where Alcander wraps himself all round in the argument of necessity.

"Methinks we stand on ruins; nature shakes About us; and the universal frame

So loose, that it but wants another push

To leap from off its hinges.

Dioc. No sun to cheer us; but a bloody globe
That rolls above; a bald and beamless fire:

His face o'er grown with scurf: The sun's sick too:
Shortly he'll be an earth.

Pyr. Therefore the seasons

Lie all confus'd; and, by the heav'ns neglected,
Forget themselves; blind winter meets the summer
In his mid-way, and, seeing not his livery,

Has driv'n him headlong back; and the new damps
With flaggy wings fly heavily about,

Scattering their pestilential colds and rheumes
Through all the lazy air.

Alc. Hence murrains follow'd

On bleating flocks, and on the lowing herds;
At last, the malady

Grew more domestic, and the faithful dog

Dy'd at his master's feet.

Dioc. And next, his master;

For all those plagues which earth and air had brooded,
First on inferior creatures try'd their force :

And last they seiz'd on man.

Pyr. And then a thousand deaths at once advanc'd,

And every dart took place; all was so sudden,

That scarce a first man fell; one but began
To wonder, and straight fell, a wonder too;
A third, who stoop'd to raise his dying friend,
Dropt in the pious act. Heard you that groan?

1

[Groan within.

Dioc. A troop of ghosts took flight together there;
Now death's grown riotous, and will play no more
For single stakes, but families and tribes;
How are we sure we breathe not now our last,

And that, next minute,

Our bodies cast into some common pit,

Shall not be built upon, and overlaid

By half a people?

Alc. There's a chain of causes

Link'd to effects; invincible necessity,

That whate'er is, could not but so have been ;

That's my security.

To them, enter Creon.

Cre. So had it need, when all our streets lie cover'd

With dead and dying men ;

And earth exposes bodies on the pavement

More than she hides in graves!

Betwixt the bride and bridegroom have I seen

The nuptial torch do common offices

Of marriage and of death."

In drawing the character of Creon, Dryden doubtless had Shakespear's crook-backed Richard in his eye.

66

Why love renounc'd thee ere thou saw'st the light;

Nature herself start back when thou wert born;

And cry'd, the work's not mine

The midwife stood aghast; and when she saw
Thy mountain back, and thy distorted legs,

Thy face itself,

Half-minted with the royal stamp of man,

And half o'ercome with beast, stood doubting long,

Whose right in thee were more;

And knew not, if to burn thee in the flames,
Were not the holier work.

Cre. Am I to blame, if nature threw my body
In so perverse a mould; yet when she cast
Her envious hand upon my supple joints,
Unable to resist, and rumpled 'em

On heaps in their dark lodging, to revenge

Her bungled work she stamp'd my mind more fair;
And as from chaos, huddled and deform'd,

The God strook fire, and lighted up the lamps
That beautify the sky, so he inform'd

This ill-shap'd body with a daring soul;

And making less than man, he made me more,"

Act I. Sc. III.

There is, in the first act, a truly dramatic effect, produced by this little dialogue between Tiresias and his daughter, who is leading the blind old man.

"Now stay:

Methinks I draw more open, vital air.

Where are we?

Man. Under covert of a wall;
The most frequented once, and noisy part

Of Thebes, now midnight silence reigns ev'n here;
And grass untrodden springs beneath our feet.

Tir. If there be nigh this place a sunny bank,
There let me rest awhile: A sunny bank!
Alas! how can it be, where no sun shines!
But a dim winking taper in the skies,

That nods, and scarce holds up his drowsy head
To glimmer through the damps."

Creon thus soliloquizes on death.

"Cre. The thought of death to one near death is dreadful? O'tis a fearful thing to be no more.

Or if to be, to wander after death!

To walk as spirits do, in brakes all day?

And when the darkness comes, to glide in paths

That lead to graves; and in the silent vault

Where lies your own pale shroud, to hover o'er it,
Striving to enter your forbidden corpse!

And often, often, vainly breathe your ghost

Into your lifeless lips;

Then, like a lone benighted traveller

Shut out from lodging, shall your groans be answer'd

By whistling winds, whose every blast will shake

Your tender form to atoms."

We afterwards find him railing against fools.-He is the most spirited person of the drama.

"Cre. Every where.

Fine empty things, like him,

The court swarms with them.

Fine fighting things; in camps they are so common,
Crows feed on nothing else; plenty of fools;

A glut of 'em in Thebes.

And fortune still takes care they should be seen;

She places 'em aloft, o' th' topmost spoke

Of all her wheel; fools are the daily work

Of nature; her vocation; if she form

A man, she loses by't, 'tis too expensive;

"Twou'd make ten fools! A man's a prodigy."

Act III.

There is something peculiarly solemn in the mysterious chaunt, in which the soothsayers celebrate their superstitious rites.

"Tir. Chuse the darkest part o' th' grove; Such as ghosts at noon-day love.

Dig a trench, and dig it nigh
Where the bones of Laius lie;
Altars rais'd of turf or stone,
Will th' infernal pow'rs have none.
Answer me, if this be done?
All Pr. "Tis done.

Tir. Is the sacrifice made fit,
Draw her backward to the pit;
Draw the barren heifer back;
Barren let her be, and black.
Cut the curly hair that grows
Full betwixt her horns and brows,
And turn your faces from the sun;
Answer me, if this be done?
All Pr. "Tis done.

Tir. Pour in blood, and blood-like wine,

To mother earth and Proserpine;

Mingle milk into the stream;

Feast the ghosts that love the steam;

Snatch a brand from funeral pile;

Toss it in to make 'em boil;

And turn your faces from the sun;
Answer me, if all be done?

All Pr. All is done.

The Rival Ladies is a tragi-comedy of a very confused and intricate nature, but is adorned with gems of poetry, which are scattered as thick through this as the generality of his plays. Angelina, in the disguise of male attire, asks herself,

"Where had I courage for this bold disguise,

Which more my nature than my sex belies?

Alas! I am betray'd to darkness here;

Darkness which virtue hates, and maids most fear:
Silence and solitude dwell every where:

Dogs cease to bark; the waves more faintly roar,

And roll themselves asleep upon the shore:

No noise but what my foot-steps make, and they
Sound dreadfully, and louder than by day:

They double too, and every step I take

Sounds thick methinks, and more than one could make.
Ha! who are these?

I wish'd for company, and now I fear.

Who are you, gentle people, that go there?"

Act 1.

The answer of Amideo to Hippolito and Gonsalvo, who is also disguised in male attire, and taken for a boy, is a beautiful specimen of simple eloquence.

"Hip. Poor child, who would'st be wise above thy years, Why dost thou talk, like a philosopher,

Of conquering love, who art not yet grown up
To try the force of any manly passion?

The sweetness of thy mother's milk is yet
Within thy veins, not sour'd and turn'd by love.

Gons. Thou hast not field enough in thy young breast,

To entertain such storms to struggle in.

Amid. Young as 1 am, I know the pow'r of love;

Its less disquiets, and its greater cares,

And all that's in it, but the happiness.

Trust a boy's word, Sir, if you please, and take
My innocence for wisdom; leave this lady;
Cease to persuade yourself you are in love,
And you will soon be freed: Not that I wish
A thing so noble as your passion lost

To all the sex; bestow it on some other;

You'll find many as fair, though none so cruel.
Would I could be a lady for your sake."

The further selections which we intend making from this, we will string together-as pearls on a necklace:

"Perfection is discovered in a moment;

He that ne'er saw the sun before, yet knows him.

To a lady fearing rudeness:

"Your very fears and griefs create an awe,
Such majesty they bear; methinks I see
Your soul retir'd within her inmost chamber,
Like a fair mourner sit in state, with all
The silent pomp of sorrow round about her."

"Is this an hour for valiant men' to fight?
They love the sun should witness what they do;
Cowards have courage when they see not death;
And fearful hares, that sculk in forms all day,
Yet fight their feeble quarrels by the moonlight."

"What right have parents over children, more Than birds have o'er their young? yet they impose No rich-plum'd mistress on their feather'd sons;

Act I.

Ibid.