[414] "Carew was the younger brother of a good family, and of excellent parts, and had spent many years of his youth in France and Italy; and, returning from travel, followed the court, which the modesty of that time disposed men to do sometime, before they pretended to be of it; and he was very much esteemed by the most eminent persons in the court, and well looked upon by the king himself, some years before he could obtain to be sewer to the king; and when the king conferred that place upon him, it was not without the regret even of the whole Scotch nation, which united themselves in recommending another gentleman to it; and of so great value were those relations held in that age, when majesty was beheld with the reverence it ought to be. He was a person of a pleasant and facetious wit, and made many poems, especially in the amorous way, which, for the sharpness of the fancy, and the elegancy of the language in which that fancy was spread, were at least equal, if not superior, to any of that time; but his glory was, that after fifty years of his life, spent with less severity or exactness than it ought to have been, he died with the greatest remorse for that license, and with the greatest manifestation of Christianity, that his best friends could desire."--"Life of Clarendon," edit. 1759, i. 36. He died in the year 1639. [But see Hazlitt's edit. of Carew, Introductory Memoir.] PROLOGUS. Judicious friends, if what shall here be seen May taste your sense, or ope your tickled spleen, Our author has his wish: he does not mean To rub your galls with a satiric scene; Nor toil your brains, to find the fustian sense Of those poor lines that cannot recompense The pains of study: Comedy's soft strain Should not perplex, but recreate the brain; His strain is such, he hopes it, but refers That to the test of your judicious ears. THE HEIR. ACT I. _Enter_ POLYMETES, ROSCIO. POL. Roscio. ROS. My lord. POL. Hast thou divulg'd the news, That my son died at Athens? ROS. Yes, my lord, With every circumstance: the time, the place, And manner of his death; that 'tis believed, And told for news with as much confidence, As if 'twere writ in Gallo-belgicus.[415] POL. That's well, that's very well: now, Roscio, Follows my part; I must express a grief Not usual; not like a well-left heir For his dead father, or a lusty widow For her old husband, must I counterfeit: But in a deeper, a far deeper strain, Weep like a father for his only son. Is not that hard to do, ha! Roscio? ROS. O, no, my lord, Not for your skill; has not your lordship seen A player personate Hieronimo?[416]