SCENE III.

_The Court of Justice._

_Enter_ TIMOLEON, ARCHIDAMUS, CLEORA; _and Officers_.

_Timol._ 'Tis wonderous strange! nor can it fall within The reach of my belief, a slave should be The owner of a temperance which this age Can hardly parallel in freeborn lords, Or kings proud of their purple.

_Archid._ 'Tis most true; And, though at first it did appear a fable, All circumstances meet to give it credit; Which works so on me, that I am compell'd To be a suitor, not to be denied, He may have equal hearing.

_Cleo._ Sir, you graced me With the title of your mistress[128]; but my fortune Is so far distant from command, that I Lay by the power you gave me, and plead humbly For the preserver of my fame and honour. And pray you, sir, in charity believe, That, since I had ability of speech, My tongue has been so much inured to truth, I know not how to lie.

_Timol._ I'll rather doubt The oracles of the gods, than question what Your innocence delivers; and, as far As justice and mine honour can give way, He shall have favour. Bring him in unbound: [_Exeunt Officers._ And though Leosthenes may challenge from me, For his late worthy service, credit to All things he can allege in his own cause, Marullo, so, I think, you call his name, Shall find I do reserve one ear for him,

_Enter_ CLEON, ASOTUS, DIPHILUS, OLYMPIA, _and_ CORISCA.

To let in mercy. Sit, and take your places; The right of this fair virgin first determined, Your bondmen shall be censured[129].

_Cleon._ With all rigour. We do expect.

_Coris._ Temper'd, I say, with mercy.

_Enter at one door_ LEOSTHENES _and_ TIMAGORAS; _at the other, Officers with_ MARULLO, _and_ TIMANDRA.

_Timol._ Your hand, Leosthenes: I cannot doubt, You, that have been victorious in the war, Should, in a combat fought with words, come off But with assured triumph.

_Leost._ My deserts, sir, If, without arrogance, I may style them such, Arm me from doubt and fear.

_Timol._ 'Tis nobly spoken. Nor be thou daunted (howsoe'er thy fortune Has mark'd thee out a slave) to speak thy merits: For virtue, though in rags, may challenge more Than vice, set off with all the trim of greatness.

_Mar._ I had rather fall under so just a judge, Than be acquitted by a man corrupt, And partial, in his censure.

_Archid._ Note his language; It relishes of better breeding than His present state dares promise.

_Timol._ I observe it. Place the fair lady in the midst, that both, Looking with covetous eyes upon the prize They are to plead for, may, from the fair object, Teach Hermes eloquence.

_Leost._ Am I fallen so low? My birth, my honour, and, what 's dearest to me, My love, and, witness of my love, my service, So undervalued, that I must contend With one, where my excess of glory must Make his o'erthrow a conquest? Shall my fulness Supply defects in such a thing, that never Knew any thing but want and emptiness, Give him a name, and keep it such, from this Unequal competition? If my pride, Or any bold assurance of my worth, Has pluck'd this mountain of disgrace upon me, I am justly punish'd, and submit; but if I have been modest, and esteem'd myself More injured in the tribute of the praise, Which no desert of mine, prized by self-love, Ever exacted, may this cause and minute For ever be forgotten! I dwell long Upon mine anger, and now turn to you, Ungrateful fair one; and, since you are such, 'Tis lawful for me to proclaim myself, And what I have deserved.

_Cleo._ Neglect and scorn From me, for this proud vaunt.

_Leost._ You nourish, lady, Your own dishonour in this harsh reply, And almost prove what some hold of your sex, You are all made up of passion: for, if reason Or judgment could find entertainment with you, Or that you would distinguish of the objects You look on, in a true glass, not seduced By the false light of your too violent will, I should not need to plead for that which you, With joy, should offer. Is my high birth a blemish? Or does my wealth, which all the vain expense Of women cannot waste, breed loathing in you? The honours I can call mine own, thought scandals? Am I deform'd, or, for my father's sins, Mulcted by nature? If you interpret these As crimes, 'tis fit I should yield up myself Most miserably guilty. But, perhaps, (Which yet I would not credit,) you have seen This gallant pitch the bar, or bear a burden Would crack the shoulders of a weaker bondman.

_Cleo._ You are foul-mouth'd.

_Archid._ Ill-manner'd too.

_Leost._ I speak In the way of supposition, and entreat you, With all the fervour of a constant lover, That you would free yourself from these aspersions, Or any imputation black-tongued slander Could throw on your unspotted virgin whiteness: To which there is no easier way, than by Vouchsafing him your favour; him, to whom, Next to the general, and the gods and fautors[130], The country owes her safety.

_Timag._ Are you stupid? 'Slight! leap into his arms, and there ask pardon.-- Oh! you expect your slave's reply; no doubt We shall have a fine oration: I will teach My spaniel to howl in sweeter language, And keep a better method.

_Archid._ You forget The dignity of the place.

_Diph._ Silence!

_Timol._ [_to Marullo._] Speak boldly.

_Mar._ 'Tis your authority gives me a tongue; I should be dumb else; and I am secure, I cannot clothe my thoughts, and just defence, In such an abject phrase, but 'twill appear Equal, if not above my low condition. I need no bombast language, stolen from such As make nobility from prodigious terms The hearers understand not; I bring with me No wealth to boast of, neither can I number Uncertain fortune's favours with my merits; I dare not force affection, or presume To censure her discretion, that looks on me As a weak man, and not her fancy's idol. How I have loved, and how much I have suffer'd, And with what pleasure undergone the burden Of my ambitious hopes, (in aiming at The glad possession of a happiness, The abstract of all goodness in mankind Can at no part deserve), with my confession Of mine own wants, is all that can plead for me. But if that pure desires, not blended with Foul thoughts, that, like a river, keeps his course, Retaining still the clearness of the spring From whence it took beginning, may be thought Worthy acceptance; then I dare rise up, And tell this gay man to his teeth, I never Durst doubt her constancy, that, like a rock, Beats off temptations, as that mocks the fury Of the proud waves; nor, from my jealous fears, Question that goodness to which, as an altar Of all perfection, he that truly loved Should rather bring a sacrifice of service, Than raze it with the engines of suspicion: Of which, when he can wash an Æthiop white, Leosthenes may hope to free himself; But, till then, never.

_Timag._ Bold, presumptuous villain!

_Mar._ I will go further, and make good upon him, I' the pride of all his honours, birth, and fortunes, He's more unworthy than myself.

_Leost._ Thou liest.

_Timag._ Confute him with a whip, and, the doubt decided, Punish him with a halter.

_Mar._ O the gods! My ribs, though made of brass, cannot contain My heart, swollen big with rage. The lie!--a whip!-- Let fury then disperse these clouds, in which I long have march'd disguised; [_Throws off his disguise._] that, when they know Whom they have injured, they may faint with horror Of my revenge, which, wretched men! expect, As sure as fate, to suffer.

_Leost._ Ha! Pisander!

_Timag._ 'Tis the bold Theban!

_Asot._ There's no hope for me then: I thought I should have put in for a share, And borne Cleora from them both; but now, This stranger looks so terrible, that I dare not So much as look on her.

_Pisan._ Now as myself, Thy equal at thy best, Leosthenes. For you, Timagoras, praise heaven you were born Cleora's brother; 'tis your safest armour. But I lose time.--The base lie cast upon me, I thus return: Thou art a perjured man, False, and perfidious, and hast made a tender Of love and service to this lady, when Thy soul, if thou hast any, can bear witness, That thou wert not thine own: for proof of this, Look better on this virgin, and consider, This Persian shape laid by[131], and she appearing In a Greekish dress, such as when first you saw her, If she resemble not Pisander's sister, One call'd Statilia?

_Leost._ 'Tis the same! My guilt So chokes my spirits, I cannot deny My falsehood, nor excuse it.

_Pisan._ This is she, To whom thou wert contracted: this the lady, That, when thou wert my prisoner, fairly taken In the Spartan war, then, begg'd thy liberty, And with it gave herself to thee, ungrateful!

_Statil._ No more, sir, I entreat you: I perceive True sorrow in his looks, and a consent To make me reparation in mine honour; And then I am most happy.

_Pisan._ The wrong done her Drew me from Thebes, with a full intent to kill thee: But this fair object met me in my fury, And quite disarm'd me. Being denied to have her, By you, my lord Archidamus, and not able To live far from her; love, the mistress of All quaint devices, prompted me to treat With a friend of mine, who, as a pirate, sold me For a slave to you, my lord, and gave my sister, As a present, to Cleora.

_Timol._ Strange meanders!

_Pisan._ There how I bare myself, needs no relation: But, if so far descending from the height Of my then flourishing fortunes, to the lowest Condition of a man, to have means only To feed my eye with the sight of what I honour'd; The dangers too I underwent, the sufferings; The clearness of my interest, may deserve A noble recompense in your lawful favour; Now 'tis apparent that Leosthenes Can claim no interest in you, you may please To think upon my service.

_Cleo._ Sir, my want Of power to satisfy so great a debt Makes me accuse my fortune; but if that, Out of the bounty of your mind, you think A free surrender of myself full payment, I gladly tender it.

_Archid._ With my consent too, All injuries forgotten.

_Timag._ I will study, In my future service, to deserve your favour, And good opinion.

_Leost._ Thus I gladly fee This advocate to plead for me. [_Kissing Statilia._

_Pisan._ You will find me An easy judge. When I have yielded reasons Of your bondmen's falling off from their obedience, Then after, as you please, determine of me. I found their natures apt to mutiny From your too cruel usage, and made trial How far they might be wrought on; to instruct you To look with more prevention and care To what they may hereafter undertake Upon the like occasions. The hurt 's little They have committed; nor was ever cure, But with some pain, effected. I confess, In hope to force a grant of fair Cleora, I urged them to defend the town against you; Nor had the terror of your whips, but that I was preparing for defence elsewhere, So soon got entrance: In this I am guilty; Now, as you please, your censure.

_Timol._ Bring them in; And, though you've given me power, I do entreat Such as have undergone their insolence, It may not be offensive, though I study Pity, more than revenge.

_Coris._ 'Twill best become you.

_Cleon._ I must consent.

_Asot._ For me, I'll find a time To be revenged hereafter.

_Timol._ And now, the war being ended to our wishes, And such as went the pilgrimage of love, Happy in full fruition of their hopes, 'Tis lawful, thanks paid to the Powers divine, To drown our cares in honest mirth and wine. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[128] Cleo. _Sir, you graced me With the title of your mistress._] This alludes to the request in the first act, that he might be permitted _to wear her colours_. In those days of gallantry, I mean those of Massinger, not of Timoleon, to wear a lady's colours, that is, a scarf, or a riband, taken from her person, was to become her authorized champion and servant.--GIFFORD.

[129] _Censured_,] i. e. _judged_. It may be observed, that our ancestors used _censure_ precisely as we now do judgment: sometimes for a quality of the mind, and sometimes for a judicial determination.--GIFFORD.

[130] _The gods and fautors_,] in the language of the author means the _favouring gods_.

[131] _This Persian shape laid by_,] i. e. the _dress_ of a Persian slave, which Statilia had assumed, with the name of Timandra. _Shape_ is a term borrowed from the tiring-room of the theatres. In the list of dramatis personæ prefixed to _The Virgin Martyr_, Harpax is said to be, "an evil spirit following Theophilus in the _shape_ (habit) of a secretary."--GIFFORD.

THE MAID OF HONOUR.

THE MAID OF HONOUR.] This tragi-comedy, which was first printed in 1632, was, as the old title-page informs us, very frequently acted "at the Phoenix in Drury-lane, by the Queen's Majesty's servants." It was a great favourite, and with justice, for it has a thousand claims to admiration, and is of the higher order of Massinger's plays. It will not, indeed, be very easy to find in any writer a subject more animated, or characters more variously and pointedly drawn. There is no delay in introducing the business of the drama; and nothing is allowed to interfere with its progress. Indeed this is by far too rapid; and event is precipitated upon event without regard to time or place. But Massinger acts with a liberty which it would be absurd to criticise. Thebes and Athens, Palermo and Sienna, are alike to him; and he must be allowed to transport his agents and their concerns from one to another, as often as the exigencies of his ambulatory plan may require.

It is observable, that in this play Massinger has attempted the more difficult part of dramatic writing. He is not content with describing different qualities in his characters; but lays before the reader several differences of the same qualities. The courage of Gonzaga, though by no means inferior to it, is not that of Bertoldo. In the former, it is a fixed and habitual principle, the honourable business of his life. In the latter, it is an irresistible impulse, the instantaneous result of a fiery temper. There is still another remove; and these branches of real courage differ from the poor and forced approaches to valour in Gasparo and Antonio. A broader distinction is used with his two courtiers; and the cold interest of Astutio is fully contrasted with the dazzling and imprudent assumption of Fulgentio. But Camiola herself is the great object that reigns throughout the piece. Every where she animates us with her spirit, and instructs us with her sense. Yet this superiority takes nothing from her softer feelings. Her tears flow with a mingled fondness and regret; and she is swayed by a passion which is only quelled by her greater resolution. The influence of her character is also heightened through the different manner of her lovers; through the mad impatience of the uncontrolled Bertoldo, the glittering pretensions of Fulgentio, and the humble and sincere attachment of Adorni, who nourishes secret desires of a happiness too exalted for him, faithfully performs commands prejudicial to his own views, through the force of an affection which ensures his obedience, and, amidst so much service, scarcely presumes to hint the passion which consumes him. I know not if even signior Sylli is wholly useless here; he serves at least to show her good-humoured toleration of a being hardly important enough for her contempt.

In the midst of this just praise of Camiola, there are a few things to be regretted. Reason and religion had forbidden her union with Bertoldo; and she had declared herself unalterable in her purpose. His captivity reverses her judgment, and she determines not only to liberate, but to marry him. Unfortunately too she demands a sealed contract as the condition of his freedom; though Bertoldo's ardour was already known to her, and the generosity of her nature ought to have abstained from so degrading a bargain. But Massinger wanted to hinder the marriage of Aurelia; and, with an infelicity which attends many of his contrivances, he provided a prior contract at the expense of the delicacy, as well as the principles of his heroine. It is well, that the nobleness of the conclusion throws the veil over these blemishes. Her determination is at once natural and unexpected. It answers to the original independence of her character, and she retires with our highest admiration and esteem.

It may be observed here, that Massinger was not unknown to Milton. The date of some of Milton's early poems, indeed, is not exactly ascertained; but if the reader will compare the speech of Paulo, with _the Penseroso_, he cannot fail to remark a similarity in the cadences, as well as in the measure and the solemnity of the thoughts. On many other occasions he certainly remembers Massinger, and frequently in his representations of female purity, and the commanding dignity of virtue.

A noble lesson arises from the conduct of the principal character. A fixed sense of truth and rectitude gives genuine superiority; it corrects the proud, and abashes the vain, and marks the proper limits between humility and presumption. It also governs itself with the same ascendancy which it establishes over others. When the lawful objects of life cannot be possessed with clearness of honour, it provides a nobler pleasure in rising above their attraction, and creates a new happiness by controlling even innocent desires.

TO

MY MOST HONOURED FRIENDS,

SIR FRANCIS FOLJAMBE, KNT. AND BART.

AND

SIR THOMAS BLAND, KNT.

That you have been, and continued so for many years, since you vouchsafed to own me, patrons to me and my despised studies, I cannot but with all humble thankfulness acknowledge: and living, as you have done, inseparable in your friendship, (notwithstanding all differences, and suits in law arising between you[132],) I held it as impertinent as absurd, in the presentment of my service in this kind, to divide you. A free confession of a debt, in a meaner man, is the amplest satisfaction to his superiors; and I heartily wish that the world may take notice, and from myself, that I had not to this time subsisted, but that I was supported by your frequent courtesies and favours. When your more serious occasions will give you leave, you may please to peruse this trifle, and peradventure find something in it that may appear worthy of your protection. Receive it, I beseech you, as a testimony of his duty who, while he lives, resolves to be

truly and sincerely devoted to your service, PHILIP MASSINGER.

FOOTNOTE:

[132] _Notwithstanding all differences, and suits in late arising between you._] The _suits in law_ subsisting between these fast friends of Massinger--Sir Francis Foljambe, of Walton, in the county of Derby, and Sir Thomas Bland, of Kippax Park, in the county of York--originated in a question as to the right of working some coal-mines.--GILCHRIST.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

ROBERTO, _king of Sicily_. FERDINAND, _duke of Urbin_. BERTOLDO, _the king's natural brother, a knight of Malta_. GONZAGA, _a knight of Malta, general to the duchess of Sienna_. ASTUTIO, _a counsellor of state_. FULGENTIO, _the minion of_ ROBERTO. ADORNI, _a follower of_ CAMIOLA'S _father_. SIGNIOR SYLLI, _a foolish self-lover_. ANTONIO, } GASPARO, } _two rich heirs, city-bred_. PIERIO, _a colonel to_ GONZAGA. RODERIGO, } JACOMO, } _captains to_ GONZAGA. DRUSO, } LIVIO, } _captains to duke_ FERDINAND. _Father_ PAULO, _a priest_, CAMIOLA'_s confessor_. _Ambassador from the duke of Urbin._ _A Bishop._ _A Page._

AURELIA, _duchess of Sienna_. CAMIOLA, _the Maid of Honour_. CLARINDA, _her woman_.

_Scout, Soldiers, Gaoler, Attendants, Servants, &c._

SCENE, partly in Sicily, and partly in the Siennese.

THE MAID OF HONOUR.