credit for his own form of tragedy and blank verse.

The only scene of conspicuous merit is that in which the Turkish
Emperor, Soliman, attempts to kill his fair captive, Perseda, for
rejecting his love, but is overcome by her beauty. It is quite short,
but is handled with power and embellished with touches of delicate
poetry. The best of it may be quoted here, together with a specimen of
the Basilisco burlesque.

(1)

[SOLIMAN'S BASHAW _brings to him the two fairest captives from
Rhodes._]

_Soliman._ This present pleaseth more than all the rest;
And, were their garments turn'd from black to white,
I should have deem'd them Juno's goodly swans,
Or Venus' milkwhite doves, so mild they are,
And so adorn'd with beauty's miracle.
Here, Brusor, this kind turtle shall be thine;
Take her, and use her at thy pleasure.
But this kind turtle is for Soliman,
That her captivity may turn to bliss.
Fair looks, resembling Phoebus' radiant beams;
Smooth forehead, like the table of high Jove;
Small pencill'd eyebrows, like two glorious rainbows;
Quick lamplike eyes, like heav'n's two brightest orbs;
Lips of pure coral, breathing ambrosy;
Cheeks, where the rose and lily are in combat;
Neck whiter than the snowy Apennines:
A sweeter creature nature never made;
Love never tainted Soliman till now.

. . . . . . . . .

[PERSEDA, _however, will not yield to his amorous proposals._]

_Soliman._ Then kneel thee down,
And at my hands receive the stroke of death,
Doom'd to thyself by thine own wilfulness.

_Perseda._ Strike, strike; thy words pierce deeper than thy blows.

_Soliman._ Brusor, hide her; for her looks withhold me.

[_Then_ BRUSOR _hides her with a veil._]

O Brusor, thou hast not hid her lips;
For there sits Venus with Cupid on her knee,
And all the graces smiling round about her,
So craving pardon, that I cannot strike.

_Brusor._ Her face is cover'd over quite, my lord.

_Soliman._ Why, so. O Brusor, seest thou not
Her milkwhite neck, that alabaster tower?
'Twill break the edge of my keen scimitar,
And pieces, flying back, will wound myself.

_Brusor._ Now she is all covered, my lord.

_Soliman._ Why, now at last she dies.

_Perseda._ O Christ, receive my soul!

_Sol