Garrick Plays.
No. VIII.
[From the “Game at Chess,” a Comedy, by Thomas Middleton, 1624.]
Popish Priest to a great Court Lady, whom he hopes to make a Convert of.
Let me contemplate;
With holy wonder season my access,
And by degrees approach the sanctuary
Of unmatch’d beauty, set in grace and goodness.
Amongst the daughters of men I have not found
A more Catholical aspect. That eye
Doth promise single life, and meek obedience.
Upon those lips (the sweet fresh buds of youth)
The holy dew of prayer lies, like pearl
Dropt from the opening eyelids of the morn
Upon the bashful rose. How beauteously
A gentle fast (not rigorously imposed)
Would look upon that cheek; and how delightful
The courteous physic of a tender penance,
(Whose utmost cruelty should not exceed
The first fear of a bride), to beat down frailty!
[From the “Virgin Widow,” a Comedy, 1649; the only production, in that kind, of Francis Quarles, Author of the Emblems.]
Song.
How blest are they that waste their weary hours
In solemn groves and solitary bowers,
Where neither eye nor ear
Can see or hear
The frantic mirth
And false delights of frolic earth;
Where they may sit, and pant,
And breathe their pursy souls;
Where neither grief consumes, nor griping want
Afflicts, nor sullen care controuls.
Away, false joys; ye murther where ye kiss!
There is no heaven to that, no life to this.