in the next edition, the Reviewers will not be found in the lift of benefactors to this poetical bantling, who feems, by the abfence of its natural parent, to demand peculiar indulgence. The only circumftance that renders this unneceffary, is the prudent choice of a guardian. There are many cafes in which we fhould prefer a Lord Chancellor, in the management of our affairs, to any unexperienced and injudicious relations. There is hardly any theatrical cafe in which we should not rather chufe to have our reputation in the bands of Mr. Garrick, than even in our own. It is our full purpose therefore, when we can, either feparately or altogether, produce a play, to tranfport ourselves, to Ireland at leaft, and to leave it to the generofity and management of Mr. Garrick,

In fober truth, and without a joke, we do not remember any play fo ftriking and interefting in the representation, and yet fo cold, fo unaffecting in the perufal, as the present tragedy. Few of our Readers, we fuppofe, can be unacquainted with the ftory of it, as it has been given at large in the news-papers. The fcene is in Egypt; and the principal perfons who interest us by their distress, are an aged dethroned King; an amiable and excellent daughter; and a noble-fpirited heroic youth, nephew to the old King, and the lawful heir to the throne. Colonel Dow has well conducted the bufinefs of the play, and varied the fituations of his characters with great art: but when they are got into the most affecting of thofe fituations, he leaves us to Mr. Garrick; who indeed makes the most of our imaginations, and manages matters fo, that we attribute to the play what is rather que to the scenes. We cannot but think that if the actors were made to speak the real language of the passions which they talk about, the feveral tranfactions in the Catacombs would be among the most affecting that were ever exhibited on any stage.

The Reader will judge of the Author's talents by the fol lowing quotation:

A CT V.

Enter SETH ON A, diftra&tedly.

SETHONA. Ofiris thunders! yet the tyrant lives,'
Whilft Seraphis and Menes are no more!
O that my fpirit, like that tranfient beam,
Would take its courfe upon the veering winds.

AMASIS, Why com'ft thou thus, Sethöna? Hence, retire!

SETH. (not obferving him.) It is the melancholy bird of night,
Perch'd on that mould'ring battlement, that fcreams
Her boding notes of woe. Ye hideous forms,
That dimly rife upon the night, and float

See alfo the account of the juftly-admired Zingis, a tragedy,
Came Author, Review, vol. xl. p. 50.

by

(going.)

In the wild tempeft of the troubled air!
Roll not your mournful voices on the florin.
Away! Your awful geftures are in vain,
All-all my fears are vanquith'd by my woes,
AMA. She must not tarry here!

SETH.

AMA.

SETH.

AMA.

SETH.

SEY H.

AMA.

SETH,

What groan was that?"
In that dark cell I heard the found of chains.
This is my way! that taper shall direct
'My steps. Ye awful fpirits of my face,
I come to join you in your dark repofe!

Sethona, ftop. Let me convey thee hence.
Why dot thou gaze upon the vaulted roof,
As if fome god defcended; or the heav'ns
Were open'd to thy view?

The cloud is broke!
Behold him mounted on the cherub's wing!
His white beard freams in air! The red drops fall
Upon me! He was old! Hard was the heart,
And ruthless was the hand!

She heeds me not!
Excefs of grief has almost quench'd the light
Of reafon in her mind.

Was ever love

Like mine? Pale as the watry cloud his face!
Cold, cold his breaft, and filent is his tongue!
His ruby lips! Sethona, like the bee,

dSuck'd honey from the rofe! I knew not then
He was my brother!

It runs on Menes.

1

How her frenzy burns.

When his bright eyes roll'd,
I look'd not at the fun; and when he spoke

My fingers dropt the lyre. This wound was death.
"It bleeds! it bleeds! This breaft was void of guilt.
Why do I weep? To-night I am the bride,

The bride of Amafis. Thefe wedding robes
Will prove my winding theet.

Remorse begins
To fasten on my heart. I feel, I feel,
That guilt, like the envenom'd fcorpion, bears
Its own's death's fting. Her frenzy feems to add
New luftre to her beauty; and thofe eyes
Were not fo piercing, when the milder beams
Of wisdom temper'd their refiftless pow'r :
And yet the form alone remains. The light
Is gone, and, like the dim orb of the moon,
She labours in eclipfe.

Give me thy hand.

Hark! Who art thou?'

What would't thou with my hand?
Away, away! wash out thefe purple ftains!
It is too late.

SETH.

SETH.

Too late! who murder'd them?

AMA. Ha! how the probes my heart, where most inflam'd ?
Why do I tarry here? Let me behold
Their bleeding wounds
AMA. (topping her.)

S&TH.

It must not, fhall not be!
Tyrant away! My forrows cure themselves,
And vanquish'd nature finds repofe in death.
The fountain of my tears, is dry, my eyes
Burn with the raging fever of my brain.
'Tis he! 'tis Menes! Oh, I follow thee!
Roll'd in that shadowy mantle, thou fhalt bear
Sethona from her woes.

[going.

(rufbes out. We think this scene is one of the most interesting in the play, and we have given it for that reafon: the Reader who underftands the language of Nature need not recollect Ophelia in order to judge of its merit.

ART. X. The Man of Bufinefs; a Comedy. As it is acted at the Theatre-Royal in Covent-Garden. By George Colman. 8vo. 1 s. 6d. Becket. 1774.

HE ftory, and many of the principal circumftances of this

play, have an evident reference to fome late and wellknown events in the mercantile world; and they depend mostly on the following parts. First, that of Fable, an old banker; fecondly, Beverley, his partner, a man negligent of his affairs, given up to his pleasures, in fine, a modern man of business; thirdly, Denier, a young mifer; fourthly, Golding, another partner, but refident abroad in the Indies; and, fifthly, Lydia, the daughter of Golding. Beverley embarraffes his affairs in the ways common to a man of pleasure. In conducting the feveral circumftances of his folly, the Author copies the manners of the times, and yet avoids every thing trite and uninteresting. As Mr. Colman can afford to be criticifed, we are the lefs fcrupulous in remarking whatever we imagine is in any degree unworthy of his talents. The following fcene between Beverley and Lydia, we think, is not drawn after Nature. Beverley's manner of declaring himself is neither delicate nor in character, as Mr. Colman would have us conceive of him. Lydia is generous and good, but he does not fpeak the language of a woman in such a fituation.

Manent BE VERLEY and LYDIA.

(They remain fome time filent)

1

Bev. Excufe me, Madam, if I venture to exprefs how deeply I am fenfible of your appearing to be affected by my misfortunes: and yet I cannot but confefs that I feel your compaffion almost as painfully as a reproach-for I am conscious I have not deserved it.

Lyd. Touched as I am with the reverfe of your fituation, Mr. Beverley, I will not diffemble to you that I am pleased with the change in your behaviour.

Bev. Still, ftill, this very approbation ferves to reproach me with the impropriety of my late conduct towards you. I feel it. I request your forgiveness of it; and should be happy to pafs the rest of my life in endeavouring to atone it.

Lyd. Make no apologies to me, Mr. Beverley; I have no right to expect them, nor has your conduct rendered them neceffary: most young gentlemen who pique themselves on their knowledge of the world, act much in the fame manner as you behave to me.

Bev. It is too true; but it is not the swarm of coxcombs that renders them lefs impertinent or troublesome. I ought not to have adopted their contemptuous airs, without being maler alfo of their tame infenfibility; yet I had youth to plead in excufe for my vanities; and I flatter myself, that time and reflection—and another motive that distracts me when I think of it-might have rendered me an object less unworthy your compaffion. Calamity has torn the veil from my eyes, and I now fee but too plainly, not only your excellence, but my own imperfections.

Lyd. Calamity is a fevere mafter, yet amendment can scarce be purchased too dearly: and as your errors have been venial, your distress may be but tranfient; nay, may, perhaps, at last be the means of your happiness.

Bev. Impoffible! Impoffible! However I may be restored to affluence, I can never, never taste of happiness. I have thrown away -perhaps wantonly too-I have thrown away the jewel that fhould have been the pride and blefling of my life.-Oh, Lydia! the feelings of worldly diftrefs are nothing to the agonies of a despairing af fection. My fituation extorts from me what I have hitherto endea: voured to conceal even from myfelf. I love you-I feel I long have loved you though wretch and fool enough to be almoft ashamed of a paffion in which I ought to have gloried. I am now punithed for it-heaven knows, feverely punished-perhaps too feverely-by lofing the very hopes of ever obtaining you.

Lyd. Do not run from one dangerous extreme to another, Mr. Beverley; but guard against defpondency, as well as vanity and prefumption. I fee you are much agitated, much dejected; and whas it would, perhaps, have been dangerous and unpardonable to have owned to you but yesterday, to-day I fhall not fcruple to declare. Hurried away, as you were, by a torrent of fashionable vanities, and the poor ambition of keeping high company, I thought I could dif cern in your mind and difpofition no mean understanding, nor ungenerous principles-too good for the affociates you had felected, and too fufceptible not to be in danger from fuch fociety. It is no won der, therefore, if I felt any growing partiality for you, that I endeavoured to restrain it.

Bev. To reftrain it! Say rather to extinguish it. Oh, I now perceive all my wretchedness.-But to be fupplanted by my bofomfriend! by Denier!

Lyd. I am at a lofs to comprehend you.

Bev. He confeffed to me his paffion for you but this very morn ing-not an hour ago he declared to me his intention of making you ferious proposals.

Lyd. Such propofals would be fure of being rejected-rejected with the utmost indignation.

Bev. What do I hear? May I ftill hope then? And are you refolved not to liften to his addresses ?

Lyd. I am too well acquainted with his character. His manners, indeed, are lively, and his worldly turn enables him to work himself into the friendship of others; efpecially, thofe like yourself, Mr. Beverley-of an undefigning open-hearted character; in order to avail himself of their foibles, promote his intereft, and gratify his penury. Rely not too fecurely on the warmth of his profeffions! fteady to no point but his intereft, you will find him fhifting in his conduct according to the revolutions in your fortune. He feemed at first defirous to unite me to you; but now, hearing, I suppose, of the alteration in your circumftances, and the late remittances in my favour, it is perfectly agreeable to his fentiments, to endeavour to fupplant you. As yet, however, he has made me no overtures.

Bev. So far then at least he is not unfaithful. But Oh, my Lydia! may I interpret your repugnance to his addresses as an argument in my favour

Lyd. I have already frankly declared my opinion of your character. It now remains with you to prove the truth of that opinion, and to determine my refolution accordingly. Do but bear up against adverfity, fo as to fhew yourfelf equal to the poffible return of profperity-a trial, perhaps, ten times more dangerous-and be affured, Mr. Beverley, that with the approbation of my friends, 1 fhall be happy to give every proof of my esteem for fo valuable a character.

Bev. My dearest Lydia! (kissing her hand) Modest, amiable, Lydia! When you avow efteem, let me prefume to conftrue it affec.tion! Oh Lydia, you have made me fond of my misfortunes. Eafe and affluence corrupted me, and had fo weakened and enervated my mind, that the rough stroke of adverfity would have stunned me beyond the power of recovery, had not your gentle hand raised me to the hope of happiness. Take your pupil, Lydia; and render himfor you only can effect it-oh render him worthy of fo dear, fo exquifite a monitrefs!

We have given this dialogue at large, that the Reader may judge whether we have been miftaken or not in our judgment of it. Our ufual cuftom is to exhibit the most advantageous parts of the works of those Writers who, we think, at once deTerve and need encouragement. We treat Mr. Colman in a different manner, because we think our duty to the Public should make us watchful over those who are in poffeffion of its favour. Mr. Colmán may not want the affiftance of a Reviewer's praise, but he may receive benefit from the animadverfions of his friends.

If the Reader should think we had no reason to blame the above fcene, we can affure him he will have no reason to be diffatisfied with any other part of the play.

ART.