The star-crowned monarch, yet my vengeful flame Shall strike 'em down to hell, where thou shalt hear,

To those bless'd shades where all the worthies live, Their tortured souls with anguish howl and yell. Then do not fly my arms.

M. Tull. Villain, keep off!

Thou art mad; a pandar, nay, what's worse,
A traitor to thy friend.

Arm. Devil, or ghost,

Spirit of earth, of air, of active fire

(For Tullius thou art not; he never used
Such barbarous language to a faithful friend)
Therefore whate'er thou art that dar'st assume
The blessed shape of my dear murdered friend
Where goodness so long dwelt, prepare thyself;
My anger thus salutes [thee.]
[Draws.

M. Tull. What dream's this?
What spirit or what murder talks he of?
This is a fetch past man's capacity.
Armanus, thou hast lost thyself too far:
I am no deluding goblin, nor false friend,
But real as thyself.

Arm. Lives Tullius then ?
With joy and wonder thus-

M. Tull. Keep distance, slave! Yes, I do live, and only live to be A terror to thy falsehood.

Arm. These are words

I must not live to hear.

M. Tull. Villain, read that:

[Gives him the Letter. So long I'll spare my justice, which shall fall As horrid as thy fact. Does't startle you? Arm. Whoever writ these black lies is a devil, Which are as false and envious as himself: Yet, if you can believe 'em, 'tis high time That I were turned to earth. See, there's my sword,

And thus my breast flies open to your fury: Strike, and strike home, and when my guiltless blood

Shall dye this green grass crimson, you shall see How free 'twas from corruption.

M. Tull. I am struck

With deep astonishment: If that were false,
To what end should that man, whate'er he were,
Engage himself so dreadfully? 'Tis a reach
Beyond my understanding. By the truth
And forepast protestations tied our hearts
In bonds of amity, (a greater oath

Sin cannot think upon) resolve my fear:
Has not my Philadelpha 'filed her faith?

Arm She is as pure as the unspotted sun
Shining in brightest glory.

M. Tull. Does not the king solicit her?
Arm. He does;

And politic Rufinus haunts her hourly,
Like an ill spirit, striving to seduce her
To what she most abhors; 'twas he possessed
Me with your credulous death,"

And has by this divulged it to the king:

• Resolve my fear.] Resolve was anciently used in the sense of satisfy. So in A King and No King-" Thou shalt bid her entertain her from me, so thou wilt resolve me one thing."

9 'Twas he possessed

Me with your credulous death.] To possess a person with any thing, meant to acquaint him with it, to inform him of it. So in Massinger's Great Duke of Venice:

"Three years the prince

Lived in her company, and Contarino
The secretary hath possess'd the duke
What a rare piece she is."

The sense of the words, " your credulous death," is plainly "your death, which was to be believed;" but the expression is a very strange

Which rumour winged me on to fly to th' camp, Doubting some dangerous plot laid 'gainst your life

That he so confidently spoke you dead.

By all my comforts hoped for, and those plagues
Which perjury would tremble to recite,
By our past friendship and unwrinkled truth,
Which hitherto I ever have adored,

What I have spoken is as free from blot
As is the firmament.

M. Tull. And I, as true, believe it. Pardon me; Thus will I beg it from thee. Jealousy [Kneels. And frantic rage, which from these lines took life, And had their black original, bereft

And put me past myself. Now, I conceive.
Rufinus' damn'd intent, to draw me from
The camp unto my death, or execute

Some hellish treason there. Heaven keep Marius safe!

Arm. Speak low, here's company.

Enter MARIUS disguised, and LELIA like a post-boy.

Mar. Let's rest a while, sweet Lelia, we have rid hard,

And, whilst our horses graze, refresh ourselves; These pleasant groves yield comfortable shades. Lel. Marius !

Mar. Ha! what affrights my love?

Lel. Saw you that face?.

Mar. 'Tis

one. There are more of these liberties, taken with the language and uncommon phrases in this than in any other of the plays in these volumes. Towards the end of this scene we have this line:

"Surcease a while this explicating joy.".

Lel. Tullius, my dear brother; that, Armanus. Mar. Oh, everlasting comfort! Tullius

M. Tull. Amazement! Marius! loving Janus too! Joy and sad fear both struggle in my breast: Your sights are Heaven, but the sudden cause Forced you to leave the camp, and thus disguised, Begets in me a wonder beyond thought.

Mar. And well it may. Oh, noble worthy lord,
I shall amaze you with strange stratagems.
Titus is a tyrant; bloody snares

And horrid treasons do begirt thee round;
But I was trapt with 'em, yet hate to think
Thy virtue knew of them.

Behold a warrant granted for thy death,
Upon condition of a feigned league,

Signed with his own hand and commanding seal,
Which I observed in all things void of fear,
And as I entered through their flattering gates,
Which stood wide open to receive us in,
Going to take their oaths of fealty,

I fell by their sharp weapons; witness these.'
[Shows his wounds.
But how I was restored and 'scaped with life
Will wonder you far more: here is the hand
That under heaven was my only safety.
M. Tull. Who? pretty Janus?
Mar. No, thy sister Tullius,

And my dear Lelia, that all this while
Like my good angel hath protected me:

The manner now's too tedious to rehearse,

For I could ever sit recounting it.

M. Tull. Is't possible, sweet sister, thou shouldst

live

Thus long disguised, and serve me as my page,

1 Witness these marks.] The last word is added by another hand, but unnecessarily.

And these eyes ne'er descry thee, that have took
Such infinite delight to gaze upon
The splendour of thy beauty nay,

I vow,

Wert not my sister, even doted on thee.

Arm. Is this your post? Was she your happy guide?

I could fast ever to kiss such a post.

M. Tull. Surcease a while this explicating joy, And let us study how to be revenged

On this injurious king, King Machiavel. +
Mar. For such a plot no fury ever formed.
M. Tull. Were all these honours and the gilded
titles

He heaped upon my head against my will,
Laid on my shoulders for to weigh me down,
And sink me with black obloquy? Well, king,
The moon may dim the sun, and so may I
Wrap up thy blazing pride in a red cloud,
And darken thee for ever. Come to Rome:
We'll yet determine nothing; what we do
Occasion must present us. On to Rome.

[Exeunt.

King Machiavel.] These words, containing a gross anachronism, which also occurs in Shakspeare's Merry Wives of Windsor and Henry VI., should probably be added to the speech of Marius.