blasted grove
Of deadly yew or dismal cypress-tree,
Far from the light or comfort of the sun,
There to curse heaven and he that heaves me hence;
To sick as Envy at Cecropia's gate,
And pine with thought and terror of mishaps.
Away!

_The Old Wive's Tale_ is much shorter than Peele's other plays and is
written mainly in prose, without any division into acts. It appears to
have been an experiment in broad comedy to the exclusion of all things
serious, for wherever a graver tone threatens to direct the action some
absurd character or incident is hastily introduced to save the
situation. Regarded as such, it cannot be said to be either successful
or wholly unsuccessful. The opening scene is certainly one of the most
racy and homely Inductions to be found in dramatic literature, while one
or two of the other scenes, though they make poor reading, are
calculated to rouse laughter when acted; the lower characters, at least,
display plenty of animation, and the creation of that fantastic person
of royal pedigree, Huanebango--'Polimackeroeplacidus my grandfather, my
father Pergopolineo, my mother Dionora de Sardinia, famously
descended'--with his effort to 'lisp in numbers' of classical
accentuation--'Philida, phileridos, pamphilida, florida,
flortos'--reveals humour of a finer edge than the mere laughter-raising
kind. Against this moderate praise, however, must be set some blame. It
has been said before that the play is a by-word for confusion. An
extraordinary recklessness rules the introduction of characters,
participation in one scene being, apparently, sufficient justification
for the inclusion of a fresh character at any stage of the play. As
vital an error is the neglect to excite our pity for Delia, round whom
the whole story revolves; she is represented as thoroughly happy with
her captor and so utterly forgetful of her brothers that she is content
to ill-treat them at the will of Sacrapant. True, we are told that magic
has wrought the change in her. But a skilful dramatist would have left
her some unconquered emotions of reluctance or distress to quicken our
sympathy.

The story is this. Three lads, Antic, Frolic and Fantastic, having lost
their way, are given shelter by a countryman, Clunch--a smith, by the
way, like our old friend, Adam--whose goodwife, Madge, entertains two of
them with a tale while the other sleeps with her husband. She begins
correctly enough with a 'Once upon a time',