PREFACE.

The plays in this volume are printed for the first time. All are anonymous; but it is absolutely certain that Sir John Van Olden Barnavelt is a masterpiece by Fletcher and Massinger; that Captain Underwit is a comedy of Shirley's; and that the Lady Mother (a piece of no particular merit) is by Glapthorne. I am not at all sure that I am right in ascribing Dick of Devonshire to Heywood. But, whoever may have been the author, I am confident that this well-written play will be welcomed by all. In Appendix I I give an account of the folio volume (Eg. MS. 1,994) from which the two last pieces are taken.

To Mr. ROBERT BOYLE, of St. Petersburg, I offer my sincere thanks for the very interesting note (Appendix II) which he sent me after reading the proof-sheets of Barnavelt. Elsewhere I have expressed my gratitude to Mr. F.G. FLEAY for his valuable help.

The preparation of this volume has been a work of great labour, for everything has been transcribed by my own hand; but the tedious delay in publication has been due in great part to circumstances beyond my control.

January 27, 1883.

INTRODUCTION TO DICK OF DEVONSHIRE.

The play of Dick of Devonshire, now first printed (from Eg. MS., 1994[1]), is distinctly a well-written piece, the work of a practised hand. There is nothing amateurish in the workmanship; the reader is not doomed to soar into extravagances at one moment, and sink into flatnesses at another. Ample opportunities were offered for displays of boisterous riot, but the playwright's even-balanced mind was not to be disturbed. Everywhere there are traces of studious care; and we may be sure that a style at once so equable and strong was not attained without a long apprenticeship. Nor will the reader fail to note the lesson of charitableness and Christian forbearance constantly, yet unobtrusively, inculcated.

The hero of the play, Richard Pike, published, under the title of Three to One, a pamphlet (reprinted in vol. i. of Mr. Arber's valuable English Garner) describing his exploits. There is no date to the pamphlet; but it was no doubt issued very shortly after Pike's return, which took place on April 20, 1626. At the outset the writer apologises for the rudeness of his style, "I know not," he says, "what the court of a king means, nor what the fine phrases of silken courtiers are. A good ship I know, and a poor cabin; and the language of a cannon: and therefore as my breeding has been rough, scorning delicacy; and my present being consisteth altogether upon the soldier (blunt, plain and unpolished), so must my writings be, proceeding from fingers fitter for the pike than the pen." In those days a soldier was never at a loss to express himself, and honest Dick Pike was no exception to the rule. He goes straight to the point, and relates his adventures very vividly in the homeliest language. Returning from an expedition against Algiers

"somewhat more acquainted with the world, but little amended in estate," he could not long rest inactive; and soon, "the drum beating up for a new expedition," set out to try his fortunes again. The design was against Cadiz; the fleet, under the command of the Earl of Essex, numbered some 110 sail. There is no need to continue the story, for I have nothing to add to the facts set forth in the pamphlet and the play. If Britannia's Pastorals had been written a few years later, we may be sure that William Browne would have paid a fitting compliment to his fellow-townsman's bravery. But Pike's famous deeds were not forgotten by his countymen; for in a broadside of the late seventeenth century, bearing the title of A Panegyric Poem; or, Tavestock's Encomium,[2] he is thus enthusiastically praised:—

"Search whether can be found again the like For noble prowess for our Tav'stock Pike, In whose renowned never-dying name Live England's honour and the Spaniard's shame."

There is a curious notice of our hero in a private letter, dated May 19, 1626, of Dr. Meddus to the Rev. Joseph Mead:[3]—"Yesterday being Holy Thursday, one Pyke, a common soldier, left behind the fleet at Cadiz, delivered a challenge to the Duke of Buckingham from the Marquis of ——, brother-in-law to the Conde d'Olivares, in defence of the honour of his sister; affirming, moreover, that he had wronged Olivares, the King of Spain, and the King of England, and therefore he would fight with him in any part of France. This Pike, a Devonshire man, being presented prisoner to the Duke of Medina, he would needs have him fight at rapier or dagger with a Spaniard, supposing he would not stand him two thrusts: but Pyke, by a dexterous sleight, presently disarmed the Spaniard of his rapier without hurting him, and presented it to the Duke," &c.

As to the authorship of the play, though I should be loth to speak with positiveness, I feel bound to put forward a claim for Thomas Heywood. Through all Heywood's writings there runs a vein of generous kindliness: everywhere we see a gentle, benign countenance, radiant with love and sympathy. On laying down one of his plays, the reader is inclined to apply to him Tacitus' judgment of Agricola, "bonum virum facile crederes, magnum libenter." Now, when we open Dick of Devonshire, the naturalness and simplicity of the first scene at once suggest Heywood's hand. In the second scene, the spirited eulogy on Drake—

"That glory of his country and Spayne's terror, That wonder of the land and the seas minyon, Drake, of eternall memory—"

and the fine lines descriptive of the Armada are just such as we might expect from the author of the closing scenes of the second part of If you know not me, you know nobody. Heywood was fond of stirring adventures: he is quite at home on the sea, and delights in nothing more than in describing a sea-fight; witness his Fortunes by Land and Sea, and the two parts of the Fair Maid of the West. But the underplot bears even clearer traces of Heywood's manner. Manuel is one of those characters he loved to draw—a perfect Christian gentleman, incapable of baseness in word or deed. Few situations could be found more touching than the scene (iii. 3), where Manuel defends with passionate earnestness the honour of his absent brother, Henrico, and tries to comfort his heart-broken father. Heywood dealt in extremes: his characters are, as a rule, either faultless gentlemen or abandoned scoundrels. Hence we need not be surprised that Henrico exceeds other villains in ruffianism as much as his brother, the gentle Manuel, surpasses ordinary heroes in virtue. The characters of Henrico's

contracted bride, Eleonora, and Catalina, the good wife of a vicious husband, are drawn tenderly and skilfully. Heywood's eyes were oftener dim with tears than radiant with laughter; yet, with all his sympathy for the afflicted and the fallen, he never took a distorted view of society, but preserved untainted to the end a perennial spring of cheerfulness.

I now leave the reader to the enjoyment of this old play, which, whether it be Heywood's or not, certainly deserves the attention of all faithful students of our inexhaustible dramatic literature.

NOTE.—I gratefully acknowledge the assistance that I have received from F.G. Fleay, Esq., in preparing this volume for the press. To ensure as much accuracy as possible, Mr. Fleay has read the proof-sheets throughout.[4] By the same gentleman's kindness I am able to correct the following misprints in the first volume:—

p. 37, l. 23, for "Yet can give," read, "Yet can I give."

p. 71, l. 18, del. comma after "live."

p. 103, l. 9, del. "we."

p. 119, 7 from bottom, for "she doth preferd doth see," read "she thus preferd," &c.

p. 142, 9 from bottom, for "vouchsafed," read "vouchsafe."

p. 154, l. 19, for "There they are," read "I, here they are."

p. 190, l. 24, for "woman" read "women."

p. 194, l. 12, for "unwist," read "unjust."

p. 228, last line, for "Equire," read "Squire."

p, 258, l. 29, for "1639," read "1612."

p. 274, l. 16, for "whore," read "whore's;" and in the next line, for "sunnes," read "sinnes."

p. 276, l. 4, after "Do not my Dons know," add "me."

p. 281, 4 from bottom, for "wo," read "two."

p. 311, l. 12, for "sol-Re-fa-mi," read "sol-Re-me-fa-mi." In l. 19, for "Ra." read "Re."

p. 317, l. 21, for "goon," read "good."

p. 331, l. i, for "Med,," read "King."

THE PLAY OF DICKE OF DEVONSHIRE.

A Tragi-Comedy.

Hector adest secumque Deos in praelia ducit.

Drammatis Personae.

The Duke of Macada, | The Duke of Girona, | The Duke of Medina, | Four Grandies. The Marquesse d'Alquevezzes, | Don Pedro Gusman, An ancient Lord. Manuell, | His Sons. Henrico, | Don Fernando, Governor of Cadiz Towne. Teniente, A Justicier. Bustamente, Captaine of Cadiz Castle. Dicke Pike, The Devonshire Soldier. Don John, A Colonel. Buzzano, Servant to Pedro Guzman. Eleonora, Daughter to Fernando. Catelina, Wife to Don John. A Gentlewoman. An English Captaine. Mr. Jewell. Mr. Hill. Secretary. Mr. Woodrow. A Jaylor. Two Fryers. A Guard. English Soldiers. Spanish Soldiers.

The Play of Dick of Devonshire.

Actus Primus.

(SCENE 1.)

Enter Don Pedro Gusman, Henrico and Manuell, his sons; Don Fernando and Eleanora, his daughter, and Teniente.

Pedr. Gentlemen, y'have much honourd me to take Such entertainement, but y'are welcome all. 'Twas my desire to have your company At parting: heaven knowes when we shall meete againe.

Ten. You are for France then too?

Man. I wayte on my father.

Pedr. Henrico.

Ferd. Eleonora.

Ten. But how chance, Manuell, your younger brother Is at the Goale before you? What, no Lady To please your eye?

Man. I am not Yet weary of my freedome. May Henrico Meete Joy in his Election: yet I know not One I would sooner chuse to call a sister Than Eleonora.

Pedr. At my returne from France all things shall bee Consummate; in meane time let your owne hearts, Knitt with the strongest tye of love, be merry In mutuall embraces, and let your prayers Fill our departing sayles. Our stay will not Bee long, and the necessity of my affaires Unwillingly doth take me from you.

Hen. Though I could wish your stay, my duty bidds me Expect the enjoying of my happines Till your returne from France.—Your blessing.

Eleo. How ever heaven dispose of Eleonora, Pray write me in your thoughts your humblest daughter, That shall make it a part of her devotions To pray for you.

Fer. Well, sir, since your designe Pulls you away, may your good Angell guard you.

Ten. The like wish I, Don Pedro.

Fer. Manuell, I hope You will not long breath out of Spanish ayre. Farewell!

Pedr. My thanks to all.—Stay!

[Peeces dischargd.

Fer. The Captaine of the Castle come to interpret That language to us? What newes?

Enter Bustamente.

Bust. Such as will make all Spaine dance in Canary. The Brasile fleete—

Pedr. Arriv'd?

Bust. Is putting into harbour, and aloud Calls for a Midwife: she is great with gold And longs to be delivered.

Pedr. No he Spanyard Is not a true reioycer at the newes: Be't a good omen to our Journey.

Ten. So we wish all.

Pedr. May we at our returne meet no worse newes Then now at parting. My noble Don Fernando And Teniente, once more farewell, (my daughter, I hope)

Eleonora, Henrico,—Nay, your good newes deserves a farewell.

Bust. A soldier's farewell, a fast hand and heart; Good fate to both. [Ex. Pedr. and Man.

Hen. Come, Elinor, let them discourse their Joyes For the safe fleete: in thee all my delights Embarke themselves.

Bust. Tush, lett 'em come; our shippes have brought with them The newes of warre.

Per. What is that, Gentlemen?

Ten. I am speaking of a fleete of Enemyes.

Per. From whence?

Ten. From England.

Fer. A castle in the ayre.

Ten. Doe you not believe it?

Fer. I heard such a report, But had no faith in't: a mere Potgun![5]

Bust. Nay, sir, 'Tis certaine there hath bene great preparation, If our Intelligence be true to us; And a mighty Navy threatens the sea.

Fer. What's that to us? How long hath it bene a voyce they were at sea! I have ventured to discharge the soldiers Which to keepe here in pay upon the rumour Of a great fleete a comming, would both pester The Towne and be unnecessary charge To the King our Master.

Ten. But how if they intend us?

Fer. 'Tis not probable: The time of yeare is past, sir, now; more then The middle of October. Had they meant us We should have heard their message in loud Cannon Before this time.

Bust. I am of that opinion.

Ten. But Don Fernando and Bustamente, call to mind The time hath bene, when we supposed too The season past, they have saluted us With more then friendly Bulletts; tore the ribbs Of our Towne up, made every house too hott For the Inhabitants; had a spoyle of all, Spight of our hearts.

Fer. One Swallow makes not Summer: because once Our City was their prize, is't of necessity It must be so againe?

Bust. Or were the Navy Greater, as fame gives out it is the fayrest That ever danced upon these Seas, why yet Should we suspect for this Citty?

Fer. Because we dreame soe.

Ten. If you did dreame it may be as neare truth: I wish the contrary, but know them daring Enemyes.

Fer. The world, we doe acknowledge, cannot boast More resolution then the English hearts Seasond for action.

Ten. Francisco Bustamente, how is the Castle? what strength?

Bust. A fort impregnable, wanting neyther soldiers nor munition.

Ten. Well, looke to't.

Fer. How ere That wilbe necessary; the fort lyes in The mouth of danger, and it will become You to discharge that duty, Bustamente.

Bust. With my best care.

Ten. I wish all well, and that you had not yet Discharg'd your Companyes, Don Fernando.

Fer. Come, come; putt of your Jelousy, Drinke downe the remembrance. We forget Our fleetes arrivall; send your feares away; Nothing but wine and mirth should crowne this day.

[Exeunt.

SCENE 2.

Enter two Devonshire Merchants, as being in Sherryes[6]

1. Heare you the newes?

2. Yes, that an English fleete Is making up to Cales.[7]

1. Our Sherryes merchants, Though few of us be heere, shall soundly pay To the furnishing of this Navy.

2. Nay, I assure you Our shipps wilbe fast bound by Spanish charmes Not to get hence in hast.

1. The Divell allready Is furling up the sayles; would all the sackes Which we have bought for England were in Devonshire Turnd to small Beere, so we were but in Tavistocke To see it drawne out; were it nere so thin I'de drink a health to all the Dons in Sherryes And cry a pox upon 'em.

2. That word heard By any lowsy Spanish Picardo[8] Were worth our two neckes. Ile not curse my Diegoes But wish with all my heart that a faire wind May with great Bellyes blesse our English sayles Both out and in; and that the whole fleete may Be at home delivered of no worse a conquest Then the last noble voyage made to this Citty, Though all the wines and merchandize I have here Were ith' Seas bottome.

1. Troth, so would I mine.

2. I nere could tell yet from what roote this huge Large spreading Tree of hate from Spayne to us, From us agayne to Spayne, took the first growth.

1. No? then lie tell you: let us season our sorrow With this discourse.

2. With all my heart I long for't.

1. You shall not loose your longing: then, sir, know The hate a Spanyard beares an Englishman Nor naturall is, nor ancient; but as sparkes, Flying from a flint by beating, beget flames, Matter being neere to feed and nurse the fire, So from a tinder at the first kindled[9] Grew this heartburning twixt these two great Nations.

2. As how, pray?

1. Heare me: any Englishman That can but read our Chronicles can tell That many of our Kings and noblest Princes Have fetcht their best and royallest wives from Spayne, The very last of all binding both kingdomes Within one golden ring of love and peace By the marriage of Queene Mary with that little man (But mighty monarch) Phillip, son and heire To Charles the Emperour.

2. You say right.

1. Religion Having but one face then both here and there, Both Nations seemd as one: Concord, Commerce And sweete Community were Chaynes of Pearle About the neckes of eyther. But when England Threw of the Yoake of Rome, Spayne flew from her; Spayne was no more a sister nor a neighbour, But a sworne Enemy. All this did but bring Dry stickes to kindle fire: now see it burne.

2. And warme my knowledge and experience by't.

1. Spaines anger never blew hott coales indeed Till in Queene Elizabeths Raigne when (may I call him so) That glory of his Country and Spaynes terror, That wonder of the land and the Seas minyon, Drake, of eternall memory, harrowed th'Indyes.

2. The King of Spaynes west Indyes?

1. Yes, when his Hands Nombre de Dios, Cartagena, Hispaniola, With Cuba and the rest of those faire Sisters, The mermaydes of those Seas, whose golden strings Give him his sweetest musicke, when they by Drake And his brave Ginges[10] were ravishd; when these red apples Were gather'd and brought hither to be payrd— Then the Castilian Lyon began to roare.

2. Had he not cause, being vexd soe?

1. When our shipps Carrying such firedrakes in them that the huge Spanish Galleasses, Galleons, Hulkes and Carrackes[11] Being great with gold, in labour with some fright, Were all delivered of fine redcheekt Children At Plymouth, Portsmouth and other English havens And onely by men midwives: had not Spayne reason To cry out, oh Diables Ingleses!

2. It had not spoke such Spanish else.

1. When we did sett our feete even on their Mynes And brought their golden fagotts thence, their Ingotts And silver wedges; when each ship of ours Was able to spread sayles of silke; the tacklings Of twisted gold; when every marryner At his arrivall here had his deepe pockets Crammd full of Pistoletts; when the poorest ship-boy Might on the Thames make duckes and drakes with pieces Of eight fetchd out of Spayne: These were the Bellowes Which blew the Spanish bonfires of revenge; These were the times in which they calld our Nation Borachos,[12] Lutherans and Furias del Inferno.

2. Would we might now give them the selfe same cause To call us soe.

1. The very name of Drake Was a Bugbear to fright Children; Nurses still'd Their little Spanish Nynnyes when they cryde "Hush! the Drake comes."

2. All this must needs beget Their mortall hate to us.

1. It did; yet then We lovd them beyond measure.

2. Why?

1. Why, did not Spaine fetch gold from the West Indies for us To spend here merrily? She planted vines, We eate the Grapes; she playd the Spanish Pavine[13] Under our windowes, we in our bedds lay laughing To heare such Mynstrelsy.

2. How then turnd the windes? Why did this beauteous face of love in us Put on so blacke a Visour of hate to them?

1. Oh, sir, doe but looke backe to Eighty Eight, That Spanish glasse shall tell you, shew each wrinckle. England that yeare was but a bit pickd out To be layd on their Kinges Trencher. Who were their Cookes? Marry, sir, his Grandees and great Dons of Spaine, A Navy was provided, a royall fleete, Infinite for the bravery of Admiralls, Viceadmirall [sic], Generalls, Colonells and Commanders, Soldiers, and all the warlike furniture Cost or experience or mans witt could muster For such a mayne designe.

2. Stay; Eighty Eight,— Thirty eight yeares agoe: much about then Came I into the world.—Well, sir, this fleete?

1. Which made the Sea fish wonder what new kingdome Was building over theirs, beate downe the Billowes Before them to gett thither. 'Twas such a Monster In body, such a wonder in the eyes, And such a[14] thunder in the eares of Christendome That the Popes Holynes would needes be Godfather To this most mighty big limbd Child, and call it Th'Invincible Armado.

2. Thats to say A Fleete of Shipps not to be overcome By any power of man.

1. These were the Whales, These were the huge Levyathans of the Sea Which roaring came with wide and dreadfull Jawes To swallow up our Kingdom, Shipps & Nation. The fame of this Armado flew with Terrour Riding on Envyes wing; the preparation Was wayted on with wonder, and the approach Shewd the grim face of horrour: yet gainst all these Our Country and our Courages were armd.

2. St. George for England!