most terrible : let the worst be render'd, We have deserv'd for keeping thy hands innocent. Cas. O Sceva, Sceva, see that head; see, captains, The head of godlike Pompey. Sce. He was basely ruin'd, But let the gods be griev'd that suffer'd it, And be you Cæsar. Cas. Oh thou conqueror, Thou glory of the world once, now the pity, Thou awe of nations, wherefore didst thou fall thus? Ant. O how brave these tears show! How excellent is sorrow in an enemy ! Dol. Glory appears not greater than this goodness. Cæs. Egyptians, dare you think your high pyramids, Built to outdure the sun as you suppose, Where your unworthy kings lie rak'd in ashes, Are monuments fit for him? No, brood of Nilus, But the eternal substance of his greatness: And with the body give it noble burial. Your earth shall now be bless'd to hold a Roman, Whose braveries all the world's earth cannot balance- And you that have been agents in this glory, For our especial favor? Ptol. We desire it. Cæs. And doubtless you expect rewards?— I forgive you all: that's recompence. You are young and ignorant; that pleads your pardon ; What to send you for a present, king of Egypt, I mean, a head of equal reputation, And that you lov'd, though it were your brightest sister's,* (But her you hate) I would not be behind ye. Ptol. Hear me, great Cæsar. Cæs. I have heard too much : And study not with smooth shows to invade My noble mind as you have done my conquest. That man that could not recompence the benefits, |