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JOHN WEBSTER.

[IN the case of nearly every one of the dramatists already noticed, we have had to lament the scantiness of biographical materials; but in no instance is this scantiness more lamentable than in the case of the 'noble-minded' John Webster. Regarding this author, nearly all that is known for certain is, that he was contemporary with most of the dramatists already mentioned, and that he wrote certain dramas of a high order, some of which are still extant. On the title-page of one of his works he is styled 'merchant-tailor,' and in the dedication to the same work he describes himself as 'one born free of the Merchant-Tailors' Company.' Gildon, who wrote about 1698, asserts that Webster was clerk of the parish of St. Andrew's, Holborn; but Dyce, after careful search of the registers and other documents relating to that church, could not find the dramatist's name mentioned. The same industrious editor found the names of three John Websters who had been made free of Merchant-Tailors' Company between 1571 and 1617, but none of these can be identified with the dramatist. It has also been conjectured that, like many of his contemporaries, he was an actor as well as a writer of plays. This exhausts nearly all that is known or has been conjectured concerning this shadowy but highly-gifted dramatist, except the allusions made to him in Henslowe's diary, the first of which occurrs in 1601 in connection with a play entitled The Guise; but whether this was a work of Webster's own, or an old play which he had 'doctored' for the stage, it is now impossible to say. To be as definite as we dare, we may state that Professor Masson gives the dates of Webster's life and death approximately as 1570-1640.

Webster wrote a number of dramas in conjunction with some of his contemporaries. In 1607 were printed The Famous History of Sir Thomas Wyatt, Westward Hoe, and Northward Hoe, the joint productions of Webster and Decker. The extant dramas undoubtedly Webster's own are The White Devil, or Vittoria Corombona (printed 1612); The Duchess of Malfi (published 1623, but first produced about 1616); The Devil's Law Case (1623); Appius and Virginia (first printed in 1654). All who have written on the subject agree in placing Webster in the very highest rank of the second-rate dramatists, i.e. of all those inferior to Shakespeare. His two tragedies, The White Devil and The Duchess of Malfi, are by far his best; and, according to Hazlitt, 'upon the whole, perhaps, come the nearest to Shakespeare of anything we have upon record.' Webster's genius was of a weird, gloomy, morbid cast, like Marlowe's raised to a higher power; his works are full of rich but 'terrible graces.' Comparing Webster with Decker, Hazlitt says: 'Webster gives more scope to the various combinations and changeable aspects [of the simple uncompounded elements of nature and passion], brings them into dramatic play by contrast and comparisons, flings them into a state of confusion by a kindled fancy, makes them describe a wider arc of oscillation from the impulse of unbridled passion, and carries both terror and pity to a more painful and sometimes unwarrantable excess.' Webster delights 'to suggest horrible imaginings,' and to adorn his sentiments with some image of tender and awful beauty.' We have selected as a specimen of Webster's dramas, The Duchess of Malfi, in speaking of which Charles Lamb says, the duchess has lived among horrors till she has become "native and endowed into that element." She speaks the dialect of despair; her tongue has a snatch of Tartarus and the souls of hell. To move a horror skilfully, to touch a soul to the quick, to lay upon fear as much as it can bear; to wean and weary a life till it is ready to drop, and then step in with mortal instruments to take its last forfeits; this only a Webster can do.']

THE TRAGEDY OF THE DUCHESS OF MALFI.

AS IT WAS PRESENTED PRIVATELY AT THE BLACK FRIARS, AND PUBLICLY
AT THE GLOBE, BY THE KING'S MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.

The perfect and exact copy, with diverse things printed that the length of the play
would not bear in the presentment.

WRITTEN BY JOHN WEBSTER.

London. 1623.

TO THE

RIGHT HONOURABLE GEORGE HARDING,

BARON BERKELEY, OF BERKELEY CASTLE, AND KNIGHT OF THE ORDER OF THE BATH
TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS PRINCE CHARLES.

MY NOBLE LORD,-That I may present my excuse why, being a stranger to your lordship, I offer this poem to your patronage, I plead this warrant:-men who never saw the sea, yet desire to behold that regiment of waters, choose some eminent river to guide them thither, and make that, as it were, their conduct or postilion: by the like ingenious means has your fame arrived at my knowledge, receiving it from some of worth, who, both in contemplation and practice, owe to your honour their clearest service. I do not altogether look up at your title; the ancientest nobility being but a relic of time past, and the truest honour indeed being for a man to confer honour on himself, which your learning strives to propagate, and shall make you arrive at the dignity of a great example. I am confident this work is not unworthy your honour's perusal; for by such poems as this poets have kissed the hands of great princes, and drawn their gentle

eyes to look down upon their sheets of paper, when the poets themselves were bound up in their winding-sheets. The like courtesy from your lordship shall make you live in your grave, and laurel spring out of it, when the ignorant scorners of the Muses, that like worms in libraries seem to live only to destroy learning, shall wither neglected and forgotten. This work and myself I humbly present to your approved censure,' it being the utmost of my wishes to have your honourable self my weighty and perspicuous comment; which grace so done me shall ever be acknowledged

By your lordship's

in all duty and observance, JOHN WEBSTER.

1 censure-judgment, criticism; from Lat. censeo, to think, judge.

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In seeking to reduce both state and people
To a fix'd order, their judicious king
Begins at home; quits first his royal palace
Of flattering sycophants, of dissolute

And infamous persons,-which he sweetly terms
His master's masterpiece, the work of heaven:
Considering duly that a prince's court

Is like a common fountain, whence should flow
Pure silver drops in general, but if't chance
Some curs'd example poison'd near the head,
Death and diseases through the whole land
spread.

And what is't makes this blessèd government
But a most provident council, who dare freely
Inform him the corruption of the times?
Though some o' the court hold it presumption
To instruct princes what they ought to do,
It is a noble duty to inform them

What they ought to foresee.-Here comes Bosola,
The only court-gall; yet I observe his railing
Is not for simple love of piety:

Indeed, he rails at those things which he wants;
Would be as lecherous, covetous, or proud,
Bloody, or envious, as any man,

If he had means to be so.-Here's the cardinal.

Enter CARDINAL and BOSOLA.

Bos. I do haunt you still.

Card. So.

Bos. I have done you better service than to be slighted thus. Miserable age, where only the reward of doing well is the doing of it!

Card. You enforce your merit too much. Bos. I fell into the galleys in your service; where, for two years together, I wore two towels instead of a shirt, with a knot on the shoulder, after the fashion of a Roman mantle. Slighted thus! I will thrive some way: blackbirds fatten best in hard weather; why not I in these dogdays?

Card. Would you could become honest!

Bos. With all your divinity do but direct me the way to it. I have known many travel far for it, and yet return as arrant knaves as they went forth, because they carried themselves always along with them. [Exit Cardinal.] Are you gone? Some fellows, they say, are possessed with the devil, but this great fellow were able to possess the greatest devil, and make him

worse.

Ant. He hath denied thee some suit?

Bos. He and his brother are like plum-trees that grow crooked over standing-pools; they are rich and o'erladen with fruit, but none but crows, pies, and caterpillars feed on them. Could I be one of their flattering panders, I would hang on their ears like a horseleech, till I were full, and then drop off. I pray, leave me. Who would rely upon these miserable dependencies, in expectation to be advanced to-morrow? what creature ever fed worse than hoping Tantalus? nor ever died any man more fearfully than he that hoped for a pardon. There are rewards for hawks

1 quits-clears.

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Bos. Ay, to hang in a fair pair of slings, take his latter swing in the world upon an honourable pair of crutches, from hospital to hospital. Fare ye well, sir: and yet do not you scorn us; for places in the court are but like beds in the hospital, where this man's head lies at this man's foot, and so lower and lower. [Exit.

Del. I knew this fellow seven years in the galleys

For a notorious murder; and 'twas thought
The cardinal suborn'd it: he was releas'd
By the French general, Gaston de Foix,
When he recover'd Naples.

Ant. 'Tis great pity

He should be thus neglected. I have heard
He's very valiant. This foul melancholy
Will poison all his goodness; for, I'll tell you,
If too immoderate sleep be truly said
To be an inward rust unto the soul,
It then doth follow want of action
Breeds all black malcontents; and their close
rearing,

Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing.

ACT I.-SCENE II.

Enter ANTONIO, DELIO, FERDINAND, CASTRUCCIO, SILVIO, RODERIGO, GRISOLAN, and Attendants.

Del. The presence 'gins to fill: you promis'd

me

To make me the partaker of the natures
Of some of your great courtiers.

Ant. The lord cardinal's,

And other strangers that are now in court?
I shall. Here comes the great Calabrian duke.
Ferd. Who took the ring oftenest ??
Sil. Antonio Bologna, my lord.

Ferd. Our sister duchess' great-master of her household? give him the jewel.-When shall we leave this sportive action, and fall to action indeed?

to go to war in person. Cast. Methinks, my lord, you should not desire

Ferd. Now for some gravity:-why, my lord? Cast. It is fitting a soldier arise to be a prince, but not necessary a prince descend to be a captain.

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Ferd. Why do you laugh? methinks you that are courtiers should be my touch-wood, take fire when I give fire; that is, not laugh but when I laugh, were the subject never so witty.

Cast. True, my lord. I myself have heard a very good jest, and have scorned to seem to have so silly a wit as to understand it.

Ferd. But I can laugh at your fool, my lord. Cast. He cannot speak, you know, but he makes faces: my lady cannot abide him. Ferd. No?

Cast. Nor endure to be in merry company; for she says too much laughing and too much company fills her too full of the wrinkle.

Ferd. I would, then, have a mathematical instrument made for her face, that she might not laugh out of compass.-I shall shortly visit you at Milan, Lord Silvio.

Sil. Your grace shall arrive most welcome. Ferd. You are a good horseman, Antonio: you have excellent riders in France: what do you think of good horsemanship?

Ant. Nobly, my lord: as out of the Grecian horse issued many famous princes, so out of brave horsemanship arise the first sparks of growing resolution, that raise the mind to noble action. Ferd. You have bespoke it worthily.

Sil. Your brother the lord cardinal, and sister duchess.

Re-enter CARDINAL, with DUCHESS, CARIOLA, and
JULIA.

Card. Are the galleys come about?
Gris. They are, my lord.

Ferd. Here's the Lord Silvio is come to take his leave.

Del. Now, sir, your promise: what's that cardinal?

I mean his temper? they say he's a brave fellow, Will play his five thousand crowns at tennis,

dance,

Court ladies, and one that hath fought single combats.

Ant. Some such flashes superficially hang on him for form; but observe his inward character: he is a melancholy churchman; the spring in his face is nothing but the engendering of toads; where he is jealous of any man, he lays worse plots for them than ever was imposed on Hercules, for he strews in his way flatterers, panders, intelligencers, atheists, and a thousand such political monsters. He should have been Pope; but instead of coming to it by the primitive decency of the church, he did bestow bribes so largely and so impudently as if he would have carried it away without Heaven's knowledge. Some good he hath done

1 tent is a roll of lint or other material used in searching or dilating a wound; from Lat. tendo, to stretch.

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Ant. Most true:

He never pays debts unless they be shrewd turns,
And those he will confess that he doth owe.
Last, for his brother there, the cardinal,
They that do flatter him most say oracles
Hang at his lips; and verily I believe them,
For the devil speaks in them.

But for their sister, the right noble duchess,
You never fix'd your eye on three fair medals
Cast in one figure, of so different temper.
For her discourse, it is so full of rapture,
You only will begin then to be sorry
When she doth end her speech, and wish, in
wonder,

She held it less vainglory to talk much,
Than your penance to hear her: whilst she
speaks,

She throws upon a man so sweet a look,
That it were able to raise one to a galliard
That lay in a dead palsy, and to dote
On that sweet countenance; but in that look
There speaketh so divine a continence
As cuts off all lascivious and vain hope.
Her days are practis'd in such noble virtue,
That sure her nights, nay, more, her very sleeps,
Are more in heaven than other ladies' shrifts.
Let all sweet ladies break their flattering glasses,
And dress themselves in her.

Del. Fie, Antonio,

You play the wire-drawer with her commendations.

Ant. I'll case the picture up: only thus much; All her particular worth grows to this sum,She stains the time past, lights the time to come. Cari. You must attend my lady in the gallery, Some half an hour hence.

Ant. I shall.

[Exeunt ANTONIO and DELIO. Ferd. Sister, I have a suit to you. Duch. To me, sir?

Ferd. A gentleman here, Daniel de Bosola, One that was in the galleys

Duch. Yes, I know him.

Ferd. A worthy fellow he is: pray, let me entreat for

The provisorship of your horse.
Duch. Your knowledge of him
Commends him and prefers him.
Ferd. Call him hither.

[Exit Attendant.
We are now upon parting. Good Lord Silvio,
Do us commend to all our noble friends
At the leaguer.

Sil. Sir, I shall.

Ferd. You are for Milan? Sil. I am.

1 galliard-a lively, leaping, nimble French dance; from gaillard, gay.-NARES.

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Bos. I was lur'd to you.

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Ferd. Be yourself;

Keep your old garb of melancholy; 'twill express

Ferd. My brother, here, the cardinal could You envy those that stand above your reach,

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Ferd. Such a kind of thriving thing

Yet strive not to come near 'em: this will gain
Access to private lodgings, where yourself
May, like a politic dormouse-

Bos. As I have seen some

Feed in a lord's dish, half asleep, not seeming
To listen to any talk; and yet these rogues
Have cut his throat in a dream. What's my
place?

The provisorship o' the horse? Say, then, my corruption

Grew out of horse-dung: I am your creature.
Ferd. Away!

Bos. Let good men, for good deeds, covet good fame,

Since place and riches oft are bribes of shame: Sometimes the devil doth preach.

[Exit.

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You live in a rank pasture, here, i' the court; There is a kind of honey-dew that's deadly;

I would wish thee; and ere long thou mayst "Twill poison your fame; look to't: be not

arrive

At a higher place by't.

Bos. Take your devils,

Which hell calls angels: these curs'd gifts would make

You a corrupter, me an impudent traitor;

And should I take these, they'd take me to hell.

1 caroches-coaches, generally large ones.

2 Alluding to the money the duke gave him. An angel was a gold coin worth about ten shillings.

cunning;

For they whose faces do belie their hearts
Are witches ere they arrive at twenty years,
Ay, and give the devil suck.

Duch. This is terrible good counsel.

Ferd. Hypocrisy is woven of a fine small thread, Subtler than Vulcan's engine; yet, believe't,

1 luxurious-wanton, lascivious.

2 Vulcan's engine-ie. the net in which he caught Mars and Venus.-DYCE.

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