Duch. Let me be a little merry. Of what stuff wilt thou make it? With cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls? Bos. Nay, resolve me first; of what fashion? Duch. Why, do we grow fantastical in our death-They go on such strange geometrical hinges, bed? Do we affect fashion in the grave? Bos. Most ambitiously. Princes' images on their tombs do not lie as they were wont, seeming to pray up to heaven: but with their hands under their cheeks (as if they died of the toothache): they are not carved with their eyes fixed upon the stars; but, as their minds were wholly bent upon the world, the self-same way they seem to turn their faces. Duch. Let me know fully, therefore, the effect Of this thy dismal preparation, This talk, fit for a charnel. Bos. Now I shall. [A coffin, cords, and a bell produced. Duch. Let me see it. I have so much obedience in my blood, Duch. Peace, it affrights not me. That usually is sent to condemn'd persons Duch. Even now thou saidst Thou wast a tomb-maker. Bos. "Twas to bring you By degrees to mortification: Listen. Dirge. Hark, now every thing is still; This screech-owl, and the whistler shrill, And bid her quickly don her shroud. Your length in clay 's now competent. Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping? Don clean linen, bathe your feet: And (the foul fiend more to check) A crucifix let bless your neck. "Tis now full tide 'tween night and day: End your groan, and come away. Car. Hence, villains, tyrants, murderers: alas! What will you do with my lady! Call for help. Duch. To whom ; to our next neighbours? They are mad folks. Farewell, Cariola. I pray thee look thou giv'st my little boy What death? You may open them both ways: any way (for heav'n So I were out of your whispering: tell my brothers Pull, and pull strongly, for your able strength Yet stay, heaven gates are not so highly arch'd [They strangle her, kneeling. A conjecture that an old neglected drama by THоMAS MIDDLETON supplied the witchcraft scenery, and part of the lyrical incantations, of Macbeth,' has kept alive the name of this poet. So late as 1778, Middleton's play, the Wiah, was first published by Reed from the author's manuscript. It is possible that the 'Witch' may have preceded 'Macbeth;' but as the latter was written in the fulness of Shakspeare's fame and genius, we think it is more probable that the inferior author was the borrower. He may have seen the play performed, and thus caught the spirit and words of the scenes in question; or, for aught we know, the 'Witch' may not have been written till after 1623, when Shakspeare's first folio appeared. We know that after this date Middleton was writing for the stage, as, in 1624, his play, A Game at Chess, was brought out, and gave great offence at court, by bringing on the stage the king of Spain, and his ambassador, Gondomar. The latter dleton (who at first shifted out of the way') and complained to King James of the insult, and Midthe poor players were brought before the privycouncil. They were only reprimanded for their audacity in bringing modern Christian kings upon the stage.' If the dramatic sovereign had been James himself, nothing less than the loss of ears and noses would have appeased offended royalty! Middleton wrote about twenty plays: in 1603, we find him assisting Dekker at a court-pageant, and he was afterwards concerned in different pieces with Rowley, Webster, and other authors. He would seem to have been well-known as a dramatic writer. On Shrove Tuesday, 1617, the London apprentices, in an idle riot, demolished the Cockpit Theatre, and an old ballad describing the circumstance, states 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. 1st Witch. The juice of toad, the oil of adder. The flight of the witches by moonlight is described with a wild gusto and delight; if the scene was written before Macbeth,' Middleton deserves the credit of truc poetical imagination: Enter HECATE, STADLIN, HOPPO, and other Witches. Hec. The moon's a gallant; see how brisk she rides! Stad. Here's a rich evening, Hecate. Hec. Ay, is't not, wenches, To take a journey of five thousand miles ? Hec. Oh, it will be precious. Heard you the owl yet? As we came through now. *The salary given to the city poet is incidentally mentioned by Jonson in an indignant letter to the Earl of Newcastle in 1631. Yesterday the barbarous Court of Aldermen have with. drawn their chandlery pension for verjuice and mustardL.33, 68. 8d.' Hec. "Tis high time for us then. Stad. There was a bat hung at my lips three times As we came thro' the woods, and drank her fill: Old Puckle saw her. Hec. You are fortunate still. The very screech-owl lights upon your shoulder, Hec. Prepare to flight then: Enter FIRESTONE. [They ascend. 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. Hedge Hissop too! How near he goes my cuttings ! Hec. And selago. 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. Heo. They are, indeed; help me! help me! I'm too late else. Song. [In the air above.] Come away, come away, Hec. I come, I come, I come, Where's Puckle ? [Above.] Here. come; And Hoppo too, and Hellwain too : Hec. I will but 'noint and then I mount. [A Spirit descends in the shape of a cat. And why thou stay'st so long, I muse, I muse, Hec. Oh, art thou come; What news, what news! Spirit. All goes still to our delight, Refuse, refuse. Hec. Now, am furnish'd for the flight. in her own language. Hec. [Ascending with the Spirit.] Now I go, now I fly. When the moon shines fair, And sing, and dance, and toy and kiss! We fly by night, 'mongst troops of spirits. Or cannon's roar our height can reach. [Above.] No ring of bells, &c. 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 anecdote:-Nov. 21, 1602.-Jo. Marston, Themselves, their servants, and their babes at nurse : the last Christmas, when he danced with Alderman Make me to credit it. 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 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. [Exit. Saw. Strike, do: and wither'd may that hand and arm, Whose blows have lam'd me, drop from the rotten trunk. Abuse me! beat me ! call me hag and witch! And hated like a sickness; made a scorn Rats, ferrets, weasels, and I wot not what, 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 judg ment: Ing. Christopher Marlow. Jud. Marlow was happy in his buskin❜d muse; Jud. The wittiest fellow of a bricklayer in England. Ing. A mere empiric, one that gets what he hath by observation, and makes only nature privy to what he indites; so slow an inventor, that he were better betake himself to his old trade of bricklaying; a blood whoreson, as confident now in making of a book, as he was in times past in laying of a brick.William Shakspeare. Jud. Who loves Adonis' love or Lucrece' rape; The author afterwards introduces Kempe and Burbage, the actors, and makes the former state, in reference to the university dramatists- Why, here's our fellow Shakspeare puts them all down; ay, and Ben Jonson too.' Posterity has confirmed this 'Return from Parnassus.' GEORGE COOKE-THOMAS NABBES-NATHANIEL FIELD -JOHN DAY-HENRY GLAPTHORNE THOMAS RAN DOLPH-RICHARD BROME. A lively comedy, called Green's Tu Quoque, was written by GEORGE COOKE, a contemporary of Shakspeare. THOMAS NABBES (died about 1645) was the author of Microcosmus, a masque, and of several other plays. In 'Microcosmus' is the following fine song of love : 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 Ben Jonson's 'Poetaster') began to write for the stage Weathercock, Amends for Ladies, &c. He had the about 1609 or 1610, and produced Woman is a honour of being associated with Massinger in the composition of the Fatal Dowry. JOHN DAY, in conjunction with Chettle, wrote the Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green, a popular comedy, and was also author of two or three other plays, and some miscel laneous poems. HENRY GLAPTHORNE is mentioned as one of the chiefest dramatic poets of the reign of Charles I.' Five of his plays are printed-Albertus Wallenstein, the Hollander, Argalus and Parthenia, Wit in a Constable, the Lady's Privilege, &c. There is a certain smoothness and prettiness of expression about Glapthorne (particularly in his Albertus'), but he is deficient in passion and energy. THOMAS RANDOLPH (1607-1634) wrote the Muses' LookingGlass, the Jealous Lovers, &c. In an anonymous play, Sweetman the Woman-hater, is the following happy simile: Justice, like lightning, ever should appear To few men's ruin, but to all men's fear. RICHARD BROME, one of the best of the secondary dramatists, produced several plays, the Antipodes, the City Wit, the Court Beggar, &c. Little is known of the personal history of these authors: a few scattered dates usually make up the whole amount of their biography. The public demand for theatrical novelties called forth a succession of writers in this popular and profitable walk of literature, who seem to have discharged their ephemeral tasks, and sunk with their works into oblivion. The glory of Shakspeare has revived some of the number, like halos round his name; and the rich stamp of the age, in style and thought, is visible on the pages of most of them. 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. I 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 Over. You shall have reason To think me such. How do you like this seat? |