ye not, think you? What! shall I serve you still, or cleave to the old house? Wen. Hence, slave! away, with thy unseason'd mirth. Unless thou canst shed tears, and sigh, and howl, Curse thy sad fortunes, and exclaim on fate, Thou art not for my turn. Jen. Marry, and you will not, another will: farewell, and be hang'd. Would you had never come to have kept this coil within our doors. We shall ha' you run away like a sprite again. [Exit. Wen. She's gone to death; I live to want and woe: Her life, her sins, and all upon my head. Where, when I have recover'd, and by travel rumours May in their height abate, I will return: My worth and parts being by some great man prais'd, At my return I may in court be rais'd. [Exit. Enter Sir FRANCIS ACTON, Sir CHARLES MOUNTFORD, CRANWELL, MALBY, and SUSAN. Sir F. Brother, and now my wife, I think these troubles Fall on my head by justice of the heavens, For being so strict to you in your extremities; But we are now aton'd.' I would my sister Could with like happiness o'ercome her griefs As we have ours. Susan. You tell us, Mr. Cranwell, wondrous things Touching the patience of that gentleman; Cran. I told you what I was a witness of; That did corrupt her: she was of herself Sir F. My brother Frankford show'd too mild a spirit In the revenge of such a loathed crime. Less than he did, no man of spirit could do. Death to such deeds of shame is the due meed. Enter JENKIN and SISLY. Jen. Oh, my mistress, mistress! my poor mistress! Sisly. Alas! that ever I was born; what shall I do for my poor mistress? Sir C. Why, what of her? Jen. O Lord, sir! she no sooner heard that her brother and her friends were come to see how she did, but she, for very shame of her guilty conscience, fell into such a swoon, that we had much ado to get life in her. Susan. Alas! that she should bear so hard. a fate. Pity it is repentance comes too late. Sir F. Is she so weak in body? Jen. Oh, sir! I can assure you there's no hope of life in her; for she will take no sustenance: she hath plainly starv'd herself, and now she's as lean as a lath. She ever looks for the good hour. Many gentlemen and gentlewomen of the country are come to comfort her. Enter Mrs. FRANKFORD, in her bed.' Mal. How fare you, Mistress Frankford? Mrs. A. Sick, sick! oh, sick! give me some air. I pray, Tell me, oli! tell me, where is Master Frankford? Will he not deign to see me ere I die? Mal. Yes, Mistress Frankford: divers gentle men, Your loving neighbours, with that just request Mrs. A. You have half reviv'd me with the pleasing news. Raise me a little higher in my bed.- Can you not read my fault writ in my cheek? Sir C. Alas! good mistress, sickness hath not left you Blood in your face enough to make you blush. Mrs. A. Then, sickness, like a friend, my fault would hide. Is my husband come? My soul but tarries Sir F. I came to chide you, but my words of hate Are turn'd to pity and compassionate grief. Enter FRANKFORD. Frank. Good morrow, brother; morrow, gentle men. God, that hath laid this cross upon our heads, Might (had He pleas'd) have made our cause of meeting On a more fair and more contented ground; Mrs. A. And is he come? Methinks that voice I know. Frank. How do you, woman? Mrs. A. Well, Master Frankford, well; but shall be better, I hope, within this hour. Will you vouchsafe (Out of your grace and your humanity) To take a spotted strumpet by the hand? Frank. This hand once held my heart in faster bonds Than now 'tis grip'd by me. God pardon them That made us first break hold. I was so impudent to wish you here; Frank. As freely, from the low depth of my soul, As my Redeemer hath forgiven his death, I'll wish to die with thee. All. So do we all. Nich. So will not I; I'll sigh and sob, but, by my faith, not die. Sir F. Oh, Master Frankford, all the near alliance I lose by her, shall be supplied in thee: Sir C. Then comfort, Mistress Frankford. soul. Susan. How is it with you? Sir F. How d'ye feel yourself? Frank. I see you are not, and I weep to see it. Mrs. A. Pardon'd on earth, soul, thou in heaven art free: Once more thy wife dies thus embracing thee. [Dies. Frank. New married, and new widow'd.-Oh! she's dead, And a cold grave must be her nuptial bed. sorrow Part equally amongst us: storms divided Will find enough to drown one troubled heart. Sir F. Peace with thee, Nan. -Brothers and gentlemen (All we that can plead interest in her grief), Brother, had you with threats and usage bad Will I bestow this funeral epitaph, Which on her marble tomb shall be engrav'd. In golden letters shall these words be fill'd: Here lies she whom her husband's kindness kill'd EPILOGUE. An honest crew, disposed to be merry, Came to a tavern by, and call'd for wine: The drawer brought it (smiling like a cherry) And told them it was pleasant, neat and fine. 'Taste it,' quoth one: he did so; 'Fie!' (quoth he) This wine was good; now't runs too near the lee.' Another sipp'd to give the wine his due, And said unto the rest it drank too flat: The third said, it was old; the fourth, too new; 'Nay,' quoth the fifth, the sharpness likes me not.' Thus, gentlemen, you see how, in one hour, sour. Unto this wine we do allude1 our play, Which some will judge too trivial, some to: grave: You, as our guests we entertain this day, And bid you welcome to the best we have. Excuse us, then: good wine may be disgraced, When every several mouth hath sundry taste. 1 allude-compare. [JAMES SHIRLEY, the last of the 'great race' of what are called the Elizabethan dramatists, was descended from the Shirleys of either Sussex or Warwickshire, and was born in September 1596, in or near the parish of St. Mary Woolchurch, London. In October 1608, when twelve years old, he was admitted into Merchant-Taylors' School, where he remained till June 1612, giving diligent attention to his studies. On leaving school he is said to have proceeded to St. John's College, Oxford; the only authority for this assertion being Anthony Wood, who makes the following statement regarding Shirley:- At the same time,' says Wood, 'Dr. William Laud presiding that house, he had a very great affection for him, especially for the pregnant parts that were visible in him; but then having a broad or large mole upon his left cheek, which some esteemed a deformity, that worthy doctor would often tell him that he was an unfit person to take the sacred function upon him, and should never have his consent so to do.' If Shirley ever was at Oxford, he quitted it without taking his degree, and became a student at Catherine Hall, Cambridge, where he graduated Bachelor of Arts, and afterwards took his M.A. Notwithstanding the objections of Laud, Shirley, on having completed his course at college, took holy orders, and was appointed to a living at or near St. Alban's, Hertfordshire. Here, however, he remained but a very short time, as soon after, apparently from conscientious and disinterested motives, he became a convert to the Roman Catholic Church. Abandoning the clerical profession, he obtained the appointment of Master in the Grammar School of St. Alban's, which he held during the years 1623, 1624, which employment also,' says Wood, 'he finding uneasy to him, he retired to the metropolis, lived in Gray's Inn, and set up for a play-maker.' There is reason to believe that while still teaching at St. Alban's, his comedy of Love's Tricks was performed in London. Shirley appears to have led a steady life, and, according to Wood, gained not only a considerable livelihood from his dramas, but also attracted the attention of 'persons of quality,' especially of Queen Henrietta Maria, 'who made him her servant.' He appears, however, to have been too independent to take proper advantage of these opportunities of advancement. 'I never,' he says in the dedication to The Maid's Revenge, 'affected the ways of flattery; some say, I have lost my preferment by not practising that court sin.' Regarding his domestic circumstances, it is only known that he was twice married, and had several children. From the time that he gave up teaching, Shirley continued industriously writing for the stage, his extant works filling six octavo volumes; besides which, a considerable number have been lost. About 1637 he visited Ireland, under the patronage of the Earl of Kildare, and while there brought out on the Dublin stage his drama, Royal Master. In 1642 Parliament ordered the suppression of stage-plays, thus cutting off the occupation of Shirley and other dramatists, as well as of the actors. As might be expected, both dramatists and actors, almost to a man, took the side of the king in the important struggle which followed, many of them attaining to a respectable rank in the royal army. 'When the rebellion broke out,' says Wood, and Shirley thereupon forced to leave London, and so consequently his wife and children (who afterwards were put to their shifts), he was invited by his most noble patron, William, Earl (afterwards Marquis and Duke) of Newcastle, to take his fortune with him in the wars; for that Count had engaged him so much by his generous liberality towards him, that he thought he could not do a worthier act than to serve him, and so consequently his prince.' After the king's cause had declined, Shirley returned to London, where he lived in comparative obscurity, resuming his old occupation of teaching, by means of which, and by the publication of some early poems and a few of his dramas, as well as of a grammar and other works, he managed to earn a scanty livelihood. The restoration of Charles II. does not appear to have bettered in any respect the condition of Shirley. On the opening of the theatres, which were eagerly attended by the people, several of his pieces were revived with success; but his declared resolution of never again attempting dramatic poetry was not to be shaken. He continued to earn a livelihood by teaching his school; while a degenerate race of playwrights arose, to delight with bombast and obscenity a tasteless and licentious age.' 'At length,' Wood tells us, after Mr. Shirley had lived in various conditions, and had seen much of the world, he, with his second wife, Frances, were driven by the dismal conflagration that happened in London, AN. 1666, from their habitation near to Fleet Street, into the parish of St. Giles's-in-the-Fields, in Middlesex, where being in a manner overcome with affrightments, disconsolations, and other miseries, occasioned by that fire and their losses, they both died within the compass of a natural day; whereupon their bodies were both buried in one grave in the yard belonging to the said church of St. Giles's, on the 29th of October 1666.' At his death Shirley had just entered on his seventy-first year. As we have already said, Shirley seems to have led a comparatively blameless life; 'gentle, modest, and full of sensibility, he seems to have conciliated the affection of all his associates.' Thirty-three regular dramas written by Shirley are still extant: of these the principal are-The Brothers (licensed 1626); The Wedding (printed 1629); The Grateful Servant (licensed 1629); The Traitor (licensed 1631); The Changes, or Love in a Maze (licensed 1632); Hyde Park (licensed 1632); The Duke's Mistress (licensed 1636); The Humorous Courtier (published 1640); The Cardinal (licensed 1641); The Sisters (licensed 1642); Honoria and Mammon, and The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses for the Shield of Achilles (published 1659). Notwithstanding Dryden's unscrupulous sneer in his MacFlecknoe at this dramatist, Shirley undoubtedly deserves to rank honourably among his great contemporaries and predecessors. He is certainly superior to Heywood, and in several respects puts one in mind of the grace and ease of Beaumont and Fletcher, as well as of their power of depicting the manners of good society. He also, we are sorry to say, resembles these dramatists in another less commendable point, viz., the obscenity with which their plays are disfigured, although his language is seldom so gross and coarse, and, as compared with many of his immediate successors, is purity itself. Though he occasionally,' says Dyce, 'fails in giving vigour and individuality to his characters, the dramatis persona of his best productions are strongly drawn and clearly discriminated. In the extrication of the fable he sometimes betrays carelessness and haste; but his plots are generally conducted with admirable art and judgment. He abounds in brilliant thoughts, in noble and majestic sentiments, yet exhibits little of profound reflection. His imagination seldom takes a lofty flight; he loves to crowd his dramas with events of romantic beauty; but he shows no fondness for the ideal world, its ghosts and magic wonders. His fancy was exuberant. His scenes are rich in delicate imagery and picturesque similes; and even in those plays where character is somewhat faintly delineated, his eloquent and softly-coloured dialogue bestows a charm.' Though he was the last of this 'great race' of Titanic dramatists, he is by no means the least. We have selected, as being two of his best productions, The Traitor and The Brothers. THE TRAITOR: A TRAGEDY. ACTED BY HER MAJESTY'S SERVANTS. WRITTEN BY JAMES SHIRLEY. TỔ THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM CAVENDISH, EARL OF NEWCASTLE, VISCOUNT MANSFIELD, LORD BOLSOVER AND OGLE. MY LORD,-The honour of your name, and clear- | justified example to our age. To the last these ness of soul, which want no living monuments in the heart of princes, have already made the title of this poem innocent, though not the author; who confesseth his guilt of a long ambition, by some service to be known to you, and his boldness at last, by this rude attempt to kiss your Lordship's hands. Fame with one breath hath possessed the world with your Lordship's general knowledge, and excellent nature, both an ornament to your blood, and in both you stand the rare and cold papers address themselves, which if (with The humblest of your Lordship's servants, ACT I.-SCENE I. A Room in PISANO'S House. Enter PISANO and PETRUCHIO. Pis. Didst bid him come? Pis. Go back again, And tell him I am gone abroad. Already, sir. Enter COSMO. Pis. Oh, Cosmo! Gentlemen. Servants. AMIDEA, SCIARRIA's sister. ORIANA, beloved of PISANO (Cosmo's Mis- SCENE-Florence. Youth. Pleasure. Death. That I could let thee nearer into me! [tress). My heart counts this embrace a distance, yet; Pis. I was wooing, Cosmo, My man, to tell thee I was gone abroad, Cos. How's this? your words and looks Pis. What, for telling truth? He thus should have but made thee fit to sce Cos. Yes. |