JOHN FORD. [THIS dramatist belonged to a good Devonshire family, being the second son of Thomas Ford of Ilsington, where he was born in April 1586. It is not known how he passed his early years till his appearance as a student of the Middle Temple, which he entered in November 1602. Here he seems diligently to have prosecuted his professional studies, and apparently was so successful in his career as a lawyer, as to be quite independent of literature as a source of income. Both in his student days and afterwards he appears to have led a sober, respectable, and somewhat retired life, exhibiting a marked contrast in this respect to most of his brother dramatists. He made his first appearance as an author in 1606, in the eighteenth year of his age, when he published an occasional poem, entitled Fame's Memorial, a tribute to the memory of Charles Blunt, Earl of Devonshire. His first essays in connection with the drama were made in conjunction with Webster, Dekker, and others. As Ford was quite independent of the stage for a livelihood, he wrote at his leisure, and more for love than reward. His first independent dramatic composition was The Lover's Melancholy, acted in 1628 and published in 1629, although possibly 'Tis Pity She's a Whore had possession of the stage previous to the former. This latter, along with The Broken Heart and Love's Sacrifice, made its appearance in print in 1633. Next year appeared a compact consecutive representation of a portion of English history,' under the title of Perkin Warbeck. This was followed in 1638 by a comedy, The Fancies Chaste and Noble, and in 1639 by his tragicomedy, The Lady's Trial. Besides these, Ford wrote a number of other dramas, now irrecoverably lost. It has been supposed that this dramatist died shortly after the publication of his last play (1639); although inquiries, too late to arrive at certainty, have scented a faint tradition that he withdrew to his native place, married, became a father, lived respected, and died at a good old age.' From the tenor of his works it has been inferred that Ford was of a somewhat irritable and melancholy temperament; and this opinion gets some countenance from a contemporary distich which photographs him thus: 'Deep in a dump John Ford was alone got, Various estimates have been formed of Ford as a dramatist, although nearly all critics agree that he is inferior to Massinger, Jonson, and Fletcher; Weber, however, thinking that he excels them all in point of pathetic effect. Hazlitt does not admire him, and says truly, that the general characteristic of his style is an artificial elaborateness, and, of course, along with all others, reprobates his morbid love of repulsive plots, low characters, and filthy language. Mr. Hartley Coleridge speaks of him thus:-'He disowned all courtship of the vulgar taste; we might therefore suppose that the horrible stories which he has embraced in 'Tis Pity She's a Whore, The Broken Heart, and Love's Sacrifice, were his own choice, and his own taste. But it would be unfair from hence to conclude that he delighted in the contemplation of vice and misery, as vice and misery. He delighted in the sensation of intellectual power, he found himself strong in the imagination of crime and of agony; his moral sense was gratified by indignation at the dark possibilities of sin, by compassion for rare extremes of suffering. He abhorred vice-he admired virtue; but ordinary vice or modern virtue were, to him, as light wine to a dram-drinker. His genius was a telescope, ill-adapted for neighbouring objects, but powerful to bring within the sphere of vision, what nature has wisely placed at an unsociable distance. Passion must be incestuous or adulterous, grief must be something more than martyrdom, before he could make them big enough to be seen. Unquestionably he displayed great power in these horrors, which was all he desired; but had he been "of the first order of poets," he would have found and displayed superior power in "familiar matter of to-day," in failings to which all are liable, virtues which all may practise, and sorrows for which all may be the better.' After much consideration we have deemed The Lady's Trial most suitable for insertion in these pages.] THE LADY'S LADY'S TRIAL: ACTED BY BOTH THEIR MAJESTIES' SERVANTS AT THE PRIVATE HOUSE IN DRURY LANE. FIDE HONOR.1 London. 1639. TO MY DESERVINGLY HONOURED JOHN WYRLEY, ESQUIRE, AND TO THE VIRTUOUS AND RIGHT WORTHY GENTLEWOMAN MRS. MARY WYRLEY, HIS WIFE, THIS SERVICE. THE inequality of retribution turns to a pity, yet to you, most equal pair, must remain the when there is not ability sufficient for acknow-honour of that bounty. In presenting this issue ledgment. Your equal respects may yet admit the readiness of endeavour, though the very hazard in it betray my defect. I have enjoyed freely acquaintance with the sweetness of your dispositions, and can justly account, from the nobleness of them, an evident distinction betwixt friendship and friends. The latter (according to the practice of compliment) are usually met with, and often without search; the other, many have searched for, I have found. which, though I partake a benefit of the fortune, For of some less serious hours to your tuition, I appeal from the severity of censure to the mercy of your judgments; and shall rate it at a higher value than when it was mine own, if you only allow it the favour of adoption. Thus, as your happiness in the fruition of each other's love proceeds to a constancy; so the truth of mine shall appear less unshaken, as you shall please to continue in your good opinions. JOHN FORD. 462 A Room in the House of AURIA. Enter PIERO and FUTELLI at opposite doors. Gallant of gallants, Genoa's Piero! Piero. Italy's darling, Europe's joy, and so forth! The newest news unvamp'd.1 Fut. I am no foot-post, No pedlar of Avisos, no monopolist Fut. Auria, who lately Wedded and bedded to the fair Spinella, Tired with the enjoyments of delights, is hasting To cuff the Turkish pirates in the service Of the great Duke of Florence. Piero. Does not carry His pretty thing along. Piero. That's thou and I; Futelli, sirrah, and Piero.-Blockhead! To run from such an armful of pleasures, 1 untamp'd. I have not met with this singular word. Enter ADURNI and AURIA. Adur. We wish thee, honour'd Auria, life and Return crown'd with a victory, whose wreath Aur. My lord, I shall not live to thrive in any action Piero. I present you My service for a farewell; let few words Fut. For my own part, Kill or be kill'd (for there's the short and long Call me your shadow's hench-boy. Aur. Gentlemen, My business urging on a present haste, Enforceth short reply. Adur. We dare not hinder [on't) Your resolution wing'd with thoughts so constant All happiness! Piero and Fut. Contents! [Exeunt ADURNI, PIERO, and FUTELLI Aur. So leave the winter'd people of the north, The minutes of their summer, when the sun Departing leaves them in cold robes of ice, As I leave Genoa. Enter TRELCATIO, SPINELLA, and CASTANNA. Will force our sleeps to steal upon our stories. Trel. I dare promise To vamp, is to cover an old thing with a new part, and My husbanding that trust with truth and car the word in the text, therefore, signifies uncovered, disclosed. Perhaps we should read untamp't-i.e. disclose it.-WEBER. 2 trowls-passes or goes round. The meaning is, "What is the common talk?' Cast. My sister shall to me stand an example, Of pouring free devotions for your safety. Aur. Gentle Castanna, thou'rt a branch of goodness, Grown on the selfsame stock with my Spinella.But why, my dear, hast thou lock'd up thy speech [To SPIN. In so much silent sadness? Oh! at parting, Trel. Blessings and health preserve you! [Exit. Aur. Nay, nay, Castanna, you may hear our counsels: A while you are design'd your sister's husband. Give me thy hand, Spinella: you did promise Thy virtues are such friends, they cannot fail thee; Faith, purity of thoughts, and such a meekness As would force scandal to a blush. Spi. Admit, sir, The patent of your life should be call'd in; I urge no pressures by the scorn of change; Cast. And such conclusion, sister, Aur. 'Tis true, Castanna. Spi. I grant it truth; yet, Auria, I'm a woman, And therefore apt to fear: to show my duty, And not to take heart from you, I'll walk from you, At your command, and not as much as trouble Your thought with one poor looking back. Young ladies tread, left to their own discretion, And construed as the lookers-on presume: Aurel. Auria, take heed the covert of a folly Willing to range, be not, without excuse, Discover'd in the coinage of untruths; I use no harder language. Thou art near Aur. By that sacred thing Last issued from the temple where it dwelt, I mean our friendship, I am sunk so low Aurel. Umph! Aur. In my country, friend, Where I have sided? my superior, friend, Sway'd opposition, friend; friend, here to fall Were more than man that hath a soul could bear, Aurel. You show Nor certainty nor weak assurance yet, Of reparation in this course, in case Aur. He who cannot merit Preferment by employments, let him bare Or die, or live a slave without redemption! A fair wife; she, though she could never claim Aur. Show me the man that lives, and to my face Dare speak, scarce think, such tyranny against Aurel. There lives not then a friend Aurel. He who prescribes no law, A face, because 'tis round, or limn'd by nature In purest red and white; or, at the best, 1 sorted-chosen, allotted. 2 sided-equalled, matched.-WEBER. Aur. Sir, said ye? Aurel. You form reasons, Just ones, for your abandoning the storms In every probability so forward To make you a father?-leave such thoughts. Without replies, Aurelio: keep this note, Another word. Aurel. I'll follow you to your horse. [Exeunt. ACT I-SCENE II. A Room in the House of ADURNI. Enter ADURNI, and FUTELLI with a letter, Adur. With her own hand? A second means, but kiss'd the letter first, Commend my truth and secrecy.' Such medley Of passion yet I never saw in woman. Adur. In woman? thou'rt deceived; but that we both Had mothers, I could say how women are, Fut. Twenty ducats 1 else, &c. There is apparently some defect here. 2 idle-foolish, weak.-WEBER. She forced on me; vow'd, by the precious love How durst she tempt thee, Futelli, knowing Fut. There lies, my lord, her cunning, Adur. Here began her itch. Fut. I answer'd she was happy then, whos choice In you, my lord, was singular. Fut. She smiled, and said, it might be so; and, yet There stopp'd: then I closed with her, and concluded The title of a lord was not enough For absolute perfection; I had seen Adur. And love thee for it. Fut. Phew, let that pass,' quoth she; and now we prattle Of handsome gentlemen, in my opinion, Is he not, pray, sir?' I had then the truth Adur. For delivering A letter to Malfato? Fut. Whereto I No sooner had consented, with protests- Adur. [reads.] Present to the most accomplished Fut. Will not your lordship peruse the contents? Adur. Enough, I know too much; be just and cunning; A wanton mistress is a common sewer.- |