Then we have a masque (leaves 212-223). On the first page are given the _nomina actorum_, and underneath is written "August 5th, 1643." I was surprised to find in this masque a long passage that occurs also in Chapman's _Byron's Tragedie_ (ed. Pearson, ii. 262). Ben Jonson said (to Drummond of Hawthornden) that only he and Chapman knew how to write a masque. The remark has always puzzled me, and certainly I should never have thought of Chapman's name in connexion with this masque. Here is an extract, containing the passage from _Byron's Tragedie_:-- _Love_. For thy sake, Will, I feathered all my thoughts And in a bird's shape flew in to her bosome, The bosome of _Desert_, thy beautious Mistris, As if I had been driven by the hauke In that sweet sanctuary to save my liffe. She smild on me, cald me her prety bird, And for her sport she tyed my little legs In her faire haire. Proud of my golden fetters I chirped for Joy; she confident of my lameness, Soon disintangled me & then she percht me Upon her naked breast. There being ravishd I sung with all my cheere and best of skill. She answered note for note, relish for relish, And ran division with such art and ease That she exceeded me. _Judgment_. There was rare musicke. _Love_. In this swete strife, forgetting where I stood. I trod so hard in straining of my voice That with my claw I rent her tender skin; Which as she felt and saw vermillion follow Stayning the cullor of _Adonis_ bleeding In _Venus_ lap, with indignation She cast me from her. _Will_. That fortune be to all that injure her. _Love_. Then I put on this shepheards shape you see; I tooke my bow and quiver as in revenge Against the birds, shooting and following them From tre to tre. She passing by beheld And liked the sport. I offerrd her my prey, Which she receved and asked to feele my bowe; Which when she handled and beheld the beauty Of my bright arrowes, she began to beg em. I answered they were all my riches, yet I was content to hazard all and stake em Downe to a kiss at a game at chess with her. "Wanton," quoth she, being privy to her skill, "A match!" Then she with that dexterrytey Answered my challenge that I lost my weapons: Now _Cupides_ shaffts are headed with her lookes. My mother soone perceiving my disgrace, My Arms beinge lost and gon which made me a terror To all the world, she tooke away my wings, Renouncd me for her child and cast me from her; And more, to be revengd upon _Desert_, Comanded _Danger_ to be her strong keeper, That should she empt my quiver at the hearts Of men they might not dare to court her, fearing That horrid mischiefe that attends [on] her. On this I threw me headlong on the sea To sleepe my tyme out in the bottome off it; Whence you have puld me up to be a scorne To all the World.