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THE FATAL

DOWRY: A TRAGEDY.

The Marshal of Burgundy dies in Prison at Dijon, for Debts contracted by him for the service of the State in the Wars. His dead Body is arrested and denied Burial by his Creditors. His Son, young CHARALOIS, gives up himself to Prison, to redeem his Father's Body, that it may have honourable Burial. He has leave, from his Prisondoors, to view the Ceremony of the Funeral, but to go no farther. Enter three Gentlemen, PONTALIER, MALOTIN, and BEAUMONT, as Spectators of the Funeral.

Mal. "Tis strange!

Beaum. Methinks so.

Pont. In a man but young,

Yet old in judgment; theoric and practic
In all humanity; and, to increase the wonder,
Religious, yet a soldier,—that he should
Yield his free-living youth a captive, for
The freedom of his aged father's corpse;
And rather choose to want life's necessaries,
Liberty, hope of fortune, than it should
In death be kept from Christian ceremony.
Mal. Come, 'tis a golden precedent in a son,
To let strong Nature have the better hand,
In such a case, of all affected reason.

What years sit on this Charalois ?

Beaum. Twenty-eight.

For since the clock did strike him seventeen old,
Under his father's wing this son hath fought,
Served, and commanded, and so aptly both,
That sometimes he appeared his father's father,
And never less than his son; the old man's virtues

So recent in him, as the world may swear

Naught but a fair tree could such fair fruit bear.
Mal. This morning is the funeral?

Pont. Certainly,

And from this prison ;-'twas the son's request.

[CHARALOIS appears at the door of the prison.

That his dear father might interment have,

See, the young son entered a lively grave.

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Char. How like a silent stream, shaded with night,
And gliding softly with our windy sighs,
Moves the whole frame of this solemnity!
Tears, sighs, and blacks, filling the simile;
Whilst I, the only murmur in this grove

Of death, thus hollowly break forth!-Vouchsafe
To stay awhile. Rest, rest in peace, dear earth!
Thou that brought'st rest to their unthankful lives,
Whose cruelty denied thee rest in death!
Here stands thy poor executor, thy son,
That makes his life prisoner to bail thy death;

Who gladlier puts on this captivity,

Than virgins, long in love, their wedding weeds.
Of all that ever thou hast done good to,
These only have good memories; for they
Remember best, forget not gratitude.

I thank you for this last and friendly love;
And though this country, like a viperous mother,
Not only hath eat up ungratefully

All means of thee, her son, but last thyself,
Leaving thy heir so bare and indigent,

He cannot raise thee a poor monument,
Such as a flatterer or an usurer hath;

Thy worth in every honest breast builds one,
Making their friendly hearts thy funeral stone.

Pont. Sir!

Char. Peace! O peace! This scene is wholly mine.soldiers ? blanch not; Romont weeps.

What! weep you,
Ha! let me see! my miracle is eased;

The jailors and the creditors do weep;

E'en they that make us weep, do weep themselves.
Be these thy body's balm: these, and thy virtue,
Keep thy fame ever odoriferous,

Whilst the great, proud, rich, undeserving man.
Alive stinks in his vices, and, being vanished,
The golden calf that was an idol, decked
With marble pillars, jet and porphyry,

Shall quickly both in bone and name consume,
Though wrapped in lead, spice, cerecloth, and perfume.
Creditor. Sir !-

Char. What! away for shame!-you, profane rogues,
Must not be mingled with these holy relics:
This is a sacrifice-our shower shall crown

His sepulchre with olive, myrrh, and bays,
The plants of peace, of sorrow, victory:
Your tears would spring but weeds.

Rom. Look, look, you slaves! your thankless cruelty,

And savage manners of unkind Dijon,

Exhaust these floods, and not his father's death.

Priest. On!

Char. One moment more,

But to bestow a few poor legacies,

All I have left in my dead father's right,

And I have done.-Captain, wear thou these spurs,
That yet ne'er made his horse run from a foe.-
Lieutenant, thou this scarf; and may it tie
Thy valour and thy honesty together,

For so it did in him.-Ensign, this cuirass,

Your general's necklace once.—You, gentle bearers,
Divide this
purse of gold: this other strew
Among the poor. 'Tis all I have.-Romont,
Wear thou this medal of himself, that like

A hearty oak grew'st close to this tall pine,
E'en in the wildest wilderness of war,

Whereon foes broke their swords, and tired themselves:
Wounded and hacked ye were, but never felled.—

For me, my portion provide in heaven:

My root is earthed, and I, a desolate branch,

Left scattered in the highway of the world,

Trod under foot, that might have been a column
Mainly supporting our demolished house.
This would I wear as my inheritance,-
And what hope can arise to me from it,
When I and it are here both prisoners?
Only may this, if ever we be free,
Keep or redeem me from all infamy!
Jailer. You must no farther.—
The prison limits you, and the creditors
Exact the strictness. . . . .

*His father's sword.

James Shirley.

THE LADY OF PLEASURE:

A COMEDY.

SIR THOMAS BORNEWELL expostulates with his Lady on her Extravagance and Love of Pleasure.

BORNEWELL; ARETINA, his Lady.

Are. I am angry with myself;

To be so miserably restrained in things,
Wherein it doth concern your love and honour

To see me satisfied.

Bor. In what, Aretina,

Dost thou accuse me? have I not obeyed
All thy desires, against mine own opinion;
Quitted the country, and removed the hope.
Of our return, by sale of that fair lordship
We lived in changed a calm and retired life
For this wild town, composed of noise and charge?
Are. What charge, more than is necessary

For a lady of my birth and education?

Bor. I am not ignorant how much nobility

Flows in your blood; your kinsmen great and powerful
In the state; but with this lose not your memory
Of being my wife: I shall be studious,

Madam, to give the dignity of your birth

All the best ornaments which become my fortune;
But would not flatter it, to ruin both,

And be the fable of the town, to teach
Other men wit by loss of mine, employed

To serve your vast expenses.

Are. Am I then

Brought in the balance? so, sir.

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