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Garrick Plays.

No. VIII.

[From the "Game at Chess," a Comedy, by Thomas Middleton, 1624.]

Popish Priest to a great Court Lady, whom he hopes to make a Convert of.

Let me contemplate;

With holy wonder season my access,

And by degrees approach the sanctuary
Of unmatch'd beauty, set in grace and goodness.
Amongst the daughters of men I have not found
Amore Catholical aspect. That eye
Joth promise single life, and meek obedience.
Upon those lips (the sweet fresh buds of youth)
The holy dew of prayer lies, like pearl
Dropt from the opening eyelids of the morn
Upon the bashful rose. How beauteously
A gentie fast (not rigorously imposed)

Would look upon that cheek; and how delightful
The courteous physic of a tender penance,
(Whose utmost cruelty should not exceed

The first fear of a bride), to beat down frailty!

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[From the "Virgin Widow," a Comedy, The thing to joy and comfort thee w

1649; the only production, in that kind, of Francis Quarles, Author of the Emblems.]

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Which thou lovedst best: er' as we' To comfort him with his best joy of al.

Gis. I thank my father, aut tus For this thy travail; take toos for This bracelet, and comment by her during

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Thee this despite, to mangle thee so foul
Yet in this wound I see my own true love,
And in this wound thy magnanimity,
And in this wound I see thy constancy.
Go, gentle heart, go rest thee in thy tomb;
Receive this token as thy last farewell.
She kisseth it.

Thy own true heart anon will follow thee,
Which panting hasteth for thy company.
Thus hast thou run, poor heart, thy mortal race,
And rid thy life from fickle fortune's snares,
Thus hast thou lost this world and worldly cares,
And of thy foe, to honour thee withal,
Receiv'd a golden grave to thy desert.
Nothing doth want to thy just funeral,

But

my salt tears to wash thy bloody wound; Which to the end thou mightst receive, behold, My father sends thee in this cup of gold:

And thou shalt have them; though I was resolved
To shed no tears; but with a cheerful face

Once did I think to wet thy funeral
Only with blood, and with no weeping eye.
This done, my soul forthwith shall fly to thee;
For therefore did my father send thee me.

Nearly a century after the date of this Drama, Dryden produced his admirable version of the same story from Boccacio. The speech here extracted may be compared with the corresponding passage in the Sigismonda and Guiscardo, with no disadvantage to the elder performance. It is quite as weighty, as pointed, and as pas

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but I am come to request from you a much greater honour, that of becoming your pupil. Deign to initiate me in the mysteries of your art, and doubt not but you shall receive a gratefui acknowledgment, suitable to the benefit conferred, and your own extraordinary merit."

Don Torribio was not very polite, though he valued himself on being intimately acquainted with the highest company below. He told the dean he was welcome to seek elsewhere for a master; for that, for his part, he was weary of an occupation which produced nothing but compliments and promises, and that he should but dishonour the occult sciences by prostituting them to the ungrateful.

"To the ungrateful!" exclaimed the dean: "has then the great don Torribio met with persons who have proved ungrateful? And can he so far mistake me as to rank me with such monsters?" He then repeated all the maxims and apophthegms which he had read on the subject of gratitude, and every refined sentiment his memory could furnish. In short, he talked so well, that the conjuror, after having considered a moment, confessed he could refuse nothing to a man of such abilities, and so ready at pertinent quotations.

"Jacintha," said don Torribio to his old woman,"lay down two partridges to the fire. I hope my friend the dean will do me the honour to sup with me to night." At the same time he took him by the hand and led him into the cabinet; when here, he touched his forehead, uttering three mys terious words, which the reader will please to remember, “ Ortebelan, Pistafrier, Onagrionf." Then, without further preperation, he began to explain, with all possible perspicuity, the introductory elements of his profound science. The new disciple listened with an attention which scarcely permitted him to breathe; when, on a sudden, Jacintha entered, followed by a little old man in monstrous boots, and covered with mud up to the neck, who desired to speak with the dean on very important BusITER This was the postition of his uncle, the bishop of Bidijos, who hiben sent exes ifer him, and who had a red weat ceas le quite t Toledo bere be could overtise i m. abb kus Per as de

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and the courier, who had certainly all three chosen the most impertinent time possible. He dismissed the postilion, bidding him make haste back to Badajos, whither he would presently follow him; and instantly returned to his lesson, as if there were no such things as either uncles or apoplexies.

A few days afterwards the dean again received news from Badajos: but this was worth hearing. The principal chanter, and two old canons, came to inform him that his uncle, the right reverend bishop, had been taken to heaven to receive the reward of his piety; and the chapter, canonically assembled, had chosen him to fill the vacant bishopric, and humbly requested he would console, by his presence, the afflicted church of Badajos, now become his spiritual bride. Don Torribio, who was present at this harangue, endeavoured to derive advantage from what he had learned; and taking aside the new bishop, after having paid but a well-turned compliment on his promotion, proceeded to inform him that he had a son, named Benjamin, possessed of much ingenuity, and good inclination, but in whom he had never perceived either Laste or talent for the occult sciences. He bad, therefore, he said, advised him to turn his thoughts towards the church, and he had now, he thanked heaven, the satisfactica to hear him commended as one of the ost deserving divines among all the Gergy of Toledo. He therefore took the uberty, most humbly, to request his grace to bestow on don Benjamin the deanery of Ba ajos, which he could not retain together with has bishopric.

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"I am very unfortunate," replied the prelate, apparently somewhat embarrassed; you will, I hope, do me the justice to believe that nothing could give me so great a pleasure as to oblige you in every request; but the truth is, I have a cousin to whom I am heir, an old ecclesiastic, who is good for nothing but to be a dean, and if I do not bestow on him this benefice, I must exbroil myself with my family, which would be far from agreeable.. But," continued e, m an affectionate manner, will you o accompany me to Badajos? Can you be so cruel as to forsake me at a moment when is in my power to be of service to you? Be persuaded, my honoured master, we will go together. Think of nothing but the Improvement of your pupil, and leave me to provide for don Benjamin; nor doubt, But sooner or later, I will do more for him than you expect. A paltry deanery in the remotest part of Estremadura is not a

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benefice suitable to the son of such a man as yourself."

The canon law would, no doubt, have construed the prelate's offer into simony. The proposal however was accepted, nor was any scruple made by either of these two very intelligent persons. Don Torribio followed his illustrious pupil to Badajos, where he had an elegant apartment as signed him in the episcopal palace; and was treated with the utmost respect by the diocese as the favourite of his grace, and a kind of grand vicar. Under the tuition of so able a master the bishop of Badajos made a rapid progress in the occult sciences. At first he gave himself up to them, with an ardour which might appear excessive; but this intemperance grew by degrees more moderate, and he pursued them with so much prudence that his magical studies never interfered with the duties of his diocese. He was well convinced of the truth of a maxim, very important to be remembered by ecclesiastics, whether addicted to sorcery, or only philosophers and admirers of literature-that it is not sufficient to assist at learned nocturnal meetings, or adorn the mind with embellishments of human science, but that it is also the duty of divines to point out to others the way to heaven, and plant in the minds of their hearers, wholesome doctrine and Christian morality. Regulating his conduct by these commendable principles, this learned prelate was celebrated throughout Christendom for his merit and piety: and, "when he least expected such an honour," was promoted to the archbishopric of Compostella. The people and clergy of Badajos lamented, as may be supposed, an event by which they were deprived of so worthy a pastor; and the canons of the cathedral, to testify their respect, unanimously conferred on him the honour of nominating his suc

cessor.

Don Torribio did not neglect so alluring an opportunity to provide for his son. He requested the bishopric of the new archbishop, and was refused with all imaginable politeness. He had, he said, the greatest. veneration for his old master, and was both sorry and ashamed it was "not in his power" to grant a thing which appeared so very a trifle, but, in fact, don Ferdinand de Lara, constable of Castile, had asked the bishopric for his natural son; and though he had never seen that nobleman, he had, he said, some secret, important, and what was more, very ancient obligations to him. It was therefore an indispensable duty to prefer an old benefactor to a new one.

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trance, into which be had been thrown by the three mysterious words. He perceived that, instead of being in the vatican, he was still at Toledo, in the closet of don Torribio; and he saw, by the clock, it was not a complete hour since he entered that fatal cabinet, where he had been entertained by such pleasant dreams.

In that short time the dean of Badajos had imagined himself a magician, a bishop, a cardinal, and a pope; and he found at last that he was only a dupe and a knave. All was illusion, except the proofs he had given of his deceitful and evil heart. He instantly departed, without speaking a single word, and finding his mule where he had left her, returned to Badajos.

TO THE RHONE
For the Table Book.

Thou art like our existence, and thy waves,
Illustrious river! seem the very type
Of those events which drive us to our graves,
Or rudely place us in misfortune's gripe!
Thou art an emblem of our changeful state,

Smooth when the summer magnifies thy charins,
But rough and cheerless when the winds create
Rebellion, and remorseless winter arms
The elements with ruin! In thy course
The ups and downs of fortune we may trace-
One wave submitting to another's force,

The boldest always foremost in the race:
And thus it is with life-sometimes its calm
Is pregnant with enjoyment's sweetest balm;
At other times, its tempests drive us down
The steep of desolation, while the frown
Of malice haunts us, till the friendlier tomb
Protects the victim she would fain consume!

Phrenology.

For the Table Book.

"You look but on the outside of affairs."

Upper Park Terrace.

KING JOHN.

B. W. R.

Oh! why do we wake from the alchymist's dream
To relapse to the visions of Doctor Spurzheim ?
And why from the heights of philosophy fall,
For the profitless plans of Phrenology Gall?
To what do they tend ?

What interest befriend?

By disclosing all vices, we burn away shame,
And virtuous endeavour

Is fruitless for ever,

If it lose the reward that self-teaching may claim.

On their skulls let the cold-blooded theorists seek
Indications of soul, which we read on the cheek;
In the glance-in the smile-in the bend of the brow
We dare not tell when, and we cannot tell how.
More pleasing our task,

No precepts we ask ;

'Ts the tact, 'tis the instinct, kind Nature has leut,
For the guide and direction of sympathy meant.
And altho' in our cause no learn'd lecturer proses,
We reach the same end, thro' a path strew'd with roses.
Twixt the bead and the hand, be the contact allow'd,
Of the road thro' the eye to the heart we are proud.
When we feel like the brates, like the brutes we may

show it,

Bat no lamps on the head mark the artist or poet.
The gradations of genius you never can find,
Since no matter can mark the refinements of mind.
Tis the coarser perceptions alone that you trace,
But what swells in the heart must be read in the face.
That index of feeling, that key to the soul,
No art can disguise, no reserve can control.
Tis the Pharos of love, tost on oceans of doubt,

The the Beal-fire of rage-when good sense puts about.
As the passions may paint it--a heaven or a hell.
And 'tis always a study-not model as well.

ADVICE.

Would a man wish to offend his friends? -let him give them advice.

Would a lover know the surest method by which to lose his mistress?-let him give her advice.

Would a courtier terminate his sovereign's partiality ?-let him offer advice.

In short, are we desirous to be universally hated, avoided, and despised, the means are always in our power.-We have but to advise, and the consequences are infallible.

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The friendship of two young ladies, though apparently founded on the rock of eternal attachment, terminated in the following manner : 'My dearest girl, I do not think your figure well suited for dancing; and, as a sincere friend of yours, I advise you to refrain from it in future." The other naturally affected by such a mark of sincerity, replied, "I feel very much obliged to you, my dear, for your advice; proof of your friendship demands some return: I would sincerely recommend you to relinquish your singing, as some of your upper notes resemble the melodious squeaking of the feline race."

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The advice of neither was followed-the one continued to sing, and the other to dance-and they never met but as enemies.

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