I might, or give to you, or else receive, Vir. Thy discretion In this may answer for me: Look on Naples, The country where we both were born and bred; Naples, the Paradise of Italy, As that is of the earth; Naples, that was The sweet retreat of all the worthiest Romans, When they had shared the spoils of the whole world; This flourishing kingdom, whose inhabitants, As that fair city that received her name So far in our calamities we transcend her: Equals all precedents of tyranny. Vir. Equals, say you?' He has out-gone the worst: Compared to him, Nor Phalaris, nor Dionysius, Caligula, nor Nero can be mention'd. They yet as kings abused their regal power, Our oils he buys at his own price, then sells them He borrows; which denied, his instruments force. The races of our horses he takes from us," Jul. I have heard (How true it is I know not) that he sold Vir. I was present, And saw the money paid. The day would leave me And can you entertain, in such a time, A thought of dalliance? Tears, and sighs, and groans, Would better now become you. Jul. They indeed are The only weapons our poor sex can use, When we are injured; and they may become us: But for men, that were born free, men of rank, * The races of our horses he takes from us, Yet keeps them in our pastures.] Seward supposes the word races corrupt, and says, "The old folio reads rases, so that the present reading is probably only a conjecture. But as it has possession I would not disturb it, only offer the following conjectures to the reader's choice. The choicest, or the bravest, or the rarest, or the racers of our horses. The Neapolitan horses are light, and if this last is not thought too stiff, it seems to bid fair for having been the original." There is something rather hard in the text; but the poet seems to mean, that the tyrant takes from his subjects the use of the horses, which he obliges them to maintain.The labour of a horse may in poetry be called his race.-Ed. 1778. I see no difficulty in this passage. By the races of our horses, Virolet means the breed of our horses. A common acceptation of the word race, is a family, breed, or generation. I cannot agree with the editors, in supposing that, even in poetry, the races of our horses can mean the labour of them.--Muson. (That would be register'd fathers of their country, And to have on their tombs, in golden letters, The noble style 3 of "Tyrant-killers" written,) To weep like fools and women, and not like wise men To practise a redress, deserves a name Vir. Thy grave reproof, If what thou dost desire were possible As wise as loving; but if you consider, With what strong guards this tyrant is defended, To blow his forts up; or our curses lightning, Jul. Walls of brass resist not A noble undertaking; nor can Vice Raise any bulwark, to make good the place 3 Style.] i. e. title, an heraldic phrase. So in Heywood's Golden Age: "I will create lords of a greater style,” Were my dead father in you, and my brothers, (As you, in being what you are, are all these,) Vir. Till this minute, I never heard thee speak! Oh, more than woman, And more to be beloved! can I find out A cabinet to lock a secret in, Of equal trust to thee? All doubts and fears, Jul. I will be faithful. Vir. Know then, this day (stand Heaven propitious to us) Our liberty begins. Jul. In Ferrand's death? Vir. 'Tis plotted, love, and strongly; and, believe it, For nothing else could do it, 'twas the thought How to proceed in this design, and end it, That made strange my embraces. Jul. Curs'd be she That's so indulgent to her own delights, For me, I would not for the world, I had been you; Which I will strengthen with my tears. The wrongs Of this poor country edge your sword! oh, may it Vir. Be not curious. They come; however you command my bosom, To them I would not have you seen. Jul. I am gone, sir. Be confident; and may my resolution Be present with you! Vir. Such a masculine spirit, [Exit. With more than woman's virtues, were a dower To weigh down a king's fortune. Enter BRISSONET, CAMILLO, and RONVERE. Bris. Good day to you! Cam. You are an early stirrer. Vir. What new face Bring you along? Rone. If I stand doubted, sir, As by your looks I guess it, you much injure Cam. Nay, no more comparisons. Ronv. What you but whisper, I dare speak aloud, Stood the king by; have means to put in act too, |