I know thou canst speak winningly, but thy words
Are not what nature meant them, thy mind's picture;
I'll believe now what represents it better,

Thine own hand, and the proof of mine own eyes.

Lucia. I know not what you mean; believe my tears.
Trum. They're idle empty bubbles,

Rais'd by the agitation of thy passions,

And hollow as thy heart; there is no weight in 'em.
Go thou, once Lucia; farewell,

Thou that wert dearer to me once than all
The outward things of all the world beside,
Or my own soul within me, farewell for ever!
Go to thine husband, and love him better than
Thou didst thy lover.

I ne'er will see thee more, nor shall, I fear,
E'er see myself again.

Lucia. Hear me but once:

[Kneels.

Trum. No, 'tis enough; Heaven hear thee when thou kneel'st

to it.

[Exit.

Lucia. Will he? He's gone; now all the world has left me, [Rises. And I am desolately miserable.

'Tis done unkindly, most unkindly, Truman.

Had a blest angel come to me, and said

That thou wert false, I should have sworn it ly'd,

And thought that rather fall'n than thee.

Go, dear, false man! go seek out a new mistress;

But when you 've talk'd, and lov'd, and vow'd, and sworn
A little while, take heed of using her

As you do me. No, may your love to her
Be such as mine to you, which all thy injuries
Shall never change, nor death itself abolish.
May she be worthier of your bed than I,
And when the happy course of many years
Shall make you appear old to all but her,
May you in the fair glass of your fresh issue
See your own youth again! But I would have 'em
True in their loves, and kill no innocent maids.
For me it is no matter; when I'm dead,
My busy soul shall flutter still about him;
"Twill not be else in heaven; it shall watch
Over his sleeps, and drive away all dreams
That come not with a soft and downy wing;
If any dangers threaten, it shall beckon
And call his spirit away, till they be past,
And be more diligent than his guardian angel;
And when just Heaven, as I'm assur'd it will,
Shall clear my honour and my innocence,
He'll sigh, I know, and pity my misfortunes,
And blame himself, and curse my false accusers,
And weep upon my grave

For my wrong'd virtue, and mistaken truth,
And unjust death; I ask no more.

[Exit.'

And again. Young Truman has consented to marry Aurelia. "Enter TRUMAN, junior.

"Trum. jun. I must go through with it now;

I'll marry her,

And live with her according to the forms,

But I will never touch her as a woman.
She stays for me-Madam-

Aur.

Sir.

Trum. jun. I cannot out with it—Madam

Aur.

Trum. jun. Must we go marry, madam?
Aur. Our friends will have it so, it seems.

Sir

Trum. jun. Why will you marry me? What is there in me
That can deserve your liking? I shall be

The most untoward and ill-favour'd husband
That ever took a melting maid t' his bed;
The faculties of
my soul are all untuned,
And ev'ry glory of my springing youth
Is fallen into a strange and sudden winter.
You cannot love me, sure?

Aur.

Not to distraction, sir.

Trum. jun. No, nor I you; why should we marry then? It were a folly, were it not, Aurelia?

Aur. Why they say, 'tis the best marriage, when like is joined to like; now we shall make a very even match, for neither you love me, nor I love you, and 'tis to be hoped we may get children that will love neither of us.

Trum. jun. Nay, by my soul, I love you! but, alas! Not in that way that husbands should their wives;

I cannot toy, nor kiss, nor do I know not what,

And yet I was a lover, as true a lover

Aur.

Alack a day!

Trum. jun. 'Twas then (methought) the only happiness To sit and talk, and look upon my mistress;

Or if she was not by, to think upon her.

Then ev'ry morning, next to my devotion,

Nay often too (forgive me, Heav'n!) before it,
She slipp'd into my fancy, and I took it
As a good omen for the following day;

It was a pretty foolish kind of life,
An honest, harmless vanity; but now

The fairest face moves me no more than snow,
Or lilies when I see 'em, and pass by;
And I as soon should deeply fall in love
With the fresh scarlet of an eastern cloud,
As the red lips and cheeks of any woman.
I do confess, Aurelia, thou art fair,
And very witty, and (I think) well-natured,
But thou 'rt a woman still.

Aur.

The sight of you, sir,

Makes me not repent at all my being so.

Trum. jun. And, pr'ythee, now, Aurelia, tell me truly,

Are

any women constant in their vows?

Can they continue a whole month, a week,

And never change their faith? Oh! if they could,
They would be excellent things! nay, ne'er dissemble;
Are not their lusts unruly, and to them

Such tyrants as their beauties are to us?

Are their tears true, and solid when they weep?

Aur. Sure, Mr. Truman, you ha'nt slept of late. If we should be married to-night, what would you do for sleep?

Trum. jun. Why, do not married people sleep o' nights?

Aur. Yes! yes! Alas, good Innocence!

Trum. jun. They have a scurvy life on't, if they don't ;

But we'll not live as other people do,

We'll find out some new handsome way of love,
Some way of love that few shall imitate,
Yet all admire; for 'tis a sordid thing,
That lust should dare t'insinuate itself

Into the marriage-bed; we'll get no children,
The worst of men and women can do that;
Besides, too, if our issue should be female,
They would all learn to flatter and dissemble,
They would deceive with promises and vows

Some simple men, and then prove false, and kill 'em.

Would they not do't, Aurelia?

Aur. Ay, any thing, Mr. Truman; but what shall we do, sir,

when we're married, pray?

Trum. jun. Why! we 'll live very lovingly together,

Sometimes we'll sit and talk of excellent things,

And laugh at the nonsense of the world;

Sometimes we 'll walk together;

Sometimes we'll read, and sometimes eat, and sometimes sleep,

And sometimes pray; and then at last we'll die,

And go to heav'n together; 'twill be rare!

Aur. We may do all this (methinks) and never marry for the

matter.

Trum. jun. 'Tis true, we may

so!

But since our parents are resolved upon it,

In such a circumstance let 'em have their humour.

My father sent me in to compliment,

And keep a prating here, and play the fool;

I cannot do 't; what should I say, Aurelia?
What do they use to say?

Aur. I believe you knew, sir, when

woo'd my you

cousin.

Trum. jun. Ay, but those days are past; they're gone for ever,

And nothing else but nights are to succeed 'em ;

Gone like the faith and truth of womankind,

And never to be seen again! Oh, Lucia!
Thou wast a wondrous angel in those days

Of thy blest state of innocence!

There was a cheek! a forehead! and an eye!-
Did

you observe her eye, Aurelia?

VOL. I.-PART III.

C C

Aur. Oh yes, sir! there were pretty babies in 't.
Trum. jun. It was as glorious as the eye of heav'n;
Like the soul's eye, it pierced through every thing;
And then her hands-her hands of liquid ivory!
Did she but touch her lute (the pleasing'st harmony
Then upon earth, when she herself was silent)
The subtile motion of her flying fingers

Taught music a new art, to take the sight, as well as ear.

Aur. Ay, sir, ay! you'd best go look her out, and marry her; she has but one husband yet.

Trum. jun. Nay, pr'ythee, good Aurelia, be not angry;

For I will never love, or see her more.

I do not say she was more fair than thou art;

Yet if I did-No, but I wo' not say so;

Only allow me this one short last remembrance of one I loved so long. And, now I think on 't, I'll beg a favour of you: you will laugh at me, I know, when you have heard it; but pr'ythee grant it; 'tis that you would be veiled, as Lucia was of late, for this one day; I would fain marry thee so;

'Tis an odd foolish fancy, I confess.

But love and grief may be allow'd sometimes

A little innocent folly.

Aur. Good! this fool will help me, I see, to cheat himself; At a dead lift, a little hint will serve me.

I'll do 't for him to the life."

We cannot resist our desire to give one more extract from the more comic portion of the play. Cutter having, by means of pretended visions, persuaded the confiding Tabitha to marry him, re-assumes his former character, to the amazement of his spouse. Cutter in his turn converts the precise puritan into a jovial companion. The scene which describes the process by which the phenomenon is effected is written with great spirit. "Enter CUTTER, TABITHA, and Boy.

"Cut. Come to my bed, my dear, my dear,

My dear, come to my bed;

For the pleasant pain, and the loss with gain,

Is the loss of a maidenhead.

For the pleasant, &c.

Tab. Is that a psalm, brother husband, which you sing?
Cut. No, sister wife, a short ejaculation only.

[Sings.

[Boy brings a hat and feather, sword and belt, broad laced band and peruke.

Well said, boy, bring in the things

Tab. What do you mean, brother Abednego? You will not turn cavalier, I hope, again? you will not open before Sion, in the dressings of Babylon?

Cut. What! do these cloaths befit Queen Tabitha's husband upon her day of nuptials? This hat, with a high black chimney for a crown, and a brim no broader than a hat-band? Shall I, who am to

ride the purple dromedary, go dressed like Revelation Fats, the basket-maker? Give me the peruke, boy; shall Empress Tabitha's husband go as if his head were scalded? or wear the seam of a shirt here for a band? Shall I, who am zealous even to slaying, walk in the streets without a sword, and not dare to thrust men from the wall, if any shall presume to take 't of Empress Tabitha? Are the fidlers come, boy?

Tab. Pish! I cannot abide these doings; are you mad? There come no profane fidlers here.

Cut. Be peaceable, gentle Tabitha; they will not bring the organs with them hither; I say be peaceable, and conform to revelations ; it was the vision bid me do this; wilt thou resist the vision?

Tab. An' these be your visions! Little did I think, I wusse-O what shall I do? Is this your conversion? Which of all the prophets wore such a mop without their ears, or such a sheet about their necks? Oh, my mother! What shall I do? I'm undone.

Cut. What shalt thou do? Why, thou shalt dance, and sing, and drink, and be merry; thou shalt go with thy hair curled, and thy breasts open; thou shalt wear fine black stars upon thy face, and bobs in thy ears bigger than bouncing pears. Nay, if thou dost begin to look rustily-I'll ha' thee paint thyself, like the whore of Babylon. Tab. Oh! that ever I was born to see this day!

Cut. What, dost thou weep, Queen Dido? Thou shalt ha' sack to drive away thy sorrows: bring the bottle, boy! I'll be a loving husband; the vision must be obeyed. Sing, Tabitha; weep o' thy wedding-day! 'Tis ominous.

Come to my bed, my dear, &c.

Oh, art thou come, boy? Fill a brimmer, nay fuller yet, yet a little fuller; here, lady spouse, here's to our sport at night.

Tab. Drink it yourself, an' you will; I'll not touch it, not I. Cut. By this hand, thou shalt pledge me, seeing the vision said so! drink, or I'll take a coach, and carry thee to the opera immediately. Tab. O lord! I can't abide it. [Drinks off.

Cut. Why, this will chear thy heart; sack, and a husband? both comfortable things. Have at you again.

Tab. I'll pledge you no more, not I.

Cut. Here, take the glass, and take it off-off, every drop, or I'll swear a hundred oaths in a breathing time.

Tab. Well! you 're the strangest man

[Drinks.

Cut. Why, this is right; nay, off with 't; so- --but the vision said, that if we left our drink behind us, we should be hanged, as many other honest men ha' been only by a little negligence in the like case: here's to you, Tabitha, once again; we must fulfil the vision to a tittle.

Tab. What, must I drink again? well! you are such another -brother husband. [Drinks.

Cut. Bravely done, Tabitha! Now thou obey'st the vision, thou wilt ha' revelations presently.

Tab. Oh Lord! my head's giddy-nay, brother husband, the boy's taking away the bottle, and there's another glass or two in it still.