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St. George. On this bold steed, with this dead

doing arm,

Without art magic, help of draught or charm,
Crowds have I slain, and routed from the field,
Or made, as captives, to my mercy yield.
My horse and me none could escape by flying,
But sav'd their lives by well-dissembled dying.

Cobler Masquer. Very well, very well, i'faith. Look ye, look ye, Gentlemen, I know the humour of that. I live just by in Vinegar-yard, and I know the humour of that. You must know he means by that that by pretending to be dead, the men whom the valiant man in the play rides over, or cuts down, are carried off safe and sound-why, I have been called in, when there has been a great battle in the house, to help to carry off the dead; and I have brought a man off dead over-night, and mended his shoes next morning.

4th Masquer. Ho, brave Crispin !-that's a good jest, i' faith.

Cobler. But my wife said a very good thing upon that. "Look thee, Will," said she, for you must know my name is William, "we shall never make any thing of this, if we are to wait for dead men's shoes."

4th Masquer. Ho-boy, Crispin! Thou art a merry rogue, Crispin!

E 2

FRAGMENT

OF

TRAGEDY,

PROBABLY WRITTEN BY ADDISON.

DRAMATIS PERSONE,

BELLARIO, a discarded Favourite of the King,

ORAMONT, his Son.

ALTIMOR, a Minister of State.

PHILOMONT, Contracted to Eunesia.

MARTIAN, Oramont's Friend.

LUCIO, Oramont's Page,

MARANA, Bellario's Wife.
EUNESIA, his Daughter,

The best passages in this Fragment are more in the style of Addison than any other that I recollect; and its being left in Steele's possession would favour a conjecture that it was written by the modest author of The Drummer, the copy of which was sold, and sent to the press, by Sir Richard. The hand-writing also resembles Addison's.

Though here is only one Act, it is a good foundation for a fine Tragedy. J.

FRAGMENT

OF A

TRAGEDY.

ACT I.

SCENE I.-Bellario's Palace.

Enter ORAMONT and MARTIAN.

Oramont. YES, Martian, yes; it is a foul re

proach,

A scandal to my youth and to my name,

To loiter thus in dull obscurity,

In idle study, and pursuit of wisdom;

To me, ambition, pleasure, wealth, are wisdom; In them it is contain'd, in them I'll seek it.

Martian. It does not suit, indeed, thy active soul, To waste thy days thus in inglorious ease, When war, in all its loveliness of pomp, Courts thee to fame, to honour, and to power.

Yet,

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