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For eighteen years of winter, I ne'er faw
The grass embroider'd o'er with icy spangles,
Nor trees majestic in their snowy robes ;
Nor yet in summer, how the fields were clad,
And how soft Nature gently shifts the scene,
Her heavy vestment to delightful green.

2. Eliz. o Duke, enough, thy language ftabs my soul.

Nor. No feather'd chorister of chearful note,
Salutes my dusky gate to bring the morn,
But birds of frighiful omen. Scriech owls, bats,
And ravens, such as haunt old ruin'd castles,
Make no distinction here 'twixt sun and moon,
But join their clattering wings with their loud creaks,
That sing hoarse midnight dirges all the hours.

2. Eliz. O horror! Cecil, top thy ears and mine.
Now cruel Morton, is the guilty now?
She cannot be ambitious of my crown ;
For though it be a glorious thing to light,
Yet like a glittering, gaudy snake it fits,
Wreathing about a Prince's tortur'd brow :
And oh ! it has a thousand stings as fatal.
Thou hast no more to say ?

Nor. I found this mourning Excellence alone.
She was asleep, not on a purple bed,
A gorgeous palat, but upon the floor,
Which a mean carpet clad, whereon she fat,
And on a homely couch did lean her head :
Two winking tapers at a distance food;
For other light ne'er bless'd that dismal place,
Which made the room look like some facred urn,
And the, che sad effigies of herself.

Q. Eliz. No more ; alas ! I cannot hear thee out
Pray, rise my Lord.

Nor. Ol never till you have pity.
Her face and breast I might discover bare ;
And looking nearer, I beheld how tears
Slid from the fountains of her scarce clos'd eyes,
And every breath The fetch'd curned to a figh.

2. Elic. O! I am drown'd! I am melted all to pity.

Nor. Quickly the wak'd, for grief ne'er rested long,
And Itarting at my light, she blush'd and said;
You find me full of woe, but know, my Lord,
'Tis not for liberty, nor crowns I weep,
But that your Queen thinks me her enemy.

Q. Eliz. My breaft, like a full prophet, is o'er charg'd,
A sea of pity rages to get out,
And must have way-Rise Norfolk, run, haste all,
Fly, with the wings of darting meteors, Aly
Swift as the merciful decrees above
Are glided down the battlements of bliss.
Quick, take your Queen's own chariot; take my love,
Dear as a Gfter's, nay as a lover's heart,

And

And bring this mourning Goddess to me straight ;
Fetch me this warbling oightingale, who long
In vain has sung, and futter'd in her cage ;
And lay the pancing charmer in my breast;
This heart Mall be her jaylor, and these arms her prison,

And thou, kind Norfolk, fee my will obey'd.”
The correspondent passages in Mary, Queen of Scots, compose
part of two Scenes in the second Act.

Enter Norfolk.
Nor. I fear I'm come full late; tho' not the last
In love and duty to my gracious Queen.

Eliz. My Lord, we know your fame for loyalty ;
For honour, justice, generosity;
We think ourselves have not been wanting yet,
In owning and rewarding your deserts;
Nor can we doubt your faith and gratitude.

Nor. Forbid it Heaven that there should be just cause!
Eliz. Norfolk, you are our first commissioner. -

Nor. As fach, I trust I've not disgrac'd my charge,
Or England's justice.-

. are
Think not we wish for blind subferviency
In th’exercise of such a trust; but say
Frankly, what colour wears this wondrous cause ?

Nor. On Mary's fide fair as her beauteous front.

Eliz. How! to my face? [afide.
My Lord, you never speak
Bút from the heart; such frankness pleases me,
And much becomes your family and name;
Which, in good truth, I wish were well secur'd
In the righe line; your noble wife, my Lord,
Hath lately left us to lament her loss;
You should repair it: who wou'd not be proud
To boast of Norfolk's heart? Why not aspire
To as a royal hand?-The Queen of Scots
Is not, I guess, displeafing in your fight.

Nor. Aspire to gain the Queen of Scots ? Tall I,
So highly countenanced by your good grace,
Court one in bondage, fallen, and accus'd?

Eliz. Is, then, a diadem so small a prize?

Nor. Pardon me, Madam, if I have no wish
To wed a prisoner. Gods, when I reflect
On all the comforts I enjoy at home,
How can I wish to seek a land of strife;
And purchase, at the price of wealth and ease,
A harren sceptre and a fruitless crown!

Eliz. Then England boasts a peer who scorns the match

Nor. Such are the gifts of bounteous Providence,
Such my condition in my native land,
That when surrounded by the numerous throng
Of my retainers, at my plenteous board,

Or

1

Or in the crouded field at country sports,
I your liege subject, sometimes rate myself
As high as many princes.-

Enter Davison.
Dav. Madam, I come
From the Earl of Leicester, who by illness seiz'd,
Despairs of life, yet frequently repeats
Your royal name, and seems as if he wilh'd
T'impart some weighty matter.-

Eliz. Say I'll come. (Exit Dav. [ Afde.) So Leicester has some secret to divulge Upon his death-bed, tho' I trust to Heav'n He doth not yet upon his death-bed lie! [ Addressed to Norfolk.) And on what pillow Norfolk lays his head, Let him beware!- [Exit Eliz.'

*

Enter Norfolk, throwing himself at Elizabeth's Feet.
Nor. My Mistress! Oh, my Queen !
Here let me, prostrate on this ground, assert
My faith and loyalty !

Eliz. You may arise ;
'Tis done already; honest Cecil prov'd
Your plots were not design'd against ourselves.

Nor. Tho' justice is of right, yet he who feels
Not thankful for’t, betrays a narrow mind,
Forgets the general pravity of man,
Nor prizes virtues for their rarity.

Eliz. Norfolk, attend ! this caution now remains;
What falls from high should deep impreffion make;
Beware how you take part in Mary's cause!
Remember this forgiveness, and engage,
That henceforth you'll give over these attempts.

Nor. This act of justice clainis my folemn vow.
Eliz. Cecil, attend us- [Exit Eliz.

Cecil. Norfolk, this escape
Should serve to warn you froin this idle chace;
Now seek some other fair-take her to wife;
Fly not at game so high ; the faulcon's safe
Who for the lesser quarry scuds the plain,
But if he's struck, tow’ring to chale the hern,
He falls to rise no more-

[Exit Cecil.
Nor. Jolus. So this wise man
Thus condescends to waste his thoughts on me!
Advice is easier given than pursued.-
It is no trifling talk to quit at once
All that makes life engaging, all I love ! --
What have I promised ? Heavens, I dread to think!
Yet it must be! for when did Norfolk e'er
Infringe his word? Nay, to his Queen, his kind
Indulgent Mistress - What! for mercy fue,
And break the fair conditions of the grant?

The very thought's a crime-Nature may change;
All creatures may their elements forsake;
The univerfe diffolve and burst its bonds ;
Time may engender contrarieties,
And bring forth miracles-but none like this,
That I should break my word-I'll to my love,

Lament our fate, and take my last farewell.' Many of the scenes of this tragedy are not only irregular, but superfluous: the style is a cold imitation of Shakespeare, the great model of the historical drama; which he has contrived, particularly in his two parts of Henry the Fourth, to enliven with humour, and to enrich with passion; giving at once the varieties of the theatre, and the truths of history; and bringing old times, old characters, and old chronicles, before delighted hearers and spectators. In contemplation of such excellencies, we abstain from any further examination of the tragedy of Mary Queen of Scots.

Col..n. Art. XII. Four Tracts. J. On the Principle of Religion, as a Test

of Divine Authority. II. On the Principle of Redemption, whether if premial, it is agreeable; or, if judicial, contrary to Divine Rectitude. ÍII. On the Angelical Message to the Virgin Mary. IV. On the Resurrection of the Body, as inferred from that of Christ, and exemplified by scriptural Cases. With a Discourse on Humility. By Robert Holmes, B. D.* Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford, Rector of Stanton, and late Fellow of New College. 8vo. pp. 307. 55. Boards. Rivingtons, &c. 1788. 7 E have, in Nos. I. II. and III. of these tracts, an inge

nious and candid desence of the doctrine of the church of England, respecting the nature and person, sufferings and death of Chrift. The profefled design of the first is, to fix the characteristical principle of religion, and to thew upon what precise view of the Divine Being it was at different times founded.' But the author has, evidently, a further intention, viz. to prove that repentance alone, is not sufficient to obtain the forgiveness of fin, or to give the finner any rational assurance of exemption from its penal effects; and that all other facrifices, the facrifices of Abel, of the patriarchs, and of the Jews, had a reference to, and were facramental representations of the death of Christ, which alone was, in a strict and proper sense, an expiatory fin-offering.' The general train of thought and reasoning in this tract is, that in consequence of the fall, the principle of fear, ie. dread of the divine displeasure and apprehension of punishment, took porfefiion of the human mind, to the total exclusion of the principle of love, or confidence in the divine goodness and mercy; which latter principle, in the fallen state of human nature, owes its

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Rev. June, 1789.

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first existence to the promise contained in Gen. iii. 15. and, consequently, was unknown in the Gentile world, and took place among the worshippers of the true God, only in the degree in which chat promile was believed and understood; that the divine purpose of reversing the penal effects of the fall gradually opened and explained, by subsequent revelations, the institution of sacrifices, especially ihose of the Mosaic ritual, the prophecies respecting the Messiah, &c. till at length the death of Christ, the only proper facrifice for fin, whose first and greatest object it was to obtain the indemnity of the world from penal evils, accomplished that great revolution, which God, from the tiae of the promise to the completion, had been forwarding in many ways, but with one defiyn; and restored the principle of love, to the exelusion of that of fear. In the course of this argument, it is supposed that facrifices were of divine inftitution: it is farther prefumed, without the shadow of reason, that the faith which'reinered Abel's sacrifice more acceptable than that of Cain, was faith in the promise made to our first parenis immediareiy after the fall, that the feed of the woman should bruise the serpent's head: and at length, it is roundly aflerted, p. 103, that there never was but one great object, which the known facrificial * terms of scripture ftri&tly and properly denoted, and to that ohject, accordingly, the apostles apply them in the manner they would have done, if there had been no patriarchal or legal facrifices to represent it.' That in consequence of the fall, the principle of fear took place in the human breaft, to the entire exclusion of love or confidence, Dr. H. infers from the senti. menis and practice of the disciples of nature,' who, on all occafions, expressed a dread of the anger of their deities; and whole sacrifices and luit:ations were manireftly designed to avert their vengeance. Now that fear, or love and confidence, respecting the great moral Governor, thould take place in proportion as a consciousness of innocence, or senfe of guilt, prevails in the mind, appears to us a juit and rational sentiment. But the difiiples of nature knew nothing of the fall of Adam and its supposed consequences : their sense of guilt must have been altogether personal; and very little, we imagine, can be satisfactorily concluded, respecting the measures and maxims of the divine moral government, from their sentiments or practice, who had such obscure and unsettled notions of a supreme Ruler, who ascribed human imperfections and parlions to the objects of their worthip, and who looked on their deities as superior to themselves only in knowlege and power. And if the facrifices and services of the Mosaic ritual had a typical, or, according to our author, sacramental reference to the death of Christ, it appears to us unac

* Dr. H. always writes, facrificial, initead of, Jacrifical.

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