Webster's Duchess of Malfi lie-in between the acts, and produce a fine family of tragic children? Her Grace actually does so in Webster's drama, and he is a poet of some genius, though it is not quite so sufficient as Shakspeare's, to give a "sweet oblivious antidote" to such "perilous stuff." It is not, however, either in favour of Shakspeare's or of Webster's genius that we shall be called on to make allowance, if we justify in the drama the lapse of such a number of years as may change the apparent identity of an individual. If romantic unity is to be so largely interpreted, the old Spanish dramas, where youths grow greybeards upon the stage, the mysteries and moralities, and productions teeming with the wildest anachronism, might all come in with their grave or laughable claims to romantic legitimacy.

against the too abstract conceptī racters, pronouncing them rathe humours than natural beings, die theless, the justice to quote ox lovely passage from one of his the beauty of that passage probal attention of many readers to his t compositions +. It is indeed bu many beauties which justify all t said of Jonson's lyrical powers. ciful region of the drama (the stands as pre-eminent as in come can be said to be rivalled, it is on And our surprise at the wildness ness of his fancy in one walk of c increased by the stern and rigi rugged) air of truth which he the other. In the regular drama holds up no romantic mirror to object was to exhibit human c once strongly comic and severely tively true; to nourish the un while he feasted the sense of ridi more anxious for verisimilitude t comic effect. He understood the E peculiarities of his species scient brought them forward in their g trasts and subtlest modifications speare carelessly scattered illus skilfully prepared it. This is spea son in his happiest manner. Ther deal of harsh and sour fruit in neous poetry. It is acknowledged drama he frequently overlabours tion of character, and wastes it ted uninteresting humours and peculi

Nam sic

Et Laberi mimos ut pulchra poemata mirer.-HOR. On a general view, I conceive it may be said, that Shakspeare nobly and legitimately enlarged the boundaries of time and place in the drama; but in extreme cases, I would rather agree with Cumberland, to waive all mention of his name in speaking of dramatic laws, than accept of those licences for art which are not art, and designate irregularity by the name of order.

There were other poets who started nearly coeval with Ben Jonson in the attempt to give a classical form to our drama. Daniel, for instance, brought out his tragedy of Cleopatra in 1594; but his elegant genius wanted the strength requisite for great dramatic efforts. Still more unequal to the task was the Earl of Sterline, who published his cold "monarchic tragedies," in 1604. The triumph of founding English classical comedy belonged exclusively to Jonson. In his tragedies it is remarkable that he freely dispenses with the unities, though in those tragedies he brings classical antiquity in the most distinct and learnedly authenticated traits before our eyes. The vindication of his great poetic memory forms an agreeable and interludes, his fancy has a wildness an

"Break, Phant'sie, from thy cave of cloue [His lyrical poetry forms, perhaps, the r In songs part of his poetical character.

contrast in modern criticism with the bold bad things which used to be said of him in a former period; as when Young compared him to a blind Samson, who pulled down the ruins of antiquity on his head and buried his genius beneath them*. Hurd, though he inveighed

that we should not expect from the severity tic taste. It cannot be said, indeed, that he from metaphysical conceit, but his langua with thought, and polished with elegancwhole, his merits, after every fair deductic in possession of a high niche in our literatu him to be ranked (next to Shakspeare) as th tant benefactor of our early drama.-CAM Jonson in Brewster's Encyclopædia.]

[*" If the ancients," says Headley, "were to reclaim

their

own,

Jonson would not have a rag to c

ness: "a remark that called a taunting rep in one of his most bitter moods. Dryden E

said of Jonson that you may track him eve snow of the ancients.]

Namely, the song of Night, in the ma Vision of Delight."

is a moral painter, who delights over much to show his knowledge of moral anatomy. Beyond the pale of his three great dramas, "The Fox," "The Epicene, or Silent Woman," and "The Alchemist," it would not be difficult to find many striking exceptions to that love of truth and probability, which, in a general view, may be regarded as one of his best characteristics. Even within that pale, namely, in his masterly character of Volpone, one is struck with what, if it be not an absolute breach, is at least a very bold stretch, of probability. It is true that Volpone is altogether a being daringly conceived; and those who think that art spoiled the originality of Jon-sualist Sir Epicure Mammon, who deserves his

son, may well rectify their opinion by consi-
dering the force of imagination which it re-
quired to concentrate the traits of such a cha-
racter as "The Fox;" not to speak of his
Mosca, who is the phoenix of all parasites.
Volpone himself is not like the common misers
of comedy, a mere money-loving dotard- -a
hard shrivelled old mummy, with no other
spice than his avarice to preserve him; he is
a happy villain, a jolly misanthrope-a little
god in his own selfishness, and Mosca is his
priest and prophet. Vigorous and healthy,
though past the prime of life, he hugs himself
in his arch humour, his successful knavery and
imposture, his sensuality and his wealth, with
an unhallowed relish of selfish existence. His
passion for wealth seems not to be so great as
his delight in gulling the human “vultures and
gorecrows" who flock round him at the ima-
gined approach of his dissolution; the specu-
lators who put their gold, as they conceive,
into his dying gripe, to be returned to them a
thousand-fold in his will. Yet still, after this
exquisite rogue has stood his trial in a sweat
of agony at the scrutineum, and blest his stars at
having narrowly escaped being put to the tor-
ture, there is something (one would think) a
little too strong for probability, in that mis-
chievous mirth and love of tormenting his
own dupes, which bring him, by his own folly,
a second time within the fangs of justice.
"The Fox" and "The Alchemist" seem to have
divided Jonson's admirers as to which of them
may be considered his masterpiece. In con-
fessing my partiality to the prose comedy of
"The Silent Woman," considered merely as a
comedy, I am by no means forgetful of the

miseries much better than the rueful and piti-
able Morose. Yet so it is, that, though the
feelings of pathos and ridicule seem so widely
different, a certain tincture of the pitiable makes
comic distress more irresistible. Poor Morose
suffers what the fancy of Dante could not have
surpassed in description, if he had sketched
out a ludicrous Purgatory. A lover of quiet-
a man exquisitely impatient of rude sounds.
and loquacity, who lived in a retired street—
who barricadoed his doors with mattresses to
prevent disturbance to his ears, and who mar-
ried a wife because he could with difficulty
prevail upon her to speak to him-has hardly
tied the fatal knot when his house is tempested
by female eloquence, and the marriage of him
who had pensioned the city-wakes to keep away
from his neighbourhood, is celebrated by a
concert of trumpets. He repairs to a court of
justice to get his marriage if possible dissolved,
but is driven back in despair by the intolerable
noise of the court. For this marriage how
exquisitely we are prepared by the scene of
courtship! When Morose questions his in-
tended bride about her likings and habits of
life, she plays her part so hypocritically, that
he seems for a moment impatient of her re-
serve, and with the most ludicrous cross feel-
[* The plot of The Fox is admirably conceived; and
that of The Alchemist, though faulty in the conclusion,
is nearly equal to it. In the two comedies of Every Man
in his Humour, and Every Man out of his Humour, the
plot deserves much less praise, and is deficient at once in
interest and unity of action; but in that of The Silent
Woman, nothing can exceed the art with which the cir-
cumstance upon which the conclusion turns is, until the
very last scene, concealed from the knowledge of the
reader, while he is tempted to suppose it constantly within
his reach.-SIR WALTER SCOTT, Misc. Prose Works, vol. vi.
p. 341.]

rich eloquence which poetry imparts to the two others. But "The Epicene," in my humble apprehension, exhibits Jonson's humour in the most exhilarating perfection*. With due admiration for "The Alchemist," I cannot help thinking the jargon of the chemical jugglers, though it displays the learning of the author, to be tediously profuse. "The Fox" rises to something higher than comic effect. It is morally impressive. It detains us at particular points in serious terror and suspense. But "The Epicene" is purely facetious. I know not, indeed, why we should laugh more at the sufferings of Morose than at those of the sen

a few simple rhymes. It places the last and inexpressibly awful hour of existence before my view, and sounds like a sentence of vanity on the things of this world, pronounced by a dying man, whose eye glares on eternity, and whose voice is raised by strength from another world. Raleigh, also (according to Puttenham), had a "lofty and passionate" vein. It is difficult, however, to authenticate his poetical relics. Of the numerous sonnetteers of that time (keeping Shakspeare and Spenser apart), Drummond and Daniel are certainly the best. Hall was the master satirist of the age; obscure and quaint at times, but full of nerve and picturesque illustration. No contemporary satirist has given equal grace and dignity to moral censure. Very unequal to him in style, though often as original in thought, and as graphic in exhibiting manners, is Donne, some of whose satires have been modernized by Popet. Corbet has left some humorous pieces of raillery on the Puritans. Wither, all fierce and fanatic on the opposite side, has nothing more to recommend him in invective, than the sincerity of that zeal for God's house, which ate him up. Marston, better known in the drama than in satire, was characterised by his contemporaries for his ruffian style. He has more will than skill in invective. "He puts in his blows with lore," as the pugilists say of a hard but artless fighter; a degrading image, but on that account not the less applicable to a coarse satirist.

[t Would not Donne's satires, which abound with so much wit, appear more charming if he had taken care of his words and his numbers? *** I may safely say of this present age, that if we are not so great wits as Donne, yet certainly we are better poets-DRYDEN.]

thought which at intervals rises from his chaotic imagination, like the form of Venus smiling on the waters. Giles and Phineas Fletcher possessed harmony and fancy. The simple Warner has left, in his "Argentile and Curan," perhaps the finest pastoral episode in our language. Browne was an elegant describer of rural scenes, though incompetent to fill them with life and manners. Chalkhill § is a writer of pastoral romance, from whose work of Thealma and Clearchus a specimen should have been given in the body of these Selections, but was omitted by an accidental oversight. Chalkhill's numbers are as musical as those of any of his contemporaries, who employ the same form of versification. It was common with the writers of the heroic couplet of that age to bring the sense to a full and frequent pause in the middle of the line. This break, by relieving the uniformity of the couplet measure, sometimes produces a graceful effect and a varied harmony which we miss in the exact and unbroken tune of our later rhyme; a beauty of which the reader will probably be sensible, in perusing such lines of Chalkhill's as these:

This relief, however, is used rather too liberally by the elder rhymists, and is perhaps as often the result of their carelessness as of their Donne was the "best good-natured man, good taste. Nor is it at all times obtained by with the worst-natured Muse." A romantic them without the sacrifice of one of the most and uxorious lover, he addresses the object of important uses of rhyme; namely, the dishis real tenderness with ideas that outrage tinctness of its effect in marking the measure. decorum. He begins his own epithalamium The chief source of the gratification which the with a most indelicate invocation to his bride. ear finds in rhyme is our perceiving the emHis ruggedness and whim are almost prover-phasis of sound coincide with that of sense. bially known ‡. Yet there is a beauty of In other words, the rhyme is best placed on

* Is not the Soul's Errand the same poem with the Soul's Knell, which is always ascribed to Richard

the most emphatic word in the sentence. But it is nothing unusual with the ancient couplet

Edwards? If so, why has it been inserted in Raleigh's writers, by laying the rhyme on unimportant poems by Sir Egerton Brydges? They are distinct poems.]

words, to disappoint the ear of this pleasure, and to exhibit the restraint of rhyme without its emphasis.

[Nothing could have made Donne a poet, unless as great a change had been worked in the internal structure of his cars, as was wrought in elongating those of Midas. SOUTHEY, Specimens, p. xxiv.]

"And ever and anon he might well hear
A sound of music steal in at his ear,

As the wind gave it being. So sweet an air
Would strike a siren mute.”

§ Chalkhill was a gentleman and a scholar, the friend of Spenser. He died before he could finish the fable of his "Thealma and Clearchus," which was published, long after his death, by Isaak Walton. [And has been since reprinted; one of Mr. Singer's numerous contributions to our literature.]