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Strength a weak reed; Health Sickness' enemy, Ladies; worn strange attires; seen Fantasticoes; And it at length will have the victory.

conversed with Humourists; been ravished with Beauty is but a painting; and Long Life divine raptures of Doric, Lydian and Phrygian Is a long journey in December gone,

harmonies; I have spent the day in triumphs Tedious and full of tribulation.

and the night in banquetting. Therefore, dread sacred Empress, make me rich : And. O rare: this was heavenly. He that My choice is Store of Gold; the Rich are Wise, would not be an Arabian Phoenix to burn in these He that upon his back rich garments wears sweet fires, let him live like an owl for the world Is Wise, though on his head grow Midas' ears. to wonder at. Gold is the Strength, the Sinews of the world, Amp. Why, brother, are not all these Vanities? The Health, the Soul, the Beauty most divine; Fort. Vanities! Ampedo, thy soul is made of A mask of gold hides all deformities;

lead, too dull, too ponderous, to mount up to the Gold is heaven's physic, life's restorative; incomprehensible glory that Travel lifts men to. Oh therefore make me Rich.

And. Sweeten mine ears, good father, with

some more. Fortune gives lo Fortunatus a Purse that is in

Fort. When in the warmth ot' mine own counexhaustible. With this he puts on costly attire, and visits all the Asian Courts, where he is caressed and

try's arms made much of for his infinite wealth. At Babylon he We yawn'd like sluggards, when this small hois shewn by the Soldan a wondrous Hat, which in a

rizon wish transports the wearer whithersoever he pleases, over land and sea. Fortunatus puts it on, wishes Imprison'd up my body, then mine eyes himself at home in Cyprus; where he arrives in a Worship'd these clouds as brightest: but my minute, as his sons `Ampedo and Andelocia are talking of him : and tells his Travels,

boys,

The glist'ring beams which do abroad appear Fortunatus. Ampedo. Andelocia.

In other heavens, tire is not half so clear. Fort. Touch me not, boys, I am nothing but For still in all the regions I have seen, air, let none speak to me till you have marked I scoru'd to croud among the muddy throng me well. Am I as you are,

or am I trans- Of the rank multitude, whose thicken' bre formed ?

(Like to condensed fogs) do choke that beauty, And. Methinks, father, you look as you did, Which else would dwell in every Kingdom's only your face is more withered.

cheek. Fort. Boys, be proud; your father hath the No; I still boldly stept into their Courts. whole world in this compass. I am all felicity, For there to live 'tis rare, O 'tis divine, up to the brims. In a minute am I come from There shall you see faces angelical; Babylon; I have been this half hour in Fama- | There shall you see troops of chaste Goddesses, gosta.

Whose star-like eyes have power (might they And. How! in a minute, father? I see travel

still shine) lers must lie.

To make night day, and day more chrystaline. Fort. I have cut through the air like a Near these you shall behold great Heroes, falcon. I would have it seem strange to you. But White-headed Counsellors, and Jovial Spirits, 'tis true. I would not have you believe it neither. Standing like fiery Cherubins to guard But 'tis miraculous and true. Desire to see you The monarch, who in godlike glory sits brought me to Cyprus. I'll leave you more gold, In midst of these, as if this deity and go to visit more countries.

Had with a look created a new world, Amp. The frosty hand of age now nips your The standers by being the fair workmanship.

blood,

And. Oh how my soul is rapt to a Third And strews her snowy flowers upon your head,

Heaven! And gives you warning that within few years I'll travel sure, and live with none but Kings. Death needs must marry you: those short lines, A mp. But tell me, father, have you in all minutes,

Courts That dribble out your life, must needs be spent Beheld such glory, so majestical, In peace, not travel; rest in Cyprus then. In all perfection, no way blemished? Could you survey ten worlds, yet you must die; Fort. In some Courts shall you see Ambition And bitter is the sweet that's reapt thereby. Sit, piecing Dedalus' old waxen wings;

And. Faith, father, what pleasure have you But being slapt on, and they about to fly, met by walking your stations?

Even when their hopes are busied in the clouds, Fort. What pleasure, boy? I have revelled They melt against the sun of Majesty, with Kings, danced with Queens, dallied with and down they tumble to destruction.

tune.

By travel , boys, I have seen all these things. That let my true true sorrow make them glad?
Fantastic Compliment stalks up and down, I dance and sing only to anger Grief,
Trickt in outlandish feathers; all his words, That in his anger he might smite life down
His looks, his oat! are all ridiculous,

With his iron fist: good heart! it seemeth then, All apish, childish, and Italianate. . .

They laugh to see grief kill me: O fond Men, Orleans to his friend Galloway defends the passion You laugh at others tears ; when others smile, with which, (being a Prisoner in the English King's You tear yourselves in pieces: vile, vile, vile. Court) he is enamoured to frenzy of the king's daugh- Ha, ha, when I behold a swarm of Fools ter Agripyna.

Crowding together to be counted Wise,
Orleans. Galloway.

I laugh because sweet Agripyne's not there. Orl. This music makes me but more out of But weep because she is not any where;

And weep because (whether she be or not) O Agripyna.

My love was ever and is still forgot: forgot, forGall. Gentle friend, no more.

got, forgot Thou sayst Love is a madness: hate it then, Gall. Draw back this stream: why should my Even for the name's sake.

Orleans mourn? Orl. 0 I love that Madness,

Orl. Look yonder , Galloway, dost thou see Even for the name's sake.

that sun? Gall. Let me tame this frenzy,

Nay, good friend, stare upon it, mark it well: By telling thee thou art a prisoner here, Ere he be two hours elder, all that glory By telling thee she's daughter to a King, Is banish'd heaven, and then, for grief, this sky By telling thee the King of Cyprus' son (That's now so jocund) will mourn all in black. Shines like a sun between her looks and thine, And shall not Orleans mourn? alack, alack: Whilst thou seem'st but a star to Agripyne. O what a savage tyranny it were He loves her.

To enforce Care laugh, and Woe not shed a tear! Orl. If he do, why so do I.

Dead is my Love; I am buried in her scorn : Gall. Love is ambitious and loves Majesty. That is my sunset; and shall I not mourn! Orl. Dear friend, thou art deceiv’d: Love's Yes by my troth I will.

voice doth sing

Gall. Dear friend forbear; As sweetly in a beggar as a king.

Beauty (like Sorrow) dwelleth every where. Gall. Dear friend thou art deceiv'd: O bid Rase out this strong idea of her face:

thy soul

As fair as her's shineth in any place. Lift up her intellectual eyes to heaven,

Orl. Thou art a Traitor to that White and And in this ample book of wonders read,

Red, Of what celestial mold, what sacred essence, Which sitting on her cheeks (being Cupid's throne) Her self is form'd: the search whereof will drive Is my heart's Soveraine: 0 when she is dead, Sounds musical among the jarring spirits, This wonder (beauty) shall be found in none. And in sweet tune set that which none inherits. Now Agripyne's not mine, I vow to be

Orl. I'll gaze on heaven if Agripyne be there. In love with nothing but deformity. If not: fa, la, la, sol, la, etc.

O fair Deformity, I muse all eyes Gall. O call this madness in: see, from the Are not enamour'd of thee: thou didst never

windows

Murder men's hearts, or let them pine like wax
Of every eye Derision thrusts out cheeks Melting against the sun of thy destiny;
Wrinkled with idiot laughter; every finger Thou art a faithful nurse to Chastity;
Is like a dart shot from the hand of Scorn, Thy beauty' is not like to Agripyne's,
By which thy name is hurt, thy honour torn. For cares, and age, and sickness her's deface,

Orl. Laugh they at me, sweet Galloway? But thine's eternal: O Deformity,
Gall. Even at thee.

Thy fairness is not like to Agripyne's
Orl. Ha, ha, I laugh at them: are they not For (dead) her beauty will no beauty have,

mad,

But thy face looks most lovely in the grave.

John Fletcher und Francis Beaumont.

Die Namen dieser beiden Dichter, Shakspeare's Zeitgenossen und talentvollsten Nachfolger, sind nicht wohl von einander zu trennen, da sie ihre bedeutendsten Leistungen, nach damaliger Sitte, gemeinschaftlich verfassten. Fletcher, der ältere der beiden Freunde, ward 1576 in Northamptonshire geboren, studirte zu Cambridge und schloss hier den innigen Bund mit Beaumont, den erst der Tod löste. Beaumont war der Sohn eines Richters in Leicestershire und soll 1585 geboren, aber bereits 1615 gestorben sein, während Fletcher erst zehn Jahre nach ihm, 1625, von der Erde abgerufen wurde. Weiteres über ihre Lebensverhältnisse ist nicht auf die Nachwelt gekommen. Ein und funfzig Dramen sollen sie gemeinschaftlich gedichtet haben; Fletcher schrieb später noch mehrere allein oder in Verbindung mit Anderen.

Phantasie, Witz und gute Characterzeichnung, sowie ein lebendiger, wahrer Dialog und Reichthum der Erfindung zeichnen ihre Werke aus und weisen diesen den nächsten Rang nach denen Shakespeares an, aber ihnen fehlt die tragische Grösse, das tiefe Gefühl und die komische Grazie des grossen Meisters.

Ihre Werke sind wiederholt, auch in der neuesten Zeit wieder aufgelegt worden, doch betrachtet man die von Theobald, Seward und Sympson, 1750 zu London in 10 Octavbänden besorgte Ausgabe als eine der besten. Eine hinsichtlich des Commentars nicht so reiche, aber nicht minder correcte ist folgende: The dramatic Works of Ben Jonson and Beaumont and Fletcher (by P. Whalley and G. Colman). London 1811; 4 Bde gr. 8.

Seenes from

Did signify; and how all order'd thus,

Exprest his grief: and to my thoughts did read Philaster; or, Love lies

a bleeding. The prettiest lecture of his country art A Tragi - Comedy. By Francis Beau

That could be wish'd, so that, methought, I mont and John Fletcher.

could Philaster tells the Princess Arethusa Have studied it. I gladly entertain'd him,

Who was as glad to follow; and have got how he first found the boy Bellario.

The trustiest, loving'st, and the gentlest boy, I have a boy sent by the gods,

That ever master kept: him will I send Not yet seen in the court; hunting the buck, To wait on you, and bear our hidden love. I found him sitting by a fountain side, Of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst, And paid the nymph again as much in tears, A garland lay him by, made by himself, Philaster prefers Bellario to the SerOf many several flowers, bred in the bay,

vice of the Princess Arethusa. Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness Delighted me: but ever when he turn'd

Pbi. And thou shalt find her honourable, His tender eyes upon them, he would weep,

boy, As if he meant to make them grow again. Full of regard unto thy tender youth, Seeing such pretty helpless innocence

For thine own modesty; and for my sake, Dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story; Apter to give, than thou wilt be to ask, aye, or He told me that his parents gentle died,

deserve. Leaving him to the mercy of the fields,

Bell. Sir, you did take me up when I was Which gave him roots; and of the crystal

nothing, springs,

And only yet am something by being yours; Which did not stop their courses; and the sun, You trusted me unknown; and that which you Which still, he thank'd him, yielded him his

are apt light.

To construe a simple innocence in me, Then took he up his garland and did shew, Perhaps might have been craft, the cunning of What every flower, as country people hold,

a boy

fair yet.

Harden'd in lies and theft; yet ventur'd you
To part my miseries and me: for which,

Bellario describes to the Princess I never can expect to serve a lady

Arethusa the manner of his master That bears more honour in her breast than you.

aster's love for her. Phi. But, boy, it will prefer thee; thou art

young,

Are. Sir, you are sad to change your service, And bear'st a childish overflowing love

is't not so? To them that clap thy cheeks and speak thee Bell. Madam, I have not chang'd: I wait

on you, But when thy judgment comes to rule those To do him service.

passions

Are. Thou disclaim'st in me; Thou wilt remember best those careful friends

Tell me thy name. That placed thee in the noblest way of life: Bell. Bellario. She is a princess I prefer thee to.

Are. Thou can'st sing and play? Bell. In that small time that I have seen

Bell. If grief will give me leave, madam, the world,

I can. I never knew a man hasty to part

A re. Alas! what kind of grief can thy years With a servant he thought trusty; I remember,

know? My father would prefer the boys he kept Had'st thou a curst master when thou went'st to To greater men than he, but did it not

school? Till they were grown too saucy for himself.

Thou art not capable of any other griet; Phi. Why, gentle boy, I find no fault at all Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be, In thy behaviour.

When no breath troubles them: believe me, Bell, Sir, if I have made

boy, A fault of ignorance, instruct my youth;

Care seeks out wrinkled brows, and hollow I shall be willing, if not apt, to learn.

eyes Age and experience will adorn my mind

And builds himself caves to abide in them. With larger knowledge: and if I have done

Come, sir, tell me truly, does your lord love A wilful fault, think me not past all hope. For once; what master holds so strict a hand

Bell. Love, madam? I know not what it is. Over his boy, that he will part with him

Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet Without one warning? Let me be corrected

knew'st love? To break my stubbornness if it be so,

Thou art deceiv'd, boy. Does he speak of me Rather than turn me off, and I shall mend.

As it he wish'd me well? Phi. Thy love doth plead so prettily to stay, Bell. If it be love, That (trust me) I could weep to part with thee

To forget all respect of his own friends, Alas, I do not turn thee off'; thou knowest

In thinking of your face; if it be love, It is my business that doth call thee hence, To sit cross-arm'd and sigh away the day, And when thou art with her thou dwell'st with Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud

And hastily, as men i' the streets do fire : Think so, and 'tis so; and when time is full,

If it be love to weep himself away, That thou hast well discharg'd this heavy trust, When he but hears of any lady dead, Laid on so weak a one, I will again

Or kill'd, because it might have been your With joy receive thee; as I live, I will;

chance; Nay weep not, gentle boy; 'tis more than time

If when he goes to rest (which will not be) Thou didst attend the princess.

'Twixt every prayer he says to name you once, Bell. I am gone;

As others drop a bead, be to be in love; But since I am to part with you, my lord, Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you. And none knows whether I shall live to do

Are. O you're a cunning boy, and taught More service for you, take this little prayer;

to lie Heaven bless your loves, your tights, all your for your lord's credit; but thou know’st a lie

designs.

That bears this sound, is welcomer to me May sick men, if they have your wish, be well; Than any truth that says he loves me not. And heaven's hate those you curse, though I be

me?

me:

one,

women

were

Philaster is jealous of Bellario with Bell. No, by my life.

Phi. Come, come, I know she does. the Princess.

Aye, now I see why my disturbed thoughts Bell. Health to you, my lord;

Were so perplext when first I went to her; The princess doth commend her love, her life, My heart held augury. You are abus'd, And this unto you.

Some villain has abus'd you; I do see Phi. O Bellario,

Whereto you tend; fall rocks upon his head, Now I perceive she loves me, she does shew it That put this to you; 'tis some subtil train In loving thee, my boy, she has made thee To bring that noble frame of yours to nought.

brave.

Phi. Thou think'st. I will be angry with Bell. My lord, she has attired me past my

thee. Come. wish,

Thou shalt know all my drift. I hate her more, Past my desert, more fit for her attendant, Than I love happiness, and plac'd thee there Though far unfit for me who do attend.

To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds. Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy. O let all Hast thou discover'd? is she fal'n to lust,

As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to That love black deeds learn to dissemble here.

me. Here by this paper she does write to me

Bell. My lord, you did mistake the boy you As if her heart were mines of adamant

sent: To all the world besides, but unto me

Had she a sin that way, hid from the world, A maiden snow that melted with my looks. I would not aid Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use Her base desires; but, what I came to know

thee?

As servant to her, I would not reveal,
For I shall guess her love to me by that. To make my life last ages.
Bell. Scarce like her servant, but as if I Phi. Ở my heart!

This is a salve worse than the main disease. Something allied to her; or had preserv'd Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least Her life three times by my fidelity;

That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart As mothers fond do use their only sons; To know it; I will see thy thoughts as plain As I'd use one that's left unto my trust, As I do know thy face. For whom my life should pay if he met harm, Bell. Why, so you do. So she does use me.

She is (for aught I know) by all the gods, Phi. Why this is wond'rous well:

As chaste as ice; but were she foul as hell, But what kind language does she feed thee And I did know it, thus; the breath of kings,

with?

The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of Bell. Why, she does tell me, she will trust

brass, my youth

Should draw it from me. With all her loving secrets, and does call me Phi. Then it is no time Her pretty servant, bids me weep no more To dally with thee; I will take thy life, For leaving you; she 'll see my services For I do hate thee; I could curse thee now. Regarded: and such words of that soft strain, Bell. If you do hate, you could not curse me That I am nearer weeping when she ends

worse, Than ere she spake.

The gods have not a punishment in store Phi. This is much better still.

Greater for me than is your hate. Bell. Are you ill, my lord ?

Phi. Fie, fie, Phi. Ill? No, Bellario.

So young and so dissembling! fear'st thou not Bell. Methinks your words

death? Fall not from off your tongue so evenly, Can boys contemn that? Nor is there in your looks that quietness,

Bell. O, what boy is he
That I was wont to see.

Can be content to live to be a man,
Phi. Thou art deceiv'd, boy. And she That sees the best of men thus passionate,

strokes thy head? Thus without reason? Bell. Yes.

Phi. Oh, but thou dost not know what 'tis Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy, ha?

to die. Bell. How, my lord ?

Bell. Yes I do know, my lord. Phi. She kisses thee?

Tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep, Bell. Not so, my lord.

A quiet resting from all jealousy;

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