Cleo. Weep not, Arsinoë, (common women do so,)

Nor lose a tear for him; it cannot help him;

But study to die nobly.

Pho. Cæsar fled ?

'Tis deadly aconite to my cold heart;

It choaks my vital spirits! Where was your care? Did the guards sleep?

Achil. He roused them with his sword;
(We talk of Mars, but I am sure his courage
Admits of no comparison but itself!)

And, as inspired by him, his following friends,
With such a confidence as young eaglets prey
Under the large wing of their fiercer dam,
Brake through our troops, and scatter'd 'em. He
went on,

But still pursued by us: When on the sudden
He turn'd his head, and from his eyes flew terror,
Which struck in us no less fear and amazement
Than if we had encountered with the lightning
Hurl'd from Jove's cloudy brow.

Cleo. 'Twas like my Cæsar!

Achil. We fallen back, he made on: and, as our Had parted from us with his dreadful looks, [fear Again we follow'd: But, got near the sea, On which his navy anchor'd, in one hand Holding a scroll he had above the waves, And in the other grasping fast his sword, As it had been a trident forged by Vulcan To calm the raging ocean, he made a way, As if he had been Neptune; his friends, like So many Tritons, follow'd, their bold shouts Yielding a cheerful music. We shower'd darts Upon them, but in vain; they reach'd their ships And in their safety we are sunk; for Cæsar Prepares for war.

Pho. How fell the king?

Achil. Unable

To follow Cæsar, he was trod to death

By the pursuers, and with him the priest

Of Isis, good Achoreus.

Ars. May the earth

Lie gently on their ashes!

Pho. I feel now,

That there are powers above us; and that 'tis not
Within the searching policies of man
To alter their decrees.

Cleo. I laugh at thee!

Where are thy threats now, fool? thy scoffs, and
Against the gods? I see calamity

Is the best mistress of religion,
And can convert an atheist.

Pho. Oh, they come!

[ scorns

[Shout within.

Mountains fall on me! Oh, for him to die
That placed his heaven on earth, is an assurance
Of his descent to hell! Where shall I hide me?
The greatest daring to a man dishonest,

Is but a bastard courage, ever fainting. [Exit.
Enter CESAR, SCEVA, ANTONY, and DOLABELLA.
Cæsar. Look on your Cæsar! banish fear, my
You now are safe!
[fairest ;

Sce. By Venus, not a kiss

Till our work be done! The traitors once dis-
To it, and we'll cry aim!
Cæsar. I will be speedy.

[patch'd

[Exeunt CESAR and train. How now,

[Eros?

Cleo. Farewell again!-Arsinoë! Ever faint-hearted?

Eros. But that I am assured

Your excellency can command the general,
I fear the soldiers, for they look as if
They would be nibbling too.

Cleo. He is all honour;

Nor do I now repent me of my favours,
Nor can I think Nature e'er made a woman,

That in her prime deserved him.

Enter CESAR, SCEVA, ANTONY, DOLABELLA, and Soldiers, with the Heads of PHOTINUS and ACHILLAS. Ars. He's come back.

Cæsar. Pursue no farther; curb the soldiers' fury!

See, beauteous mistress, their accursed heads,
That did conspire against us.

Sce. Furies plague 'em!

They had too fair an end, to die like soldiers :
Pompey fell by the sword; the cross or halter
Should have dispatch'd them.

Caesar. All is but death, good Sceva;
Be therefore satisfied.-And now, my dearest,
Look upon Cæsar, as he still appear'd,

A conqueror! And, this unfortunate king
Entomb'd with honour, we'll to Rome, where Cæsar
Will shew he can give kingdoms; for the senate,
Thy brother dead, shall willingly decree

The crown of Egypt, that was his, to thee. [Exeunt,

I now should wish another had my place,
But that I hope to come off, and with grace:
And, but express some sign that you are pleased,
We of our doubts, they of their fears, are eased.

I would beg further, gentlemen, and much say

I' th' favour of ourselves, them, and the play.
Did I not rest assured, the most I see
Hate impudence, and cherish modesty.

SCENE I.-PARIS. A Street.

Enter DINANT and CLEREMONT.

Din. Dissuade me not.

Cler. "Twill breed a brawl!

Din. I care not;

I wear a sword!

Cler. And wear discretion with it,

Or cast it off; let that direct your arm; 'Tis madness else, not valour, and more base Than to receive a wrong.

Din. Why, would you have me

Sit down with a disgrace, and thank the doer? We are not stoicks, and that passive courage Is only now commendable in lacquies, Peasants, and tradesmen, not in men of rank And quality, as I am.

Cler. Do not cherish

That daring vice, for which the whole age suffers.
The blood of our bold youth, that heretofore
Was spent in honourable action,

Or to defend or to enlarge the kingdom,

For the honour of our country, and our prince,
Pours itself out with prodigal expence
Upon our mother's lap, the earth that bred us,
For every trifle. And these private duels,
Which had their first original from the French,
And for which, to this day, we are justly censured,
Are banish'd from all civil governments:
Scarce three in Venice, in as many years;

In Florence they are rarer; and in all
The fair dominions of the Spanish king,
They are never heard of. Nay, those neighbour
Which gladly imitate our other follies, [countries,
And come at a dear rate to buy them of us,
Begin now to detest them.

Din. Will you end yet?

Cler. And have heard that some of our late For the lie, wearing of a mistress' favour, [kings, A cheat at cards or dice, and such like causes, Have lost us many gallant gentlemen,

As might have met the Great Turk in the field,
With confidence of a glorious victory :
And shall we then-

Din. No more, for shame, no more!

Are you become a patron too? 'Tis a new one,
No more on't, burn it, give it to some orator,
To help him to enlarge his exercise:
With such a one it might do well, and profit
The curate of the parish; but for Cleremont,

The bold and undertaking Cleremont,

To talk thus to his friend, his friend that knows him,
Dinant that knows his Cleremont, is absurd,
And mere apocrypha.

Cler. Why, what know you of me?

[thee,

Din. Why, if thou hast forgot thyself, I'll tell And not look back, to speak of what thou wert At fifteen, for at those years I have heard Thou wast flesh'd, and enter'd bravely.

Cler. Well, sir, well?

Din. But yesterday thou wast the common second Of all that only knew thee; thou hadst bills Set up on every post to give thee notice Where any difference was, and who were parties. And as, to save the charges of the law, Poor men seek arbitrators, thou wert chosen By such as knew thee not, to compound quarrels: But thou wert so delighted with the sport,

That if there were no just cause, thou wouldst make one,

Or be engaged thyself. This goodly calling [died
Thou hast follow'd five-and-twenty years, and stu-
The criticisms of contentions; and art thou
In so few hours transform'd? Certain, this night
Thou hast had strange dreams, or rather visions.
Cler. Yes, sir,

I have seen fools and fighters chain'd together, And the fighters had the upper hand, and whipp'd first,

The poor sots laughing at 'em. What I have been
It skills not; what I will be is resolved on.
Din. Why, then you'll fight no more?

Cler. Such is my purpose.

Din. On no occasion?

Cler. There you stagger me.

Some kind of wrongs there are, which flesh and
Cannot endure.

Din. Thou would'st not willingly
Live a protested coward, or be call'd one?
Cler. Words are but words.

[blood

Caroch'd, in cloth of tissue; nor five hundred
Of such-like toys, that at no part concern me.
Marry, where my honour, or my friend's is ques-
I have a sword, and I think I may use it [tion'd,
To the cutting of a rascal's throat, or so,
Like a good Christian.

Din. Thou'rt of a fine religion;

And, rather than we'll make a schism in friendship,
I will be of it.-But, to be serious,

Thou art acquainted with my tedious love-suit
To fair Lamira?

Cler. Too well, sir, and remember
Your presents, courtship-that's too good a name-
Your slave-like services; your morning music,
Your walking three hours in the rain at midnight
To see her at her window, sometimes laugh'd at,
Sometimes admitted, and vouchsafed to kiss
Her glove, her skirt, nay, I have heard, her slippers;
How then you triumph'd! Here was love forsooth.
Din. These follies I deny not;

Such a contemptible thing my dotage made me: But my reward for this

Cler. As you deserved;

For he that makes a goddess of a puppet,
Merits no other recompense.

Din. This day, friend,

For thou art so

Cler. I am no flatterer.

Din. This proud ingrateful she is married to Lame Champernel.

Cler. I know him; he has been

As tall a seaman, and has thrived as well by't,
(The loss of a leg and an arm deducted) as any
That ever put from Marseilles. You are tame;
Plague on't, it mads me! If it were my case,
I should kill all the family.

Din. Yet, but now

You did preach patience.

Cler. I then came from confession;

And 'twas enjoin'd me three hours, for a penance,
To be a peaceable man, and to talk like one;
But now,
all else being pardon'd, I begin
On a new tally. 'Foot, do anything,
I'll second you.

Din. I would not willingly

Make red my yet-white conscience; yet I purpose: I' th' open street, as they come from the temple, (For this way they must pass) to speak my wrongs, And do it boldly. [Music plays

Cler. Were thy tongue a cannon,

I would stand by thee, boy. They come; upon 'em!
Din. Observe a little first.
Cler. This is a fine fiddling.

Enter VERTAIGNE, CHAMPERNEL, LAMIRA, Nurse, BEAUPER, and VERDONE; Musicians.

An Epithalamion Song at the Wedding.

Come away; bring on the bride,
And place her by her lover's side.
You fair troop of maids attend her,
Pure and holy thoughts befriend her.
Blush, and wish, you virgins all,
Many such fair nights may fall.

Chorus. Hymen fill the house with joy,
All thy sacred fires employ:
Bless the bed with holy love,
Now, fair orb of beauty, move.

Din. Stand by, for I will be heard. Vert. This is strange rudeness!

Din. 'Tis courtship, balanced with [my] injuries!

You all look pale with guilt, but I will dye
Your cheeks with blushes, if in your sear'd veins
There yet remain so much of honest blood
To make the colour. First, to you, my lord,
The father of this bride, whom you have sent
Alive into her grave.

Champ. How! to her grave?

Din. Be patient, sir; I'll speak of you anon.You that allowed me liberal access,

To make my way with service, and approved of
My birth, my person, years, and no base fortune;
You that are rich, and, but in this, held wise too;
That as a father should have look'd upon
Your daughter in a husband, and aim'd more
At what her youth and heat of blood required
In lawful pleasures, than the parting from
Your crowns to pay her dower; you that already
Have one foot in the grave, yet study profit,
As if you were assured to live here ever;
What poor end had you in this choice? In what
Deserve I your contempt? My house, and honours,
At all parts equal yours, my fame as fair,
And, not to praise myself, the city ranks me
In the first file of her most hopeful gentry.
But Champernel is rich, and needs a nurse,
And not your gold; and, add to that, he's old too,
His whole estate in likelihood to descend
Upon your family: Here was providence,
I grant, but, in a nobleman, base thrift.

No merchants, nay, no pirates, sell for bondmen
Their countrymen; but you, a gentleman,
To save a little gold, have sold your daughter
To worse than slavery.

Cler. This was spoke home indeed.

Beau. Sir, I shall take some other time to tell That this harsh language was delivered to An old man, but my father.

Din. At your pleasure.

Cler. Proceed in your design; let me alone To answer him, or any man.

Verdone. You presume

[you,

Too much upon your name, but may be cozen'd.
Din. But for you, most unmindful of my service,
(For now I may upbraid you, and with honour,
Since all is lost; and yet I am a gainer,
In being deliver'd from a torment in you,
For such you must have been) you, to whom nature
Gave with a liberal hand most excellent form,
Your education, language, and discourse,
And judgment to distinguish; when you shall
With feeling sorrow understand how wretched
And miserable you have made yourself,
And but yourself have nothing to accuse,
Can you with hope from any beg compassion?
But you will say, you served your father's pleasure,
Forgetting that unjust commands of parents
Are not to be obey'd; or, that you are rich,
And that to wealth all pleasures else are servants :
Yet, but consider how this wealth was purchased,
"Twill trouble the possession.

Champ. You, sir, know

I got it, and with honour.

Din. But from whom?

Remember that, and how! You'll come indeed
To houses bravely furnish'd, but demanding
Where it was bought, this soldier will not lie,
But answer truly, "This rich cloth of arras
I made my prize in such a ship; this plate

Was my share in another; these fair jewels, Coming ashore, I got in such a village,

The maid, or matron kill'd, from whom they were ravish'd.

The wines you drink are guilty too; for this,
This Candy wine, three merchants were undone ;
These suckets break as many more." In brief,
All you shall wear, or touch, or see, is purchased
By lawless force, and you but revel in
The tears and groans of such as were the owners.
Champ. 'Tis false, most basely false !
Vert. Let losers talk.

Din. Lastly, those joys, those best of joys, which
Freely bestows on such that come to tie [Hymen
The sacred knot he blesses, won unto it
By equal love, and mutual affection,
Not blindly led with the desire of riches,
Most miserable, you shall never taste of!
This marriage-night you'll meet a widow's bed,
Or, failing of those pleasures all brides look for,
Sin in your wish it were so !

Champ. Thou'rt a villain,
A base, malicious slanderer!
Cler. Strike him.

Din. No, he's not worth a blow.
Champ. Oh, that I had thee

In some close vault, that only would yield room
To me to use my sword, to thee no hope
To run away, I would make thee on thy knees
Bite out the tongue that wrong'd me!
Vert. Pray you have patience.

Lam. This day I am to be your sovereign;
Let me command you.

Champ. I am lost with rage,

And know not what I am myself, nor you.
Away! dare such as you, that love the smoke
Of peace, more than the fire of glorious war,
And, like unprofitable drones, feed on
Your grandsires' labours, (that, as I am now,
Were gathering-bees, and fill'd their hive, this

country,

With brave triumphant spoils) censure our actions?
You object my prizes to me: Had you seen
The horror of a sea-fight, with what danger

I made them mine; the fire I fearless fought in, And quench'd it in mine enemies' blood, which straight

Like oil pour'd out on't, made it burn anew;
My deck blown up, with noise enough to mock
The loudest thunder, and the desperate fools
That boarded me, sent, to defy the tempests
That were against me, to the angry sea,
Frighted with men thrown o'er; no victory,
But in despite of the four elements,
The fire, the air, the sea, and sands hid in it,
To be achieved; you would confess, poor men,
(Though hopeless such an honourable way
To get or wealth or honour in yourselves)
He that through all these dreadful passages
Pursued and overtook them, unaffrighted,
Deserves reward, and not to have it styled
By the base name of theft.

Din. This is the courtship

That you must look for, madam.
Cler. "Twill do well,

When nothing can be done, to spend the night

with.

Your tongue is sound, good lord; and I could wish
For this young lady's sake, this leg, this arm,
And there is something else, I will not name,

(Though 'tis the only thing that must content her) Had the same vigour.

Champ. You shall buy these scoffs [Draws. With your best blood! Help me once, noble anger! Nay, stir not; I alone must right myself, And with one leg transport me, to correct These scandalous praters! Oh, that noble wounds [Falls; they laugh. Should hinder just revenge! D'ye jeer me too? I got these, not as you do your diseases,

In brothels, or with riotous abuse

Of wine in taverns; I have one leg shot,
One arm disabled, and am honour'd more
By losing them, as I did, in the face

Of a brave enemy, than if they were

As when I put to sea. You are Frenchmen only,

Go to!

In that you have been laid, and cured.
You mock my leg, but every bone about you
Makes you good almanack-makers, to foretell
What weather we shall have.

Din. Put up your sword.

Cler. Or turn it to a crutch; there it may be And live on the relation to your wife

Of what a brave man you were once.

[useful;

Din. To make a poultice, and endure the scent

Of oils, and nasty plasters.

Vert. Fy, sir, fy!

[CHAMPERNEL weeps.

You that have stood all dangers, of all kinds, To yield to a rival's scoff?

Lam. Shed tears upon

Your wedding-day?-This is unmanly, gentlemen. Cham. They are tears of anger. Oh, that I

should live

To play the woman thus! All-powerful Heaven,
Restore me, but one hour, that strength again
That I had once, to chastise in these men
Their follies and ill manners; and that done,
When you please, I'll yield up the fort of life,
And do it gladly.

Cler. We ha' the better of him,

We ha' made him cry.

Verdone. You shall have satisfaction: And I will do it nobly, or disclaim me.

Beau. I say no more; you have a brother, sister:

This is your wedding-day, we are in the street,
And howsoever they forget their honour,
'Tis fit I lose not mine, by their example.

Vert. If there be laws in Paris, look to answer This insolent affront.

Cler. You that live by them,

Study 'em, for Heaven's sake! For my part, I

know not,

Nor care not, what they are. Is there aught else
That you would say?

Din. Nothing; I have my ends.
Lamira weeps;
I have said too much I fear!
So dearly once I loved her, that I cannot
Endure to see her tears.

[Exeunt DINANT and CLEREMONT.

Champ. See you perform it,

And do it like my nephew.

Verdone. If I fail in't,

Never know me more. Cousin Beanpré!

[They speak apart.

Champ. Repent not

What thou hast done, my life; thou shalt not find
I am decrepid; in my love and service,

I will be young, and constant; and believe me,
(For thou shalt find it true, in scorn of all
The scandals these rude men have thrown upon me)
I'll meet thy pleasures with a young man's ardour,
And in all circumstances of a husband
Perform my parts.

Lam. Good sir, I am your servant;
And 'tis too late now, if I did repent,
(Which, as I am a virgin yet, I do not)
To undo the knot, that by the church is tied.
Only I would beseech you, as you have

A good opinion of me, and my virtues,

For so you have pleased to style my innocent weak.

ness,

That what hath pass'd between Dinant and me,
Or what now in your hearing he hath spoken,
Beget not doubts or fears.

Champ. I apprehend you;

You think I will be jealous: As I live,

Thou art mistaken, sweet! and, to confirm it, Discourse with whom thou wilt, ride where thou Feast whom thou wilt, as often as thou wilt; [wilt, For I will have no other guards upon thee

Than thine own thoughts.

Lam. I'll use this liberty

With moderation, sir.

Beau. [To VERDONE.] I am resolved. Steal off; I'll follow you.

Champ. Come, sir, you droop:

Till you find cause, which I shall never give,
Dislike not of your son-in-law.

Vert. Sir, you teach me

The language I should use: I am most happy
In being so near you. [Exeunt VERDONE and BEAUPRE
Lam. Oh, my fears! Good nurse,

Follow my brother unobserved, and learn
Which way he takes.

SCENE II.-The Apartments of DINANT.
Enter DINANT and CLEREMONT.

Cler. We shall have sport, ne'er fear't.
Din. What sport, I pr'ythee?

Cler. Why, we must fight; I know it, and long It was apparent in the fiery eye [for't; Of young Verdone; Beaupré look'd pale and shook too,

Familiar signs of anger. They're both brave fellows
Tried and approved, and I am proud to encounter
With men, from whom no honour can be lost;
They will play up to a man, and set him off.
Whene'er I go to th' field, Heaven keep me from
The meeting of an unflesh'd youth or coward!
The first, to get a name, comes on too hot;
The coward is so swift in giving ground,
There is no overtaking him without
A hunting nag, well breath'd too.

Din. All this while,

You ne'er think on the danger.