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Por. And is it thus? and doth he so prepare Against his brother as his mortal foe? And now, while yet his aged father lives, Neither regards he him, nor fears he me? War would he have? and he shall have it so. Tyn. I saw myself the great prepared store Of horse, of armour, and of weapons there.

The rascal numbers of unskilful sort Are filled with monstrous tales of you and yours.

In secret, I was counsell'd by my friends
To haste me thence, and brought you, as you
know,

Letters from those that both can truly tell,
And would not write unless they knew it well.
Phil. My lord, yet ere you move unkindly
war,

Send to your brother, to demand the cause.
Perhaps some traitorous tales have filled his

ears

With false reports against your noble grace; Which, once disclos'd, shall end the growing strife,

That else, not stay'd with wise foresight in time,

Shall hazard both your kingdoms and your lives.

Send to your father eke, he shall appease
Your kindled minds, and rid you of this fear.
Por. Rid me of fear! I fear him not at all;
Nor will to him, nor to my father send.
If danger were for one to tarry there,

Think ye it safety to return again?

In mischiefs, such as Ferrex now intends,
The wonted courteous laws to messengers
Are not observ'd, which in just war they use.
Shall I so hazard any one of mine?
Shall I betray my trusty friends to him,
That have disclosed his treason unto me?
Let him entreat that fears; I fear him not.
Or shall I to the king, my father, send?
Yea, and send now, while such a mother lives,
That loves my brother, and that hateth me?
Shall I give leisure, by my fond delays,
To Ferrex to oppress me all unaware?
I will not; but I will invade his realm,
And seek the traitor prince within his court.
Mischief for mischief is a due reward.
His wretched head shall pay the worthy price
Of this his treason and his hate to me.
Shall I abide, and treat, and send, and pray,
And hold my yielding throat to traitor's knife,
While I, with valiant mind and conquering
force,

Might rid myself of foes, and win a realm?
Yet rather, when I have the wretch's head,
Then to the king, my father, will I send.
The bootless case may yet appease his wrath:
If not, I will defend me as I may.

[Exeunt PORREX and TYNDAR. Phil. Lo, here the end of these two youthful kings!

The father's death! the ruin of their realms!

But I will to the king, their father, haste,"
Ere this mischief come to the likely end.

ACT III.-SCENE I.

GORBODUC; EUBULUS; AROSTUS.

Gor. O cruel fates, O mindful wrath of gods, Whose vengeance neither Simois' stained

streams

Flowing with blood of Trojan princes slain, Nor Phrygian fields made rank with corpses dead

Of Asian kings and lords, can yet appease;
Nor slaughter of unhappy Priam's race,
Nor Ilion's fall, made level with the soil,
Can yet suffice: but still continued rage
Pursues our lives, and from the farthest seas
Doth chase the issues of destroyed Troy.
'Oh, no man happy till his end be seen.'
If any flowing wealth and seeming joy
In present years might make a happy wight,
Happy was Hecuba, the wofull'st wretch
That ever lived to make a mirror of;
And happy Priam, with his noble sons;
And happy I, till now, alas! I see
And feel my most unhappy wretchedness..
Behold, my lords, read ye this letter here;
Lo, it contains the ruin of our realm,
If timely speed provide not hasty help.

A letter is read from Eubulus making known the resolution taken by Ferrex, immediately after which Philander enters and announces that Porrex

In haste prepareth to invade

His brother's land, and with unkindly war
Threatens the murder of your eldest son.

After some tedious speechifying, a messenger enters and tells the king,

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Why should I live, and linger forth my time
In longer life to double my distress?

But whereunto waste I this ruthful speech,
To thee that hast thy brother's blood thus
shed?

Shall I still think that from this womb thou sprung?

That I thee bare? or take thee for my son?
No, traitor, no; I thee refuse for mine:
Murderer, I thee renounce; thou art not mine.
Never, O wretch, this womb conceived thee;
Nor never bode I painful throes for thee.
Changeling to me thou art, and not my child,
Nor to no wight that spark of pity knew.
Ruthless, unkind, monster of nature's work,
Thou never suck'd the milk of woman's breast;
But, from thy birth, the cruel tiger's teats
Have nursed thee; nor yet of flesh and blood
Form'd is thy heart, but of hard iron wrought;
And wild and desert woods breed thee to life.
But canst thou hope to 'scape my just revenge?
Or that these hands will not be wroke1 on thee?
Dost thou not know that Ferrex' mother lives,
That loved him more dearly than herself?
And doth she live, and is not 'venged on thee?

ACT IV.-SCENE II.

GORBODUC; AROSTUS.

Gor. We marvel much, whereto this ling'ring stay

Falls out so long...

Aros. Lo, where he comes, and Eubulus with him.

Enter ErBULUS and PORREX.

Eub. According to your highness's hest to me, Here have I Porrex brought, even in such sort As from his wearied horse he did alight, For that your grace did will such haste therein. Gor. We like and praise this speedy will in you,

To work the thing that to your charge we gave.

Porrex, if we so far should swerve from kind, And from those bounds which law of nature sets,

As thou hast done by vile and wretched deed, In cruel murder of thy brother's life;

Our present hand could stay no longer time, But straight should bathe this blade in blood of thee,

As just revenge of thy detested crime.
No; we should not offend the law of kind,
If now this sword of ours did slay thee here:
For thou hast murder'd him, whose heinous
death

Even nature's force doth move us to revenge
By blood again; and justice forceth us
To measure death for death, thy due desert.
Yet since thou art our child, and since as yet
In this hard case what word thou canst allege
For thy defence, by us hath not been heard,
We are content to stay our will for that
Which justice bids us presently to work,
And give thee leave to use thy speech at full,
If ought thou have to lay for thine excuse.

Porrex then, in a long speech, endeavours to exculpate himself by urging that what he had done was purely in self-defence.

Gor. Oh cruel wight, should any cause prevail To make thee stain thy hands with brother's blood?

But what of thee we will resolve to do
Shall yet remain unknown. Thou in the mean
Shalt from our royal presence banish'd be,
Until our princely pleasure further shall
To thee be show'd. Depart therefore our sight,
Accursed child! [Exit PORREX.] What cruel
destiny,

What froward fate hath sorted us this chance, That even in those, where we should comfort find,

Where our delight now in our aged days
Should rest and be, even there our only grief
And deepest sorrows to abridge our life,
Most pining cares and deadly thoughts do grow.
Aros. Your grace shall now, in these grave
years of yours,

Have found ere this the price of mortal joys;
How short they be, how fading here in earth,
How full of change, how brittle our estate,
Of nothing sure, save only of the death,
To whom both man and all the world doth owe
Their end at last; neither shall nature's power
In other sort against your heart prevail,

1 wroke-wreak'd, revenged.

Than as the naked hand whose stroke essays
The armed breast where force doth light in vain.
Gor. Many can yield right sage and grave
advice

Of patient spirit to others wrapp'd in woe,
And can in speech both rule and conquer kind;
Who, if by proof they might feel nature's force,
Would show themselves men as they are indeed,
Which now will needs be gods. But what doth

mean

The sorry cheer of her that here doth come?

Enter MARCELLA.

Mar. Oh where is ruth? or where is pity now? Whither is gentle heart and mercy fled? Are they exil'd out of our stony breasts, Never to make return? is all the world Drowned in blood, and sunk in cruelty? If not in women mercy may be found, If not, alas, within the mother's breast, To her own child, to her own flesh and blood; If ruth be banish'd thence, if pity there May have no place, if there no gentle heart Do live and dwell, where should we seek it then? Gor. Madam, alas, what means your woful tale?

2 sorted-allotted.

lvi

ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF THE BRITISH DRAMA.

Mar. O silly woman I! why to this hour Have kind and fortune thus deferr'd my breath, That I should live to see this doleful day? Will ever wight believe that such hard heart Could rest within the cruel mother's breast, With her own hand to slay her only son? But out, alas! these eyes beheld the same: They saw the dreary sight, and are become Most ruthful records of the bloody fact., Porrex, alas, is by his mother slain, And with her hand, a woful thing to tell, While slumbering on his careful bed he rests, His heart stabb'd in with knife is reft of life.

Gor. O Eubulus, oh draw this sword of ours, And pierce this heart with speed! O hateful light,

O loathsome life, O sweet and welcome death!
Dear Eubulus, work this we thee beseech!
Eub. Patience, your grace; perhaps he liveth
yet,

With wound receiv'd, but not of certain death.
Gor. Oh let us then repair unto the place,
And see if Porrex live, or thus be slain.

[Exeunt GORBODUC and EUBULUS. Mar. Alas, he liveth not! it is too true, That with these eyes, of him a peerless prince, Son to a king, and in the flower of youth, Even with a twink a senseless stock I saw. Aros. Oh damned deed!

Mar. But hear this ruthful end:
The noble prince, pierc'd with the sudden wound,
Out of his wretched slumber hastily start,
Whose strength now failing straight he over-
threw,

When in the fall his eyes, e'en new unclos'd,
Beheld the queen, and cried to her for help.
We then, alas, the ladies which that time
Did there attend, seeing that heinous deed,
And hearing him oft call the wretched name
Of mother, and to cry to her for aid,
Whose direful hand gave him the mortal wound,
Pitying, alas (for nought else could we do),
His ruthful end, ran to the woful bed,
Dispoiled straight his breast, and all we might
Wiped in vain, with napkins next at hand,
The sudden streams of blood that flushed fast
Out of the gaping wound. Oh what a look!
Oh what a ruthful steadfast eye methought
He fixed upon my face, which to my death
Will never part from me, when with a braid1
A deep-fetched sigh he gave, and therewithal
Clasping his hands, to heaven he cast his sight,

And straight pale death pressing within his face, The flying ghost his mortal corpse forsook!

Aros. Never did age bring forth so vile a fact. Mar. Oh hard and cruel hap, that thus assigned

Unto so worthy a wight so wretched end;
But most hard cruel heart, that could consent
To lend the hateful destinies that hand,
By which, alas, so heinous crime was wrought.
O queen of adamant, O marble breast,
If not the favour of his comely face,
If not his princely cheer? and countenance,
His valiant active arms, his manly breast,
If not his fair and seemly personage,
His noble limbs in such proportion cast
As would have wrapt a silly woman's thought;
If this might not have moved thy bloody heart,
And that most cruel hand the wretched weapon
Even to let fall, and kissed him in the face,
With tears for ruth to reave such one by death;
Should nature yet consent to slay her son?
Oh mother, thou to murder thus thy child!'...
Ah, noble prince, how oft have I beheld
Thee mounted on thy fierce and trampling steed,
Shining in armour bright before the tilt,
And with thy mistress' sleeve tied on thy helm,
And charge thy staff to please thy lady's eye,
That bowed the headpiece of thy friendly foe!
How oft in arms on horse to bend the mace,
How oft in arms on foot to break the sword,
Which never now these eyes may see again!

Aros. Madam, alas, in vain these plaints are shed;

Rather with me depart, and help to swage
The thoughtful griefs that in the aged king
Must needs by nature grow by death of this
His only son, whom he did hold so dear.

Mar. What wight is that which saw that I did see,

And could refrain to wail with plaint and tears?

Not I, alas, that heart is not in me:
But let us go, for I am grieved anew,
To call to mind the wretched father's woe.
[Exeunt.

Chorus.

Oh happy wight, that suffers not the snare
Of murderous mind to tangle him in blood!
And happy he that can in time beware
By other's harms, and turn it to his good.
But woe to him that, fearing not to offend,
Doth serve his lust, and will not see the end.

The fifth act concludes with the following couplet, Tennysonian in style and sentiment:

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JOHN LILLY.

[JOHN LILLY OF LYLY, probably the earliest regular dramatist after Lord Buckhurst, was born in Kent about 1553. He became a student of Magdalen College, Oxford, in 1569; took his degree of Bachelor of Arts in 1573, and his Master's degree in 1575. According to Anthony á Wood, he appears not to have been a very hard student, but always averse to the crabbed studies of logic and philosophy.' There is extant among the Lansdowne manuscripts a letter, in very good Latin, dated 1574, written by Lilly to Lord Burghley, desiring his Lordship's patronage and assistance; with what result is not known. Burghley, however, seems afterwards to have conferred upon him some office connected with his own household. From two letters extant, written by Lilly to Queen Elizabeth, it is inferred that he was a candidate for the office of Master of the Revels, probably with no success. After leaving college, he appears to have spent most of his time in London, supporting himself by his pen. When he died is unknown, probably somewhere about the beginning of the seventeenth century. Mr. Fairholt, editor of Lilly's dramatic works, infers from certain allusions in a work of Nash's, that our author was a little man, was married, and fond of tobacco.' The works by which Lilly is now best known are his two prose works, entitled Euphues; or, the Anatomy of Wit, and Euphues and his England, which gave rise to the term and the affected style of writing known as Euphuism. However tedious and trifling these works may appear to modern readers, there can be no doubt that Lilly's contemporaries admired and imitated them to an incredible extent. Euphuism became the rage, even Shakspeare being smitten by the fever. Blount, the editor of an edition of his plays published in 1632, says 'that beauty in court which could not parley Euphuisme, was as little regarded as she which now there speaks not French;' and Anthony á Wood tells us that 'in these books of Euphues, 'tis said that our nation is indebted for a new English in them, which the flower of the youth thereof learned.' By most of his contemporaries he seems to have been held in great estimation. The chief characteristic of his style,' says Mr. Collier, besides its smoothness, is the employment of a species of fabulous or unnatural natural philosophy, in which the existence of certain animals, vegetables, and minerals with peculiar properties is presumed, in order to afford similes and illustrations.' As far as the dramatic style allows, Lilly's dramas are to a great extent disfigured by this painfully unnatural fine writing, although there is comparatively little of it in the work we have selected. Campaspe, or Alexander and Campaspe, as it is sometimes entitled, has some claim to be considered a historical play, in that the dramatis persona are mostly historical characters. The incident on which the play is founded is mentioned by Pliny; and the plot, though slight, is, on the whole, well wrought out by the author. Although the scene is laid in Athens, in the time of Alexander the Great, the persons of the drama are, in character and manners, Englishmen of Lilly's own time. It is one of the best and most interesting of the author's plays, some of the characters, such as Diogenes and his servant Manes, being drawn with considerable force and distinctness; and the wit is sometimes clever, amusing, and original. Hazlitt says of it: This play is a very pleasing transcript of old manners and sentiment. It is full of sweetness, and point, of Attic salt and the honey of Hymettus.' Although, when compared with many of his contemporaries, Lilly cannot be ranked very high as a dramatist, still he affords a not unpalatable foretaste of the rich feast of wit and wisdom which immediately followed. As we learn from the pro

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logues and epilogues, this play was written in haste, for representation at court, after which it made its appearance at Blackfriars theatre.

Besides Campaspe, first printed in 1584, Lilly wrote the following dramas :-Sapho and Phaq (1584); Endymion (1591); Galathea (1592); Midas (1592); Mother Bombie (1594); The Maid's Metamorphosis (1600); Love's Metamorphosis (1601). It is doubtful whether Lilly was the author of the last two.]

CAMPASPE:

PLAYED BEFORE THE QUEEN'S MAJESTY ON NEW YEAR'S DAY, AT NIGHT, BY HER MAJESTY'S CHILDREN, AND THE CHILDREN OF ST. PAUL'S.

Imprinted at London for Thomas Cadman, 1584.

THE PROLOGUE AT THE BLACK

FRIARS.

THEY that fear the stinging of wasps make fans of peacocks' tails, whose spots are like eyes; and Lepidus, which could not sleep for the chattering of birds, set up a beast, whose head was like a dragon; and we, which stand in awe of report, are compelled to set before our owl Pallas's shield, thinking by her virtue to cover the other's deformity. It was a sign of famine to Egypt when Nylus flowed less than twelve cubits, or more than eighteen; and it may threaten despair unto us, if we be less courteous than you look for, or more cumbersome. But as Theseus, being promised to be brought to an eagle's nest, and travelling all the day, found but a wren in a hedge, yet said, This is a bird; so we hope, if the shower of our swelling mountain seem to bring forth some elephant, perform but a mouse, you will gently say, This is a beast! Basil softly touched yieldeth a sweet scent, but chafed in the hand, a rank savour. We fear, even so, that our labours, slily' glanced on, will breed some content, but examined to the proof, small commendation. The haste in performing shall be our excuse. There went two nights to the begetting of Hercules. Feathers appear not on the Phoenix under seven months, and the mulberry is twelve in budding; but our travails are like the hare's, who at one time bringeth forth, nourisheth, and engendereth again; or like the brood of Trochilus, whose eggs in the same moment that they are laid become birds. But howsoever we finish our work, we crave pardon if we offend in matter, and patience if we transgress in manners. We have mixed mirth with counsel, and discipline with

1 Slily glanced on-read superficially.

2 It was, as we have said, written in haste for performance at court.

But we

delight, thinking it not amiss in the same garden to sow pot-herbs that we set flowers. hope, as harts that cast their horns, snakes their skins, eagles their bills, become more fresh for any other labour; so our charge being shaken off, we shall be fit for greater matters. But lest, like the Myndians, we make our gates greater than our towns, and that our play runs out at the preface, we here conclude, wishing that although there be in your precise judgments an universal mislike, yet we may enjoy by your wonted courtesies a general silence.

THE PROLOGUE AT THE COURT. WE are ashamed that our bird, which fluttereth by twilight, seeming a swan, should be proved a bat set against the sun. But as Jupiter placed Silenus's ass among the stars, and Alcibiades covered his pictures, being owls and apes, with a curtain embroidered with lions and eagles, so are we enforced upon a rough discourse to draw on a smooth excuse, resembling lapidaries, who think to hide the crack in a stone by setting it deep in gold. The gods supped once with poor Baucis, the Persian kings sometimes shaved sticks: our hope is your Highness will at this time lend an ear to an idle pastime. Appion, raising Homer from hell, demanded only who was his father; and we, calling Alexander from his grave, seek only who was his love. Whatsoever we present, we wish it may be thought the dancing of Agrippa his shadows, who, in the moment they were seen, were of any shape one would conceive; or Lynces, who having a quick sight to discern, have a short memory to forget. With us it is like to fare as with these torches which, giving light to others, consume themselves; and we, showing delight to others, shame ourselves.

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