193 b, 225 b, 339 b), as are such ironic observations as the Why, ’tis exceeding well of l. 293 (cf., e. g., 175 b). This part of the Scene contains 45 per cent. double endings and 36 per cent. run-on lines.

The last 161 lines of the Act with scarcely less certainty can be established as Field’s, though on a first reading one might imagine, from the wordiness of the vehement dialogue and the rather high ratio (19:11) of speeches ending in mid-line, that the hand of Massinger continues throughout. But the closest examination no longer will reveal traces of that playwright’s distinctive handiwork, while a ratio of 17 per cent. for double endings and 28 per cent. for run-on lines, the introduction of rhyme, the oaths, and the change from the previous full-flowing declamation to shorter, more abrupt periods are vouchers that this part of the Scene is from the pen of the actor-dramatist. We can scarcely imagine the ponderous-styled Massinger writing anything so easy and rapid as

Such phrases as So I not heard them (l. 352) and Like George a-horseback (l. 433) in the loose structure of the one and the slangy scurrility of the other, exhibit no kinship to his manner; l. 373, They are fools that judge me by my outward seeming recalls a Field passage in The Queen of Corinth (D. V, 444) They are fools that hold them dignified by blood. There is here and there, moreover, a certain violence of expression, a compressed over-trenchancy of phrase, that brings to mind the rant of the early Elizabethans, and is found among the Jacobeans only in the work of Rowley, Beaumont, and Field. For the last named, this is notably exemplified in the opening soliloquy of The Knight of Malta; we cannot but recognize the same touch here in ll. 386–8:

The Something I must do, which concludes the Act, is repeatedly paralleled in Massinger’s plays, but a similar indefinite resolve is expressed in Woman is a Weathercock (M. 363), and it consequently cannot be adduced as evidence of his hand. Immediately above, however (ll. 494–6), we encounter, in the allusion to the Italian and Dutch temperaments, a thought twice echoed by the “stage-poet” in plays of not greatly later date, The Duke of Milan and The Little French Lawyer (C-G. 90 a; D. III, 505). It may represent an interpolation by Massinger; it may be merely that this rather striking conclusion to the climatic speech of his collaborator’s scene so fixed itself on his mind as to crop out afterwards in his own productions.

In the short disputed passage (ll. 317–343) which separates what is undoubtedly Massinger’s from what is undoubtedly Field’s, 

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