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Truly with child, indeed, of the fair princess.
Panthea. Then she could have torn her hair,
And did alone to me, yet durst not speak
In public, for she knew she should be found
A traitor; and her tale would have been
thought

Madness, or any thing rather than truth.
This was the only cause why she did seek
To poison you, and I to keep you safe;
And this the reason why I sought to kindle
Some sparks of love in you to fair Panthea,
That she might get part of her right again.

Arb. And have you made an end now? Is this all?

If not, I will be still till I be aged,
Till all my hairs be silver.

Gob. This is all.

Arb. And is it true, say you too, madam?
Ara. Yes, Heaven knows, it is most true.
Arb. Panthea, then, is not my sister.
Gob. No.

Ara. But can you prove this?

Gob. If you'll give consent,

Else who dares go about it?

Arb. Give consent?

Why, I will have 'em all that know it rack'd
To
get this from 'em. All that wait without,
Come in, whate'er you be, come in, and be
Partakers of my joy! Oh, you are welcome!

Enter Bessus, gentlmen, Mardonius,
and other attendants.

Mardonius, the best news! Nay, draw no nearer;

They all shall hear it: I am found No King. Mar. Is that so good news?

Arb. Yes, the happiest news

That e'er was heard.

Mar. Indeed, 'twere well for you
If you might be a little less obey'd.
Arb. One call the queen.
Mar. Why, she is there.

Arb. The queen,
Mardonius? Panthea is the
queen,
And I am plain Arbaces. Go, some one!
She is in Gobrias' house. Since I saw you,
There are a thousand things deliver'd to me,
You little dream of. [Exit a gentleman.
Mar. So it should seem. My lord,

What fury's this?

Gob. Believe me, 'tis no fury;

All that he says is truth.

Mar. 'Tis very strange.

[men?

Arb. Why do you keep your hats off, gentleIs it to me? I swear, it must not be; Nay, trust me, in good faith, it must not be! I cannot now cominand but I you; pray you, For the respect you bare me when you took Me for your king, each man clap on his hat At my desire.

Mar. We will. You are not found So mean a man, but that you may be cover'd As well as we; may you not?

Arb. Oh, not here!

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Lyg. Tis Spaconia.

[Exit two gentlemen.

Arb. Ay, ay, Spaconia.

Lyg. She is my daughter.

Arb. She is so. I could now tell any thing

I never heard. Your king shall go so home, As never man went.

Mar. Shall he go on's head?

Arb. He shall have chariots easier than air, That I will have invented; and ne'er think He shall pay any ransom! And thyself, That art the messenger, shall ride before him On a horse cut out of an entire diamond, That shall be made to go with golden wheels, I know not how yet.

Lyg. Why, I shall be made

For ever! They hely'd this king with us,
And said he was unkind.

Arb. And then, thy daughter;

She shall have some strange thing; we'll have the kingdom

Sold utterly, and put into a toy,
Which she shall wear about her carelessly,
Somewhere or other. See, the virtuous queen!
Behold the humblest subject that you have,
Kneel here before you.

Enter Panthea and 1 gentleman.
Pan. Why kneel you to me,

That am your vassal?

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The following observations are made by Mr. Seward, respecting this Play. Mr. Rymer flings the most virulent of all his invectives against Othello and Arbaces, falsly deeming all the faults of those characters to be so many charges against the Poets; whereas their intent was not to paint perfection but human nature, to blend the virtues and vices together, so that both may spring from the same temper, and, like handsome and ill-favoured ⚫ children, both still bear a resemblance to their sire. To do this well is one of the highest efforts of poetry. Arbaces, like his great pattern Achilles, has virtues and vices in the extreme. His violence makes us expect some dreadful effect, and it therefore soon hurries him into an attempt to commit incest. He is to raise terror and anger, not pity and love; and Mr. Rymer having the same choler in his temper, ridiculously took fire, and furiously attacked his own shadow.'

The savage jealousy of the Moor is so finely delineated, that the tragedy of Othello, notwithstanding some slight defects in the construction of the fable, must for ever excite the admiration of all true lovers of dramatic poetry. The spleen of Rymer is almost as ineffectually vented on this Tragedy of our Authors: Yet Candor and Justice oblige us to confess, that the sudden transition of passions in the character of Arbaces sometimes borders on the ridiculous. The picture is, however, in the main, faithfully copied from nature, with many touches of peculiar excellence, particularly the agitations of Arbaces, during his conflict with a supposed incestuous passion. His reverential fear of Mardonius, and his contempt of Bessus, while he is severally soliciting them, are finely imagined, and as finely executed. The Arbaces of our Authors is evidently the model on which Lee formed his Alexander, as well as his Clytus on Mardonius. It would, perhaps, require a nice hand to make this play thoroughly relished by a modern audience; yet it most certainly abounds with the highest dramatic excellencies, and deserves an eminent rank in the list of theatrical productions.

A COMEDY.

The Commendatory Verses by Waller and Stanley speak of Fletcher as the Author of this Comedy; in the titles of the old copies we find the names of both our Authors, and it is supposed to have been their joint production. We do not find that it was ever altered; nor has it been performed in the course of many years past; though, in the lifetime of Mrs. Oldfield, who acted the Lady, it used to be frequently represented.

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1 At a gulp, without trumpets.] The allusion is here either to the drinking of healths at our public halls and city entertainments; or else to a passage in the Acharnenses of Aristophanes, which the old Scholiast informs us, that it was a custom in Athens, at certain of their upon feasts, to challenge one another to drink by sound of trumpet. Mr. Theobald.

And mine is to persuade, &c.] The majority of the old quarto's thus divide this speech: or to leave the land.

Yo. Lo. Make the boat stay: I fear I shall, &c.

which is certainly erroneous. The modern editions make no division, but give the whole to the Elder Loveless; which seems equally improper. We apprehend the original reading to have been,

or to leave the land.

Yo. Lo. Make the boat stay.

El. Lo. I fear I shall begin, &c.

i. e. After the Elder Lovelace declares, that, if he cannot persuade the Lady to remit the duty she had imposed on him in her passion, he must undergo the disagreeable task of quitting the land; the Younger jocularly replies, Make the boat stay;' be not hasty, postpone your de parture. The Elder then rejoins, I fear I shall begin my journey this night."

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El. Lo. I fear I shall begin my unfortunate journey this night; though the darkness of the night, and the roughness of the waters, might easily dissuade an unwilling man.

Savil. Sir, your father's old friends hold it the sounder course for your body and estate to stay at home and marry, and propagate, and govern in your country, than to travel and die without issue.

El. Lo. Savil, you shall gain the opinion of a better servant, in seeking to execute, not alter, my will, howsoever my intents succeed.

Yo. Lo. Yonder's mistress Younglove, brother, the grave rubber of your mistress's toes.

Enter Younglove, or Abigail.

El. Lo. Mistress Younglove-

Abig. Master Loveless, truly we thought your sails had been hoist: My mistress is persuaded you are sea-sick ere this.

El. Lo. Loves she her ill-taken-up resolution so dearly? Didst thou move her from

me?

Abig. By this light that shines, there's no removing her, if she get a stiff opinion by the end. I attempted her to-day, when, they say, a woman can deny nothing.

El. Lo. What critical minute was that? Abig. When her smock was over her ears; but she was no more pliant than if it hung above her heels.

El. Lo. I prithee deliver my service, and say, I desire to see the dear cause of my banishment; and then for France. [brother? Abig. I'll do't. Hark hither, is that your El. Lo. Yes; have you lost your memory? Abig. As I live he's a pretty fellow. [Exit. Yo. Lo. Oh, this is a sweet brach.3

El. Lo. Why she knows not you.

Yo. Lo. No, but she offer'd me once to know her. To this day she loves youth of eighteen. She heard a tale how Cupid struck her in love with a great lord in the Tilt-yard, but he never saw her; yet she in kindness would needs wear a willow-garland at his wedding. She lov'd all the players in the last queen's time once over; she was struck when they acted lovers, and forsook some when they play'd murderers. She has nine spurroyals, and the servants say she hoards old gold; and she herself pronounces angerly, that the farmer's eldest son (or her mistress's husband's clerk shall be) that marries her, shall make her a jointure of fourscore pounds a-year. She tells tales of the serving-men

El. Lo. Enough, I know her. Brother, I shall entreat you only to salute my mistress and take leave; we'll part at the stairs.

Enter Lady and waiting woman. Lady. Now, Sir, this first part of your will is perform'd: What's the rest?

El. Lo. First, let me beg your notice for this gentleman, my brother."

Lady. I shall take it as a favour done to me. Though the gentleman hath receiv'd but an untimely grace from you, yet my charitable disposition would have been ready to have done him freer courtesies as a stranger, than upon those cold commendations.

Yo. Lo. Lady, my salutations crave acquaintance and leave at once.

Lady. Sir, I hope you are the master of your own occasions. (Ex. Yo. Lo. and Savil.

El. Lo. 'Would I were so. Mistress, for me to praise over again that worth, which all the world, and you yourself can see

Lady. It's a cold room this, servant.
El. Lo. Mistress-

Lady. What think you if I have a chimney for't, out here?

El. Lo. Mistress, another in my place, that were not ty'd to believe all your actions just, would apprehend himself wrong'd: But I, whose virtues are constancy and obedience

Lady. Younglove, make a good fire above, to warn me after my servant's exordiums.

El. Lo. I have heard and seen your affability to be such, that the servants you give wages to may speak.

Lady. 'Tis true, 'tis true; but they speak to th' purpose.

El Lo. Mistress, your will leads my speeches from the purpose. But, as a man

Lady. A simile, servant! This room was built for honest meaners, that deliver themselves hastily and plainly, and are gone. Is this a time or place for exordiums, and similies, and metaphors? If you have ought to say, break into't: My answers shall very reasonably meet you.

El. Lo. Mistress, I came to see you.
Lady. That's happily dispatch'd; the next.
El. Lo. To take leave of you.
Lady. To be gone?

El. Lo. Yes.

Lady. You need not have despair'd of that, nor have us'd so many circumstances to win me to give you leave to perform my command. Is there a third?

El. Lo. Yes; I had a third, had you been apt to hear it. [fast! Lady. I never apter. Fast, good servant, El. Lo. Twas to intreat you to hear reason. Lady. Most willingly; have you brought one can speak it?

30, this is a sweet brache!] A sort of hound, or any little stinking, household cur.

Brach is used by Shakespeare to signify a bitch-hound.

Mr. Theobald.

• She has nine spur-ryals.] This was a piece of gold coin, very current in the reign of king James I.

Mr. Theobald.

El. Lo. Lastly, it is to kindle in that barren heart love and forgiveness.

Lady. You would stay at home?
El. Lo. Yes, lady.

Lady. Why, you may, and doubtlessly will, when you have debated that your commander is but your mistress, a woman, a weak one, wildly overborn with passions: But the thing by her commanded is, to see Dover's dreadful Cliff, passing in a poor water-house; the dangers of the merciless Channel 'twixt that and Calais, five long hours' sail, with three poor weeks' victuals,S

El. Lo. You wrong me.

Lady. Then, to land dumb, unable to enquire for an English host, to remove_from city to city, by most chargeable post-horse, like one that rode in quest of his mother tongue. El. Lo. You wrong me much.

Lady. And all these (almost invincible) labours perform'd for your mistress, to be in danger to forsake her, and to put on new allegiance to some French lady, who is content to change language with your laughter; and, after your whole year spent in tennis and broken speech, to stand to the hazard of being laugh'd at, at your return, and have tales made on you by the chambermaids.

El. Lo. You wrong me much.
Lady. Louder yet.

El. Lo. You know your least word is of force to make me seek out dangers; move me not with toys. But, in this banishment, I must take leave to say, you are unjust: Was one kiss forc'd from you in public by me so unpardonable? Why, all the hours of day and night have scen us kiss.

Lady. "Tis true, and so you told the company that heard me chide. [than I. El. Lo. Your own eyes were not dearer to you Lady. And so you told 'em.

El. Lo. I did; yet no sign of disgrace need to have stain'd your check: You yourself knew your pure and simple heart to be most unspotted, and free from the least baseness.

Lady. I did: But if a maid's heart doth but once think that she is suspected, her own face will write her guilty.

El. Lo. But where lay this disgrace? the world, that knew us, knew our resolutions well: And could it be hop'd, that I should give away my freedom, and venture a perpe

tual bondage with one I never kiss'd; or could I in strict wisdom take too much love upon me, from her that chose me for her husband? Lady. Believe me, if my wedding-smock [come;

were on;

Were the gloves bought and giv'n, the licence Were the rosemary-branches dipp'd, and all The hippocras and cakes eat and drank off; Were these two arms encompass'd with the hands

Of batchelors, to lead me to the church; Were my feet in the door; were I John' said;

If John should boast a favour done by me,
I would not wed that year. And you, I hope,
When you have spent this year commodiously,
In atchieving languages, will at your return
Acknowledge me more coy of parting with
mine eyes,

Than such a friend. More talk I hold not now.
If you dare

go

El. Lo. I dare, you know. First, let me kiss. Lady. Farewell, sweet servant. Your task perform'd,

On

On a new ground, as a beginning suitor, 1 shall be apt to hear you.

El. Lo. Farewell, cruel mistress!

[Exit Lady.

Enter Young Loveless and Savil.

Yo. Lo. Brother, you'll hazard the losing your tide to Gravesend; you have a long halfmile by land to Greenwich.

El. Lo. I go. But, brother, what yetunheard-of course to live doth your imagination flatter you with? Your ordinary means are devour'd.

Yo. Lo. Course, why horse-coursing, I think. Consume no time in this; I have no estate to be mended by meditation: He that busies himself about my fortunes, may properly be said to busy himself about nothing.

El. Lo. Yet some course you must take, which, for my satisfaction, resolve and open. If you will shape none, I must inform you, that that man but persuades himself he means to live, that imagines not the means.

Yo. Lo. Why, live upon others, as others have liv'd upon me.

El. Lo. I apprehend not that: You have fed others, and consequently dispos'd of 'em ; and the same measure must you expect from

5 Five long hours' sail, with three poor weeks' victuals.] This speech is all through sarcastical. She is bantering her gallant on the supposed danger of his voyage; and the great care he is taking of himself, in laying in three weeks provisions only to cross from Dover to Calais.

Mr. Theobald.

Where the apprehensive Mr. Theobald acquired information of Loveless having laid in three weeks' provision is unknown to us. Had he not informed us this was the case, we should have supposed the sarcasm level'd at the generality of puny travellers, not singly at Loveless.

6

Hippocras.] This was a wine spiced and strain'd through a flannel bar, formerly in much request at weddings, wakes, &c. The strainer, we are told, was call'd flippocrates's sleeve. I know, there is a woollen bag, so call d, used by the apothecaries to strain syrups and decoetions for clarification. Mr. Theobald.

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