Insinuating Manners. We must have these lures, when we hawk for friends; That, seeming only to run on his course, The Stars not able to foreshew any Thing. I am a nobler substance than the stars: And shall the baser over-rule the better? Or are they better since they are the bigger? I have a will, and faculties of choice, To do or not to do; and reason why I do or not do this: the stars have none. They know not why they shine, more than this Taper, The Master Spirit. Give me a spirit that on life's rough sea He goes before them, and commands them all, Vile Natures in High Places. -foolish statuaries, That under little Saints suppose1 great bases, Make less (to sense) the saints and so, where fortune 1 Put under. [Act iii.] [Act iii.] [Act iii.] Advanceth vile minds to states great and noble, Innocence the Harmony of the Faculties. -Innocence, the sacred amulet 'Gainst all the poisons of infirmity, Of all misfortune, injury, and death: That makes a man in tune still in himself; No strife nor no sedition in his powers; [Act iv.] No thought 'gainst thought; nor (as 'twere in the confines [Act v.] BYRON'S TRAGEDY [PUBLISHED 1608: PRODUCED 1605]. BY GEORGE CHAPMAN King Henry the Fourth of France blesses the young Dauphin. My royal blessing, and the King of Heaven Their wraths and envies (like so many winds) VOL. IV.-6 In which the eyes of war may ever sleep, Wandering like ghosts affrighted from their graves; Thee, and thy kingdoms, govern'd after me; (He fighting for the land, and bringing home [Act i.1] What we have, we slight; what we want, we think excellent. -as a man, match'd with a lovely wife, So all men else do, what they have, transplant ; [Edited Phelps.] [Act iii.] Soliloquy of King Henry deliberating on the Death of a Traitor. O thou that governst the keen swords of Kings, Or hold it, being advanc'd: the weight of blood, (If it be just and worthy), dwells so dark, Must only give that judgment. O, how much But humour and their lusts; for which alone [Act iv.] The Selections which I have made from this poet are sufficient to give an idea of that "full and heightened style" which Webster makes characteristic of Chapman. Of all the English Play-writers, Chapman perhaps approaches nearest to Shakspeare in the descriptive and didactic, in passages which are less purely dramatic. Dramatic Imitation was not his talent. He could not go out of himself, as Shakspeare could shift at pleasure, to inform and animate other existences, but in himself he had an eye to perceive and a soul to embrace all forms. He would have made a great Epic Poet, if indeed he has not abundantly shown himself to be one; for his Homer is not so properly a Translation as the Stories of Achilles and Ulysses re-written. The earnestness and passion which he has put into every part of these poems would be incredible to a reader of mere modern translations. His almost Greek zeal for the honour of his heroes is only paralleled by that fierce spirit of Hebrew bigotry, with which Milton, as if personating one of the Zealots of the old law, clothed himself when he sat down to paint the acts of Sampson against the Uncircumcised.. The great obstacle to Chapman's Translations being read is their unconquerable quaintness. He pours out in the same breath the most just and natural and the most violent and forced expressions. He seems to grasp whatever words come first to hand during the impetus of inspiration, as if all other must be inadequate to the divine meaning. But passion (the all in all in Poetry) is everywhere present, raising the low, dignifying the mean, and putting sense into the absurd. He makes his readers glow, weep, tremble, take any affection which he pleases, be moved by words or in spite of them, be disgusted and overcome their disgust. I have often thought that the vulgar misconception of Shakspeare, as of a wild irregular genius "in [For further extracts from Chapman alone or in partnership see pages 368, 407, 462, 483, 484, 487, 503, 570 and 575.] whom great faults are compensated by great beauties," would be really true, applied to Chapman. But there is no scale by which to balance such disproportionate subjects as the faults and beauties of a great genius. To set off the former with any fairness against the latter, the pain which they give us should be in some proportion to the pleasure which we receive from the other. As these transport us to the highest heaven, those should steep us in agonies infernal. A CHALLENGE FOR BEAUTY [PRINTED 1636]. BY THOMAS HEYWOOD [DIED 1650?] Petrocella, fair Spanish Lady, loves Montferrers, an English sea Captain, who is Captive to Valladaura, a noble Spaniard. Valladaura loves the Lady; and employs Montferrers to be the Messenger of his Love to her. PETROCELLA. MONTFERRERS. Pet. What art thou in thy country? Mont. There, a man. Pet. What here? Mont. No better than you see; a slave. Pet. Whose? Mont. His that hath redeem'd me. Pet. Valladaura's? Mont. Yes, I proclaim't; I that was once mine own, Am now become his creature. Pet. I perceive, Your coming is to make me think you noble Would you persuade me deem your friend a God?" I cannot call these clothes I wear mine own; This air I breathe is borrow'd; ne'er was man Pet. Tell me that? Come, come, I know you to be no such man. Your carriage tried by land, and proved at sea; |