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Tor. Fortune cannot,

And fate can scarce; I've made the port already, And laugh securely at the lazy storm

That wanted wings to reach me in the deep.

A Song.

Farewell, ungrateful traitor,
Farewell, my perjur'd swain;
Let never injur'd creature
Believe a man again.
The pleasure of possessing
Surpasses all expressing,
But 'tis too short a blessing,
And love too long a pain.

'Tis easy to deceive us,
In pity of your pain;
But when we love, you leave us
To rail at you in vain.

Before we have descried it,
There is no bliss beside it;
But she that once has tried it,
Will never love again.

The passion you pretended,
Was only to obtain;

But when the charm is ended,
The charmer you disdain.
Your love by ours we measure,
Till we have lost our treasure:
But dying is a pleasure,

When living is a pain.

THE DUKE OF GUISE. 1682.

King. Th' event, th' event will show us what we were; For, like a blazing meteor hence he shot,

And drew a sweeping fiery train along.

O Paris, Paris, once my seat of triumph,

But now the scene of all thy king's misfortunes;
Ungrateful, perjur'd, and disloyal town,
Which by my royal presence I have warm'd
So long, that now the serpent hisses out,
And shakes his forked tongue at majesty.

King. It shall be so: by Heav'n there's life in this; The rack of clouds is driving on the winds,

And shows a break of sunshine.

Go, Grillon, give my orders to Biron,

And see your soldiers well dispos'd within,

For safeguard of the Louvre.

Malicorne. Then flourish hell, and mighty mischief reign.

Mischief to some, to others must be good;

But hark, for now, though 'tis the dead of night,
When silence broods upon our darken'd world,
Methinks I hear a murm'ring hollow sound,
Like the deaf chimes of bells in steeples touch'd.
Melanax. 'Tis truly guess'd:

But know, 'tis from no nightly sexton's hand.
There's not a damned ghost, nor hell-born fiend,
That can from limbo 'scape, but hither flies.
With leathern wings they beat the dusky skies,
To sacred churches all in swarms repair,

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Some crowd the spires, but most the hallow'd bells,
And softly toll, for souls departing, knells:

Each chime thou hear'st, a future death foretells.
Now there they perch, to have them in their eyes,
Till all go loaded to the nether skies.

Mel. I told thee true:

But Lucifer, as he who foremost fell,
So now lies lowest in th' abyss of hell,
Chain'd till the dreadful doom, in place of whom
Sits Beelzebub, vicegerent of the damn'd,
Who list'ning downward hears his roaring lord,
And executes his purpose: but no more.
The morning creeps behind yon eastern hill,
And now the guard is mine, to drive the elves,
And foolish fairies, from their moonlight play,
And lash the laggers from the sight of day.

[Descends

Enter GUISE, MAYENNE, CARDINAL, and ARCHBISHOP.

Mayenne. Sullen methinks and slow, the morning breaks, As if the sun were listless to appear,

And dark designs hung heavy on the day.

Guise. Stay, or- -O Heav'n! I'll force you: stay

Marmoutiere. I do believe

So ill of you, so villanously ill,

That if

you

durst, you

would:

Honour you've little, honesty you've less;
But conscience you have none.

Yet there's a thing call'd fame, and men's esteem,
Preserves me from your force. Once more farewell:
Look on me, Guise, thou seest me now the last;
Though treason urge not thunder on thy head,
This one departing glance shall flash thee dead.

Mal. Come forth, and bless the triumph of the day.
Guise. So slight a victory requir'd not me:

I but sate still, and nodded like a god
My world into creation; now 'tis time
To walk abroad, and carelessly survey
How the dull matter does the form obey.

ALBION AND ALBANIUS. 1684 or 1685.

Mercury. Thou glorious fabric! stand for ever, stand: Well worthy thou to entertain

The god of traffic, and of gain,

To draw the concourse of the land,

And wealth of all the main.

But where the shoals of merchants meeting,

Welcome to their friends repeating,

Busy bargain's deafer sound!

Tongue confus'd of every nation?

Nothing here but desolation,

Mournful silence reigns around.

Thamesis. Old Father Ocean calls my tide:

Come away, come away;

The barks upon the billows ride,

The master will not stay;

The

merry boatswain from his side
His whistle takes, to check and chide
The ling'ring lads' delay,

And all the crew aloud has cried,
Come away, come away.

See the God of Seas attends thee,
Nymphs divine, a beauteous train:

All the calmer gales befriend thee
In thy passage o'er the main:
Every maid her locks is binding,
Every Triton's horn is winding,
Welcome to the wat❜ry plain.

Nereids. From the low palace of old Father Ocean,
Come we in pity your cares to deplore:
Sea-racing dolphins are train'd for our motion,
Moony tides swelling to roll us ashore.

Ev'ry nymph of the flood, her tresses rending,
Throws off her armlet of pearl in the main;
Neptune in anguish, his charge unattending,
Vessels are found'ring, and vows are in vain.

Proteus. Albion, lov'd of gods and men,
Prince of Peace, too mildly reigning,
Cease thy sorrow and complaining;
Thou shalt be restor❜d again:
Albion, lov'd of gods and men.

Still thou art the care of Heav'n,
In thy youth to exile driv'n:
Heav'n thy ruin then prevented,
Till the guilty land repented:

In thy age, when none could aid thee,
Foes conspir'd, and friends betray'd thee;

To the brink of danger driv'n,

Still thou art the care of Heav'n.

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