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Queen. I feel my love to Philocles within me,
Shrink, and pull back my heart from this hard trial.
But it must be, when glory says it must.
As children wading from some river's bank,
First try the water, with their tender feet;
Then shudd'ring up with cold, step back again,
And straight a little further venture on,
Till at the last they plunge into the deep,
And pass at once, what they were doubting long.

THE TEMPEST. 1667.

ARISE, arise! ye subterranean winds,
More to disturb their guilty minds:

And all ye filthy damps and vapours rise,

Which use t' infect the earth, and trouble all the skies; Rise you, from whom devouring plagues have birth: You that i' th' vast and hollow womb of earth Engender earthquakes, make whole countries shake, And stately cities into deserts turn;

And

you

who feed the flames by which earth's entrails burn.

Ye raging winds, whose rapid force can make

All but the fix'd and solid centre shake,

Come drive these wretches to that part o' th' isle
Where Nature never yet did smile:

Cause fogs and storms, whirlwinds and earthquakes there:
There let 'em howl and languish in despair.

Rise and obey the powerful Prince o' th' air.

Dry those eyes which are o'erflowing,
All your storms are overblowing:
While you in this isle are biding,
You shall feast without providing:

Every dainty you can think of,

Every wine which you would drink of,
Shall be yours; all want shall shun you,
Ceres' blessing so is on you.

Ferdinand. This must have more importance than an

echo.

Some spirit tempts me to a precipice.

I'll try if it will answer when I sing

My sorrows to the murmur of this brook.

Ariel.

Ferd.

Ariel.

He sings.
Go thy way.

Go thy way.

Why shouldst thou stay?

sines

Why shouldst thou stay?

Ferd. Where the winds whistle, and where the streams

creep,

Ariel.

Under yon willow-tree fain would I sleep.
Then let me alone,

For 'tis time to be gone.

For 'tis time to be gone.

Ferd. What cares or pleasures can be in this isle?

Within this desert place,

There lives no human race;

Fate cannot frown here, nor kind Fortune smile. Ariel. Kind Fortune smiles, and she

Has yet in store for thee

Some strange felicity.

Follow me, follow me,

And thou shalt see.

Eolus. Come down, my blusterers, swell no more.

Your stormy rage give o'er.

Let all black tempests cease,

And let the troubled ocean rest:

Let all the sea enjoy as calm a peace,

As where the halcyon builds her quiet nest.

are I

last

To your prisons below, Down, down you must go: You in the earth's entrails But no more till I call shall

your revels may keep;
you trouble the deep.

TYRANNIC LOVE. 1668 or 1669.

Prologue. Poets, like lovers, should be bold and dare, They spoil their business with an over-care.

And he who servilely creeps after sense
Is safe, but ne'er will reach an excellence.
Hence 'tis our poet, in his conjuring,
Allow'd his fancy the full scope and swing.
But when a tyrant for his theme he had,
He loos'd the reins, and bid his muse run mad:
And though he stumbles in a full career;

Yet rashness is a better fault than fear.

He

saw his

way;

but in so swift a pace,
To choose the ground, might be to lose the race.
They then, who of each trip th' advantage take,
Find but those faults, which they want wit to make.

Maximin. Fate's dark recesses we can never find;
But Fortune at some hours to all is kind;

The lucky have whole days, which still they choose;
Th' unlucky have but hours, and those they lose.

Placidius. I have consulted one, who reads Heaven's doom,
And sees, as present, things which are to come.
"Tis that Nigrinus, made by our command
A tribune in the new Pannonian band.
Him have I seen, (on Ister's banks he stood,
Where last we winter'd) bind the headlong flood
In sudden ice; and where most swift it flows,
In crystal nets the wond'ring fishes close.

Then, with a moment's thaw, the streams enlarge,
And from the mesh the twinkling guests discharge.
In a deep vale, or near some ruin'd wall,

He would the ghosts of slaughter'd soldiers call;
Who slow to wounded bodies did repair,

And loth to enter, shiver'd in the air;

These his dread wand did to short life compel,

And forc'd the fates of battles to foretel.

Max. 'Tis wond'rous strange! But, good Placidius, say,

What prophesies Nigrinus of this day?

Plac. In a lone tent, all hung with black, I saw
Where in a square he did a circle draw:
Four angles, made by that circumference,
Bore holy words inscrib'd, of mystic sense.
When, first, a hollow wind began to blow,
The sky grew black, and bellied down more low,
Around the fields did nimble lightning play,
Which offer'd us, by fits, and snatch'd the day.
'Midst this, was heard the shrill and tender cry
Of well-pleas'd ghosts, which in the storm did fly;
Danc'd to and fro, and skimm'd along the ground,
'Till to the magic circle they were bound.
They coursing it, while we were fenced within,
We saw this dreadful scene of fate begin.

Albinus. With a fierce haste he led our troops the way:

While fiery show'rs of sulphur on him rain'd;

Nor left he, till the battlements he gain'd:
There with a forest of their darts he strove,
And stood like Capaneus defying Jove.

With his broad sword the boldest beating down,
While Fate grew pale lest he should win the town,
And turn'd the iron leaves of its dark book,

To make new dooms, or mend what it mistook;
Till sought by many deaths, he sunk though late,
And by his fall asserted doubtful fate.

Max. This love, that never could my youth engage, Peeps out his coward head to dare my age.

Where hast thou been thus long, thou sleeping form,
That wak'st, like drowsy seamen, in a storm?
A sullen hour thou choosest for thy birth:
My love shoots up in tempests, as the earth
Is stirr'd and loosen'd in a blust'ring wind,
Whose blasts to waiting flowers her womb unbind.

St. Catherine. No happiness can be, where is no rest: Th' unknown, untalk'd-of man is only blest.

He, as in some safe cliff, his cell does keep,
From thence he views the labours of the deep:
The gold-fraught vessel which mad tempests beat,
He sees now vainly make to his retreat:

And when, from far, the tenth wave does appear,
Shrinks up in silent joy, that he's not there.

Berenice. My earthy part

Which is my tyrant's right, death will remove;
I'll come all soul and spirit to your love.
With silent steps I'll follow you all day,
Or else before you, in the sunbeams, play.
I'll lead you thence to melancholy groves,
And there repeat the scenes of our past loves.
At night, I will within your curtains peep;
With empty arms embrace you while
you sleep.
In gentle dreams I often will be by;
And sweep along, before your closing eye.
All dangers from your bed I will remove;
But guard it most from any future love.
And when at last, in pity, you will die,
I'll watch your birth of immortality:
Then, turtle-like, I'll to my mate repair;
And teach you your first flight in open air.

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