mpany of
the Revells," is a coarse noisy play. The comic part consists of the
most absurd buffoonery, and the rest is very stilted. But there is one
scene--and one only--which shows genuine poetic power. It is where
_Cyprian_, the sorcerer, having by his magical arts saved _Justina_, a
Christian maiden, tries to gain her love:--

_Enter Cyprian and Justina_.

_Cyprian_. Doe not disdayne, faire peece of Natures pride,
To heare him plead for love that sav'd thy life.
It was my pow'rfull arte produc'd those monsters
To drowne those monstrous executioners
That should have wrought your wracke.

_Justina_. Sir, I am sorry
Hell had a hand in my delivery:
That action cannot merrit my affection.

_Cyprian_. I not alleadge it for desert of grace
But argument of mercie: pitty him
That in distresse so lately pitty'd you.

_Justina_. I am the troth-plight wife of _Clitophon_,
The Prince of _Babylon_; hee has my hart,
And theres no share for others.

_Cyprian_. That high state
Is now at a low ebbe: destruction
Hangs like a threatning Commet ore the walls
Of _Babilon_. Then fix thy love on him
That can more then the greatest prince on earth.
Love mee, and princes shall thy pages bee;
Monarchs shall lay their crownes and royalties
As presents at thy feet; the _Indian_ mynes
Shall be thy ioyntures; all the worldes rich marchants
Shall bring their pearles and pretious stones to thee,
Sweet gums and spices of _Arabia_,
Fine _Median_ linnen and Barbarian silkes;
The earth shall beare no fruit of raritie
But thou shalt taste it. Weele transforme ourselves
In quaintest shapes to vary our delights.
And in a chariot wrought out of a cloud,
Studded with starres, drawne through the subtle aire
By birds of paradise, wee'll ride together
To fruitfull _Thessalie_, where in fair _Tempe_
(The only pleasant place of all the earth)
Wee'll sport us under a pavilion
Of _Tyrian_ scarlet.

_Justina_. Should these rarities
(Faithlesse as are your wondrous promises)
Lead me into the hazard of my soule
And losse of such ay-lasting happinesse
As all earths glories are but shaddows to?

_Cyprian_. Thincke you this rare pile of perfection.
Wherein Love reads a lecture of delight,
Ows not it's use to Nature? There is love
In every thing that lives: the very