Massinger was joint author with Decker, of the play from which the scene of the lady and the angel is taken; but nobody who knows the style of the two men can doubt for a moment to which it belongs. I have, therefore, without hesitation assigned it according to the opinion expressed by Mr. Lamb.

Fire.

Nineteen, and all brave plump ones, besides six lizards and three serpentine eggs.

Hec. Dear and sweet boy ! what herbs hast thou ?
Fire. I have some marmartin and mandragon.
Hec. Marmaritin and mandragora, thou wouldst say.
Fire. Here's panax too-I thank thee-my pan aches I'm sure, with
kneeling down to cut 'em.
Hec.

And selago,
Hedge-hysop too; how near he goes my cuttings !
Were they all cropt by moonlight?
Fire.

Every blade of 'em,
Or I'm a moon-calf, mother.
Hec.

Hie thee home with 'em :
Look well to the house to-night; I'm for aloft.

Fire. Aloft, quoth you? I would you would break your neck once, that I might have all quickly! [Aside.]–Hark, hark, mother! they are above the steeple already, flying over your head with a noise of musicians.

Hec. They 're they indeed. Help, help me; I'm too late else.

SONG ABOVE.

Come away, come away,

Hecate, Hecate, come away.
Hec. I come, I come, I come, I come,

With all the speed I may.

Where's Stadlin ?
[Voice above.]

Here.
Hec. Where's Puckle?
[Voice above.]

Here.
And Hoppo too, and Hellwain too;
We lack but you, we lack but you ;

Come away, make up the count.
Hec. I will but 'noint and then I mount.

[.A spirit like a cat descends [Voice above.] There's one comes down to fetch his dues,

A kiss, a coll, a sip of blood;
And why thou stay'st so long, I muse,

Since the air 's so sweet and good ?
Hec. 0, art thou come? what news, what news ?
Spirit. All goes still to our delight,

Either come, or else refuse.

Hec. Now I'm furnished for the flight.
Fire. Hark, hark, the cat rings a brave treble in her own language!
(Hec. going up.] Now I go, now I fly,

Malkin my sweet spirit and I.
O what a dainty pleasure't is

To ride in the air

When the moon shines fair,
And sing and dance, and toy and kiss !
Over woods, high rocks and mountains,
Over seas, our mistress' fountains;
Over steeples, towers, and turrets,
We fly by night, ’mongst troops of spirits :
No ring of bells to our ears sounds;
No howls of wolves, no yelps of hounds ;
No, not the noise of water's breach,

Or cannon's throat our height can reach. [Voice above.] No ring of bells, &c.

Fire. Well, mother, I thank your kindness: you must be gambolling i' th' air, and leave me to walk here, like a fool and a mortal.

MIDDLETON.

THE CHRISTIAN LADY AND THE ANGEL.

An Angel, in the guise of a Page, attends on DOROTHEA.

Dor. My book and taper
Ang.

Here, most holy mistress.
Dor. Thy voice sends forth such music, that I never
Was ravish'd with a more celestial sound.
Were every servant in the world like thee,
So full of goodness, angels would come down
To dwell with us : thy name is Angelo,
And like that name thou art. Get thee to rest;
Thy youth with too much watching is opprest.

Ang. No, my dear lady; I could weary stars,
And force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes,
By my late watching, but to wait on you.
When at your prayers you kneel before the altar,
Methinks I'm singing with some quire in heaven,
So blest I hold me in your company:
Therefore, my most lov'd mistress, do not bid
Your boy, so serviceable, to get hence;
For then you break his heart.
Dor.

Be nigh me still then.
In golden letters down I'll set that day
Which gave thee to me. Little did I hope
To meet such worlds of comfort in thyself,

This little, pretty body, when I, coming
Forth of the temple, heard my beggar-boy,
My sweet-faced, godly beggar-boy, crave an alms,
Which with glad hand I gave, with lucky hand!
And when I took thee home, my most chaste bosom
Methought was fill'd with no hot wanton fire,
But with a holy flame, mounting since higher,
On wings of cherubims, than it did before.

Whither she knew she went, and where, now happy,
She feeds upon all joy, she would send to you
Some of that garden fruit and flowers; which here,
To have her promise sav'd, are brought by me.

Theoph. Cannot I see this garden?
Ang.

Yes, if the master
Will give you entrance.

(He vanishes.) Theoph.

'Tis a tempting fruit,
And the most bright-cheek'd child I ever view'd;
Sweet-smelling, goodly fruit. What flowers are these ?
In Dioclesian's gardens, the most beauteous
Compar'd with these are weeds : is it not February,
The second day she died ? frost, ice, and snow,
Hang on the beard of winter: where's the sun
That gilds this summer ? pretty, sweet boy, say,
In what country shall a man find this garden ?-
My delicate boy,-gone! vanish'd! within there,
Julianus! Geta!

Both. My lord.
Theoph. Are my gates shut ?
Geta.

And guarded
Theoph.

Saw you not
A boy?
Jul. Where?

Theoph. Here he enter'd, a young lad;
A thousand blessings danc'd upon his eyes ;
A smooth-fac'd glorious thing, that brought this basket.

Geta. No, sir.
Theoph. Away! but be in reach, if my voice calls yoù.

DECKER.

LADIES DANCING.

A fine sweet earthquake, gently mov'd
By the soft wind of whispering silks.

THE SAME.