see,"

," said the Abbot: and they went into a room that was full of old armour. Morgante examined every thing but could find nothing large enough, except a rusty breast plate, which fitted him marvellously. It had belonged to an enormous giant, who was killed there of old by Milone of Angrante. There was a painting on the wall which told the whole story, how the giant had laid cruel and long siege to the abbey, and how he had been overthrown at last by the great Milone. Orlando, seeing this said, within himself;-"Oh God, unto whom all things are known, how came Milone here, who destroyed this giant ?" And reading certain inscriptions which were there, he could no longer keep firm,countenance, but the tears ran down his cheeks.

When the Abbot saw Orlando weep, and his brow redden, and the light of his eyes become child-like with pity, he asked him the reason; but finding him still dumbly affected, he continued, "I do not know whether you are overpowered by admiration of what is painted in this chamber. You must know, that I am of high descent, though not through lawful wedlock. I believe I may say I am nephew or sister's son to no less a man than that Rinaldo, who was so great a Paladin in the world; though my own father was not of a lawful mother. Ansuigi was his name; my own, out in the world, was Chiaramonte; and this Milone was my father's brother. Ah, gentle baron, for blessed Jesus's sake, tell me what name is your's!" Orlando, all glowing with affection, and bathed in tears, replied; "My dear, Abbot and kinsman, he before you is your Orlando." Upon this, they ran for tenderness into each other's arms, weeping on both sides with a sovereign affection, which was too high to be expressed at once. The Abbot was so overjoyed, that he seemed as if he would never have done embracing Orlando, By what fortune," said the knight, "do I find you in this obscure place? Tell me, my dear father, how was it you became a monk, and did not follow arms like myself and the rest of us?"

It is the will of God," replied the Abbot, hastening to give his feelings utterance. "Many and divers are the paths he points out for us, by which to arrive at his city. Some walk it with the sword, some with the pastoral staff. Nature makes the inclination different, and therefore there are different ways for them to take; enough if they all arrive safely at one and the same place, the last as well as the first. We are all pilgrims through many kingdoms: we all wish to go to Rome, Orlando; but we go picking out our journey through different roads. Such is the trouble to body and soul brought upon us by that sin of the old apple. Day and night am I here with my book in hand; day and night do you ride about, holding your sword, and sweating often both in sun and shadow; and all to get round at last to the home from which we departed:-I say, all out of anxiety and hope, to get back unto our home of old." And the giant, hearing them talk of these things, felt the tears also.

Printed and published by JOSEPH APPLEYARD, No. 19, Catherine-street, Strand. Price 2d. And sold also by A. GLIDDON, Importer of Snuffs, No. 31, Tavistockstreet, Covent garden. Orders received at the above places, and by all Booksellers and New smen.

THE INDICATOR.

There he arriving round about doth flie,
And takes survey with busie curious eye:
Now this, now that, he tasteth teuderly.

SPENSER.

No. LXXVI.-WEDNESDAY, MARCH 21st, 1821.

PASSAGES FROM THE OLD DRAMATISTS.-THE INDICATOR'S FAREWELL TO HIS READERS.

A YOUNG OLD AGE.

Nicoletto. Old? hem! all heart of brass; sound as a bell;

Old? Why, I'll tell your graces; I have gone

But half the bridge o'er yet; there lies before me

As much as I have pass'd, and I'll go it all.

Florence. Mad Vanni stil!!

Accursed queen of chance! what had we done
Who having sometimes like young Phaetons
Rid in the burnished chariot of the Sun,
And sometimes been thy minions, when thy fingers
Weaved wanton love-nets in our curled hair,
And with sweet juggling kisses warmed our cheeks,
Oh! how have we offended thy bright eyes,
That thus we should be spurned and trod upon,
Whilst those infected limbs of the sick world,
Are fixed by thee for stars in that bright sphere,
Wherein our sun-like radiance did appear.
Decker's Old Fortunalus.

VOL. II.

DEATH.

-Though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds,
There's a loan fellow beats all conquerors.-Id.

WORLDLY BEHAVIOUR.

I am not enamoured of this painted idol,

This strumpet world; for her most beauteous looks
Are poison'd baits, hung upon golden hooks.
When fools do swim in wealth, her Cynthian beams
Will, wantonly, dance on the silver streams;
But when this squint-eyed age sees virtue poor,
And by a little spark sit shivering,
Begging of all, relieved at no man's door,
She smiles on her, as the sun shines on fire,
To kill that little heat; and with her frown

Is proud, that she can tread poor virtue down.

Therefore her wrinkled brow makes not mine sour:

Her gifts are toys, and I deride her power.-Id.

A DEFEATED PRINCE IMAGINING A WAR AGAINST HIS AFFLICTIONS.

Wouldst have me go unarmed among my foes?
Being besieged by passion, enterfng lists,
To combat with despair and mighty grief;
My soul beleagured with the orushing strength
Of sharp impatience! Ah, Lucio, go unarmed?
Come, soul; resume the valour of thy birth:
Myself, myself, will dare all opposites:
I'll muster forces, an unvanquished power;
Cornets of horse shall press the ungrateful earth;
This hollow-wombed mass shall inly groan,
And murmur to sustain the weight of arms:
Ghastly amazement, with upstarted hair,
Shall hurry on before, and usher us,

Whilst trumpets clamour with a sound of death.

Marston's Antonio and Mellida.

CANDLE-LIGHT ENVIED FOR ITS LITERARY OPPORTUNITIES.

Enter Feliche, walking unbraced.

Fel. Castilio? Alberto? Balardo? none up?
Forobasco? Flattery, nor thou up yet?

Then there's no courtier stirring, that's firm truth.
I cannot sleep: Feliche seldom rests

In these court lodgings. I have walked all night
To see if the nocturnal court delights
Could force me envy their felicity;

And by plain troth, I will confess plain troth,

I envy nothing but the traverse-light.

Oh! had it eyes, and ears, and tongues, it might

See sport, hear speech of most strange surquedries.
Oh! if that candle-light were made a poet,
He would prove a rare firking satirist,
And draw the core forth of imposthumed sin.
Well, I thank heaven yet, that my content
Can envy nothing but poor candle-light.—Id.

A MALCONTENT NO SUCCEEDER WITH THE LADIES.

Castilio. Yon ne'er accosted them in pomp,

Put your good parts in presence graciously.

Ha, and you had, why they would have come off, sprung
To your arms, and sued, and prayed, and vowed,
And opened all their sweetness to your love.

Feliche. There are a number of such things as thos
Have often urged me to such loose belief;

But 'slid, you all do lie, you all do lie.

I have put on good clothes, and smugged my face,
Strook a fair wench with a smart speaking eye,
Courted in all sorts blunt and passionate,
Had opportunity, put them to the Ah!

And by this light I find them wondrous chaste,
Impregnable: perchance a kiss or so,

But for the rest, oh, most inexorable.-Id.

A LOVER'S ABSENCE OF MIND, AND FORCIBLE SEPARATION FROM HIS MISTRESS, LEAVE

HIM YET A CERTAIN TASTE OF SWEETNESS.

As having clasped a rose

Within my palm, the rose being ta'en away,
My hand retains a little breath of sweet;

So may man's trunk, his spirit slipped away,

Hold still a faint perfume of his sweet guest.-Id.

LOVE OUT OF SORTS WITH THE SEASON.

Jacomo. Yon gleam is day: darkness, and sleep, and fear,
Dreams, and the ugly visions of the night,

Are beat to hell by the bright palm of light.

Now roams the swain, and whistles up the morn;

Deep silence breaks; all things start

Only my heart; that endless night with light,

Lies bed-rid, crippled by coy

Celia.

Quadratus. There's a strain, law!

Nay, now I see he's mad most palpable,

He speaks like a player, ah! poetical.

day

Jac. The wanton spring lies dallying with the earth,
And pours fresh blood in her decayed veins.

Look, how the new sapped branches are in child
With tender infants, how the sun draws out,
And shapes their moisture into thousand forms

Of sprouting buds. All things, that show or breathe,
Are now instaured, saving my wretched breast.

Marston's What You Will.

THE METAPHYSICIAN AND HIS SPANIEL.

Delight my spaniel slept, while I baus'd leaves,
Tossed o'er the dunces, pored on the old print
Of titled words, and still my spaniel slept:
Whilst I wasted my lamp-oil, 'bated my flesh,
Shrunk up my veins, and still my spaniel slept.
And still I held converse with Zabarell,
Aquinas, Scotus, and the musty saw
Of antic Donate, still my spaniel slept.
Still on went I, first an sit anima,

Then an 'twere mortal ;-oh, hold, hold, at that
They're at brain-buffets, fell by the ears amain,
Pell-mell together; still my spaniel slept.
Then whether 'twere corporeal, local, fixed,
Ex traduce, but whether it had free will
Or no,-- -O philosophers

Stood banding factions, all so strongly propped,
I staggered, knew not which was firmer part,
But thought, quoted, read, observed, and pried,
Stuffed noting books, and still my spaniel slept.
At length he waked, and yawned; and by yon sky,
For aught I know, he knew as much as 1.-Id.

PLATTERT

Doth fall on kings

As soft and soon as their first holy oil.

Marston's Parasitaster.

FLATTERY, AND SATIRE UNDER THE MASK OF IT.

Gonzago (the Duke). Count Granuffo, as I live this Faunus is a rare understander of men, is a not? Faunus, this Granuffo is a right wise good lord; a man of excellent discourse, and never speaks. His signs to me, and men of profound reach, instruct abundantly. He begs suits with signs, gives thanks with signs, puts off his hat leisurely, maintains his beard learnedly, keeps his lust privately, makes a nodding leg courtly, and lives happily.

Hercules. Silence is an excellent modest grace, but especially before so instructing a wisdom as your Excellency's. As for his advancement, you gave it most royally, because he deserves it least duly; since to give to virtuous desert is rather a due requital than a princely magnificence, when to undeservingness it is merely all bounty and free grace.-Id

WOMAN.

Tiberio. Oh Fawn, what man of so cold wit
But must love such a wit in such a body?
Thou last and only rareness of heaven's works,
From best of man made model of the gods,
Divinest woman! thou perfection.

Of all proportion, made when Jove was blithe,
Well filled with nectar, and full friends with man,
Thou dear as air, necessary as sleep,

To careful man,-oh, who can sin so deeply,
As to be cursed from knowing of the pleasures,
Thy soft society, modest amorousness,

Yields to our tedious life ?-Id.

MS MODERN WIT MATRIMONIAL.

Zuccolo. I know it, I confess. All this I did, and I do glory in it 3-Why? Cannot a young lady for many months keep honest? No. I misthought it. My wife had wit, beauty, health, good birth, fair clothes, and a passing body a lady of rare discourse, quick eye, sweet language, alluring behaviour, and exquisite entertainment. I misthought it; I feared, I doubted, and at the last I found it out. I praise my wit; I knew I was a cuckold.

Hercules. An excellent wite

Zuc. True, Fawn. You shall read of few dunces that have had such a wit, I can tell you; and I found it out, and I was a cuckold.

Herc. Which now you have found, you will not be such an ass as Cæsar, Great Pompey, Lucullus, Anthony, or Cato, and divers other Romans, cuckolds; who all knew it, and yet were ne'er divorced upon't: or like that god-smith Vulcan, who having taken his wife, yet was presently appeased, and entreated to make an armour for a husband of hers.

Zuc. No; the Romans were asses, and thought that a woman might mix her thigh wantonly with a stranger, and yet still love her husband matrimonially.

Herc. As indeed they say, a many married men lye sometimes with strange women, whom, but for the instant use, they abhor.

Zuc. And as for Vulcan, twas humanity more than human. Such excess of goodness, for my part, shall belong only to the gods.-Id.

FOLLY AND WORSE FOLLY.

Montsurry. No question we shall see them imitate,
Though afar off, the fashions of our courts,

As they have ever aped us in attire.

Never were men, so weary of their skins,

And apt to leap out of themselves as they;

Who when they travel to bring forth rare men,

Come home delivered of a fine French suit.