Their brains lie with their tailors, and get babies
For their most complete issue. He's sole heir

To all the moral virtues, that first greets

The light with a new fashion; which becomes them,
Like apes disfigured with the attires of men.

K. Henry. No question they much wrong their real worth
In affectation of outlandish scum;

But they have faults, and we more; they foolish proud,
To jet in others' plumes so haughtily;

We proud, that they are proud of foolery,

Holding our worth more complete for their vaunts.

Chapman's Bussy D'Ambois.

A SOLDIER'S FALL.

As in Arden I have seen an oak

Long shook with tempests, and his lofty top
Bent to his root, which being at length made loose,
Ev'n groaning with his weight, he 'gan to nod
This way and that, as loath his curled brows,
Which he had oft wrapped in the sky with storms,
Should stoop, and yet his radical fibres burst,
Storm-like he fell, and kid the fear-cold earth :-
So fell stout Barrisor, that had stood the shocks
Of ten set battles in your Highness' war

'Gainst the sole soldier of the world, Navarre.- Id.

A SPARKLING PORTRAIT.

Gilbert. What said you, Grime?

Grime. I say, Sir Gilbert, looking on my daughter,sona

I curse the hour that ere I got the girt:

For, sir, she may have many wealthy suitors,

And yet she disdains them all, to have que

Poor George a Greene unto her husband.eg

Bonfield. On that, good Grime, I'm talking to your daughter;

But she, in quirks and quiddities of loves

Sets me to school, she is so overwise.c

But, gentle girl, if thou'lt forsake this Pinner

And be my love, I will advance three high.

To dignify those hairs of amber hue,

I'll grace them with a chaplet made of pearl,

Set with choice rubies, sparks, and diamonds, planted:

Upon a velvet hood, to hide that head,

Wherein two sapphires burn like sparkling fire.

This will I do, fair Bettris, and far more,

If thou wilt love the lord of Doncaster.

Bettris. Heigh ho! my heart is in a higher place.

George a Greene, or the Pinner of Wakefield.Anonymous.

A FOOL IN PROSPECT.

Isabella, Good father!

Fabritio.

Tell not me of tongues and rumours.
You'll say the gentleman is somewhat simple;
The better for a husband, were you wise:
For those that marry fools, live ladies' lives.
On with the mask! I'll hear no more: he's rich:
The fool's bid under bushels.

Not so hid neither,

Livia.
But here's a foul great piece of him methinks;
What will he be, when he comes altogether?

Middleton's Women Beware Women.

LOVE SHOULD NOT BE LACHRYMOSE, Ca

Faith, daughter, you're to blame. You take the course
To make him an ill husband; troth you do;
And that disease is catching, I can tell you,
Ay, and soon taken by a young man's blood,
And that with little urging. Nay fie, see now;

What cause have you to weep? would I'd no more,
That have lived threescore years! there were a cause,
And 'twere well thought on. Trust me you're to blame:
His absence cannot last five days at utmost.

Why should those tears be fetch'd forth! cannot love
Be e'en as well expressed in a good look,

But it must see her face still in a fountain?

It shews like a country maid dressing her head
By a dish of water.-Id.

VANITY.

Mother How like you it, daughter?

Bianca.

'Tis a noble state!
Methinks my soul could dwell upon the reverence
Of such a solemn and most worthy custom.
Did not the Duke look up? methought he saw us.
Mother. That's every one's conceit that sees a Duke.
If he look stedfastly, he looks straight at them;

When he, perhaps, good careful gentleman,
Never minds any; but the look he casts

Is at his own intentions, and his object

Only the public good.-Id.

MAKING UP.

Isabella Prithee forgive me;

I did but chide in jest: the best loves use it wood edt
Sometimes: it sets an edge upon affection.gewo

When we invite our best friends to a feast,

'Tis not all sweetness that we set before them ;

100

There's somewhat sharp and salt, both to whet appetite,
And make 'em taste their wine well: so, methinks, de to
After a friendly, sharp, and savory chiding,

A kiss tastes wondrous well, and futt of the grape

How th

thou? does it not? (Kisses him.)—Id.

A SWEET VOICE ILL APPRECIATED.

Methinks now such a voice to such a husband,

Is like a jewel of unvalued worth

Hung at a fool's ear.-Id.

AN UNLAWFUL LOVER OBLIGED TO COMMEND HIS MISTRESS TO A BRIDEGROOM.

▲ HUSBAND SCORNED BY A WIFE WHO HAS LEFT HIM TO LIVE WITH A PRINCE,

With what a cruel pride

The glory of her sin strikes bye my afflictions! Ia.

HIS FEELINGS AT HER DESERTION OF HIM.

Hast thou left me then, Bianca, utterly?
Oh, Bianca! now I miss thee: Oh! return,

And save the faith of woman.
The loss of thee till now.

I ne'er felt
Tis an affliction

Of greater weight than youth was made to bear;
As if a punishment of after-life

Were fall'n upon man here: so new it is

To flesh and blood; so strange, so insupportable:

A torment e'en mistook, as if a body

Whose death were drowning, must needs therefore suffer it
In scalding oil.

Livia.

Sweet sir!

Leantio (without noticing her). As long as mine eye saw thee,
I half enjoyed thee.

Lio.

Sir!

Lean. (without noticing her.) Canst thou forget

The dear pains my love took? How it has watched
Whole nights together in all weathers for thee,
Yet stood in heart more merry than the tempest
That sung about mine ears, like dangerous flatterers,
That can set all their mischief to sweet tunes;
And then received thee from thy father's window
Into these arms at midnight; when we embraced
As if we had been statues only made for it
To shew art's life, so silent were our comforts,
Aud kissed as if our lips had grown together.-Id.

ORTHODOXY.

Cromwell. My lord, yet grant one suit unto us all;
That this same ancient serving man may wait
Upon my lord his master, in the Tower.

Rochester. This old iniquity, this heretic,
That in contempt of our church discipline
Compelled my sumner to devour his process!
Old ruffian past-grace, upstart schismatic,
Had not the King prayed us to pardon you,
You had fryed for't, you grizzled heretic.
Harpool. 'Sblood, my lord bishop, you wrong me.

I am neither heretic nor

puritan, but of the old church. I'll swear, drink ale, kiss a wench, go to mass, eat fish all Lent, and fast Fridays with cakes and wine, fruit and spicery; shrive me of my sins afore Easter, and begin new before Whitsuntide.

Crom. A merry mad-conceited knave, my lord.

Har. That knave was simply put upon the bishop.
Roch. Well, God forgive him, and I pardon him:
Let him attend his master in the Tower,

For I in charity wish his soul no hurt.

Sir John Oldcastle.--Anonymous.

THE INDICATOR'S FAREWELL.

It was the Editor's intention to reserve the above passages and other extracts for the purpose mentioned a few weeks ago, that of filling up his paper when matter was wanting; but a premature return to his work in general, has brought on such a return of his illness, as compels him, with great reluctance, to give up the paper itself; and here, accordingly, the Indicator takes leave of his readers. He is still recovering; but so slowly, and with so much necessity to be careful, that it would be weakness in him to keep hovering in this manner over a

his

task which he cannot properly pursue, He must complete the repose which was already doing him so much good: but he takes it only in the hope of being able to renew his labours, if not in this shape, in others.-Pleasures he should rather call them, for they are so even when pains and harms. The truth is, his pains have been so literally his pleasures, that although he has not written half what he reasonably might, nor attended a twentieth part as he ought to dispatch and punctuality, yet he has not put enough of his own rural doctrines in practice. He has suffered his imagination to take too many walks for him instead of his legs; has made book-journies about Vaucluse and Hymettus, to the neglect of his much-injured suburbs; and instead of a dozen retreats or so at intervals, which might have saved him the necessity of making these effeminate excuses, has now to keep a holiday of unwilling length and very equivocal pleasure.-Upon casting eye back upon the numbers of the Indicator, he has little to say but to thank his readers, his correspondents, his defenders, his users, who were always welcome when they were not afraid of being so, and his abusers, who in some instances have also thought fit to be his imiWhat he has written at any time, was at least written sincerely. He has generally had to perform his task without books, often with little comfort but the performance, always in the midst of a struggle of some sort; but if the mention of this is a vanity as well as an excuse, it may serve also to shew how much the cultivation of a natural chearfulness can do for the entertainment of itself and others, and what riches there must be in that ordinary world about us, whose veriest twigs and common-places want but the look of one's own eye to act upon them as a sunshine. If the Indicator has found some honey in places more barren than was expected, it is surely neither his fault nor theirs; nor will he make an apology for what is perhaps, at last, his only merit. To use a phrase of Cowley's, it would be very "unbirdly" of him.

tators.

And now, returning to his own shape again, though retaining his birdly propensities, he shakes hands at parting with all his readers male, and gives a kiss on the cheek,-nonsense!-on the mouth, to all his fair readers, who have ever had faith in the good intentions of LEIGH HUNT.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

The Editor need not excuse himself on this occasion to the various Correspon dents whose commuuications he intended to notice; but he is very sorry to part with some of them.-Will A. A. be good enough to mention some place to which a few books can be sent her by and by?

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