Books old and young on heap they flung, And other wandering crazys. In 1620, Middleton was made chronologer, or city poet, of London, an office afterwards held by Ben Jonson, and which expired with Settle in 1724.* He died in July 1627. The dramas of Middleton have no strongly-marked character; his best is Women Beware of Women, a tale of love and jealousy, from the Italian. The following sketch of married happiness is delicate, and finely expressed :— [Happiness of Married Life.] How near am I now to a happiness That earth exceeds not! not another like it : Able to draw men's envies upon man; The Witch' is also an Italian plot, but the supernatural agents of Middleton are the old witches of legendary story, not the dim mysterious unearthly beings that accost Macbeth on the blasted heath. The Charm Song' is much the same in both : The Witches going about the Cauldron. Black spirits and white; red spirits and grey; Round, around, around, about, about; All ill come running in ; all good keep out! 1st Witch. Here's the blood of a bat. Hecate. Put in that; oh put in that. 2d Witch. Here's libbard's bane. Hecate. Put in again. Hec. 'Tis high time for us then. The very screech-owl lights upon your shoulder, Hec. You are fortunate still. Hec. Prepare to flight then: Enter FIRESTONE. [They ascend. Fire. They are all going a-birding to night. They talk of fowls i' th' air that fly by day; I'm sure they'll be a company of foul sluts there to-night. If we have not mortality affeared, I'll be hang'd, for they are able to putrefy it to infect a whole region. She spies me now. Hec. What! Firestone, our sweet son ? Fire. A little sweeter than some of you; or a dunghill were too good for one. Hec. How much hast there? Fire. Nineteen, and all brave plump ones; besides six lizzards, and three serpentine eggs. Hec. Dear and sweet boy! What herbs hast thou? Fire. I have some mar-martin and mandragon. Hec. Mar-maritin and mandragora thou would'st say. Fire. Here's pannax too. I thank thee; my pan akes, I am sure, with kneeling down to cut 'em. Hec. And selago. Hedge Hissop too! How near he goes my cuttings! Were they all cropt by moonlight? Fire. Every blade of 'em, or I'm a mooncalf, mother. Hec. Hie thee home with 'em. Look well to th' house to-night; I am for aloft. Fire. Aloft, quoth you? I would you would break your neck once, that I might have all quickly. [Aside.]-Hark, hark, mother! they are above the steeple already, flying over your head with a noise of musicians. Hec. They are, indeed; help me! help me! I'm too late else. Hec. [Ascending with the Spirit.] Now I go, now I fly, When the moon shines fair, And sing, and dance, and toy and kiss! JOHN MARSTON. ROBERT TAYLOR-WILLIAM ROWLEY-CYRIL TOURNEUR. Among the other dramatists at this time may be mentioned ROBERT TAYLOR, author of the Hog hath Lost his Pearl; WILLIAM ROWLEY, an actor and joint writer with Middleton and Dekker, who produced several plays; CYRIL TOURNEUR, author of two good dramas, the Atheist's Tragedy and the Revenger's Tragedy. A tragi-comedy, the Witch of Edmonton, is remarkable as having been the work of at least three authors-Rowley, Dekker, and Ford. It embodies, in a striking form, the vulgar superstitions respecting witchcraft, which so long debased the popular mind in England: * [Scene from the Witch of Edmonton.] MOTHER SAWYER alone. Saw. And why on me? why should the envious world JOHN MARSTON, a rough and vigorous satirist and dramatic writer, produced his Malcontent, a comedy, prior to 1600; his Antonio and Mellida, a tragedy, in 1602; the Insatiate Countess, What You Will, and other plays, written between the latter date and 1634, when he died. He was also connected with Throw all their scandalous malice upon me? Jonson and Chapman in the composition of the un'Cause I am poor, deform'd, and ignorant, fortunate comedy, Eastward Hoe. In his subsequent | And like a bow buckled and bent together quarrel with Jonson, Marston was satirised by Ben By some more strong in mischiefs than myself; in his Poetaster,' under the name of Demetrius. Must I for that be made a common sink Marston was author of two volumes of miscellaneous For all the filth and rubbish of men's tongues poetry, translations, and satires, one of which (Pig-To fall and run into? Some call me witch, malion's Image) was ordered to be burned for its And being ignorant of myself, they go 'icentiousness. Mr Collier, who states that Marston About to teach me how to be one urging seems to have attracted a good deal of attention in That my bad tongue (by their bad usage made so) his own day, quotes from a contemporary diary the Forespeaks their cattle, doth bewitch their corn, following necdote:- Nov. 21, 1602.-Jo. Marston, Themselves, their servants, and their babes at nurse : the last Christmas, when he danced with Alderman This they enforce upon me; and in part More's wife's daughter, a Spaniard born, fell into a strange commendation of her wit and beauty. When he had done, she thought to pay him home, and told him she thought he was a poet. "Tis true, said he, for poets feign and lie; and so did I when I commended your beauty, for you are exceeding foul." This coarseness seems to have been characteristic of Marston: his comedies contain strong biting satires, but he is far from being a moral writer. Hazlitt says, his forte was not sympathy either with the stronger or softer emotions, but an impatient scorn and bitter indignation against the vices and follies of men, which vented itself either in comic irony or in lofty invective. The following humorous sketch of a scholar and his dog is worthy of Shakspeare:I was a scholar: seven useful springs Did I deflower in quotations Of cross'd opinions 'bout the soul of man ; Then, an it were mortal. O hold, hold; at that Or no, hot philosophers Stood banding factions, all so strongly propt; Make me to credit it. BANKS, a Farmer, enters. And worse I would, knew I a name more hateful. Saw. Gather a few rotten sticks to warm me. Saw. You won't! churl, cut-throat, miser! there they be. Would they stuck 'cross thy throat, thy bowels, thy maw, thy midriff Banks. Say'st thou me so? Hag, out of my ground. And convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews. Saw. Strike, do: and wither'd may that hand and arm, Whose blows have lam'd me, drop from the rotten Abuse me beat me! call me hag and witch! And hated like a sickness; made a scorn And study curses, imprecations, That barks, and bites, and sucks the very blood [A Drowned Soldier.] [From Tourneur's Atheist's Tragedy."] Walking upon the fatal shore, A man that folds his arms, or wrings his hands, An anonymous play, the Return from Parnassus, was acted by the students of St John's college, Cambridge, about the year 1602: it is remarkable for containing criticisms on contemporary authors, all poets. Each author is summoned up for judgment, and dismissed after a few words of commendation or censure. Some of these poetical criticisms are finely written, as well as curious. Of Spenser A sweeter swan than ever sung in Po; The following extract introduces us to Marlow, Jonson, and Shakspeare; but to the latter only as the author of the Venus' and 'Lucrece.' Ingenioso reads out the names, and Judicio pronounces ment: Ing. Christopher Marlow. Jud. Who loves Adonis' love or Lucrece' rape; GEORGE COOKE-THOMAS NABBES-NATHANIEL FIELD DOLPH-RICHARD BROME. A lively comedy, called Green's Tu Quoque, was Welcome, welcome, happy pair, No winter's ice, no summer's scorching beam; Day always springing from eternal light. Here in endless bliss abide. NATHANIEL FIELD (who was one of the actors in Justice, like lightning, ever should appear Jud. Marlow was happy in his buskin'd muse; Wit lent from heaven, but vices sent from hell. Jud. The wittiest fellow of a bricklayer in England. PHILIP MASSINGER. The reign of James produced no other tragic poet equal to PHILIP MASSINGER, an unfortunate author, whose life was spent in obscurity and poverty, and who, dying almost unknown, was buried with no other inscription than the melancholy note in the parish register, Philip Massinger, a stranger.' This poet was born about the year 1584. His father, as appears from the dedication of one of his plays, was Philip Massinger. in the service of the Earl of Pembroke; and as he was at one time intrusted with letters to Queen Elizabeth, the situation of the elder Massinger must have been a confidential one. Whether Philip ever wandered in the marble halls and pictured galleries of Wilton, that princely seat of old magnificence, where Sir Philip Sidney composed his Arcadia,' is not known: in 1602, he was entered of Alban Hall, Oxford. He is supposed to have quitted the university about 1604, and to have commenced writing for the stage. The first notice of him is in Henslowe's diary, about 1614, where he makes a joint application, with N. Field, and R. Daborne, for a loan of £5, without which, they say, they could not be bailed. Field and Daborne were both actors and dramatic authors. The sequel of Massinger's history is only an enumeration of his plays. He wrote a great number of pieces, of which eighteen have been preserved, and was found dead in his bed at his house, Bankside, Southwark, one morning in March, 1640. The Virgin Martyr, the Bondman, the Fatal Dowry, the City Madam, and the New Way to Pay Old Debts, are his best-known productions. The last-mentioned has kept possession of the stage, chiefly on account of the effective and original character of Sir Giles Overreach. Massinger's comedy resembles Ben Jonson's, in its eccentric strength and wayward exhibitions of human nature. The greediness of avarice, the tyranny of unjust laws, and the miseries of poverty, are drawn with a powerful hand. luxuries and vices of a city life, also, afford Massinger scope for his indignant and forcible invective. Genuine humour or sprightliness he had none. His dialogue is often coarse and indelicate, and his characters in low life too depraved. The tragedies of Massinger have a calm and dignified seriousness, a lofty pride, that impresses the imagination very strongly. His genius was more eloquent and descriptive than impassioned or inventive; yet his pictures of suffering virtue, its struggles and its trials, are calculated to touch the heart, as well as gratify the taste. His versification is smooth and mellifluous. Owing, perhaps, to the sedate and dignified tone of Massinger's plays, they were not revived after the Restoration. Even Dryden did The not think him worthy of mention, or had forgot his works, when he wrote his Essay on Dramatic Poesy. [A Midnight Scene.] [From the Virgin Martyr.'] ANGELO, an Angel, attends DOROTHEA as a page. Dor. My book and taper. Ang. Here, most holy mistress. Dor. Thy voice sends forth such music, that I never Was ravish'd with a more celestial sound. Were every servant in the world like thee, So full of goodness, angels would come down Ang. No, my dear lady. I could weary stars, Therefore, my most lov'd mistress, do not bid Dor. Be nigh me still, then. In golden letters down I'll set that day Dor. I have offer'd Handfuls of gold but to behold thy parents. Know who my mother was; but, by yon palace, [Pride of Sir Giles Overreach in his Daughter.] Over. To my wish we are private. I come not to make offer with my daughter I live too long, since every year I'll add To think me such. How do you like this seat? What's by unjust and cruel means extorted: Over. You run, my lord, no hazard: adour. Nor can my actions, though condemn'd for ill, The scourge of prodigals (want) shall never find I am of a solid temper, and, like these, Steer on a constant course: with mine own sword, Nay, when my ears are pierced with widows' cries, I only think what 'tis to have my daughter Right honourable; and 'tis a powerful charm, Or the least sting of conscience. [Compassion for Misfortune.] [From the City Madam.'] Luke. No word, sir, I hope, shall give offence: nor let it relish I glory in the bravery of your mind, To which your wealth 's a servant. Not that riches As high in the popular voice but the distinction Of others' miseries (I have found it, sir; * * Your affability and mildness, clothed In the garments of your thankful debtors' breath, Can you think, sir, In your unquestion'd wisdom, I beseech you, Or that the ruin of this once brave merchant, For being defeated. Suppose this, it will not When the rebels unto reason, passions, fought it. Sir John. Shall I be Luke. No, sir, but intreated To do yourself a benefit, and preserve Sir John. How, my good brother? Luke. By making these your beadsmen. When they eat, Their thanks, next heaven, will be paid to your |