Twelve Centuries of English Poetry and Prose

For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother
Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 131
Thy rankest fault, all of them; and require
My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know,
Thou must restore.

ALON.
If thou be 'st Prospero,
Give us particulars of thy preservation;
How thou hast met us here, who three hours
since

Were wreck'd upon this shore; where I have
lost-

How sharp the point of this remembrance is!-
My dear son Ferdinand.

PROS.
I am woe for 't, sir.
ALON. Irreparable is the loss, and patience
Says it is past her cure.

PROS.

I rather think

141 You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace

For the like loss I have her sovereign aid,

And rest myself content.

ALON.

You the like loss!

PROS. As great to me as late; and, supportable

I have cursed them without cause.
ALON.

[Kneels.
Now all the blessings
Of a glad father compass thee about! 180
Arise, and say how thou camest here.

MIR.
O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new
world,

To make the dear loss, have I means much That has such people in 't!
weaker

Than you may call to comfort you, for I
Have lost my daughter.

O heavens, that they were living both in Naples, The king and queen there! that they were, I wish

Myself were mudded in that oozy bed 151 Where my son lies. When did you lose your daughter?

PROS.
"Tis new to thee.
ALON. What is this maid with whom thou
wast at play?

Your eld'st acquaintance cannot be three hours:
Is she the goddess that hath sever'd us,
And brought us thus together?

FER.

Sir, she is mortal;
But by immortal Providence she's mine:
I chose her when I could not ask my father
For his advice, nor thought I had one. She

PROS. In this last tempest. I perceive, these Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, lords

Of whom so often I have heard renown,
But never saw before; of whom I have
Received a second life; and second father
This lady makes him to me.

ALON.
I am hers:
But, O, how oddly will it sound that I
Must ask my child forgiveness!

190

And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in.
My dukedom since you have given me again,
I will requite you with as good a thing;

13 wonder

GON.

issue

Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice
Beyond a common joy! and set it down
With gold on lasting pillars: In one voyage
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis,
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife 210
Where he himself was lost, Prospero his duke-
dom

In a poor isle, and all of us ourselves
When no man was his own.

Do not infest18 your mind with beating on
The strangeness of this business; at pick'd
leisure

ALON. [To FER. and MIR.] Give me your Which shall be shortly, single I'll resolve you,19 han 's:

Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart

That doth not wish you joy!

GON.
Be it so! Amen!
Re-enter ARIEL with the MASTER and
BOATSWAIN amazedly following.

O, look, sir, look, sir! here is more of us:
I prophesied, if a gallows were on land,
This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy,
That swear'st grace o'erboard, not an oath on
shore?

Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the
news?

BOATS. The best news is, that we have safely found 221

Our king and company; the next, our ship-
Which, but three glasses since, we gave out
split-16

Is tight and yare and bravely rigged, as when
We first put out to sea.

Which to you shall seem probable, of every
These happen 'd accidents;

cheerful,

till when, be

gracious sir?

There are yet missing of your company
Some few odd lads that you remember not.
Re-enter ARIEL, driving in CALIBAN, STEPHANO,
and TRINCULO, in their stolen apparel.
STE. Every man shift for all the rest, and
let no man take care for himself; 20 for all is but
fortune.-Coragio, bully-monster, coragio!

TRIN. If these be true spies which I wear in my head, here's a goodly sight. 260

CAL. O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed!

How fine my master is! I am afraid

ARI. [Aside to PROS.] Sir, all this service He will chastise me. Have I done since I went.

SEB.

Ha, ha!

What things are these, my lord Antonio?
Will money buy 'em?
ANT.

From strange to stranger. Say, how came you Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. hither?

Very like; one of them PROS. Mark but the badges21 of these men, my lords, Then say if they be true. knave, His mother was a witch; and one so strong That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs,

This mis-shapen

270

PROS.

Go to; away!

EPILOGUE.*

Spoken by PROSPERO.

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got,
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want?
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant;
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so, that it assaults
Mercy itself, and frees all faults.

As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

BEN JONSON (15732-1637)

ALON. Hence, and bestow your luggage TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED

where you found it.

SEB. Or stole it, rather.

MASTER WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
AND WHAT HE HATH
LEFT US.†

To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample1 to thy book and fame;

* Probably not written by Shakespeare. 1 liberal

With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall Written after Shakespeare's death, which took

place in April, 1616. Beaumont died in March and was buried in Westminster Abbey by the side of Chaucer and Spenser, where twenty-one years later Jonson himself was to lie. Shakespeare, however, was buried at Stratford. (Eng. Lit., p. 411.) Lines 19-21 refer to the following "Epitaph on Shakespeare" which was written by William Basse:

"Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh
To learned Chaucer: and, rare Beaumont, lie
A little nearer Spenser, to make room
For Shakespeare in your threefold, fourfold

tomb.

To lodge all four in one bed make a shift,
For until doomsday hardly will a fifth,
Betwixt this day and that, by fates be slain.
For whom your curtains need be drawn again.
But if precedency in death doth bar

A fourth place in your sacred sepulchre,
Under this sable marble of thine own.
Sleep, rare tragedian, Shakespeare, sleep
alone:

Thy unmolested peace, in an unshared cave,
Possess as lord, not tenant, of thy grave;
That unto us, and others, it may be
Honour hereafter to be laid by thee."

The tenor of Jonson's praise appears to be that other English poets, though great, are "dis proportioned," that is. inferior to Shakespeare; his peers are to be found only among the ancients, though he himself knew little about them.

While I confess thy writings to be such,

The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes,

As neither man, nor Muse, can praise too much. Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; "Tis true, and all men's suffrage.2 But these | But antiquated and deserted lie,

ways

Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; For silliest ignorance on these may light, Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right;

Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance; 10

Or crafty malice might pretend this praise,
And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise.

But thou art proof against them, and, indeed, Above the ill fortune of them, or the need.

I therefore will begin: Soul of the age! The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage!

My Shakespeare rise! I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie
A little further off, to make thee room:
Thou art a monument without a tomb,
And art alive still, while thy book doth live,
And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses,

I mean with great, but disproportion'd Muses:
For if I thought my judgment were of years,3
I should commit thee surely with thy peers,
And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine,
Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line. 30
And though thou hadst small Latin and less
Greek,

From thence to honour thee, I will not seek+
For names: but call forth thund'ring Eschylus,
Euripides, and Sophocles to us,

Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead,5
To live again, to hear thy busking tread,
And shake a stage: or when thy socks? were on,
Leave thee alone for the comparison

Of all, that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome
Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.
Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, 41
To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age, but for all time!
And all the Muses still were in their prime,
When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm!
Nature herself was proud of his designs,
And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines!
Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit,
As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit.

ancient tragic actors; figurative for "tragedy."

7 A low shoe worn by ancient comedians; hence "comedy.'

As they were not of nature's family.

Yet must I not give nature all; thy art, My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part. For though the poet's matter nature be, His art doth give the fashion: and, that he Who casts to write a living line, must sweat, (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat Upon the Muses' anvil; turn the same, And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn; For a good poet's made as well as born.

Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were
To see thee in our water yet appear,
And make those flights upon the banks of
Thames,

That so did take Eliza,8 and our James!
But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere
Advanced, and made a constellation there!
Shine forth, thou Star of poets, and with rage,
Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage,
Which, since thy flight from hence, hath
mourn'd like night,

79 And despairs day, but for thy volume's light.

FROM VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX
THE ARGUMENT*

Volpone, childless, rich, feigns sick, despairs,
Offers his state to hopes of several heirs,
Lies languishing: his parasite receives
Presents of all, assures, deludes; then weaves
Other cross plots, which ope themselves, are

told.

New tricks for safety are sought; they thrive: when bold,

Each tempts the other again, and all are sold. 8 captivate Queen Elizabeth *This Argument-which is in the form of an acrostic, the initial letters of the seven lines spelling the title-gives in condensed form the plot of the play. The purpose is to present instructively some of the worst passions of men, especially avarice. Volpo'ne, the rich, hypocritical old "fox," assisted by his parasite. Mosca ("fly"), amuses himself with deluding those who hope to become his heirs, namely, the advocate Voltore ("vulture"). Corbaccio ("old raven"), etc.; but all come to grief in the end. The selection here printed constitutes the major portion of Act I. On Jonson's use of "humours," see Eng. Lit., p. 122.

Аст І.

Scene I.-A Room in Volpone's House.
Enter Volpone and Mosca.

Volpone. Good morning to the day; and
next, my gold!

Open the shrine, that I may see my saint.
[Mosca withdraws the curtain, and
discovers piles of gold, plate,
jewels, etc.

Hail the world's soul, and mine! more glad
than is

This draws new clients daily to my house,
Women and men of every sex and age,
That bring me presents, send me plate, coin,
jewels,

With hope that when I die (which they expect
Each greedy minute) it shall then return
Tenfold upon them; whilst some, covetous
Above the rest, seek to engross me whole, 60
And counter-work the one unto the other,
Contend in gifts, as they would seem in love:
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes,
And am content to coin them into profit,
And look upon their kindness, and take more,
And look on that; still bearing them in hand,
20 Letting the cherry knock against their lips,
And draw it by their mouths, and back again.—
How now!

The teeming earth to see the longed-for sun
Peep through the horns of the celestial Ram1
Am I, to view thy splendour darkening his;
That lying here, amongst my other hoards,
Show'st like a flame by night, or like the day
Struck out of chaos, when all darkness fled
Unto the centre. O thou son of Sol,
But brighter than thy father, let me kiss,
With adoration, thee, and every relic
Of sacred treasure in this blessed room.
Well did wise poets, by thy glorious name,
Title that age which they would have the best;
Thou being the best of things; and far tran-
scending

All style of joy, in children, parents, friends,
Or any other waking dream on earth:
Thy looks when they to Venus did ascribe,
They should have given her twenty thousand
Cupids;

Such are thy beauties and our loves! Dear saint.
Riches, the dumb god, that giv'st all men
tongues,

That canst do nought, and yet mak'st men do

all things;

The price of souls; even hell, with thee to boot,
Is made worth heaven. Thou art virtue, fame,
Honour, and all things else. Who can get thee,
He shall be noble, valiant, honest, wise-

Mos. And what he will, sir. Riches are in
fortune

A greater good than wisdom is in nature.

Volp. True, my beloved Mosca. Yet I glory
More in the cunning purchase of my wealth,
Than in the glad possession, since I gain
No common way; I use no trade, no venture; 40
I wound no earth with ploughshares, fat no
beasts

To feed the shambles; have no mills for iron,
Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder:
I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships
To threat'nings of the furrow-faced sea;
I turn no monies in the public bank,
Nor usure private.2

[Knocking without.

Who's that? .. Look, Mosca.
Mos. 'Tis Signior Voltore, the advocate;
I know him by his knock.
Volp. Fetch me my gown,
My furs, and night-caps; say my couch is
changing,

And let him entertain himself awhile
Without i' the gallery. [Exit Mosca.] Now,
now my clients
Begin their visitation! Vulture, kite,
Raven, and gorcrow, all my birds of prey,
That think me turning carcase, now they come:
I am not for them yet.

Re-enter Mosca, with the gown, etc.
How now! the news?

Mos. A piece of plate, sir.

Volp. Of what bigness?

Mos. Huge,

Massy, and antique, with your name inscribed,

[Puts on his sick dress. Why dost thou laugh so, man? Mos. I cannot choose, sir, when I apprehend What thoughts he has without now, as he walks: 3 pamper

4 leading them on

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