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(Not usual to stern eyes) and she besought
Her husband to bestow on her that prize,
With safeguard of her body at her will.
The captain seeing his wife, the child, the nymph,
All crying to him in this piteous sort,
Felt his rough nature shaken too, and grants
His wife's request, and seals his grant with tears;
And so they wept all four for company:
And some beholders stood not with dry eyes;
Such passion wrought the passion of their prize. 10
Never was there pardon, that did take
Condemned from the block more joyful than
This grant to her. For all her misery
Seem'd nothing to the comfort she receiv'd,
By being thus saved from impurity:
And from the woman's feet she would not part,
Nor trust her hand to be without some hold
Of her, or of the child, so long as she remain'd
Within the ship, which in few days arrives
At Alexandria, whence these pirates were;
And there this woeful maid for two years' space
Did serve, and truly serve this captain's wife,
(Who would not lose the benefit of her
Attendance, for her profit otherwise,)
But daring not in such a place as that
To trust herself in woman's habit, crav'd
That she might be apparel'd like a boy;
And so she was, and as a boy she served.
At two years' end her mistress sends her forth
Unto the port for some commodities,
Which whilst she sought for, going up and down,
She heard some merchantmen of Corinth talk,
Who spake that language the Arcadians did,
And were next neighbours of one continent.
To them, all rapt with passion, down she kneels,
Tells them she was a poor distressed boy,
Born in Arcadia, and by pirates took,
And made a slave in Egypt; and besought
Them, as they fathers were of children, or
Did hold their native country dear, they would
Take pity on her, and relieve her youth
From that sad servitude wherein she liv'd:
For which she hoped that she had friends alive
Would thank them one day, and reward them too;
If not, yet that she knew the heav is would do.
The merchants moved with pity of her case,
Being ready to depart, took her with them,
And landed her upon her country coast:
Where when she found herself, she prostrate falls,
Kisses the ground, thanks gives unto the gods,
Thanks them who had been her deliverers.
And on she trudges through the desert woods,
Climbs over craggy rocks, and mountains steep,
Wades thorough rivers, struggles thorough bogs,
Sustained only by the force of love;
Until she came unto the native plains,
Unto the fields where first she drew her breath.
There she lifts up her eyes, salutes the air,
Salutes the trees, the bushes, flow'rs and all:
And, "Oh, dear Sirthis, here I am," said she,
"Here, notwithstanding all my miseries,
"I am the same I was to thee; a pure,
"A chaste, and spotless maid."
THE CASE IS ALTERED: A COMEDY.
BY BEN JONSON.
The present Humour to be followed.
AURELIA, PHOENIXELLA, Sisters: their Mother being lately dead.
Aur. Room for a case of matrons, colour'd black: How motherly my mother's death hath made us ! I would I had some girls now to bring up; Oh I could make a wench so virtuous,
She should say grace to every bit of meat,
And gape no wider than a wafer's thickness;
And she should make French court'sies so most low
That every touch should turn her over backward.
Phan. Sister, these words become not your attire, Nor your estate; our virtuous mother's death Should print more deep effects of sorrow in us, Than may be worn out in so little time.
Aur. Sister, i' faith you take too much tobacco, It makes you black within as you 're without. What, true-stitch sister, both your sides alike! Be of a slighter work; for, of my word, You shall be sold as dear, or rather dearer. Will you be bound to customs and to rites? Shed profitable tears, weep for advantage, Or else do all things as you are inclined? Eat when your stomach serves, saith the physician, Not at eleven and six. So, if your humour Be now affected with this heaviness,
Give it the reins, and spare not; as I do
In this my pleasurable appetite.
It is Precisianism to alter that,
With austere judgment, that is giv'n by nature.
I wept (you saw) too, when my mother died;
For then I found it easier to do so,
And fitter with my mood, than not to weep:
But now 'tis otherwise. Another time
Perhaps I shall have such deep thoughts of her,
That I shall weep afresh some twelvemonth hence;
And I will weep, if I be so disposed,
And put on black as grimly then as now.-
Let the mind go still with the body's stature :
Judgment is fit for judges; give me nature.
Presentiment of treachery, vanishing at the sight of the person suspected.
Lord PAULO FARNEZE. (Speaking to himself of ANGELO.)
-My thoughts cannot propose a reason
Why I should fear or faint thus in my hopes
Of one so much endeared to my love:
Some spark it is, kindled within the soul,
Whose light yet breaks not to the outward sense, 30
That propagates this timorous suspect.
His actions never carried any face
Of change, or weakness; then I injure him,
In being thus cold-conceited of his faith.
O here he comes. [While he speaks ANGELO enters.
Angelo. How now, sweet Lord, what's the matter!
Paul. Good faith, his presence makes me half
Of my stray'd thoughts.
JAQUES (a Miser) worships his Gold.
Jaq. "Tis not to be told
What servile villainies men will do for gold.
Oh, it began to have a huge strong smell,
With lying so long together in a place :
I'll give it vent, it shall have shift enough;
And if the devil, that envies all goodness,
Have told them of my gold, and where I kept it,
I'll set his burning nose once more a work
To smell where I removed it. Here it is;
I'll hide and cover it with this horse-dung.
Who will suppose that such a precious nest
Is crown'd with such a dunghill excrement?
In, my dear life, sleep sweetly, my dear child,
Scarce lawfully begotten, but yet gotten,
And that's enough. Rot all hands that come near
Except mine own. Burn out all eyes that see thee,
Except mine own. All thoughts of thee be poison
To their enamour'd hearts, except mine own.
I'll take no leave, sweet prince, great emperor,
But see thee every minute: king of kings,
I'll not be rude to thee, and turn my back
In going from thee, but go backward out,
With my face toward thee, with humble courtesies.
[The passion for wealth has worn out much of its grossness by tract of time. Our ancestors certainly conceived of money as able to confer a distinct gratification in itself, not alone considered simply as a symbol of wealth. The oldest poets, when they introduce a miser, constantly make him address his gold as his mistress; as something to be seen, felt, and hugged; as capable of satisfying two of the senses at least. The substitution of a thin unsatisfying medium for the good old tangible gold, has made avarice quite a Platonic affection in comparison with the seeing, touching, and handling pleasures of the old Chrysophilites. A bank note can no more satisfy the touch of a true sensualist in this passion, than Creusa could return her husband's embrace in the shades.-See the Cave of Mammon in Spenser; Barabas's contemplation of his wealth, in the Jew of Malta; Luke's raptures in the City Madam, &c. Above all, hear Guzman, in that excellent old Spanish Novel, The Rogue, expatiate on the "ruddy cheeks of
your golden Ruddocks, your Spanish Pistolets, your plump and full-faced Portuguese, and your clear-skinn'd pieces of eight of Castile," which he and his fellows the beggars kept secret to themselves, and did "privately enjoy in a plentiful manner. "For to have them, for to pay them away, is not to enjoy them; to enjoy them is to have them lying by us, having no other need of them than to use them for the clearing of the eye-sight, and the comforting of our senses. These we did carry about with us, sewing them in some patches of our doublets near unto the heart, and as close to the skin as we could handsomely quilt them in, holding them to be restorative."]
POETASTER; OR, HIS ARRAIGNMENT:
A COMICAL SATYR.
BY THE SAME.
OVID bewails his hard condition in being banished from Court and the Society of the PRINCESS JULIA. OVID.
Banish'd the court? let me be banish'd life,
Since the chief end of life is there concluded.
Within the court is all the kingdom bounded;
And as her sacred sphere doth comprehend
Ten thousand times so much, as so much place
In any part of all the empire else,
So every body, moving in her sphere,
Contains ten thousand times as much in him,
As any other her choice orb excludes.
As in a circle a magician, then,
Is safe against the spirit he excites,
But out of it is subject to his rage,
And loseth all the virtue of his art,
So I, exil'd the circle of the court,
Lose all the good gifts that in it I joy'd.
No virtue current is, but with her stamp,
And no vice vicious, blanch'd with her white hand.
The court's the abstract of all Rome's desert,
And my dear Julia th' abstract of th' court.
Methinks, now I come near her, I respire