precise, you must feast all the silenced brethren once in three days; salute the sisters; entertain the whole family or wood of them; and hear long-winded exercises, singings, and catechizings, which you are not given to, and yet must give for, to please the zealous matron your wife, who for the holy cause will cozen you over and above. You begin to sweat, sir! but this is not half, i' faith; you may do your pleasure, notwithstanding, as I said before: I come not to persuade you. -[Mute is stealing away.] Upon my faith, master serving-man, if you do stir, I will beat

you.

Morose -Oh, what is my sin! what is my sin!

Truewit - Then, if you love your wife, or rather dote on her, sir, —oh, how she'll torture you, and take pleasure in your torments! That friend must not visit you without her license; and him she loves most, she will seem to hate eagerliest, to decline your jealousy; .she must have that rich gown for such a great day; a new one for the next; a richer for the third; be served in silver; have the chamber filled with a succession of grooms, footmen, ushers, and other messengers; besides embroiderers, jewelers, tire-women, sempsters, feathermen, perfumers; whilst she feels not how the land drops away, nor the acres melt; nor foresees the change, when the mercer has your woods for her velvets: never weighs what her pride costs, sir, so she may be a stateswoman, know all the news, what was done at Salisbury, what at the Bath, what at court, what in progress; or so she may censure poets, and authors, and styles, and compare them, - Daniel with Spenser, Jonson with the t'other youth, and so forth; or be thought cunning in controversies or the very knots of divinity; and have often in her mouth the state of the question; and then skip to the mathematics and demonstration: and answer in religion to one, in state to another, in folly to a third.

Morose-Oh, oh!

Truewit-All this is very true, sir. And then her going in disguise to that conjurer and this cunning woman: where the first question is, How soon you shall die? What prece

dence she shall have by her next match? And sets down the answers, and believes them above the Scriptures. Nay, perhaps she'll study the art.

Morose-Gentle sir, have you done? have you had your pleasure of me? I'll think of these things.

Truewit-Yes, sir; and then comes reeking home of vapor and sweat, with going afoot, and lies in a month of a new face, all oil and birdlime; and rises in asses' milk, and is cleansed with a new fucus: God be wi' you, sir. One thing more, which I had almost forgot: . . I'll be bold to leave this rope with you, sir, for a remembrance.- Farewell, Mute!

[Exit.

Morose-Come, have me to my chamber; but first shut the door. [Truewit winds the horn without.] Oh, shut the door, shut the door! Is he come again?

PROLOGUE FROM EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOUR>

HOUGH need make many poets, and some such

THO

As art and nature have not bettered much;

Yet ours, for want, hath not so loved the stage

As he dare serve the ill customs of the age,

Or purchase your delight at such a rate
As, for it, he himself must justly hate.

To make a child, now swaddled, to proceed
Man, and then shoot up in one beard and weed
Past threescore years; or with three rusty swords,
And help of some few foot-and-half-foot words,
Fight over York and Lancaster's long jars,
And in the tyring-house bring wounds to scars.
He rather prays, you will be pleased to see
One such to-day, as other plays should be:
Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas;

Nor creaking throne comes down, the boys to please;
Nor nimble squib is seen, to make afeard
The gentlewomen; nor rolled bullet heard
To say, it thunders; nor tempestuous drum
Rumbles, to tell you when the storm doth come:
But deeds and language such as men do use,
And persons such as comedy would choose,
When she would show an image of the times,
And sport with human follies, not with crimes.

D

SONG TO CELIA

RINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine:

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change from thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honoring thee
As giving it a hope, that there
It could not withered be.

But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent'st it back to me:

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

WEEP

This little story;

And know, for whom a tear you shed
Death's self is sorry.

'Twas a child that so did thrive

In grace and feature,

As heaven and nature seemed to strive
Which owned the creature.

Years he numbered scarce thirteen
When fates turned cruel,

Yet three filled zodiacs had he been
The stage's jewel;

And did act, what now we moan,

Old men so duly,

As sooth the Parcæ thought him one,

He played so truly.

So, by error, to his fate

They all consented;

But viewing him since, alas, too late!

They have repented;

And have sought, to give new birth,
In baths to steep him:

But being so much too good for earth,
Heaven vows to keep him.

ON MY FIRST DAUGHTER

ERE lies, to each her parents ruth,

H Mary, the daughter of their youth;

Yet all heaven's gifts being heaven's due,

It makes the father less to rue.

At six months' end she parted hence

With safety of her innocence;

Whose soul heaven's Queen, whose name she bears,

In comfort of her mother's tears,

Hath placed amongst her virgin train:
Where while that, severed, doth remain,
This grave partakes the fleshy birth:
Which cover lightly, gentle earth!

FROM CYNTHIA'S REVELS

Enter Hesperus, Cynthia, Arete, Timè, Phronesis, and Thauma. Music accompanied. Hesperus sings

UEEN and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,

Seated in thy silver chair,

State in wonted manner keep:

Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made

Heaven to clear, when day did close:

Bless us then with wishèd sight,

Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart,

And thy crystal shining quiver,

Give unto the flying hart

Space to breathe, how short soever:

Thou that mak'st a day of night,

Goddess excellently bright.

THE NOBLE NATURE

T IS not growing like a tree

IT

In bulk doth make man better be;

Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,

To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:

A lily of a day

Is fairer far in May,

Although it fall and die that night:
It was the plant and flower of Light.
In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.