Catch of the Satyrs, which is unique for its wild and melodious mixture of the comic and the poetic. His huge farces, to be sure (such as Bartholomew Fair), are execrable. They seem to talk for talking's sake, like drunkards. And though his famous verses, beginning "Still to be neat, still to be drest," are elegantly worded, I never could admire them. There is a coarseness implied in their very refinement. After all, perhaps it is idle to wish a writer had been otherwise than he was, especially if he is an original in his way, and worthy of admiration. His faults he may have been unable to mend, and they may not have been without their use, even to his merits. If Ben had not been Ben, Sir Epicure Mammon might not have talked in so high a tone. We should have missed, perhaps, something of the excess and altitude of his expectations-of his Gums of Paradise and eastern air. Let it not be omitted, that Milton went to the masques and odes of Ben Jonson for some of the elegancies even of his dignified muse. See Warton's edition of his Minor Poems, passim. Our extracts shall commence with one of these odes, combining classic elegance with a tone of modern feeling, and a music like a serenade. TO CYNTHIA;-THE MOON. Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair, Earth, let not thy envious shade Cynthia's shining orb was made Heav'n to clear, when day did close. Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever; Volp. THE LOVE-MAKING OF LUXURY. Volpone makes love to Celia. See, behold, What thou art queen of; not in expectation, A diamond would have bought Lollia Paulina, When she came in like star-light, hid with jewels, A gem but worth a private patrimony, Is nothing we will eat such at a meal. The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales, The brains of peacocks, and of estriches, Shall be our food: and, could we get the phonix, Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish. Cel. Good sir, these things might move a mind affected With such delights; but I, whose innocence Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th' enjoying, And which, once lost, I have nought to lose beyond it, Cannot be taken with these sensual baits: If you have conscience Volp. "Tis the beggar's virtue: If thou had wisdom, hear me, Celia. Thy baths shall be the juice of July flowers, The milk of unicorns, and panthers' breath TOWERING SENSUALITY. Sir Epicure Mammon, expecting to obtain the Philosopher's Stone, riots in the anticipation of enjoyment. Enter MAMMON and SURLY. Mam. Come on, sir. Now, you set your foot on shore In Novo Orbe: here's the rich Peru: And there within, sir, are the golden wines, Great Solomon's Ophir! he was sailing to 't Three years; but we have reach'd it in ten months. I will pronounce the happy word, BE RICH.— Enter FACE. How now? Do we succeed? Is our day come? and holds it? Mam. Pertinax, my Surly, Again I say to thee, aloud, BE RICH. This day thou shalt have ingots; and to-morrow Give lords the affront.—Is it, my Zephyrus, right?— Face. Both blood and spirit, sir. Mam. I will have all my beds blown up, not stuff'd : Down is too hard.-My mists I'll have of perfume, vapoured 'bout the room To lose ourselves in; and my baths, like pits, To fall into from whence we will come forth, And they shall fan me with ten estrich tails We will be brave, Puffe, now we have the med'cine. And I will eat these broths with spoons of amber, My foot-boy shall eat pheasants, calver'd salmons, Drest with an exquisite and poignant sauce, For which I'll say unto my cook," There's gold; Go forth, and be a knight." Face. A little, how it heightens. Mam. Sir, I'll go look [Exit FACE. Do.-My shirts I'll have of taffeta-sarsnet, soft and light My gloves of fishes and birds' skins, perfum'd Sur. And do you think to have the stone with this? Mam. No; I do think t' have all this with the stone! Sur. Why, I have heard he must be homo frugi, A pious, holy, and religious man, One free from mortal sin, a very virgin. Mam. That makes it, Sir; he is so; BUT I BUY IT. |