My service should draw such a cause from you.
Offended! Could you think so? That were much
For one of my performance, and so warm
Yet in my service.

Beat. "Twere misery in me to give you cause, sir.
Def. I know so much, it were so; misery
In her most sharp condition.

Beat. "Tis resolv'd then;

Look you, sir, here's three thousand golden florins,
I have not meanly thought upon thy merit.

Def. What! salary? now you move me.
Beat. How, Deflores ?

Def. Do

you place me in the rank of verminous fellows,
To destroy things for wages? offer gold

[For] the life blood of man? Is any thing
Valued too precious for my recompense?
Beat. I understand thee not.

Def. I could have hired

A journeyman in murder at this rate,

And mine own conscience might have [slept at ease],
And had the work brought home.

Beat. (Aside.) I'm in a labyrinth;

What will content him? I would fain be rid of him.

*

I prithee make away with all speed possible;
And if thou be'st so modest not to name

The sum that will content thee, paper blushes not,
Send thy demand in writing, it shall follow thee;
But prithee take thy flight.

Def. You must fly too then.

Beat. I?

Def. I'll not stir a foot else.
Beat. What's your meaning?

Def. Why, are not you as guilty, in I'm sure

As deep as I? and we should stick together.
Come, your fears counsel you but ill; my absence
Would draw suspect upon you instantly,

There were no rescue for you.

Beat. (Aside.) He speaks home.

Def. Nor is it fit we two engag'd so jointly,
Should part and live asunder."

The tragedy of Women beware of Women is on the whole, we think, Middleton's finest play. It is founded on the story of Biancha Capello, long since translated into our language

from the Italian. The heroine was a beautiful Venetian who married a native of Florence, and accompanying him to that city, was seen and admired by the reigning Duke, one of the family of the De Medici. Biancha vielded to the Duke's passion, and finally conspired with him to put an end to her husband's life. This is the principal vein that runs through the play; though there is an underplot also, and they both branch out into other unexpected, but not unnatural consequences, making the whole as full of incident as any play in the English language. The drama opens with the arrival of Leantio and his wife Biancha at his poor cottage at Florence. He consigns her to his mother's care, and resolves, after one day of enjoyment, to return to the labour which is necessary for his own and his wife's support. Leantio exults exceedingly in his wife's personal perfections, and she, on her part, rates as nothing the ordinary evils of poverty. She is compensated by the entire love of her husband, whose fondness breaks out upon all occasions.

"Oh, fair-ey'd Florence!

Didst thou but know what a most matchless jewel

Thou now art mistress of, a pride would take thee,

Able to shoot destruction through the bloods

Of all thy youthful sons: but 'tis great policy

To keep choice treasures in obscurest places:

Should we show thieves our wealth, 'twould make 'em bolder:
Temptation is a devil will not stick

To fasten upon a saint; take heed of that;
The jewel is cas'd up from all men's eyes.
Who could imagine now a gem were kept,

Of that great value under this plain roof?"

Nevertheless, it is necessary, as we have said, that he should leave her to follow his occupations. He resolves upon this, while she, on her part, endeavours to detain him.

"Bian. I perceive, sir,

You're not gone yet; I have good hope you'll stay now.

Lean. Farewell; I must not.

Bian. Come, come, pray return!

To-morrow (adding but a little care more)

Will dispatch all as well; believe me 'twill, sir.

Lean. I could well wish myself where you would have me;

But love that's wanton, must be rul'd awhile

By that that's careful, or all goes to ruin:

As fitting is a government in love,

As in a kingdom."

And now for a change, to startle the simple reader and to tickle the ear of a woman-hater. Biancha, (she is called 'Brancha' throughout the play, but it is evidently wrong, that name coinciding neither with the fact, nor being sufficient to complete the line,)-Biancha is seen at her window by the Duke of Florence. He contrives to meet her, by the agency of a dissolute lady, (Livia,) and effects her ruin. The change of Biancha's character, consequent upon her seduction, is admirably managed. The scene is altogether very dramatic; and the contrast between the cold, impudent, dissatisfied wife, and the anticipating, confiding husband, is striking and appalling. We give the scene entire.

"Enter Leantio.

Lean. How near am I now to a happiness

That earth exceeds not! not another like it :
The treasures of the deep are not so precious,
As are the conceal'd comforts of a man
Lock'd up in woman's love. I scent the air
Of blessings when I come but near the house:
What a delicious breath marriage sends forth!
The violet-bed's not sweeter. Honest wedlock
Is like a banqueting-house built in a garden,
On which the spring's chaste flowers take delight
To cast their modest odours; when base lust,
With all her powders, paintings, and best pride,
Is but a fair house built by a ditch side.

Why this is dreadful now as sudden death
To some rich man, that flatters all his sins
With promise of repentance when he's old,
And dies in the midway before he comes to❜t.
Sure you're not well, Biancha! How dost, prithee?
Bian. I have been better than I am at this time.
Lean. Alas, I thought so.

Bian. Nay, I have been worse too,
Than now you see me, sir.

Lean. I'm glad thou mendst yet,

I feel my heart mend too. How came it to thee?
Has any thing dislik'd thee in my absence?

Bian. No, certain, I have had the best content
That Florence can afford.

Lean. Thou makest the best on't:

Speak, mother, what's the cause? you must needs know.
Moth. Troth I know none, son; let her speak herself;
Unless it be the same 'gave Lucifer a tumbling cast; that's pride.
Bian. Methinks this house stands nothing to my mind;

I'd have some pleasant lodging i' th' high street, sir;
Or if 'twere near the court, sir, that were much better;
"Tis a sweet recreation for a gentlewoman

To stand in a bay-window, and see gallants.

Lean. Now I have another temper, a mere stranger
To that of yours, it seems; I should delight
To see none but yourself.

Bian. I praise not that:

Too fond is as unseemly as too churlish:

I would not have a husband of that proneness,
To kiss me before company, for a world :
Beside, 'tis tedious to see one thing still, sir,

Be it the best that ever heart affected;

Nay, were't yourself, whose love had power you know
To bring me from my friends, I would not stand thus,
And gaze upon you always; troth, I could not, sir;
As good be blind, and have no use of sight,

As look on one thing still: what's the eye's treasure,
But change of objects? You are learned, sir,

And know I speak not ill; 'tis full as virtuous
For woman's eye to look on several men,

As for her heart, sir, to be fixed on one.

Lean. Now thou come'st home to me; a kiss for that word. Bian. No matter for a kiss, sir; let it pass;

"Tis but a toy, we'll not so much as mind it ;

Let's talk of other business, and forget it.
What news now of the pirates? any stirring?
Prithee discourse a little..

Moth. (aside.) I am glad he's here yet

To see her tricks himself; I had lied monstrously
If I had told 'em first.

Lean. Speak, what's the humour, sweet,

You make your lip so strange? this was not wont.
Bian. Is there no kindness betwixt man and wife,
Unless they make a pigeon-house of friendship,
And be still billing? 'tis the idlest fondness
That ever was invented.

Alas, sir,

Think of the world, how we shall live, grow serious;
We have been married a whole fortnight now.

Lean. How? a whole fortnight! why, is that so long?
Bian. 'Tis time to leave off dalliance; 'tis a doctrine
Of your own teaching, if you be remember'd,
And I was bound to obey it.

Moth. (aside.) Here's one fits him ;

This was well catch'd i'faith, son, like a fellow
That rids another country of a plague,

And brings it home with him to his own house.

Who knocks?

[Knocking within.

Lean. Who's there now? Withdraw you, Biancha;
Thou art a gem no stranger's eye must see,
Howe'er thou pleas'd now to look dull on me.

Enter Messenger.

[Exit Biancha.

You're welcome, sir: to whom your business, pray?

Mess. To one I see not here now.

Lean. Who should that be, sir?

Mess. A young gentlewoman, I was sent to.

Lean. A young gentlewoman?

Mess. Ay, sir, about sixteen: why look you wildly, sir?

Lean. At your strange error: you've mistook the house, sir;

There's none such here, I assure you.

Mess. I assure you too,

The man that sent me cannot be mistook.

Lean. Why, who is't sent you, sir?
Mess. The duke.

Lean. The duke?