There's nothing of so infinite vexation

As man's own thoughts.

Lod. O thou glorious strumpet!

Could I divide thy breath from this pure air
When 't leaves thy body, I would suck it up,
And breathe 't upon some dunghill.

Vit. Cor. You my death's-man!

Methinks thou dost not look horrid enough;
Thou hast too good a face to be a hangman:
If thou be, do thy office in right form;

Fall down upon thy knees, and ask forgiveness.

Lod. O! thou hast been a most prodigious comet ;

But I'll cut off your train: kill the Moor first.

Vit. Cor. You shall not kill her first; behold my breast; I will be waited on in death: my servant

Lod. Thou dost not tremble!

Methinks, fear should dissolve thee into air.

Vit. Cor. O, thou art deceiv'd, I am too true a woman! Conceit can never kill me. I'll tell thee what,

I will not in my death shed one base tear;

Or if look pale, for want of blood, not fear.

Gasp. (To Zanche). Thou art my task, black fury.
Zanche. I have blood

As red as either of theirs! Wilt drink some?

'Tis good for the falling-sickness: I am proud Death cannot alter my complexion,

For I shall ne'er look pale.

Lod. Strike, strike,

With a joint motion.

Vit. Cor. "Twas a manly blow:

The next thou giv'st, murther some sucking infant,
And then thou wilt be famous."

Such are some of the terrible graces of the obscure, forgotten Webster. There are other parts of this play of a less violent, more subdued, and, if it were possible, even deeper character; such is the declaration of divorce pronounced by Brachiano on his wife:

"Your hand I'll kiss:

This is the latest ceremony of my love;
I'll never more live with you," &c.

which is in the manner of, and equal to, Deckar's finest things:—and others, in a quite different style of fanciful poetry and bewildered passion; such as the lamentation of Cornelia, his mother, for the death of Marcello, and the parting scene of Brachiano; which would be as fine as Shakespear, if they were not in a great measure borrowed from his inexhaustible store. In the former, after Flamineo has stabbed his brother, and Hortensio comes in, Cornelia exclaims,

"Alas! he is not dead; he's in a trance.

Why, here's nobody shall get any thing by his death:

Let me call him again, for God's sake.

Hor. I would you were deceiv'd.

Corn. O you abuse me, you abuse me, you abuse me! How many have gone away thus, for want of 'tendance? Rear up's head, rear up's head; his bleeding inward will kill him.

K

Hor. You see he is departed.

Corn. Let me come to him; give me him as he is. If he be turn'd to earth, let me but give him one hearty kiss, and you shall put us both into one coffin. Fetch a looking-glass: see if his breath will not stain it; or pull out some feathers from my pillow, and lay them to his lips. Will you lose him for a little pains-taking?

Hor. Your kindest office is to pray for him.

Corn. Alas! I would not pray for him yet. He may live to lay me i' th' ground, and pray for me, if you'll let me come to him.

Enter Brachiano, all armed, save the Bearer, with Flamineo and Page.

Brach. Was this your handy-work?

Flam. It was my misfortune.

Corn. He lies, he lies; he did not kill him.

These have

killed him, that would not let him be better looked to.

I

Brach. Have comfort, my griev'd mother.

Corn. O, you screech-owl!

Hor. Forbear, good madam.

Corn. Let me go, let me go.

(She runs to Flamineo with her knife drawn, and
coming to him, lets it fall).

The God of Heav'n forgive thee! Dost not wonder
pray for thee? I'll tell thee what's the reason:
I have scarce breath to number twenty minutes;
I'd not spend that in cursing. Fare thee well!
Half of thyself lies there; and may'st thou live
To fill an hour-glass with his moulder'd ashes,
To tell how thou should'st spend the time to come
In blest repentance.

Brach. Mother, pray tell me,7

How came he by his death? What was the quarrel?

Corn. Indeed, my younger boy presum❜d too much Upon his manhood, gave him bitter words,

Drew his sword first; and so, I know not how,

For I was out of my wits, he fell with's head
Just in my bosom.

Page. This is not true, madam.

Corn. I pr'ythee, peace.

One arrow's graz'd already: it were vain

To lose this; for that will ne'er be found again."

This is a good deal borrowed from Lear; but the inmost folds of the human heart, the sudden turns and windings of the fondest affection, are also laid open with so masterly and original a hand, that it seems to prove the occasional imitations as unnecessary as they are evident. The scene where the Duke discovers that he is poisoned, is as follows, and equally fine.

“ Brach. Oh! I am gone already. The infection Flies to the brain and heart. O, thou strong heart, There's such a covenant 'tween the world and thee, They're loth to part.

Giovanni O my most lov'd father!

Brach. Remove the boy away:

Where's this good woman? Had I infinite worlds,

They were too little for thee. Must I leave thee?

(To Vittoria).

What say you, screech-owls. (To the Physicians) Is the

venom mortal?

Phy. Most deadly.

Brach. Most corrupted politic hangman!

You kill without book; but your art to save

Fails you as oft as great men's needy friends:
I that have given life to offending slaves,
And wretched murderers, have I not power
To lengthen mine own a twelve-month?
Do not kiss me, for I shall poison thee.

This unction is sent from the great Duke of Florence.

Francesco de Medici (in disguise). Sir, be of comfort.
Brach. O thou soft natural death! that art joint-twin
To sweetest slumber!—no rough-bearded comet
Stares on thy mild departure: the dull owl

Beats not against thy casement: the hoarse wolf
Scents not thy carrion. Pity winds thy corse,
Whilst horror waits on princes.

Vit. Cor. I am lost for ever.

Brach. How miserable a thing it is to die 'Mongst women howling! What are those? Flam. Fransiscans.

They have brought the extreme unction.

Brach. On pain of death let no man name death to me: It is a word most infinitely terrible.

Withdraw into our cabinet."

The deception practised upon him by Lodovico and Gasparo, who offer him the sacrament in the disguise of Monks, and then discover themselves to damn him, is truly diabolical and ghastly. But the genius that suggested it was as profound as it was lofty. When they are at first introduced, Flamineo says,

"See, see how firmly he doth fix his eye
Upon the crucifix."