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it is by no means easy to describe in what its from what they promised to do in the beginpeculiarity consists. It is not, for the most ning. This kind of surprise has been reprepart, a lofty or sonorous style,—nor can it be sented by some as a master-stroke of art in said generally to be finical or affected,-or the author, and a great merit in the performstrained, quaint, or pedantic:-But it is, at ance. We have no doubt at all, however, that the same time, a style full of turn and con- it is to be ascribed merely to the writer's trivance,-with some little degree of constraint carelessness, or change of purpose; and have and involution,-very often characterised by never failed to feel it a great blemish in every a studied briefness and simplicity of diction, serious piece where it occurs. yet relieved by a certain indirect and figura- The author has not much of the oratorical tive cast of expression,-and almost always stateliness and imposing flow of Massinger: coloured with a modest tinge of ingenuity, nor a great deal of the smooth and flexible and fashioned, rather too visibly, upon a par- diction, the wandering fancy, and romantic ticular model of elegance and purity. In sweetness of Beaumont and Fletcher; scenes of powerful passion, this sort of arti- he comes nearer to these qualites than to any ficial prettiness is commonly shaken off; and, of the distinguishing characteristics of Jonson in Shakespeare, it disappears under all his or Shakespeare. He excels most in represent. forms of animation : But it sticks closer to ing the pride and gallantry, and high-toned most of his contemporaries. In Massinger honour of youth, and the enchanting softness, (who has no passion), it is almost always dis- or the mild and graceful magnanimity of fecernable; and, in the author before us, it gives male character. There is a certain melana peculiar tone to almost all the estimable choly air about his most striking representaparts of his productions. It is now time, how- tions; and, in the tender and afflicting pathetic, ever, and more than time, that we should turn he appears to us occasionally to be second to this author.

only to him who has never yet had an equal. His biography will not detain us long; for The greater part of every play, however, is very little is known about him. He was born bad; and there is not one which does not in Devonshire, in 1586; and entered as a contain faults sufficient to justify the derision student in the Middle Temple; where he even of those who are incapable of compre. began to publish poetry, and probably to write hending its contrasted beauties. plays, soon after his twenty-first year. He The diction we think for the most part did not publish any of his dramatic works, beautiful, and worthy of the inspired age however, till 1629; and though he is supposed which produced it. That we may not be susto have written fourteen or fifteen pieces for pected of misleading our readers by partial the theatres, only nine appear to have been and selected quotations, we shall lay before printed, or to have found their way down to them the very first sentence of the play which the present times. He is known 10 have stands first in this collection. The subject is written in conjunction with Rowley and Dek- somewhat revolting; though managed with kar, and is supposed to have died about 1640; great spirit, and, in the more dangerous parts,

and this is the whole that the industry of with considerable dignity. A brother and Mr. Weber, assisted by the researches of sister fall mutually in love with each other, Steevens and Malone, has been able to dis- and abandon themselves, with a sort of splen: cover of this author.

did and perverted devotedness, to their in. It would be useless, and worse than use-cestuous passion. The sister is afterwards less, to give our readers an abstract of the married, and their criminal intercourse defable and management of each of the nine tected by her husband, --when the brother, plays contained in the volumes before us. A perceiving their destruction inevitable, first very few brief remarks upon their general kills her, and then throws himself upon the character

, will-form a sufficient introduction sword of her injured husband. The play to the extracts; by which we propose to let opens with his attempting to justify his passion our readers judge for themselves of the merits to a holy friar, his tutor–who thùs addresees of their execution. The comic parts are all him. utterly bad. With none of the richness of Friar. Dispute no more in this ; for know, Shakespeare's humour, the extravagant mer- young man, riment of Beaumont 'and Fletcher, or the These are no school points ; Nice philosophy strong colouring of Ben Johnson, they are as Mav tolerate unlikely arguments, heavy and as indecent as those of Massinger, On wit too much, by striving how to prove

Wits that presum'd and not more witty, though a little more va- | There was no God, with foolish grounds of art, Dryden. Fortunately, however, the author's And filled the world with dev'lish atheism. merry vein is not displayed in very many to bless the sun, than reason why it shines

Such questions, youth, are fond : for better 'tis parts of his performances. His plots are not Yet he thou talk'st of is above the sun. very cunningly digested; nor developed, for No more! I may not hear it.

Gentle father, His characters are drawn rather with occa- To you I have unclasp'd my burden'd soul, sional felicity, than with general sagacity and Emplied the storehouse of my thoughts and heart, judgment. Like those of Massinger

, they are Made myself poor of secrets have not left uney apt to startle the reader with sudden and Another word untold, which hath not spoke unexpected transformations, and to turn out, And yet is here the comfort I shall have in the latter half of the play, very differently | Musienos berehat all men else may, -love? 39

2 A 2

No, father! 1.1 your eyes I see the change

Alas, these gay attires were not put on Of pity and compassion ; from your age,

But to some end; this sudden solemn feast As from a sacred oracle, distils

Was not ordain'd to riot in expense; The lite of counsel. Tell me, holy man,

I that have now been chamber'd here alone, What cure shall give me ease in these extremes? Barr'd of my guardian, or of any else,

Friar. Repentance, son, and sorrow for this sin : Am not for nothing at an instant freed For thou hast mov'd a majesty above

To fresh access. Be not deceiv'd, my brother; With thy unranged, almost, blasphemy.

This banquet is an harbinger of Death Gio. O do not speaks of that, dear confessor. To you and me! resolve yourself it is, Friar. Then I have done, and in thy wilful flames And be prepar'd to welcome it.

(face? Already see thy ruin; Heaven is jusi.

Gio. Look up, look here ; what see you in my Yet hear my counsel!

Ann. Distraction and a troubled countenance. Gio. As a voice of life.

Gio. Death and a swift repining wraih !-Yet Friar. Hie to thy father's house; there lock thee What see you in mine eyes ?

'[look, Alone within thy chamber; then fall down (fast Ann.

Methinks you weep. On both thy knees, and grovel on the ground; Gio. I do indeed. These are the funeral tears Cry to thy heart; wash every word thou uller'st Shed on your grave! These furrow'd up my cheeks In tears (and if 't be possible) of blood :

When first I lov'd and knew not how to woo. Beg Heaven to cleanse the leprosy of love

Fair Annabella! should I here repeat That rots thy soul; weep, sigh, pray

The story of my life, we might lose time! Three times a day, and ihree times every night: Be record, all the spirits of the air, For seven days' space do this; then, if thou find'st And all things else that are, that day and nighi, No change in thy desires, return to me;

Early and late, the tribute which my heart I'll think on remedy. Pray for thyself

Hath paid to Annabella's sacred love (now! At home, whilst I pray for thee here. Away! Hath been these tears, which are her mourners My blessing with thee! We have need to pray." Never till now did narure do her best

Vol. i. pp. 9.–12. To show a matchless beauty to the world,

Which in an instant, ere it scarce was seen, In a subsequent scene with the sister, the The jealous destinies require again. same holy person maintains the dignity of his Pray, Annabella, pray! since we must part, style.

Go thou, while in thy soul, to fill a throne Friar. I am glad to see this penance; for, believe Pray, pray, my sister.

Of innocence and sanctity in heaven, You have unripp'd a soul so foul and guilly, (me

Ann.

Then I see your drift; As I must tell you true, I marvel how

Ye blessed angels, guard me! The earth hath borne you up; but weep, weep on, Gio.

So say I. These tears may do you good; weep faster yet,

Kiss me! If ever after-limes should hear Whilst I do read a lecture.

Of our fast-knit affections, though perhaps Ann.

Wretched creature ! The laws of conscience and of civil use Friar. Ay, you are wretched, miserably wretch May justly blame us, yet when they bui know Almost condemned alive. There is a place, [ed, Our loves, that love will wipe away that rigour, List, daughter,) in a black and hollow vault,

Which would in other incesis be abhorr'd. Where day is never seen ; there shines no sun,

Give me your hand. How sweetly life doth run But flaming horror of consuming fires;

In these well-colour'd veins! how constantly A lightless sulphur, chok'd with smoky fogs

These palms do promise health! but I could chide Of an infected darkness; in this place

With nature for this cunning flattery.Dwell many thousand thousand sundry sorts

Kiss me again !-forgive me ! Of never-dying deaths. There damned souls

Ann.

With my heart. Roar without pity; there are glutions fed

Gio. Farewell. With roads and adders; there is burning oil

Ann.

Will you be gone? Pour'd down the drunkard's throat ; the usurer Gio.

Be dark, bright sun, Is forc'd 10 sup whole draughts of molien gold;

And make this mid-day night, that thy gilt rays There is the murderer for ever stabb'd,

May not behold a deed will turn their splendour Yet can he never die; there lies the wanton

More sooty than the poets feign their Siyx! On racks of burning steel, whilst in his soul

One other kiss, my sister ! He feels the torment of his raging lust.

Ann.

What means this? Ann. Mercy! oh mercy!

[things,

Gio. To save thy fame, and kill thee in a kiss! Friar. There stand these wretched

(Slabs her. Who have dream'd out whole years in lawless sheels Thus die! and die by me, and by my hand! And secret incests, cursing one another," &c.

Ann. Oh brother, by your hand!
Vol. i. pp. 63, 64.
Gio.

When thou art dead The most striking scene of the play, how I'll give my reasons for'!; for to dispute ever, is that which contains the catastrophe would make me stagger to perform this act

With thee, even in thy death, most lovely beauty, of the lady's fate. Her husband, after shut- which I most glory in. ting her up for some time in gloomy privacy, Ann. Forgive him, Heaven—and me my sins ! invites her brother, and all his family, to a

Farewell. solemn banquet; and even introduces him, Brother unkind, unkind,-mercy, great Heaven: before it is served up, into her private cham

oh-oh.

(Dies. ber, where he finds her sitting on her mar. In all her best, bore her alive and dead.

Gio. She's dead, alas, good soul! This marriage

(bed, riage-bed, in splendid attire, but filled with Soranzo, thou hast miss'd thy aim in this ; boding terrors and agonising anxiety. He, I have prevented now thy reaching plots, though equally aware of the fate that was And kill'd a love, for whose each drop of blood prepared for them, addresses her at first with I would have pawn'd my heart. Fair Annabella, a kind of wild and desperate gaiety, to which How over.glorious are thou in thy wounds, she tries for a while to answer with sober and Shrink not, courageous hand; stand up, my heart, earnest warnings, -and at last exclaims im- And boldly act my last, and greater part!" patiently;

-Vol. i. pp. 98—101. (Exil with the body. Ann. O let's not waste

There are few things finer than this in These precious hours in vain and useless speech, Shakespeare. It bears an obvious resemblance

Pen.

indeed to the death of Desdemona; and, Pen.

Not yet, heaven, taking it as a detached scene, we think it I do beseech thee! first, let some wildfires rather the more beautiful of the two. The Scorch, not consume it! may the heat be cherish'd sweetness of the diction—the natural tone of With desires infinite, but hopes impossible !

Ith. Wrong'd soul, ihy prayers are heard. tenderness and passion—the strange perver- Pen.

Here, lo, I breathe, sion of kind and magnanimous natures, and A miserable creature, led to ruin the horrid catastrophe by which their guilt is By an unnatural brother!

Ith.

I consume at once consummated and avenged, have not often been rivalled, in the pages either of the n languishing affections of that trespass ;

. modern or the ancient drama.

The handmaid to the wages, The play entitled “The Broken Heart," is The untroubled but of country toil, drinks streams in our author's best manner; and would sup- With leaping kids and with the bleating lambs, ply more beautiful quotations than we have And so allays her thirst secure ; whilst I left room for inserting. The story is a little Quench my hot sighs with fleetings of my tears. complicated; but the following slight sketch Earnod with his sweat, and lies him down to sleep; of it will make our extracts sufficiently in- Whilst every bit I couch turns in digestion telligible. Penthea, a noble lady of Sparta, To gall, as bitter as Penthca's curse. was betrothed, with her father's

approbation Put me to any penance for my tyranny and her own full consent, to Orgilus; but And I will call thee merciful. being solicited, at the same time, by Bassanes, Rid me from living with a jealous husband,

Pray kill me! a person of more splendid fortune, was, after Then we will join in friendship, be again her father's death, in a manner compelled by Brother and sister.-Kill me, pray! nay, will ye? her brother Ithocles to violate her first en- Ith. Thou shalt stand gagement, and yield him her hand. In this A deity, my sister, and be worshipp'd ill-sorted alliance, though living a life of un- For thy resolved martyrdom: wrong'd maids impeachable purity, she was harassed and And niarried wives shall to thy hallow'd shrine

Offer their orisons, and sacrifice degraded by the perpetual jealousies of her Pure luriles, crown'd with myrile, if thy pity unworthy husband; and pined away, like her Unto a yielding brother's pressure, tend deserted lover, in sad and bitter recollections One finger bui, to ease it. of the happy promise of their youth. Itho

Pen." Who is ihe saint you serve? (daughter! cles, in the meantime, had pursued the course

Ith. Calanıha 'uis!-the princess! the king's of ambition with a bold and commanding Do I now love thee? For my injuries

Sole heir of Sparia.-Me, most miserable ! spirit, and had obtained the highest honours Revenge thyself with bravery, and gossip of his country; but too much occupied in the My treasons to the king's ears! Do!-Calantha pursuit to think of the misery to which he knows it not yet ; nor Prophilus, my nearest. had condemned the sister who was left to his

Pen. We are reconcil'd! protection : At last, however, in the midst of Alas, sir, being children, but two branches

Or one stock, 'lis not fit we should divide : his proud career, he is seized with a sudden Have comfort ; you may find it. passion for Calantha, the heiress of the sover- Ith.

Yes, in thee; eign; and, after many struggles, is reduced to Only in thee, Penthea mine! ask the intercession and advice of his un

Pen.

If sorrows happy sister, who was much in favour with Have not too much dull’d my infected brain, the princess. The following is the scene in I'll cheer invention for an active strain.

Ith. Mad man! why have I wrong'd a maid so which he makes this request;—and to those

excellent ?"

Vol. i. pp. 273-277. who have learned, from the preceding passages, the lofty and unbending temper of the We cannot resist the temptation of adding suppliant, and the rooted and bitter anguish a part of the scene in which this sad ambasof her whom he addresses, it cannot fail to sadress acquits herself of the task she had appear one of the most striking in the whole undertaken. There is a tone of heart-struck compass of dramatic composition.*

sorrow and female gentleness and purity

about it that is singularly engaging, and conIth. Sit nearer, sister, to me!--nearer yet! We had one father; in one womb took life;

trasts strangely with the atrocious indecenWere brought up iwins together;---Yet have liv'd cies with which the author has polluted his Ai distance, like iwo strangers! I could wish paper in other parts of the same play.-The That the first pillow, whereon I was cradled, princess says, Had proved to me a grave! Pen.

You had been happy! Cal. Being alone, Penihea, you now have Then had you never known ihai sin of life The opportuniiy you sought; and might (granted Which blois all following glories with

a vengeance, At all times have commanded. For forfeiting the last will of ihe dead,

Pen.

'Tis a benefit From whom you had your being.

Which I shall owe your goodness even in death for: Ith.

Sad Penthea! My glass of life, sweet princess, haih few minutes Thou canst not be too cruel; my rash spleen Remaining to run down; the sands are spent; Hath with a violent hand pluck'd from thy bosom For by an inward messenger I feel A love-blest heart, to grind it into dust

The summons of departure short and certain. For which mine's now a-breaking.

Cal. You seed 100 much your melancholy.
Pen.

Glories * I have often fancied what a splendid effect Mrs. of human greatness are but pleasing dreams Siddons and John Kemble would have given to the And shadows soon decaying: On the stage opening of this sceno, in actual representation - Of my mortality, my youth hath acted with the deep throb of their low voices, their pa. Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length thelic pauses, and majestic attitudes and move. By varied pleasures, sweetened in the mixture, ments!

But tragical in issue. Beauty, pomp,

With every sensuality our giddiness

him. After taking this unjustifiable step, he Doth frame an idol, are unconstant friends,

is naturally troubled with certain inward When any troubled passion makes us halt

compunctions, which manifest themselves in On the unguarded castle of ihe mind. Cal. To what end

his exterior, and excite the apprehensions of Reach all these moral texts ?

his innocent bride. It is her dialogue with Pen.

To place before ye him that we are now to extract; and we think A perfect mirror, wherein you may see

the picture that it affords of unassuming innoHow weary I am of a lingering life;

cence and singleness of heart, is drawn with Who count the best a misery. Cal.

Indeed

great truth, and even elegance. She begins You have no little cause ; yet none so great

with asking him why he changes countenance As to distrust a remedy.

so suddenly. He answers, Pen.

That remedy Must be a winding sheet! a fold of lead,

“Who, I? For nothing. And some untrod-on corner of the earth.

Sus. Dear, say not so: a spirit of your consta 'cy Not to detain your expectation, princess,

Cannot endure this change for nothing. I've ob. I have an humble suit.

serv'd Cal. Speak; and enjoy it.

Strange variations in you.

Frank. Pen. Vouchsafe, then, to be my executrix,

In me? And take that trouble on you to dispose

Sus.

In you, sir. Such legacies as I bequeaih, impartially ;

Awake, you seem to dream, and in your sleep I have not much to give; the pains are easy,

You ulter sudden and distracted accents, (band, Heav'n will reward your piety, and thank it

Like one at enmily with peace. Dear loving hus. When I am dead; for sure I must not live:

If I may dare to challenge any interest I hope I cannot.”

In you, give me thee fully! you may trust

My breast as safely as your own. After leaving her fame, her youth, &c. in Frank.

With what? some very pretty but fantastical verses, she You haif amaze me; pr'yiheeproceeds

Sus.

Come, you shall noi,

Indeed you shall not shut me from pariaking Per.. 'Tis long agone, since first I lost my heart; The least dislike that grieves you. I'm all yours. Long have I lived without it; else for certain

Frank. And I all thine. I should have given that too; But instead

Sus.

You are not; if you keep Ofii, lo great Calanıha, Sparta's heir,

The least grief from me: but I know the cause ; By service bound, and by affection vow'd,

It grows from me. I do bequeath in holiest riies of love

Frank.

From you? Mine only brother, Ithocles.

Sus.

From some distaste Cal. What say'st thou ?

In me or my behaviour: you're not kind Pen.

I must leave the world in the concealment. 'Las, sir, I am young, 'To revel in Elysium ; and 'lis just

Silly and plain ; more strange to those contents To wish my brother some advantage here; A wife should offer. Say but in what I fail, Yet by my best hopes, Ithocles is ignorant I'll study satisfaction. Of this pursuit.

Frank.

Come; in nothing.
Cal.
You have forgot, Penthea,

Sus. I know I do: knew I as well in what, How still I have a father.

You should not long be sullen. Pr’ythee, love, Pen. But remember

If I have been immodest or too bold, I am a sister, though to me this brother

Speak'ı in a frown; if peevishly too nice,
Hath been, you know, unkind! Oh, most unkind!" Shew't in a smile. Thy liking is a glass

Vol. i. pp. 291—293. By which I'll habit my behaviour.
Frank.

Wherefore There are passages of equal power and Dost weep now? beauty in the plays called "Love's Sacrifice," Sus.

You, sweet, have the power “ The Lover's Melancholy," and in “ Fancies To make me passionate as an April day. Chaste and Noble.” In Perkin Warbeck, there Nowsmile, then weep; now pale, then crimson red. is a more uniform and sustained elevation of To make it ebb or flow in:o my face,

You are the powerful moon of my blood's sea, style. But we pass all those over, to give our As your looks change. readers a word or two from “ The Witch of Frank. Change thy conceit, I pr'yihee : Edmonton," a drama founded upon the recent Thou’rt all perfection: Diana herself execution of a miserable old woman for that Swells in thy thoughts and moderates thy beauty. fashionable offence; and in which the devil, Within thy clear eye amorous Cupid sits in the shape of a black dog, is a principal per- in thy chaste breast.

Feathering love shafts, whose golden heads he dips former! The greater part of the play, in which Sus. Come, come: these golden strings of flattery Ford was assisted by Dekkar and Rowley, is Shall not lie up my speech, sir ; I must know of course utterly absurd and contemptible - The ground of your disturbance. though not without its value as a memorial

Frank.

Then look here; of the strange -superstition of the age ; but it For here, here is the fen in which this hydra contains some scenes of great interest and

Of discontent grows rank.
Sus.

Heaven shield it! Where! beauty, though written in a lower and more Frank. In mine own bosom! here the cause has familiar tone than most of those we have al

root ; ready exhibited. As a specimen of the range The poisoned leeches twist about my heart, of the author's talents, we shall present our And will, I hope, confound me. readers with one of these. Frank Thorney

Sus.

You speak riddles."

Vol. ii. pp. 437–440. had privately married a woman of inferior rank; and is afterwards strongly urged by his The unfortunate bigamist afterwards re. father, and his own inclination, to take a solves to desert this innocent creature ; but, second wife, in the person of a rich yeoman's in the act of their parting, is moved by the daughter whose affections were fixed upon | devil, who rubs against him in the shape of a dog! to murder her. We are tempted to Thou art my husband, Death! I embrace thee give the greater part of this scene, just to With all the love I have. Forget the stain show how much beauty of diction and natu- of my unwitting sin: and then I come ral expression of character may be com- Shall, with bold wings, ascend the doors of mercy;

A crystal virgin to thee. My soul's purity bined with the most revolting and degrading For innocence is ever her companion. absurdities. The unhappy bridegroom says- Frank. Not yet mortal ? I would not linger you,

Or leave you a tongue to blab. (Slabs her again. " Why would you delay? we have no other

Sus. Now heaven reward you ne'er the worse for business

I did not think that death had been so sweet, (me! Now, but to part.

(time? Nor I so apt to love him. I could ne'er die beiter, Sus. And will not that, sweet-heart, ask a lòng Had I stay'd forty years for preparation: Methinks it is the hardest piece of work

For I'm in charity with all the world. That c'er I took in hand.

Let me for once be thine example, heaven; Frank.

Fie, fie! why look, Do to this man as I, forgive him freely, I'll make it plain and easy to you. Farewell. And may he better die, and sweeter live. (Dies" (Kisses her.

Vol. ii. pp. 452—445. Sus. Ah, 'las! I'm not half perfect in it yet. I must have it thus read an hundred vmes.

We cannot afford any more space for Mr. Pray you take some pains, I confess my dulness. Ford; and what we have said, and what we Frank. Come! again and again, farewell. [Kisses have shown of him, will probably be thought her.] Yet wilt return?

enough, both by those who are disposed to All questions of my journey, my stay, employment, scoff, and those who are inclined to admire. And revisitation, fully I have answered all. There's nothing now behind but

It is but fair, however, to intimate, that a Sus.

But this request thorough perusal of his works will afford more Frank. What is't ?

(more, exercise to the former disposition than to the Sus. That I may bring you thro' one pasture latter. His faults are glaring and abundant ; Up to yon knot of trees: amongst those shadows

but we have not thought it necessary to prol'Il vanish from you ; they shall teach me how. Frank. Why 'tis granted : come, walk then.

duce any specimens of them, because they Sus.

Nay, not too fast: are exactly the sort of faults which every one They say, slow things have best perfection; acquainted with the drama of that age reckons The genile show'r wets to fertility,

upon finding. No body doubts of the existThe churlish storm makes mischief with his bounty. lence of such faults : But there are many who

Frank. Now, your request
Is out : yet will you leave me?

doubt of the existence of any counterbalancSus.

What ? so churlishly!

ing beauties; and therefore it seemed worth You'll make me stay for ever,

while to say a word or two in their explanaRather than part with such a sound from you. tion. There is a great treasure of poetry, we

Frank. Why, you almost anger me.-'Pray you think, still to be brought to light in the neglectYou have no company, and 'tis very early ; [begone. ed writers of the age to which this author beSome hurt may beride you homewards.

longs; and poetry of a kind which, if purified Sus.

Tush! I fear none : To leave you is the greatest I can suffer.

and improved, as the happier specimens show Frank. So! I shall have more trouble."

that it is capable of being, would be far more

delightful to the generality of English readers Here the dog rubs against him; and, after than any other species of poetry. We shall some more talk, he stabs her!

readily be excused for our tediousness by those Why then I thank you ;

who are of this opinion; and should not have You have done lovingly, leaving yourself,

been forgiven, even if we had not been tedious, That you would thus bestow me on another. by those who look upon it as a heresy.

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" Sus.

tions.

(August, 1817.) Characters of Shakespeare's Plays. By William Hazlitt. 8vo. pp. 352. London : 1817.*

This is not a book of black-letter learning, I truth, rather an encomium on Shakespeare, or historical elucidation ;-neither is it a me. than a commentary or critique on him-and taphysical dissertation, full of wise perplexi- is written, more to show extraordinary love, ties and elaborate reconcilements. "It is, in than extraordinary knowledge of his produc

Nevertheless, it is a very pleasing It may be thought that enough had been said book-and, we do not hesitate to say, a book of our early dramatists, in the immediately preced. of very considerable originality and genius. ing article; and it probably is so. But I could not The author is not merely an admirer of our resist the temptation of thus renewing, in my own name, that vow of allegiance, which I had so often great dramatist, but an Idolater of him; and taken anonymously, to the only true and lawful openly professes his idolatry. We have ourKing of our English Poetry! and now veniire, selves too great a leaning to the same supertherefore, fondly to replace ihis slight and perish. stition, to blame him very much for his error: able wreath on his august and undecaying shrine : and though we think, of course, that our own with no farther apology than that is presumes to admiration is, on the whole, more discriminatdirect attention but to one, and that, as I think, a comparatively neglected, aspect of his universal ing and judicious, there are not many points genius.

on which, especially after reading his eloquent

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