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others woes.

ment bear me; [Throwing himself on the çper guest," the abandoned and lost Maria brings Ground] even these are too good for such ach air, and sees the subject and the cause of bloody monster.

this world of woe. Silent and motionless True. Shall fortune sever those whom he stands, as if his soul had quitted her abode, friendship joined? Thy miseries cannot lay and the lifeless form alone was teft behind. thee so low, but love will find thee. Here will Barn. I groan, but murmur not. Just heawe offer to stern calamity; this place the altar, ven! I am your own; do with me what you please. and ourselves the sacrifice. Our mutual groans Maria. Why are your streaming eyes still shall echo to each other through the dreary fix’d below, as though thou'dst give the greedy vault

; our sighs shall number the moments as earth thy sorrows, and rob me of my due? they pass; and mingling tears communicate such Were happiness within your power, you anguish, as words were never made to express. should bestow it where you pleased; bui in

Barn. Then be it so. [Rising] Since you your misery I must and will partake. propose an intercourse of woe, pour your

Barn. Oh, say not so; but fly, abhor, and griefs into my breast, and in exchange take leave me to my fate. Consider what you are. mine. [Embracing]. Where's now the an- So shall'I' quickly be to you—as though I had guish that you promised? Oh, take, take some never been. of the joy ihat overflows iny breast!

Maria. When I forget you, I must be so True. I do, I do. Almighty Power! how indeed. Reason, choice, virtue, all forbid it. bast tbou made us capable to bear at once the let women, like Millwood, if there are more extremes of pleasure and of pain !

such women, smile in prosperity, and in ad

versity forsake. Be it the pride of virtue to Enter Keeper.

repair, or to partake, the ruin such have made. Keep. Sir.

* True. Lovely, ill-fated maid! ! True. I come.

[E.rit Keeper. Maria. Yes, fruitless is my love, and unaBarn. Must you leave me? Death would vailing all my sighs and tears. Cán they save soon have parted us for ever.

thee from approaching deathr?—from such a True. Oh, my Barnwell, there's yet another death ?-Oh, sorrow insupportable! lask behind. Again your heart must bleed for Barn. Preserve her, heaven, and restore her

peace, nor let her death be added to my crimes! Barn. To meet and part with you, I thought-[Bell tolls]—I'm summoned to my fate. was all I had to do on earth. What is there more for me to do or suffer?

Re-enter Keeper. True. I dread to tell thec, yet it must be Keep. Sir, the officers' attend you. Millwood I known!-Maria

is already summoned. Barn. Our master's fair and virtuous daugh- Barn. Tell 'em I'm ready. [Erit Keeper] ter?

And now, my friend, farewell." [Embracing] True. The same.

Support and comfort, the best you can, this Barn. No misfortune, I hope, has reached mourning fair.--No more-Forget not to pray that maid! Preserve her, heaven, from every for me.-[Turning to Maria]-Would you, ill, to show mankind that goodness is your care! bright excellence, permit me the honour of a True, Thy, thy misfortunes, my unhappy chaste embrace, the last happiness this world friend, have reached her ear. Whatever you could give were mine.- [She inclines towards and I have felt, and more, if more be possi- him ; iney embrace] Exalted goodness! Oh, bile, she feels for you.

turn your eyes from carth and me to heaven, Barn. This is indeed the bitterness of death. where virtue like yours is ever heard. Pray

[Aside. for the peace of my departing soul! Early my True. You must remember (for we all ob- race of wickedness began, and soon I reached served it), for some time past, a heavy me- the summit

. Thus justice, in compassion to lancholy weighed her down. Disconsolate she mankind, cuts off a wretch like me; by one seemed, and pined and languished from a such example to secure thousands, from future cause unknown; till hearing of your dreadful ruin. Lite, the long stifled flame blazed out, and in If any youth, like you, in future times the transport of her grief discovered her own Shall mourn my fate, though he abhors my lost state, while she lamented yours.

crimes; Barn. [Weeping] Why did not you let Or tender maid, like you, my tale shall hear, the die, and never know it?

And to my sorrows give a pitying, tear; True. It was impossible.

She makes no To each such melting eye and throbbing heart, secret of her passion for you; she is deter- Would gracious beaven this benefit impart: mined to see you ere you die, and waits for Never to know my guilt, nor feel my pain, me to introduce her.


Then must you own you ought not to Barn. Vain, busy thoughts, be still! What

complain, rails it to think on what I might have been? Since you nor weep, nor I shall die in vain. 1 am now what I've made myself.

[Exit Barnweli.

True. In vain Re-enter TRUEMAN, with MARIA. With bleeding hearts, and weeping eyes, we True. Madam, reluctant I lead you to this

show This is the seat of misery and A humane, gen'rous sense of others woe, guilt

. Here awful justice reserves her public Unless we mark what drew their ruin on, victims. This is the entrance to a shameful death. And, by avoiding that, prevent our own. Maria. To this sad place then, no impro-1 [The Curtain descends to slow Music,

dismal scene.


MASSINGER. Tas excellent poet was son to Mr. Philip Massinger, a gentleman, who had some employment under the Ear! of Pembroke, in whose service he died, after having spent several happy years in his family. Our author

was bora at Salisbury, in queen Elizabeth's reign, anno 1584, and at the age of 18, was entered a fellow-commoner of Alben Hall, in Oxford; in which station he' remained three or four years, in order to complete his education, yet, though he was encouraged in the pursuit of his studies by his father's patron, the Earl of Pembroke, the natural bent of his genius lead him much more to poetry and polite literalure, than to the dryer and more abstruse studies of logie aad philosophy: being impatient for an opportunity of moving in a more public sphere of action, and improving his poetical fancy and his knowledge of the belles lettres, by conversation with the world, and an intercourse with men of vit and genjus; he quitted the university without laking any degree, and came to London, where, applying himself to writing for the stage, le presently rose into high reputation; his plays meeting with universal apprubation, both for the purity of their style, and the ingenuity and veconomy of their plois. “ Those who are unacquainted with Massinger's writings,” says the Biographia Dramatica, "will, perhaps be surprised to find us placing him in an equal rank with Beaumont and Fletcher, and the imnortal Ben; but we flatter ourselves that, upon a perusal of his plays, their astonishment will cease, that they will acquiesce with our opinion, and think themselves obliged to us, for pointing out so vast a treasury of entertainment and delight," Massinger has certainly equal invention, equal ingenuity, in the conduct of his plots, and an equal knowledge of character and nature, with Beaumont and Fletcher; and if it should be objected, that he has less of the vis comica, il will surely be allowed, that that deficiency is amply made amende for hy that purity and decorum which he has preserved, and a rejection of that looseness and obscenity which runs Through most of their comedies. As to Ben Jonson, we shall readily allow that he excels this author with respect to the studied accuracy and classical correctness of his style; yet Massinger has so greatly the superiority over him in here, palbos, and the fancy and management of his plots, that we cannot help thinking the balance stands pretty even between them. Thongh his pieces bespeak him a man of the first-rale abilities, and well qualificd both as to learning and a most perfect acquaintance with the methods of dramatic writing, yet he was at the same time a person of the most consummale modesty, which rendered him extremely beloved by all his contemporary poets, few of whom bat eslçemed it as an honour to join with him in the composition of their works. He died in 1059, some say 69.

were not

THE DUKE OF MILAN. ACTED at Black Friars, 1623. The plot is laken partly from Guicciardini, book 8, and partly from Josephas's History of the Jews, book 15, ch. 4, where will be found the story of Herod's leaving orders with his uncle Joseph to put his beloved wife Mariamne to death : from which the instructions given by Sforza to his favourite Francisco, for the murder of the Duchess Marcelia,, his wife, scem evidently borrowed. This piece was altered, and produced at Covent Garden, ly Mr. Cumberland, in 1799, but the additions made to it, from Fenton's Mariamne, rather injured than improved the play, and it was acted only two or three times. In its present stale it was reproduced at Drary Lane, March 3, 1816; and from its reception promises to be a long and lasting favourite. Massinger seems


bare been buried in obscurity, and forgotten among the number of writers of the same period, whose names worth calling forth from the cavern of oblivion; but when we consider, how long many of those pieces, even of the immortal Shakspeare himself, which are now the greatest ornament of the stage, lay neglected, although they wanted nothing but a judicious pruning of some few luxuriancies, some little straggling branches, which oyerhung the fairer flowers, and hid some of the choicest fruits, it is the less to be wondered at, that this author who though second, slands no more than second to him, should share for a while the same destiny. Thus has this precious gem been once more presented to an admiring audience, the modern taste demanding a different dress to that of former years; and the few judicions alterations which have taken place in it, have fitted it to shine in all its lustre.




Servants, and



Scene. For the first and second Acts, in Milan; during part of the third, in the Im-

perial Camp near Pavia; the rest of the Play, in Milan and its Neighbourhood.


Julio. But think you 'tis a fault

To be found sober
Scene I.- An outer Room in the Cas le.

Grac. It is capital treason;
Enter Graccho, Julio, and GiovANNI, with Or, if you mitigate it, let such pay

Forly crowns to the poor; but give a pension Grac. Take every man his flagon; give To all the magistrates you find singing catches, the oath

Or their wives dancing; for the courtiers To all you meet; I am this day the state drunkard,

reeling, I am sure against my will; and if you find And the duke himself, I dare pot say

disA man at ten that's sober, he's a traitor,

temper'd, And, in my name, arrest him.

But kind, and in his lottering chair carousing, Julio. Very good, sir;

They do the country service. But say he be à sexton?

And so, dear friends, co-partners in my travails

, Grac. If the bells

Drink hard; and let the health run through Ring out of tune, as if the streets were burning,

the city,
And he cry, “Tis rare music!” bid him Until it reel again, and with mę cry,

Long live the dutchess!”
Tis a sign hc bas ta'en his liquor: and if you

An officer preaching of sobriety,

Julio. Here are two lords! what think you?
Unless he read it in Geneva spirit,

Shall we give the oath to them?
Lay him by the heels.

Grac. Fie! no; I know them:

You need not swear them; your lord, by his Are these loud triumphs ? in my weak opipatent,

nion, Stands bound to take bis rouse. Long live They are unseasonable. the dutchess!

T'ib. I judge so too;
[Exeunt Graccho, Julio, and Giovanni. But only in the cause to be excus'd.
Steph. The cause of this ?. but yesterday the It is the dutchess' birth-day, once a year

Solemniz'd with all pomp and ceremony;
Wore the sad livery of distrust and fear; In which the duke is not his own, but hers:
No smile, not in a buffoon, to be seen, Nay, every day, indeed, he is her creature;
Or common jester : the great duke himself For never man so doted.
Had sorrow in his face; which, waited on Steph. She knows it,
By his mother, sister, and his fairest dutchess, And how to prize it.
Dispersed a silent mourning through all Milan Tib. She bear's herself with such a majesty,
As if some great blow had been given the state, That Sforza's mother, that would lose no part
Or were at least expected.

Of what was once her own, nor his fair sister,
Tib. Stepbano,

Will brook it well.
I know as you are noble, you are honest, Come, let us to the court;
And capable of secrets of more weight We there shall see all bravery and cost
Than now I shall deliver. If that Sforza, That art can boast of.
The present duke (though his whole life' hath Steph. I'll bear you company.

But one continual pilgrimage through dangers,

SCENE II. Another Room in the same. Affrights, and horrors, which his fortune, Enter Francisco, ISABELLA, and MARIANA. guided

Mari. I will not go; I scorn to be a spot By his strong judgment, still bath overcome), In her proud train. Appears now shaken, it deserves no wonder: Isa. Shall I, that am his mother, All that bis youth hath labour'd for, the harvest Be so indulgent as to wait on ber Sown by his industry ready to be reap'd too, That owes me duty ? Being now at stake; and all his hopes con- Fran. Tis done to the duke, firm'd

And not to her; and, my sweet wise, reOr lost for ever,

member, Steph. I know no such hazard:

And, madam, if you please, receive my counsel, Mis guards are strong and sure, and though As Sforza is your son, you may command war rages

him; la most parts of our western world, there is And, as a sister, you may challenge from No enemy near us. Tib. Dangers that we see

A brother's love and favour: but this granted,
To threaten ruin, are with ease prevented; Consider he's the prince, and you his subjects,
But those strike deadly that come unexpected. And not to question or contend with her.
The wars so long. continued between Whom he is pleas'd to honour. Private men
The emperor Charles, and Francis, the French Prefer their wives; and shall he, being a prince,

And blest with one that is the paradise
Have interest'd, in either's cause, the most Of sweetness, and of beauty,
Of the Italian princes; among which, Sforza, Not use her like herself?
As one of greatest power, was sought by both; Isa. You are ever forward
But with assurance, having one his friend, To sing her praises.
The other lived his enemy.

Mari. Others are as fair;
Steph. 'Tis true;

I am sure as noble. And 'twas a doubtful choice.

Fran. I detract from none Tib. But be, well knowing

In giving her what's due. Were she deform'd, And hating too, it seems, the Spanish pride, Yet, being the dutchess, I sland bound to Lent bis assistance to the king of France;

serve her; Which hath so far incens'd the emperor, But as she is, to admire her. Never wife That all his hopes and honours are embark'a Met with a purer heat her husband's fervour; With his great patron's fortune.

A happy pair, one in the other blest! Steph. Which stands fair,

She confident in herself he's wholly hers, For aught I yet can hear.

And cannot seek for change; and he secure Tib. But should it change,

That 'tis not in the power of man to tempt The duke's undone. They have drawn to the

her, field

And therefore to contest with her, that is Two royal armies, full of fiery youth, The stronger and the better part of him, Of equal spirit to dare, and power to do; Is more than folly: you know him of a nature So near intrench'd, that 'tis beyond all hope Not to be play'd' with; and, should you forget Of human counsel they e'er can be severed, To obey him as your prince, he'll not reL'ntil it be determin'd' by the sword

member Who hath the better cause; for the success The duty that he owes you. Concludes the victor innocent, and the van- Mari, I shall do quish'd

What may become the sister of a prince ; Most miserably guilty.

But will not stoop beneath it. Steph. But why, then,

Fran. Yet, be wise; In such a time, when every knee should bend Soar not too high, to fall; but stoop, to rise. For the success and safety of his person,



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SCENE II.-- A State Room in the same. 4 Marc. My lord ! magnificent Banquet.

Sfor. To doubt, Flourish. Enter TIBERIO, STEPHANO, FRAN

Is worse than to have lost; and to despair, cisco, Ludovico SFORZA, MARCELIA, Isa- That must fall on us.

Is but to antedate those miseries BELLA, MARIANA, and Attendants.

The cause consider'd, Sfor. You are the mistress of the feast; sit Why should I fear? The French are bold here,

and strong, O my soul's comfort !

Their numbers full, and in their councils wise; Let me glory in

But then, the haughty Spaniard is all fire, My happiness, and mighty kings look pale Hot in his executions, fortunate With envy, while I triumph in mine own. In his attempts, married to victory. O mother, look on her! sister, admire her! Ay, there it is that shakes me. [ Aside. For sure this present age yields not a woman Marc. Speak to him, Francisco. (Apart Worthy to be her second.

Fran. Excellent lady, Fran. Your excellence,

One gale of your sweet breath will easily Though I confess you give her but her own, Disperse these clouds; and, but yourself, there's Forces her modestý to the defence Of a sweet blush.

That dare speak to him.

[-4 part. Sfor. It need not, my. Marcelia;

Marc. I will run the hazard. Apart

. When most I strive to praise thee, I appear My lord! A poor detractor: for thou art, indeed, Sfor. Ha! pardon me, Marcelia, I am trouSo absolute in body and in mind

bled; That, but to speak the least part to the height, and stand uncertain, whether ! am master Would ask an angel's tongue, and yet then end Of aught that's worth the owning. In silent admiration!

Marc. I am yours, sir; Isa. You still court her

And I have heard you swear, I being safe, As if she were a mistress, not your wife.

There was no loss could move you.

This Sfor. A mistress, mother! she is more to me,

day, sir, And every day deserves more to be sued to.' Is by your gift made mine. Can you revoke Marc: My worthiest lord!

A grant made to Marcelia ? your Marcelia? My pride, my glorý, in a word, my all! For whose love, nay, whose honour, gentle sir, Bear witness, heaven, that I esteem myself All deep designs, and state affairs deferr'd, In nothing worthy of the meanest praise Be, as you purpos'd, merry. You can bestow, unless it be in this,

Sfor. Out of my sight! That in my heart I love you, and desire,

[Throws away the Letter. When you are sated with all earthly glories, And all thoughts that may strangle mirth, And age and honours make you fit for heaven,

forsake me. That one grave may receive us.

Fall what can fall, I dare the worst of fate : Sfor. 'Tis believ'd

Though the foundation of the earth should Believ'd, my blest one.

shrink, Mari. How she winds herself

The glorious eye of heaven lose his splendour, Into his soul!

[ Aside. Supported thus, I'll stand upon the ruins, Sfor. Sit all. Let others feed

And seek for new life here. Why are you sad? On those gross cates, while Sforza banquets Some music there! by heaven he's not my with

friend, Immortal viands 'ta'en in at his eyes. That wears one furrow in his face. I could live ever thus.

Come, make me happy once again. I am rap

'Tis not to-day, to-morrow, or the next, Enter a Courier.

But all my days and years' shall be employ'd From whence?

To do thee honour,

[A Trumpet without. Cour. From Pavia, my dread lord. Another post! hang him Sfor. Speak, is all lost?

I will not interrupi my present pleasures, Cour. [Delivers a Letter] The letter will Although his message should import my

[Exit. Marc. Nay, good sir, I am pleas'd Fran. How his hand shakes,

To grant a little intermission to you: As he receives it!

[.Aside. Who knows but he brings news' we wish to Mari. This is some allay

hear, To his bot passion.

[Aside. To heighten our delights. Sfor. Though it bring death, I'll read it. Sfor. As wise as fair!

[Reads. May it please your excellence to un

Enter another Courier. derstand, that the very hour I wrote From Gaspero ? this, I heard a bold defiance delivered by Cour. That was, my lord. a herald from the emperor, which was Sfor. How? dead? cheerfully received by the king of France. Cour. [Delivers' a Letter] With the deliThe battles being ready to join, and the

very of this, and prayers, van guard committed to my charge, en-To guard your excellency from certain dangers, forces me to end abruptly. Your high- He ceased to be a man. ness's humble servant.

GASPERO. Sfor. All that


fears. Ready to join !—By this, then, I am nothing. Could fashion to me, or my enemies wish, Or my estate secure.

[Aside. Is fallen upon me. Silence that barsh music;


inform you.

[Music. Éxit.

thus press

you pale?

Tis now unseasonable: a tolling bell, Think, think, Marcelia, what a cursed thing As a sad harbinger to tell me that

I were, beyond expression, This pamper'd lump of flesh must feast the Marc. Do not feed worms,

Those jealous thoughts; the only blessing that Is fitter for me: I am sick.

Hear'n'bath bestow'd on us, more than on beasts, Marc. My lord!

Is, that 'tis in our pleasure when to die. red Sfor. Sick to the death, Marcelia. Remove Besides, were I now in another's power, These signs of mirth: they were ominous, and I would not live for one short minute his ; but usher'd

I was born only yours, and I will dio so. Sorrow and ruin.

Sfor. Angels' reward the goodaess of this Marc. Bless us, heaven!

woman! Isa. My son. Marc. What sudden change is this ?

Re-enter FRANCISCO. Sfor. All leave the room;

All I can pay is nothing. Why, uncall?d for? I'll bear alone the burden of my grief, Fran. It is of weight, sir, that makes me And must admit no partner. I am yet Your prince, where's your obedience ? Upon, your privacics. Your constant friend,

[Exeunt Tiberio, Stephano, Fran- The marquis of Pescara, tir'd with haste,

cisco, Isabella, Mariana, and At- Hath business that concerns your life and fortendants.

tunes, Stay, Marcelia;

And with speed to impart. I cannot be so greedy of a sorrow,

Sfor. Waip phim hither. [Exit Francisco. In which you must not share.

And, dearest, au thy closet. Let thy prayers Marc. And cheerfully

Assist my coutrcils. I will sustain my part. Why look

Marc. To spare imprecations Where is that wonted constancy and courage, Against myself, without you I am nothing. That dar'd the worst of fortune? where is Sforza,

Tiril. To whom all dangers that fright common men, Sfor. The marquis of Pescarała great soldier ; Appear'd but panic terrors? why do you eye me, And though he serv'd opon the adverse party, With such fix'd looks? Love, counsel, duty, Ever my constant friend.

service, May flow from me, not danger,

Re-enter FRANCISco, with PESCARĄ. Sfor. O Marcelia!

Fran. Yonder he walks, It is for thee I fear; for thee, thy Sforza Full of sad thoughts,

[Apart. Shakes like a coward: for myself, unmov'd Pes. Blame him not, good Francisco, I could have heard my troops were cut in pieces, He hath much cause to grieve; would I might My general slain, and he, on whom my hopes Ofrule , of state, of life, had their dependence, And not add this to fear!

[ [ Apart The king of France, my greatest friend, made Sfor. My dear Pescara; prisoner

A miracle in these times! a friend, and happy, To so proud enemies.

Cleaves to a falling fortune! Marc. Then you have just cause

Pes. If it were To show you are a man.

As well in my weak power, in act, to raise it, Sfor. All this were nothing,

As 'tis 10 bear a part of sorrow with you, Though I add to it, that I am assured, You then should have just cause to say, Pesfor giving aid to this unfortunate king, The emperor, incens'd, lays his command Look'd not upon your state, but on your virtues, On his victorious army, flesh’d with spoil, When he made suit to be writ in the list And bold of conquest, to march up against me, of those you favour'd. But my haste forbids And seize on my estates: suppose that done too, All compliment; thus then, sir, to the purpose : The city la'en, the kennels running blood, The cause that, unattended brought me hither, Myself bound' fast in chains, to grace their was not to tell you of your

loss or danger triumph;

(For fame hath many wings to bring ill tidings, I would be Sforza still. But when I think And I presume you've heard it), but to give That my Marcelia, to whom all these

you Are but as atoms to the greatest hill, Such friendly counsel, as, perhaps, may make Nlust suffer in my cause, and for me suffer! Your sad disaster less. All earthly torments, nay, even those the damn'd Sfor. You are all goodness ; Howl for in bell, are gentle strokes, compard And I give up myself to be dispos'd of, To what I feel, Marcelia.

As in your wisdom you think lit. Marc. Good sir, have patience:

Pes. Thus, then, sir; I can as well partake your ådverse fortune, To hope you can bold out against the emperor, As I thus long have had an ample share Were flattery in yourself, to your undoing ; In your prosperity. 'Tis not in the power Therefore, the safest course that you can take, Of fate to alter me; for while I am, Is, to give up yourself to his discretion, la spite of it, I'm yours.

Before you be compelled; for rest assurd, Sfor. But should that will

A voluntary, yielding may find grace, To be so-forced, Marcelia; and I live And will admit dcfence, at least, excuse: To see those eyes I prize above my own, But should you linger doubtful, till his powers Dart favours, though compell’d, upon another; Have seiz'd your person aud estates perforce, Or those sweet lips, yielding immortal nectar, You must expect extremes. Be gently touch'd by any but myself;

Sfor. I understand you;

end so,


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