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JACKET, Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry, used this motto, no bad one: "Fear God and be cheerful ;" and English intellect seems to have followed the advice through

many ages. Hence, while we abound with divines and learned theologians, with grave tragedians, distinguished by deep thought and a continual and reverential reference to the higher powers, we equally abound with comic writers, sketchers of manners, students of human nature, and those who observingly distil from life its cheerful, health-inspiring lessons, or who move our laughter at its petty annoyances and the humorous aspect of our countrymen.

Shakespeare was equally at home in tragedy or comedy; and, as Sir Joshua Reynolds has painted Garrick, haled on one hand by Tragedy and on the other by Comedy, and not knowing which side to take, so our greatest poet might be symbolically depicted, hardly knowing to which to devote his ever-present and mighty genius.

Following in his train come a crowd of writers, many of whom certainly had commenced dramatic authorship before him, and of the more important of whom we may say, if time permit, the student should read; he may be sure of finding in their tragedies elevated and pure thoughts, and in their comedies pastoral scenes, or those drawn from the domestic and city life of the period, which will help him to understand the everyday and even the intellectual life of the great nation from which we are sprung.

Chapman, Middleton, Decker, Webster, Marston, Heywood, Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Massinger, Ford, and Shirley are among the principal of these; and it is proposed to introduce them to the student in the order in which they are named, some of them necessarily in brief fashion. It is just to add that the list is not a complete one: the merits of the minor playwrights are not enlarged upon, though many of these are superior to those who stood in the first rank in the period following the Restoration.

To George Chapman, as a dramatic writer, slight reference has already been made. He was the author of seventeen plays, in some of which he was assisted by contemporaries. Charles Lamb says of him that he approaches nearest to Shakespeare in the descriptive and didactic, but that he did not excel in dramatic imitation. He could not go out of himself, as Shakespeare 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. "I have often thought that the vulgar misconception of Shakespeare, as of a wild irregular genius, 'in whom great faults are compensated by great beauties,' would be

CHAPMAN.-MIDDLETON.

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really true applied to Chapman." Little can be added to this brief but judicious estimate. Chapman's Homeric vein occasionally crops up in his plays, as, for instance, in the following, from his "Byron's Conspiracy:"—

As when the moon hath comforted the night,
And set the world in silver of her light,
The planets, asterisms, and whole state of heaven,
In beams of gold descending: all the winds
Bound up in caves, charged not to drive abroad
Their cloudy heads: a universal peace
(Proclaim'd in silence) of the quiet earth:
Soon as her hot and dry fumes are let loose,
Storms and clouds mixing suddenly put out
The eyes of all those glories; the creation
Turn'd into chaos; and we then desire,
For all our joy of life, the death of sleep.
So when the glories of our lives (men's loves,
Clear consciences, our fames and loyalties,)
That did us worthy comfort, are eclipsed,
Grief and disgrace invade us; and for all
Our night of life besides, our misery craves
Dark earth would ope, and hide us in our graves.

Thomas Middleton, the date of whose birth is not known with any certainty, but who died about the year 1626, is the author of some thirty dramatic productions. In many of these, like Chapman and other of his literary brethren, as was common at the time, he was only joint partner. His principal piece is entitled "The Witch," and is full of great creative talent. Most of Middleton's productions are pervaded with a comic vein, in which he surpassed many of his contemporaries. Mr. Dyce has published an excellent edition of his works.

Ben Jonson's famous antagonist, Thomas Decker, has perhaps fallen into greater oblivion than his contest with the author of "The Poetaster" would seem to warrant; for in his dramas are to be found some

elegant bits of fancy and pathos, marred very much at times by the vulgar and licentious language prevalent at the period. Hazlitt has spoken of his merits in extremely eulogistic terms, selecting for particular commendation "The Honest Whore." The plots of Decker's plays are generally ill-managed, and he seems to have bestowed little care on the mechanical niceties of his art. His "Old Fortunatus" and his share of "Patient Grissil," however, should still keep him fresh in our remembrance. The date of Decker's birth is

unknown, but he died somewhere about 1640.

The following is an extract from Decker's "Old Fortunatus," and embraces the scene between the goddess Fortune and Fortunatus :—

Fortune. Before thy soul at this deep lottery
Draw forth her prize, ordain'd by destiny,
Know that here's no recanting a first choice.
Choose then discreetly: for the laws of fate,
Being graven in steel, must stand inviolate.

Fortunat. Daughters of Jove and the unblemish'd Night,
Most righteous Parcæ, guide my genius right:

Wisdom, Strength, Health, Beauty, Long Life and Riches.
Fortune. Stay, Fortunatus; once more hear me speak.

If thou kiss Wisdom's cheek and make her thine,

She'll breathe into thy lips divinity,

And thou (like Phoebus) shall speak oracle;

Thy heaven-inspired soul on Wisdom's wings
Shall fly up to the Parliament of Jove,

And read the Statutes of Eternity,

And see what's past and learn what is to come.

If thou lay claim to Strength, armies shall quake

To see thee frown: as kings at mine do lie,

So shall thy feet trample on empery.

Make Health thine object, thou shalt be strong proof

'Gainst the deep-searching darts of surfeiting,

Be ever merry, ever revelling.

Wish but for Beauty, and within thine eyes

Two naked Cupids amorously shall swim,

And on thy cheeks I'll mix such white and red
That Jove shall turn away young Ganymede,

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OLD FORTUNATUS.

And with immortal arms shall circle thee.
Are thy desires Long Life? thy vital thread
Shall be stretch'd out; thou shalt behold the change
Of monarchies, and see those children die
Whose great-great-grandsires now in cradles lie.
If through Gold's sacred hunger thou dost pine,
Those gilded wantons which in swarms do run
To warm their slender bodies in the sun
Shall stand for number of those golden piles
Which in rich pride shall swell before thy feet;
As those are, so shall these be infinite.

Fortunat. O, whither am I rapt beyond myself?
More violent conflicts fight in every thought

Than his whose fatal choice Troy's downfall wrought.
Shall I contract myself to Wisdom's love?
Then I love Riches; and a wise man poor

Is like a sacred book that's never read;

To himself he lives and to all else seems dead.
This age thinks better of a gilded fool

Than of a threadbare saint in Wisdom's school.

I will be strong: then I refuse Long Life;

And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds,
There's a lean fellow beats all conquerors;
The greatest strength expires with loss of breath,
The mightiest in one minute stoop to death.
Then take Long Life, or Health; should I do so,
I might grow ugly, and that tedious scroll
Of months and years much misery may enrol :
Therefore I'll beg for Beauty; yet I will not:
The fairest cheek hath oftentimes a soul
Leprous as sin itself, than hell more foul.
The Wisdom of this world is idiotism;

Strength a weak reed: Health Sickness' enemy,
And it at length will have the victory.
Beauty is but a painting; and Long Life
Is a long journey in December gone,
Tedious and full of tribulation.

Therefore, dread sacred empress, make me rich;
My choice is store of Gold; the rich are wise :
He that upon his back rich garments wears
Is wise, though on his head grow Midas' ears.
Gold is the strength, the sinews of the world;
The health, the soul, the beauty most divine;
A mask of gold hides all deformities;
Gold is heaven's physic, life's restorative;
O, therefore, make me rich!

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