Fran. How like the sun Labouring in his eclipse, dark and prodigious, She show'd till now! When, having won his way, How full of wonder he breaks out again, And sheds his virtuons beams! Excellent angel! (Forno less can that heavenly mind proclaim thee.) Honour of all thy sex! let it be lawful (And like a pilgrim thus I kneel to beg it, Not with profane lips now, nor burnt affections, But, reconciled to faith, with holy wishes,) To kiss that virgin hand! Cel. Take your desire, sir, And in a nobler way, for I dare trust you; You're welcome, sister; and I would to Heaven Ay, more than all the art of music can, Pan. Alas, sir, am I venom? Though, of thyself, I think thee to be in As Nature can make: yet, as unsound men Do thee: I pray thee, draw no nearer to me. Pan. Sir, this is that I would: I am of late Shut from the world, and why it should be thus Is all I wish to know. Arb. Why, credit me, Panthea, credit me, that am thy brother, I might be kept in some place where you are; And I am left as far without a bound If not, thy dwelling must be dark and close, knows, That laid this punishment upon my pride, Pan. Far be it from me to revile the king! out me, And in a grave sleep with my innocence, Arb. Farewell; and, good Panthea, pray for me, For thither they are tending: if that happen, Then I shall force thee, though thou wert a virgin By vow to Heaven, and shall pull a heap Of strange, yet uninvented, sin upon me. Pan. Sir, I will pray for you! yet you shall know It is a sullen fate that governs us: That, as it is, I ne'er shall sway my heart Arb. Then I curse my birth! That thou art willing too? Is there no stop Pan. There is nothing else: But these, alas! will separate us more Arb. I have lived To conquer men, and now am overthrown Let 'em be seas, and I will drink 'em off, And yet have unquench'd fire left in my breast: Let 'em be anything but merely voice. Pan. But 'tis not in the power' of any force, Or policy, to conquer them. Arb. Panthea, What shall we do? Shall we stand firmly here, And gaze our eyes out? Pan. 'Would I could do so! But I shall weep out mine. Arb. Accursed man, Thou bought'st thy reason at too dear a rate; Pan. Sir, I disturb you And myself too; 'twere better I were gone. Arb. I will not be so foolish as I was; Stay, we will love just as becomes our births, No otherwise : brothers and sisters may Walk hand in hand together; so shall we. Come nearer Is there any hurt in this? Pan. I hope not. Arb. 'Faith, there is none at all : Pan. No, by Heaven. You sent unto Tigranes, sister. Pan. True, But for another: for the truth Arb. No more, I'll credit thee; I know thou canst not lie. Thou art all truth. Pan. But is there nothing else, That we may do, but only walk? Methinks, Brothers and sisters lawfully may kiss. Arb. And so they may, Panthea ; so will we; And kiss again too; we were too scrupulous And foolish, but we will be so no more. Pan. If you have any mercy, let me go To prison, to my death, to anything: I feel a sin growing upon my blood, Worse than all these, hotter, I fear, than yours. Arb. So we must; away! Exeunt several ways.] SIR JOHN DAVIES. [Born, 1570. Died, 1626.] SIR JOHN DAVIES wrote, at twenty-five years of age, a poem on the immortality of the soul; and at fifty-two, when he was a judge and a statesman, another on "the art of dancing*." Well might the teacher of that noble accomplishment, in Molière's comedy, exclaim, La philosophie est quelque chose-mais la danse! Sir John was the son of a practising lawyer at Tisbury, in Wiltshire. He was expelled from the Temple for beating Richard Martin+, who was afterwards recorder of London; but his talents redeemed the disgrace. He was restored to the Temple, and elected to parliament, where, although he had flattered Queen Elizabeth in his poetry, he distinguished himself by supporting the privileges of the house, and by opposing royal monopolies. On the accession of King James he went to Scotland with Lord Hunsdon, and was received by the new sovereign with flattering cordiality, as author of the poem Nosce Teipsum. In Ireland he was successively nominated solicitor and attorney general, was knighted, and chosen speaker of the Irish House of Commons, in opposition to the Catholic interest. Two works which he published as the fruits of his observation in that kingdom, have attached considerable importance to his name in the legal and political history of Ireland§. On his return to England he sat in parliament for Newcastle-under-Lyne, and had assurances of being appointed chief justice of England, when his death was suddenly occasioned by apoplexy. He married, while in Ireland, Eleanor, a daughter of Lord Audley, by whom he had a daughter, who was married to Ferdinand Lord Hastings, afterwards Earl of Huntingdon. Sir John's widow turned out an enthusiast and a prophetess. A volume of her ravings was published in 1649, for which the revolutionary government sent her to the Tower, and to Bethlehem Hospital. THE VANITY OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE. FROM "NOSCE TEIPSUM," OR A POEM ON THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL. WHY did my parents send me to the schools, That I with knowledge might enrich my mind? Since the desire to know first made men fools, And did corrupt the root of all mankind. What is this knowledge but the sky-stol'n fire, In fine, what is it but the fiery coach Which the youth|| sought, and sought his death withal, Or the boy's wings¶ which, when he did approach The sun's hot beams, did melt and let him fall? [*This is not the case; the "Poeme of Dauncing" appeared in 1596, in his twenty-sixth year, and, curious enough, with a dedicatory sonnet "To his very Friend, Ma. Rich. Martin." A copy, supposed unique, is in the Bridgewater Library. The poem was the work of fifteen days. See COLLIER'S Bibliographical Catalogue, p. 92. The poet wrote his name DAUYS.] A respectable man, to whom Ben Jonson dedicated his Poetaster. + Prometheus. So might the heir whose father hath in play The wits that dived most deep and soar'd most high, For this the wisest of all moral men As spiders, touch'd, seek their web's inmost part; If aught can teach us aught, affliction's looks (Making us pry into ourselves so near), Teach us to know ourselves beyond all books, Or all the learned schools that ever were. She within lists my ranging mind hath brought, I know my body's of so frail a kind, I know my soul hath power to know all things, I know my life's a pain, and but a span ; We seek to know the moving of each sphere, For this few know themselves; for merchants broke And while the face of outward things we find Yet if affliction once her wars begin, And threat the feebler sense with sword and fire, THAT THE SOUL IS MORE THAN A PERFECTION OR REFLEXION OF THE SENSE. ARE they not senseless, then, that think the soul What is it, then, that doth the sense accuse Could any powers of sense the Roman move, Sense outsides knows-the soul through all things sees; Sense, circumstance; she doth the substance view: Sense sees the bark, but she the life of trees; Sense hears the sounds, but she the concord true. Then is the soul a nature which contains THAT THE SOUL IS MORE THAN THE TEMPERATURE OF THE HUMOURS OF THE BODY. If she doth, then, the subtle sense excel, As if most skill in that musician were, Why doth not beauty, then, refine the wit, Who can in memory, or wit, or will, |