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information of posterity in the calmer scenes of closing life. Lord Herbert. "The deduction he will give himself.”

This was

3 Before we conclude, we must say a few words respecting the different editions of The Life.-The MS, itself was supposed; for many years, to have been lost, but was discovered, about the year 1737, in a mansion which had belonged to the Herbert family. It was not, however, printed until 1764, when Horace Walpole struck off some copies at the private press of Strawberry Hill. In 1770, Dodsley published a second edition, in 4to., to which Horace Walpole added a dedication and advertisement. In 1809, a third edition in 8vo., “with a Prefatory Memoir," was given to the public by Messrs. John Ballantyne & Co., of Edinburgh. În the Prefatory Memoir, all the scattered information respecting Lord Herbert is industriously collected and judiciously put together. Unless we are much deceived, we recognize, in this edition, the hand which has illustrated, in various ways, the age of England's Solomon.

Art. VIII.-The Revenger's Tragedy. By Cyril Tourneur.

4tu. Lond. 1607. | The Atheist's Tragedy ; or, The Honest Man's Revenge. By

Cyril Tourneur. 4to. Lond. 1612.

These two plays are the only fruit now remaining of Cyril Tourneur's dramatic labours, and although they are not sufficient to shew any great versatility of genius, they afford materials enough to judge of his capacity for the business of tragedy. He lived in the reign of James the First, but who or what he was is not known; but, from an allusion which occurs in one of his plays to the eight returns of Michaelmas term, we conjecture him to have had some connection with the profession of the law, that being a piece of knowledge which he would hardly have otherwise possessed. He was the author of another play, called The Nobleman, which was one of the victims of the anti-dramatic taste of Warburton's servant. A dramatist of those days did not content himself with writing three plays, if he had any tolerable success on the stage; and we accordingly find, from a couplet quoted by Winstanley, what opinion his contemporaries had of him:

“ His fame unto that pitch was only rais’d,

As not to be despis’d, nor over prais’d,”

2 A

The two dramas of Tourneur, which are now extant, are of the same species, but of very different degrees of merit. Our first impression on reading them was, that The Atheist's Tragedy was a very bad, and The Revenger's Tragedy a very excellent one. On recurring to them, however, we were disposed to think we had formed too hard a judgement of the first, and too high a one of the second, and we conceive that we are now in a fitter temper to form a calm and impartial estimate of their respective merits. We will previously, however, offer the few remarks we have to make on the general character of our author's mind; which, as collected from the two productions we have before us, appears to have been of a bold and vigorous cast, but he looked rather upon than through the deeds of men-he observed actions but did not penetrate motives. Those actions too which attracted him most, were of a gross and revolting kind. There is nothing in him but what is real, palpable, and obvious—he possessed no inclination for the chivalric in action or in character—no love for the marvellous in imagination. He displays, however, a manifest preference for fearful, forbidden things-an itching to touch that, of which the bare thought would make others shudder with horror-to form monstrous conjunctions and perform prodigious feats—to play with atheism and dally with incest. Although woman and woman's love, or that which usurps its name, form considerable features of his plays, he delineates the terrible and appalling rather than the amiable and tender in passion-he seems to dwell with delight on the grossest and coarsest sensualities, the feverish, burning indulgence of sense, without the purifying influence of sentiment—without any relief from imagination-without even the voluptuousness and rapture of enjoyment. Indeed we find in these plays, scenes and dialogues of the most open licentiousness—the most disgusting details, from the exposure of which, nature herself teaches us to shrink with shame. They are in parts, sepulchres full of dead men's bones within-but not white without-it is plain unvarnished sensuality, without gloss or embellishment. Of the highest quality of the dramatist he has only a small allotment—there is but one scene which possesses any considerable degree of pathos, and that is in the Revenger's Tragedy-between the two brothers, and the mother of Castiza, on her temporary estrangement from, and her return to, honorable and virtuous feeling. There are other places, chiefly in the Atheist's Tragedy, in which it peeps out like a flower in winter, just enough to convince us, that it inhales an ungenial air. He felt a difficulty, or want of power, of exciting emotions of a deeply pathetic kind, and thence a disinclination to exercise what he had, to the greatest degree of which it was capable.

- quæ Desperat tractata nitescere posse, relinquit.”

He possessed a vein of poetry rather exuberant, and somewhat metaphysical, and, to our minds, his dramas would have been more attractive, if they had been a little more garnished with its ornaments. He sometimes steps out of the circle of truth and nature-as for instance, when he makes Castiza's mother, who has just before expressed all the alarm of insulted virtue, yield her consent to her daughter's dishonour in these words :

“ Men know, that know us,
We are so weak their words can overthrow us.”

He may be right in point of fact, as a philosophic observer, but is he not wrong as a dramatist, who ought not merely to observe but to be the person he represents ? for although an observer might see the sophistry and folly of such arguments and persuasions as are urged to the mother, yet the person who yields to temptation would have no distinct perception of their weak ness and fallacy ; but on the contrary, the lines which separate right and wrong would have become for the moment, in her mind, uncertain and confused, and she would, in the temporary intoxication, have lost sight of the depravity, in the seductiveness of the vice. In the character of Vindici also, in the same play, there appears to be a want of consistency. In the early part of the drama he is represented as an honorable gentleman, who, froin disappointment in his darling passion, is urged on to revenge the murder of his betrothed lady-and, in the closing scene, he attempts to fasten suspicion on another, for a murder committed by himself, and he does so without any apparent inducement for so dishonourable an act, for there is not the slightest suspicion of his being the perpetrator of the deed. When Antonio too, the new elected duke, is expressing his wonder how the strange murder of the old duke was effected, Vindici explains the mysterious circumstance, adding, that it was all done for his (Antonio's) good. The duke orders him to immediate execution, and still he remonstrates “it was for his grace's good.” Now this is not at all consistent with the nice, honorable feelings which characterise Vindici in the early part of the play. It may be supposed, in explanation of this objection, that his feelings might, by the continual wear and tear of them, have driven him mad. But though he breaks out into jests and merry taunts, that have no mirth in them, it is obvious they emanate from the bitterness of his feelings, and not from the wandering of his mind—they are, in truth, like the forked lightning, at once playful and awful.

. The plot of the Revenger's Tragedy consists of the contrivances of Vindici to revenge the death of Gloriana, his affianced bride, poisoned by the Duke of —-, some place in the heaven of invention, for the author has not thought it necessary to inform us of its name, because she would not consent to a dishonorable passion. Another cause of vengeance arises, in the course of the play, from the attempt of Lussurioso to dishonour Castiza, the sister of Vindici, who, disguised and unknown, is employed by Lussurioso to effect his purpose. This he undertakes before he knows the nature of his employment, and having undertaken on oath, he determines to make trial of the virtue of his sister and mother. These last mentioned scenes are the only ones in the play worth notice. Of that between the mother and her two sons, in which they upbraid her for, and she repents of her conduct, an eminent contemporary critic has spoken in a strain of high eulogium, much higher, indeed, than we should be inclined to bestow, although it is a really good scene, and the very best which Tourneur has written. Some of the language, however, addressed by Vindici to Castiza must have been quite unintelligible to her.

The scenes alluded to are as follow.
Enter to Castiza, Vindici, her brother, disguised.

Vin. Lady, the best of wishes to your sex.
Fair skins and new gowns.

Cast. Oh they shall thank you, sir.
Whence this?

Vin. Oh, from a dear and worthy friend.
Cast. From whom?
Vin. The duke's son!

Cast. Receive that. [gives a box othe ear to her brother.
I swore I'd put anger in my hand,
And pass the virgin limits of myself,
To him that next appear’d in that base office,
To be his sin's attorney. Bear to him
That figure of my hate upon thy cheek
Whilst 'tis yet hot, and I'll reward thee for't;
Tell him, my honour shall have a rich name,
When several harlots shall share his with shame.
Farewell; commend me to him in my hate.

Vin. It is the sweetest box,
That e'er my nose came nigh;.
The finest draw-work cuff that e'er was worn;
I'll love this blow for ever, and this cheek
Shall still hence-forward take the wall of this.
Oh, I'm above my tongue: most constant sister,

In this thou hast right honourable shown;
Many are call’d by their honour, that have none;
Thou art approv'd for ever in my thoughts.
It is not in the power of words to taint thee. ,
And yet for the salvation of my oath,
As my resolve in that point, I will lay
Hard siege unto my mother, tho' I know,
A Siren's tongue could not bewitch her so.
Mass, fitly here she comes! thanks, my disguise
Madam, good afternoon.
Moth. Y'are welcome, sir.

Vin. The next of Italy commends him to you,
Our mighty expectation, the duke's son.

Moth. I think myself much honour'd, that he pleases
To rank me in his thoughts.

Vin. So may you, lady:
One that is like to be our sudden duke; .
The crown gapes for him every tide, and then
Commander o'er us all, do but think on him,
How blest were they now that could pleasure him,
E’en with any thing almost !
Moth. Ay, save their honour.

Vin. Tut, one would let a little of that go too,
And ne'er be seen in't: ne'er be seen in't, mark you,
I'd wink and let it go

Moth. Marry but I would not. Vin. Marry but I would, I hope ; I know you would too, If you'd that blood now which you gave your daughter. To her indeed 'tis, this wheel comes about; That man that must be all this, perhaps e'er morning, (For his white father does but mould away) Has long desir'd your daughter.

Moth. Desir'd ?

Vin. Nay, but hear me, He desires now, that will command hereafter: Therefore be wise, I speak as more a friend To you than him; madam, I know you're poor, And (lack the day!) there are too many poor ladies already; Why should you wax the number? 'tis despis’d. Live wealthy, rightly understand the world, And chide away that foolish country girl Keeps company with your daughter, chastity. Moth. O fie, fie! the riches of the world cannot hire a

mother to such a most unnatural task. Vin. No, but a thousand angels can ;

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