Dut. My Heart is in a mist, some good star smile
Upon my resolution, and direct
Two lovers in their chast embrace to meet;
Columbo's bed contains my winding sheet.",

Exit. The catastrophe principally turns upon a letter which Columbo writes from his camp to the Duchess, in whicb, in the confidence of the success of his suit, backed by the King and the Cardinal, he desires her to marry whom she pleases; she takes him at his word, and immediately unites herself to Alvarez, but previously in triumph shews the letter to the Cardinal, who thus addresses her:

" What lethargy could thus unspirit bim?
I am all wonder; do not believe Madam,
But that Columbo's love is vet more Sacred
To honour, and yourself, than thus to forfeit
What I have heard him call the glorious wreath
To all his merits given him by the King,
Froin whom he took you with more pride than ever
He came from victory; his kisses hang
Yet panting on your lips, and he but now
Exchang’d religious farewell to return,
But with more triumph to be yours.

« Dut. My Lord,
You do believe your Nephew's hand was not
Surpriz'd or strain'd to ibis ?

" Car. Strange arts and windings in the world, most dark, And subtill progresses; who brought this Letter?

Dut. I enquir'd not his name, I thought it not Considerable to take such narrow knowledge.

" Car. Desert, and honour urg'd it here, nor can
I blame you to be angry, yet his person
Oblig'd, you should have given a nobler panse,
Before you made your faith and change so violent
From his known worth, into the arms of one,
However fashioned to your amorous wish,
Not equal to his cheapest fame, with all
The gloss of blood and merit.

Dut. This comparison,
My good Lord Cardinal, I cannot think,
Flows from an even justice, it betrayes
You partiall where your blood runs.

Car. I fear Madam,
Your own takes two much licence, and will soon,
Fall to the censure of unruly tongues ;
Because Alvarez bas a softer cheek,
Can' like a woman trim his wanton hair,
Spend half a day with looking in the glass


To find a posture to present himself,
And bring more effeminacy than man,
Or honour to your bed; must be supplant him?
Take heed the common murmur when it catches
The sent of a lost Fame-

Dut. My Fame Lord Cardinal ?
It stauds upon an innocence as clear
As the devotions you pay to heaven,
I shall not urge my Lord your soft indulgence
At my next shrift.

Čar. You are a fine Court Lady.
Dut. And you should be a reverend Churchman.

Car. One, that if you have not thrown off modesty. Would counsell you to leave Alvarez.

" Dut. Cause you dare do worse .Than Marriage, must I not be admitted what The Church and Law allowes me?

Car, Insolent ? then you dare marry him?

Dut. Dare? Let your contracted flame and malice, with Columbo's rage, higher than that, meet us When we approach the holy place, clasp'd hand In hand, wee'l break through all your force and fix Our sacred vows together there.

Car. I knew When with as chast a brow you promis'd fair To another ; you are no dissembling Lady.

Dut. Would all your actions had no falser lights About 'em.

« Car. Ha ?
Dut. The people would not talk and curse so loud.
" Car. I'l have you chid into a blush for this.

Dut. Begin at home great man, ther's cause enough,
You turn the wrong end of the perspective
Upon your crimes, to drive them to a far,
And lesser sight, but let your eys look right
What giants would your pride and surfeit seem ?
How gross your avarice, eating up whole families ?
How vast are your corruptions and abuse
Of the king's ear? at which you hang a pendent,
Not to adorn, but ulcerate, while the honest
Nobility, like pictures in the Arras,
Serve only for Court-Ornament; if they speak,

Tis when you set their tongues, which you wind up,
Like clocks to strike at the just hour you please;
Leave, leave, my Lord, these usurpations,
And be what you were meant, a man to cure,
Not let in Agues to Religion ;
Look on the Churches wounds.

Car. You dare presume
In your rude spleen to me, to abuse the Church?

« Dut. Alas you give false aym, my Lord, 'tis your
Ambition and Scarlet Sins that rob
Her Altar of the glory, and leave wounds
Upon her brow; which fetches grief and paleness,
Into her cheeks; Makeing her troubled bosome
Pant with her groanes, and shroud her holy blushes
Within your reverend purples.

Cur. Will you now take breath ?

Dut. In hope, iny Lord, you will behold yourself
In a true glass, and see those unjust acts
That so deform yoli, and by timely cure,
Prevent a shame before the short haird men
Do croud and call for justice.. I take leave.

Car. This woman has a spirit,- that may rise
To tame the Devils, ther's no dealing with
Her angry tongue, 'tis action and revenge
Must calm her fury; were Columbo here,
I could resolve, but Letters shall be sent
To th’ Army which may wake him into sense
Of his rash folly, or direct his spirit
Some way to snatch his honour from this flame,
All great men know, The soul of life is fane.

Erit. We apprehend that no finer invective address is to be found in any writer, than that which the Duchess pronounces against the Cardinal; and indeed the whole scene is in the best strain of tragic dignity. It must, we think, be admitted, that Shirley is not often so happy in the management of his catastrophes, as many other poets, and particularly Massinger, though the Traitor is, we think, a fine exception to our remark.

As a descriptive poet, Shirley is not often excelled, whe. ther upon lively or grave subjects: the following picture of a deserted and blasted valley, may serve as a specimen of the latter : it is from the Court Secret.

“ This is the place by his commands to meet in :

It has a sad and fatall invitation !
A Hermit that forsakes the world for prayer
And solitude, would be timorous to live here,
There's not a spray for birds to perch upon;
For every tree that overlooks the vale
Carries the mark of lightning, and is blasted.
The day which smiled as I came forth and spread
Fair beams about, has taken a deep melancholy,
That sits more ominous in her face than night;

All darkness is less horrid than half light.
Never was such a scene for death presented !
And there's a ragged mountain peeping over,
With many heads, seeming to crowd themselves

Spectators of some tragedy.”— The impression of such a scene upon the mind is admirably expressed by a living poet.

“ It seems as if the spring-time came not here
And nature here were willing to decay.”

Wordsworth's Lyrical Ballads. In the same play, (The Court Secret,) are two or three delightful love scenes, but deficiency of space compels us merely to refer to them : that which concludes the first act, is peculiarly excellent; the point of the song which ends with the lines,

« Or let me kiss your hand, the book

And I have made my choice.has been a thousand times imitated.

Although Shirley has produced a greater number of comedies than tragedies, we do not think that he is generally so successful in the former, as in the latter: his comedies are very unequal; and both the plot and the dialogue sometimes flag. Shakspeare seems almost the only writer who was equally eminent in both; Marston approaches nearest to him, and Massinger is scarcely inferior; though, perhaps, his excellence does not consist in the wit or sprightliness of the interlocutions. Shirley, however, is decidedly above Chapman in this line, who, as his Gentleman Usher witnesses, could condescend to the lowest trash, and the merest buffoonery. One great excellence of Shir. ley's comedies to modern readers, will be, that if wit and humour, be now and then absent, he seldom calls in grossness and indecency to supply their place. The Witty Fair One, is unquestionably one of his best, and the Author himself bears testimony to its success in representation. A principal incident in it, occupying the fourth act, reminds us of the story of the monk in Boccacio, who persuaded a living man that he was dead, and in purgatory for the punishment of his sins. Fowler is a gay libertine, who has been paying his court to Penelope, who procures his and her friends to join in a plot, to pretend that Fowler is dead; and to convince him of it, against the evidence of his senses, and by introducing him to a supposed chamber of mourning where they are lamenting over his vices, to make him sensible of them. The expedient does not want novelty, nor ingenuity, and it is well executed; as the following ex. tract will testify. « Enter Fouler.

The Hearse brought in, Tapers. “ Fow. This is the roome I sickned in, and by report, dved in,, umh I have heard of spirits walking with aeriall bodies, and ha beene wondered at by others, but I must only wonder at my selfe, for if they be not mad, l'me come to my owne buriall, certaine these clothes are substantiall, I one my 'Taylor for 'em to this houre, if the Divell bee not my Taylor, and hath furnish'il me with another suit very like it-This is no magicall noyse, essentiall gold and silver? What doe I with it if I be dead ? Here are no reckonings to be payd with it, no Taverne Bils, no midnight Revels, with the costly Tribe of amourous she sinners, now I cannot spend it, would the poore had it, by their prayers I might hope to get out of this new pittifull Purgatory, or at least know which way I came in to't

Here they are in mourning, wbat a Divell doe they meane to doe with me—not too many teares Lady, you will but spoyle your eyes, and draw upon 'em the misery of Spectacles, doe not you know me neyther?

* Pen. Oh Master Fowler. (as not seeing him.) · " Fow. Ha, out wi't, nay and the woman but acknowledge me alive, there's some hope a me.

Pen. I loved thee living with a holy flame to purge the errours of thy wanton youth.

Fow. I'me dead againe.

Pen. This made thy soul sue out so hasty a Divorce. And flee to acry dwellings, hath Left vs thy cold pale figure, which wee haue Commission but to chamber vp in Melancholy dust, where thy owne wormes Like the false servants of some great mau shall devoure thee first.

« Fow. I am wormes meate, «. Pen. We must all dye.

“ Fow. Woo'd some of you would do't quickly, that I might ha company,

Pen. But wert thou now to liue againe with ys
And that by miracle thy soule should with thy
Body baue second marriage, I beleeue
Thou woo’dst study to keepe it a chast temple, holy
Thoughts like Fumes of sacred incense houering
About this heart, then thou wo’dst learne to be
Above thy frailties, and resist the flatteries of
Smooth-fac't lust.

Fow. This is my Funerall sermon.

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