Garrick Plays. No. XII. [From the "Brazen Age," an Historical Play, by Thomas Heywood, 1613.] Venus courts Adonis. Venus. Why doth Adonis fly the Queen of Love, My beauty that charms Gods, makes Men amazed And stown'd with wonder. Doth this roseat pillow With my white fingers will I clap thy cheek; Adonis. Madam, you are not modest. I affect Would make your cheek seem much more beautiful. I have heat to melt thee; I am Queen of Love. Of which I am not mistress, and can use. Thou shalt not, Adon, take me by the hand; Phoebus jeers Vulcan. Vul. Good morrow, Phoebus; what's the news abroad? For thou see'st all things in the world are done, Phab. Sometime I cast my eye upon the sea, With my warm fervour to give metals, trees, Here spy I cattle feeding; forests there Stored with wild beasts; here shepherds with their lasses, Piping beneath the trees while their flocks graze. Vul. Thrice happy Phoebus, That, whilst poor Vulcan is confin'd to Lemnos, I see all coronations, funerals, Marts, fairs, assemblies, pageants, sights and shows. And, shall I tell thee, Vulcan, 'tother day Vul. God Mars Phœb. As I was peeping through a cranny, a-bedVul. Abed! with whom?-some pretty Wench, I warrant. Phoeb. She was a pretty Wench. Vul. Tell me, good Phoebus, That, when I meet him, I may flout God Mars; Phœb. Not to dissemble, Vulcan, 'twas thy Wife! The Peers of Greece go in quest of Hercules, and find him in woman's weeds, spinning with Omphale. Jason. Our business was to Theban Hercules. 'Twas told us, he remain'd with Omphale, The Theban Queen. Telamon, Speak, which is Omphale? or which Alcides? Pollux. Lady, our purpose was to Hercules; Shew us the man. Omphale. Behold him here. Atreus. Where? Omphale. There, at his task. Jason. Alas, this Hercules ! This is some base effeminate Groom, not he Jason. Woman, we know thee not; Th' Erimanthian boar, the bull of Marathon, And to his horses hurl'd stern Diomed Pollux. That freed Hesione From the sea whale, and after ransack'd Troy, And with his own hand slew Laomedon. Nestor. He by whom Dercilus and Albion fell; He that Ecalia and Betricia won. Atreus. That monstrous Geryon with his three heads With Linus, Lichas that usurpt in Thebes, Pollux. That Hercules by whom the Centaurs fell, And the Cremona giants: where is he? Telamon. That trait'rous Nessus with a shaft trans- Strangled Anthens, purged Augeus' stalls, Jason. He that the Amazonian baldrick won; For absence of the noble Hercules ! Atreus. To him we came; but, since he lives not here, Come, Lords; we will return these presents back Unto the constant Lady, whence they came. Jason. 'Mongst women ? Hercules. For that Theban's sake, Whom you profess to love, and came to seek, Hercules. How have I lost myself! Did we all this? Where is that spirit become, That thou be'st strange to them, that thus disguised I cannot take leave of this Drama without noticing a touch of the truest pathos, which the writer has put into the mouth of Meleager, as he is wasting away by the operation of the fatal brand, administered to him by his wretched Mother. My flame encreaseth still-Oh father Eneus; What is the boasted "Forgive me, but forgive me!" of the dying wife of Shore in Rowe, compared with these three little words? C. L. Topography. ST. MARGARET'S AT CLIFF. For the Table Book. Stand still. How fearful And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low! The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air, SHAKSPEARE. The village of St. Margaret's at Cliff is situated at a small distance from the South Foreland, and about a mile from the high road half way between Dover and Deal. It was formerly of some consequence, on account of its fair for the encouragement of traders, held in the precincts of its priory, which, on the dissolution of the monastic establishments by Henry VIII., losing its privilege, or rather its utility, (for the fair is yet held,) the village degenerated into an irregular group of poor cottages, a decent farm-house, and an academy for boys, one of the best commercial school establishments in the county of Kent. The church, though time has written strange defeatures on its mouldering walls, still bears the show of former importance; but its best claim on the inquisitive stranger is the evening toll of its single bell, which is generally supposed to be the curfew, but is of a more useful and honourable character. It was established by the testament of one of its inhabitants in the latter part of the seventeenth century, for the guidance of the wanderer from the peril of the neighbouring precipices, over which the testator fell, and died from the injuries he received. He bequeathed the rent of a piece of land for ever, to be paid to the village sexton for tolling the bell every evening at eight o'clock, when it should be dark at that hour. The cliffs in the range eastward of Dover to the Foreland are the most precipitous, but not so high as Shakspeare's. They are the resort of a small fowl of the widgeon species, but something less than the widgeon, remarkable for the size of its egg, which is larger than the swan's, and of a pale green, spotted with brown; it makes its appearance in May, and, choosing the most inaccessible part of the precipice, deposits its eggs, two in number, in holes, how made it is difficult to prove: when the young bird is covered with a thin down, and before any feathers appear, it is taken on the back of the parent, carried to the sea, and abandoned to its own resources, which nature amply supplies means to employ, in the myriads of mackerel fry that at that season colour the surface of the deep with a beautiful pale green and silver. This aquatic wanderer is said to confine its visit to the South Foreland and the seven cliffs at Beachy-head, and is known by the name of Willy. Like the gull, it is unfit for the table, but valuable for the downy softness of its feathers. It was in this range of Dover cliffs that Joe Parsons, who for more than forty years had exclusively gathered samphire, broke his neck in 1823. Habit had rendered the highest and most difficult parts of these awful precipices as familiar to this man as the level below. Where the overhanging rock impeded his course, a rope, fastened to a peg driven into a cliff above, served him to swing himself from one projection to another in one of these dangerous attempts this fastening gave way, and he fell to rise no more. Joe had heard of Shakspeare, and felt the importance of a hero. It was his boast that he was a king too powerful for his neighbours, who dared not venture to disturb him in his domain; that nature alone was his lord, to whom he paid no quittance. All were free to forage on his grounds, but none ventured. Joe was twice wedded; his first rib frequently attended and looked to the security of his ropes, and would sometimes terrify him with threats to cast him loose; a promise of future kindness always ended the parley, and a thrashing on the next quarrel placed Joe again in peril. Death suddenly took Judith from this vale of tears; Parsons awoke in the night and found her brought up in an everlasting roadstead: like a true philosopher and a quiet neighbour, Joe took his second nap, and when day called out the busy world to begin its matin labour, Joe called in the nearest gossip to see that all was done that decency required for so good a wife. His last helpmate survives her hapless partner. No one has yet taken possession of his estate. The inquisitive and firm-nerved stranger casts his eyes below in vain: he that gathered samphire is himself gathered. The anchored bark, the skiff, the choughs and crows, the fearful precipice, and the stringy root, growing in unchecked abundance, bring the bard and Joe Parsons to remembrance, but no one now attempts the "dreadful trade." K. B. TO A SEA-WEED PICKED UP AFTER A STORM. Exotic-from the soil no tiller ploughs, Save the rude surge;-fresh stripling from a grove, Above whose tops the wild sea-monsters rove; -Have not the genii harbour'd in thy boughs, Thou filmy piece of wonder!-have not those Who still the tempest, for thy rescue strove, And stranded thee thus fair, the might to prove Of spirits, that the caves of ocean house? How else, from capture of the giant-spray, The full-develop'd forms of fairy-bower; MARRIAGE OF THE SEA. The doge of Venice, accompanied by the senators, in the greatest pomp, marries the sea every year. Those who judge of institutions by their appearance only, think this ceremony an indecent and extravagant vanity; they imagine that the Venetians annually solemnize this festival, because they believe themselves to be masters of the sea. But the wedding of the sea is performed with the most noble intentions. The sea is the symbol of the republic: of which the doge is the first magistrate, but not the master; nor do the Veni tians wish that he should become so. Among the barriers to his domination, they rank this custom, which reminds him that he has no more authority over the republic, which he governs with the senate, than he has over the sea, notwithstanding the marriage he is obliged to celebrate with her. The ceremony symbolizes the limits of his power, and the nature of his obligations. THE LADY AND THE TROUBADOUR. For the Table Book. [Emeugarde, daughter of Jacques de Tournay, Lord of Croiton, in Provence, becoming enamoured of a Troubadour, by name Enguilbert de Marnef, who was bound by a vow to repair to the Camp of the Crusaders in Palestine, besought him on the eve of his departure to suffer her to accompany him: de Marnef at first resolutely refused; but at length, overcome by her affectionate solicitations, assented, and was joined by her the same night, after her flight from her father's chastel, in the garb of a guild brother of the joyeuse science. Enguilbert! oh Enguilbert, the sword is in thine hand, CHRONIQUE DE POUTAILLER.] Thou hast vowed before our Lady's shrine to seek the Sainted land: -Thou goest to fight for glory-but what will glory be, If thou lov'st me, and return'st to find a tomb and dust for me? Look on me Enguilbert, for I have lost the shame That should have stayed these tears and prayers from one of Tournay's name : Oh say that I may wend with thee-I'll doff my woman's 'tire, Oh shouldst thou fall, my Enguilbert, whose lips thy wounds will close?— -Nay smile not at my words, sweet-heart-the Goss hath slender beak -My Blood hath coursed thro' Charlemagne's veins, and better it should flow -Ah Enguilbert-my soul's adored! the tear is in thine eye; J. J. K. THE GOLDEN TOOTH. In 1593, it was reported that a Silesian child, seven years old, had lost all its teeth, and that a golden tooth had grown in the place of a natural double one. In 1595, Horstius, professor of medicine in the university of Helmstadt, wrote the history of this golden tooth. He said it was partly a natural event, and partly miraculous, and that the Almighty had sent it to this child, to console the Christians for their persecution by the Turks. Two years afterwards, Ingosteterus, another learned man, wrote against the tooth of gold. Rullandus immediately reopinion which Rullandus had given on this plied in a most elegant and erudite dissertation. Libavius, a very learned man, compiled all that had been said relative to this tooth, and subjoined his remarks upon it. these erudite writings to posterity, but Nothing was wanting to recommend proof that the tooth was gold—a goldsmith examined it, and found it a natural In the same year, Rullandus drew up tooth artificially gilt. another account of the golden tooth. LE REVENANT. day, that my heart was not up in my There are bus rws classes of persons in the world mouth, and my hand shook so that I could dose who are hanged, and those who are not haagri : ani z has bem ny hot to being to the former.” There is a pathetic narrative, under the preceding title and motto in "Blackwood's Edimburgh Magazine," of the present month, April, 1827. It is scarcely possible to abridge or extract from it, and be just to its writer. Perhaps the following specimen may induce curiosity to the perusal of the entire paper in the journal just named. -I have been hanged, and am alive," says the narrator. I was a clerk in a Russia broker's house, and fagged between Broad-street Buildings and Batson's coffeehouse, and the London-docks, from nine in the morning to six in the evening, for a salary of fifty pounds a-year. I did thisnot contentedly-but I endured it; living sparingly in a little lodging at Islington for two years; till I fell in love with a poor, but very beautiful girl, who was honest where it was very hard to be honest; and worked twelve hours a-day at sewing and millinery, in a mercer's shop in Cheap side, for half a guinea a-week. To make short of a long tale-this girl did not know how poor I was; and, in about six months, I committed seven or eight forgeries, to the amount of near two hundred pounds. I was seized one morning-I expected it for weeks-as regularly as I awoke every morning—and carried, after a very few questions, for examination before the lord mayor. At the Mansion-house I had nothing to plead. Fortunately my motions had not been watched; and so no one but myself was implicated in the charge as no one else was really guilty. A sort of instinct to try the last hope made me listen to the magistrate's caution, and remain silent; or else, for any chance of escape I had, I might as well have confessed the whole truth at once. The examination lasted about half an hour; when I was not hold the pen-for twenty minutes afterwards, I was sure to do nothing but blunder. Until, at last, when I saw our chief clerk walk into the room, on new year's morning, with a police officer, I was as ready for what followed, as if I had had six hours' conversation about it. I do not believe I showed-for I am sure I did not feel it either surprise or alarm. My fortune,' however, as the officer called it, was soon told. I was apprehended on the 1st of January; and the sessions being then just begun, my time came rapidly round. On the 4th of the same month, the London grand jury found three bills against me for forgery; and, on the evening of the 5th, the judge exhorted me to 'prepare for death; for there was no hope that, in this world, mercy could be extended to me.' "The whole business of my trial and sentence passed over as coolly and formally as I would have calculated a question of interest, or summed up an underwriting account. I had never, though I lived in London, witnessed the proceedings of a criminal court before; and I could hardly believe the composure and indiffer ence and yet civility—for there was no show of anger or ill-temper-with which I was treated; together with the apparent perfect insensibility of all the parties round me, while I was rolling on-with a speed which nothing could check, and which increased every moment to my ruin! I was called suddenly up from the dock, when my turn for trial came, and placed at the bar; and the judge asked, in a tone which had neither severity about it, nor compassion-nor carelessness, nor anxiety-nor any character or expression whatever that could be distinguished— If there was any counsel appeared for the prosecution? A barrister then, who seemed to have some consideration-a middle aged, gentlemanlylooking man-stated the case against me forbearingly; but, as soon as he read the as he said he would do-very fairly and “The shock of my first arrest was very officer of the gaol, who stood behind me, facts from his brief, that only'-I heard an slight indeed; indeed I almost question if say put the rope about my neck. My it was not a relief, rather than a shock, to master then was called to give his eviFor months, I had known perfectly dence; which he did very temperately that my eventual discovery was certain. I but it was conclusive. A young gentletried to shake the thought of this off; but man, who was my counsel, asked a few it was of no use—I dreamed of it even in questions in cross-examination, after he my sleep; and I never entered our count- had carefully looked over the indictment: ing-house of a morning, or saw my master but there was nothing to cross-examine take up the cash-book in the course of the upon-I knew that well enough-though I fully committed for trial, and sent away to Newgate. me. |