The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher: The maid's tragedy; Philaster; A king and no king; The scornful lady; Custom of the country; The elder brother; The Spanish curate; Wit without money; The beggars' bush; The humurous

"Would there had been no sadder works abroad
Since her decay, acted in fields of blood!

But to the man again, of whom we write,
The writer that made writing his delight,
Rather than work. He did not pump, nor drudge,
To beget wit, or manage it; nor trudge

To wit-conventions with note-book, to glean,

Or steal, some jests to foist into a scene:

He scorn'd those shifts. You, that have known him, know

The common talk; that from his lips did flow,

And run at waste, did savour more of wit,
Than any of his time, or since, have writ
(But few excepted) in the stage's way:
His scenes were acts, and every act a play.

I knew him in his strength; even then, when he,
That was the master of his art and me,

Most knowing Jonson (proud to call him son,)
In friendly envy swore he had out-done

His very self. I knew him till he died;
And, at his dissolution, what a tide

Of sorrow overwhelm'd the stage; which gave
Vollies of sighs to send him to his grave,
And grew distracted in most violent fits,
For she had lost the best part of her wits.
In the first year, our famous Fletcher fell,

Of good King Charles, who graced these poems well,
Being then in life of action: But they died

Since the king's absence; or were laid aside,
As is their poet. Now, at the report

Of the king's second coming to his court,

The books creep from the press to life, not action;
Crying unto the world, that no protraction

May hinder sacred majesty to give

Fletcher, in them, leave on the stage to live.
Others may more in lofty verses move,
I only thus express my truth and love.

RICH. BROME.

UPON THE PRINTING OF MR. JOHN FLETCHER'S WORKS.

What means this numerous guard? or, do we come
To file our names, or verse, upon the tomb
Of Fletcher, and, by boldly making known
His wit, betray the nothing of our own?
For, if we grant him dead, it is as true
Against ourselves, no wit, no poet now;
Or if he be return'd from his cool shade
To us, this book his resurrection's made:
We bleed ourselves to death, and but contrive
By our own epitaphs to shew him alive.
But let him live! and let me prophesy,
As I go swan-like out, our peace is nigh:
A balm unto the wounded age I sing,
And nothing now is wanting but the king.

JA. SHIRLEY.

TO MY WORTHY AUTHOR, MR. JOHN FLETCHER, UPON HIS FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS.

The wise and many-beaded bench, that sits
Upon the life and death of plays, and wits,

(Composed of gamester, captain, knight, knight's man,
Lady, or pucelle, that wears mask or fan,

Velvet, or taffata cap, rank'd in the dark

With the shop's foreman, or some such brave spark,
That may judge for his sixpence,) had, before
They saw it half, damn'd thy whole play; and, more,
Their motives were, since it had not to do
With vices, which they look'd for, and came to.
I, that am glad thy innocence was thy guilt,
And wish that all the muses' blood were spilt
In such a martyrdom, to vex their eyes,

Do crown thy murdered poem; which shall rise
A glorified work to time, when fire

Or moths shall eat what all these fools admire.

BEN JONSON.

TO HIS LOVING FRIEND, MR. JOHN FLETCHER, CONCERNING HIS PASTORAL BEING BOTH A POEM AND A PLAY.

Their pestilence inward, when they take the air,
And kill outright; one cannot both fates bear.
But, as a poet that's no scholar makes

Vulgarity his whiffler, and so takes

Passage with ease and state through both sides preas
Of pageant seers: or as scholars please

That are no poets, more than poets learn'd,

(Since their art solely is by souls discern'd;
The others' falls within the common sense,
And sheds, like common light, her influence :)

So were your play no poem, but a thing

That every cobler to his patch might sing,
A rout of nifles, like the multitude,

With no one limb of any art endued;

Like would to like, and praise you. But, because
Your poem only hath by us applause,

Renews the golden world, and holds through all

The holy laws of homely pastoral,

Where flowers and founts, and nymphs and semi-gods,

And all the graces find their old abodes;

Where forests flourish but in endless verse,
And meadows, nothing fit for purchasers:
This iron age, that eats itself, will never
Bite at your golden world, that others ever
Loved as itself. Then, like your book, do you
Live in old peace, and that for praise allow.

G. CHAPMAN.

ACT I.

Diph. You are the brother to the king, my lord; We'll take your word.

Lys. Strato, thou hast some skill in poetry: What think'st thou of the masque ? will it be well? Strat. As well as masque can be.

Lys. As masque can be?

Strat. Yes; they must commend their king, and speak in praise

Of the assembly; bless the bride and bridegroom In person of some god. They are tied to rules Of flattery.

Cle. See, good my lord, who is return'd!

Enter MELANTIUS.

Lys. Noble Melantius! the land, by me, Welcomes thy virtues home to Rhodes. Thou, that with blood abroad buy'st us our peace! The breath of kings is like the breath of gods; My brother wish'd thee here, and thou art here. He will be too kind, and weary thee

With me at Patria: Thou camest not, Diphilus ; 'Twas ill.

Diph. My noble brother, my excuse

Is my king's strict command; which you, my lord
Can witness with me.

Lys. 'Tis true, Melantius;
He might not come, till the solemnity
Of this great match was past.

Diph. Have you heard of it?

Mel. Yes. I have given cause to those that envy My deeds abroad, to call me gamesome:

I have no other business here at Rhodes.
Lys. We have a masque to-night, and you must
A soldier's measure.

[tread

Mel. These soft and silken wars are not for me: The music must be shrill, and all confused, That stirs my blood; and then I dance with arms. But is Amintor wed?

Diph. This day.

Mel. All joys upon him! for he is my friend. Wonder not that I call a man so young my friend: His worth is great; valiant he is, and temperate; And one that never thinks his life his own, If his friend need it. When he was a boy, As oft as I returned (as, without boast,

With often welcomes. But the time doth give thee I brought home conquest) he would gaze upon me,

A welcome above his, or all the world's. Mel. My lord, my thanks; but these scratch'd limbs of mine

Have spoke my love and truth unto my friends,
More than my tongue e'er could. My mind's the

It ever was to you: Where I find worth,
I love the keeper till he let it go,
And then I follow it.

Diph. Hail, worthy brother!
He, that rejoices not at your return
In safety, is mine enemy for ever.
Mel. I thank thee, Diphilus.
I sent for thee to exercise thine arms

[same

But thou art [faulty;

And view me round, to find in what one limb
The virtue lay to do those things he heard.
Then would he wish to see my sword, and feel
The quickness of the edge, and in his hand
Weigh it: He oft would make me smile at this.
His youth did promise much, and his ripe years
Will see it all perform'd.

Enter ASPATIA.

Hail, maid and wife!

Thou fair Aspatia, may the holy knot
That thou hast tied to-day, last till the hand
Of age undo it! may'st thou bring a race

Are at his charge.

Mel. 'Tis royal, like himself.

But I am sad

My speech bears so unfortunate a sound
To beautiful Aspatia. There is rage
Hid in her father's breast, Calianax,

Bent long against me; and he should not think,
If I could call it back, that I would take
So base revenges, as to scorn the state
Of his neglected daughter. Holds he still
His greatness with the king?

Lys. Yes. But this lady

Walks discontented, with her watery eyes
Bent on the earth. The unfrequented woods
Are her delight; and when she sees a bank
Stuck full of flowers, she with a sigh will tell
Her servants what a pretty place it were
To bury lovers in; and make her maids
Pluck 'em, and strew her over like a corse.
She carries with her an infectious grief,
That strikes all her beholders; she will sing
The mournful'st things that ever ear hath heard,
And sigh, and sing again; and when the rest
Of our young ladies, in their wanton blood,
Tell mirthful tales in course, that fill the room
With laughter, she will, with so sad a look,
Bring forth a story of the silent death
Of some forsaken virgin, which her grief
Will put in such a phrase, that, ere she end,
She'll send them weeping, one by one, away.

Mel. She has a brother under my command,
Like her; a face as womanish as hers;
But with a spirit that hath much outgrown
The number of his years.

Enter AMINTOR.

Cle. My lord, the bridegroom!
Mel. I might run fiercely, not more hastily,
Upon my foe. I love thee well, Amintor;
My mouth is much too narrow for my heart;
I joy to look upon those eyes of thine;
Thou art my friend, but my disorder'd speech
Cuts off my love.

Amin. Thou art Melantius;
All love is spoke in that. A sacrifice,

To thank the gods Melantius is return'd

Only thy valour and thine innocence !

What endless treasures would our enemies give, That I might hold thee still thus !

Mel. I am but poor

In words; but credit me, young man, thy mother
Could do no more but weep for joy to see thee
After long absence: All the wounds I have
Fetch'd not so much away, nor all the cries
Of widowed mothers. But this is peace,
And that was war.

Amin. Pardon, thou holy god

Of marriage bed, and frown not, I am forced,
In answer of such noble tears as those,
To weep upon my wedding-day.

Mel. I fear thou'rt grown too fickle; for I hear A lady mourns for thee; men say, to death; Forsaken of thee; on what terms I know not.

Amin. She had my promise; but the king forbade it,

And made me make this worthy change, thy sister,
Accompanied with graces far above her;

With whom I long to lose my lusty youth,
And grow old in her arms.

Mel. Be prosperous !

SCENE II.-A large Hall in the same, with a Gallery full of Spectators.

Enter CALIANAX, with DIAGORAS at the Door. Cal. Diagoras, look to the doors better for shame; you let in all the world, and anon the king will rail at me-why, very well said-by Jove, the king will have the show i' th' court.

Diag. Why do you swear so, my lord? You know, he'll have it here.

Cal. By this light, if he be wise, he will not. Diag. And if he will not be wise, you are for

Cal. One may wear out his heart with swearing, and get thanks on no side. I'll be gone-look to't who will.

Diag. My lord, I shall never keep them out. Pray, stay; your looks will terrify them.

Cal. My looks terrify them, you coxcombly ass, you! I'll be judged by all the company whether thou hast not a worse face than I.

Diag. I mean, because they know you and your office.

Cal. Office! I would I could put it off; I am sure I sweat quite through my office. I might

have made room at my daughter's wedding: they have near kill'd her among them; and now I must do service for him that hath forsaken her. Serve that will. [Exit. Diag. He's so humorous since his daughter was forsaken-Hark, hark! there, there! so, so! Codes, codes! [Knock within.] What now? Mel. [within.] Open the door. Diag. Who's there?

Mel. [within.] Melantius.

Diag. I hope your lordship brings no troop with you; for, if you do, I must return them.

[Opens the door. Persons endeavour to rush in.

Enter MELANTIUS and a Lady.

Mel. None but this lady, sir.

Diag. The ladies are all placed above, save those that come in the king's troop: The best of Rhodes sit there, and there's room.

Mel. I thank you, sir.-When I have seen you placed, madam, I must attend the king; but, the masque done, I'll wait on you again.

[Exit with the Lady into the gallery. Diag. Stand back there!-Room for my lord Melantius !-pray, bear back-this is no place for such youths and their trulls-let the doors shut again.-No!-do your heads itch? I'll scratch them for you. [Shuts the door.]-So, now thrust and hang. [Knocking.] Again! who is't now?I cannot blame my lord Calianax for going away: 'Would he were here! he would run raging among them, and break a dozen wiser heads than his own, in the twinkling of an eye.-What's the news now?

[Within.] I pray you, can you help me to the speech of the master-cook?

Diag. If I open the door, I'll cook some of your calves-heads. Peace, rogues! [Knocking.] -Again! who is't?

Mel. [within.] Melantius.

Enter CALIANAX.

Has stirr'd my worthy friend, who is as slow
To fight with words as he is quick of hand?
Mel. That heap of age, which I should reverence
If it were temperate; but testy years
Are most contemptible.

Amin. Good sir, forbear.

Cal. There is just such another as yourself.
Amin. He will wrong you, or me, or any man,
And talk as if he had no life to lose,
Since this our match. The king is coming in:
I would not for more wealth than I enjoy,
He should perceive you raging. He did hear
You were at difference now, which hastened him.
Cal. Make room there! [Hautboys play within.
Enter King, EVADNE, ASPATIA, Lords and Ladies.
King. Melantius, thou art welcome, and my love
Is with thee still: But this is not a place
To brabble in. Calianax, join hands.
Cal. He shall not have my hand.
King. This is no time

To force you to it. I do love you both:
Calianax, you look well to your office;

And you, Melantius, are welcome home.-
Begin the masque!

Mel. Sister, I joy to see you, and your choice.
You look'd with my eyes when you took that man:
Be happy in him!
[Recorders play.

Evad. O, my dearest brother !
Your presence is more joyful than this day
Can be unto me.

THE MASQUE.

NIGHT rises in mists.

Night. Our reign is come; for in the raging sea The sun is drown'd, and with him fell the Day. Bright Cynthia, hear my voice; I am the Night, For whom thou bear'st about thy borrow'd light. Appear; no longer thy pale visage shroud, But strike thy silver horns quite through a cloud And send a beam upon my swarthy face; By which I may discover all the place And persons, and how many longing eyes Are come to wait on our solemnities.

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The Works of Beaumont and Fletcher: The maid's tragedy; Philaster; A king ...