CHAPTER XI.

DRAMATIC LITERATURE.

(Continued.)

EAUMONT and Fletcher, two gentlemen who wrote some admirable plays, but now much neglected, because often too free and licentious, were once considered far superior to Shakespeare, especially in depicting the manners of gentlemen. But this was in Dryden's time, when English morals were in their decadence. They are also easily to be recalled as writing in a literary partnership, and always to be associated throughout succeeding ages. Often licentious in mere language, their characters are, nevertheless, noble, elevated, pure; and, as they were perhaps inspired by Shakespeare, so they seem to have caught from him much of his free, open, and generous character. They were, says a critic, "gentlemen who wrote for the stage as gentlemen have rarely done before or since ;" and the sneer at our dramatists is not wholly undeserved. They wrote conjointly, and sometimes separately, no

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 155

less than fifty-two plays; and Shakespeare himself is said—on the title-page of the first edition-to have assisted Fletcher in one, "The two Noble Kinsmen." Although now seldom acted, there is such pure poetry, such an idealised truth of character, such quickness, gentleness, brilliancy, and playfulness of thought, such touches of sweet pathos, and so much airy liveliness in their dialogue, that their plays are charming reading; and when reading them we can only sigh (if we take them to be true pictures) for the degenerate stupidity of our times, when the idiocy--selfish and wicked as it is—of the leading character is found to be diverting, and the expression not of a chaste and noble love, but of cold calculation as to winning a heavy bet or catching an heiress, forms the brilliant dialogue of a modern comedy. In Charles II.'s days Beaumont and Fletcher's plays, more generally pleasing, but not so highly pitched as those of Shakespeare, were so much more popular that Dryden relates that two of theirs were acted to one of his. Writers of the romantic drama, they have left us few comic characters which survive as pictures of English men and women; but they no doubt helped to give us that taste for the moderately sad, delicate, and pathetic kind of writing which yet survives in our romances and novels.

"The Elder Brother" is justly esteemed as one of the best comedies in the works of our twin dramatists; and the scene which the reader is about to peruse, is the finest in the play. It should be premised that Charles, the elder brother, being wholly given up to study, consents to sign away his birthright in favour of the younger son, Eustace, who is to be married to the fair Angelica :

the following:-"a fool's beatitude" (Antonio's Revenge):

Note a fool's beatitude:

He is not capable of passion;

Wanting the power of distinction,

He bears an unturn'd sail with every wind:
Blow east, blow west, he steers his course alike.
I never saw a fool lean: the chub-faced fop
Shines sleek with full-cramm'd fat of happiness.
Whilst studious contemplation sucks the juice
From wizard's cheeks, who making curious search
For nature's secrets, the First Innating Cause
Laughs them to scorn, as man doth busy apes
When they will zany † men.

Thomas Heywood, "a sort of prose Shakespeare," to take Lamb's estimate, was perhaps the most prolific writer of any of the dramatists of this period. He states himself that he was more or less concerned in the immense number of two hundred and twenty pieces, not a tenth part of which have come down to us. In addition to these pieces he was the author of several voluminous works in prose and verse, including two poems, each filling a folio volume! Heywood's plays are full of telling situations, brought about by much dramatic skill; and his language is at times very eloquent and pathetic. His "Woman Kill'd with Kindness" is an example of this last statement, and from it the two following extracts are given. Here is Frankford, the confiding husband, rejoicing too hastily perhaps, in his great felicity, and striking the keynote upon which the terrible interest of the story turns :-

Frankford. How happy am I amongst other men,
That in my mean estate embrace content!

I am a gentleman, and by my birth

*i. e. wise men's.

↑ Zany, imitate.

HEYWOOD.

Companion with a king; a king's no more,
I am possess'd of many fair revenues,
Sufficient to maintain a gentleman.

Touching my mind, I am studied in all arts;
The riches of my thoughts, and of my time,
Have been a good proficient; but the chief
Of all the sweet felicities on earth,

I have a fair, a chaste, a loving wife;
Perfection all, all truth, all ornament.
If man on earth may truly happy_be,
Of these at once possess'd, sure, I am he.

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As the play draws near its climax Frankford's servant tells him of his wife's infidelity :

:

Frank. Thou hast kill'd me with a weapon whose sharp point Hath prick'd quite through and through my shivering heart. Drops of cold sweat sit dangling on my hairs,

Like morning's dew upon the golden flowers;

And I am plunged into strange agonies.

What dids't thou say? If any word that touch'd
His credit or her reputation,

It is as hard to enter my belief

As Dives into Heaven.

Nicholas. I can gain nothing: they are two
That never wrong'd me. I knew before
'Twas but a thankless office, and perhaps
As much as is my service, or my life is worth :
All this I know, but this, and more,

More by a thousand dangers could not hire me
To smother such a heinous wrong from you.

I saw, and I have said.

Frank. 'Tis probable; though blunt, yet he's honest.

Though I durst pawn my life, and on her faith

Hazard the dear salvation of my soul,

Yet in my trust I may be too secure.

May this be true? Oh, may it? Can it be?

Is it by any wonder possible?

Man, woman, what thing mortal can we trust,
When friends and bosom wives prove so unjust!
What instance hast thou of this strange report ?
Nich. Eyes, master, eyes.

Frank. Thy eyes may be deceiv'd, I tell thee;
For should an angel from the heavens drop down,
And preach this to me that thyself hath told,
He should have much ado to win belief;

In both their loves I am so confident.

Nich. Shall I discuss the same by circumstance?

Frank. No more! To supper, and command your fellows To attend us and the strangers. Not a word,

I charge thee, on thy life; be secret, then,

For I know nothing.

Nich. I am dumb. Now that I have eased my stomach, I will go fill my stomach.

Frank.

Away! begone!

She is well born, descended nobly,

Virtuous her education; her repute

Is in the general voice of all the country
Honest and fair; her carriage, her demeanour,
In all the actions that concern the love

To me, her husband, modest, chaste, and godly.
Is all this seeming gold plain copper?

But he, that Judas that hath borne my purse,

Hath sold me for a sin. O God! O God!

Shall I put up these wrongs? No. Shall I trust
The bare report of this suspicious groom,

Before the double gilt, the well-hatched ore,

Of their two hearts? No. I will lose these thoughts;
Distraction I will banish from my brow,

And from my looks exile sad content;

Their wonted favours in my tongue shall flow:
Till I know all, I'll nothing seem to know.

[Exit.

To Ben Jonson, born in 1574, ten years after Shakespeare, a pupil at Westminster School, where his original talents were noticed by the great Camden, has been assigned the second place in our dramatic literature. Jonson, of Scottish origin, (the son of a clergyman, of a Scots family, from Annandale, if we may receive the testimony of Drummond of Hawthornden,) was a learned, serious, heavy writer in his tragedies, transfusing into them not only the spirit but the method of thought of his Latin originals; and in his comedies a humorous, brilliant, painstaking, and thoughtful poet; at times, satirical, biting, savage, and proud to those of his contemporaries who drew down his wrath upon their heads. Jonson has been charged with some of the worst failings of humanity—pride, ill