Soliloquy of King Henry deliberating on the Death of a Traitor.

O thou that governst the keen swords of Kings,
Direct my arm in this important stroke;

Or hold it, being advanc'd: the weight of blood,
Even in the basest subject, doth exact
Deep consultation in the highest King:
For in one subject, death's unjust affrights,
Passions, and pains, though he be ne'er so poor,
Ask more remorse, than the voluptuous spleens
Of all Kings in the world deserve respect.
He should be born grey-headed, that will bear
The weight of Empire. Judgment of the life,
Free state, and reputation, of a Man,
(If it be just and worthy), dwells so dark,
That it denies access to sun and moon:
The soul's eye, sharpen'd with that sacred light
Of whom the sun itself is but a beam,

Must only give that judgment. O, how much
Err those Kings then, that play with life and death;
And nothing put into their serious states

But humour and their lusts; for which alone
Men long for kingdoms: whose huge counterpoise
In cares and dangers could a fool comprise,
He would not be a King, but would be wise!1

[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 quaintHe 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

ness.

1[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, a 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. 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?
For only such make men. Are you a Gentleman?
Mont. Not here; for I am all dejectedness,
Captive to fortune, and a slave to want;

I cannot call these clothes I wear mine own;
I do not eat but at another's cost;

This air I breathe is borrow'd; ne'er was man
So poor and abject. I have not so much
In all this universe as a thing to leave,
Or a country I can freely boast is mine.
My essence and my being is another's.
What should I say? I am not anything;
And I possess as little.

Pet. Tell me that?

Come, come, I know you to be no such man.

You are a soldier valiant and renown'd;

Your carriage tried by land, and proved at sea;

Of which I have heard such full expression,

No contradiction can persuade you less;
And in this faith I am constant.

Mont. A meer worm,

Trod on by every fate.

Pet. Rais'd by your merit

To be a common argument through Spain,
And speech at Princes' tables, for your worth;
Your presence when you please to expose 't abroad
Attracts all eyes, and draws them after you;
And those that understand you, call their friends,
And pointing through the street say, This is he,
This is that brave and noble Englishman,
Whom soldiers strive to make their precedent,
And other men their wonder.

Mont. This your scorn

Makes me appear more abject to myself,
Than all diseases I have tasted yet

Had power to asperse upon me; and yet, Lady,

I could say something, durst I.

Pet. Speak't at once.

Mont. And yet—

Pet. Nay, but we'll admit no pause.

Mont. I know not how my phrase may relish you, And loth I were to offend; even in what's past

I must confess I was too bold.

I shall no more distaste

Pet. Sir, you do not;

you.

Farewell;

I do proclaim you do not. Stay, I charge you ;
Or, as you say you have been fortune's scorn,
So ever prove to woman.

Mont. You charge deeply,

And yet now I bethink me

Pet. As you are a soldier,

And Englishman, have hope to be redeem'd
From this your scorned bondage you sustain;
Have comfort in your mother and fair sister;
Renown so blazed in the ears of Spain;
Hope to rebreathe that air you tasted first;
So tell me-

Mont. What?

Pet. Your apprehension catch'd, And almost was in sheaf

Mont. Lady, I shall.

Pet. And in a word.

Mont. I will.

Pet. Pronounce it then.

Mont. I love you.

Pet. Ha, ha, ha.

Mont. Still it is my misery Thus to be mock'd in all things.

Pet. Pretty, faith.

Mont. I look'd thus to be laugh'd at; my estate And fortunes, I confess, deserve no less; That made me so unwilling to denounce Mine own derisions: but, alas! I find No nation, sex, complexion, birth, degree, But jest at want, and mock at misery. Pet. Love me?

Mont. I do, I do; and maugre Fate, And spite of all sinister evil, shall. And now I charge you, by that filial zeal You owe your father, by the memory Of your dear mother, by the joys you hope In blessed marriage, by the fortunate issue Stored in your womb, by these and all things else That you can style with goodness; instantly, Without evasion, trick, or circumstance,

Nay, least premeditation, answer me,

Affect you me, or no?

Pet. How speak you that?

Mont. Without demur or pause.

Pet. Give me but time

To sleep upon't.

Mont. I pardon you no minute; not so much, As to apparel the least phrase you speak. Speak in the shortest sentence.

Pet. You have vanquish'd me,

At mine own weapon: noble sir, I love you : And what my heart durst never tell my tongue, Lest it should blab my thoughts, at last I speak, And iterate; I love you.

Mont. O, my happiness!

What wilt thou feel me still? art thou not weary
Of making me thy May-game, to possess me
Of such a treasure's mighty magazine,

Not suffer me to enjoy it; ta'en with this hand,
With that to give't another?

Pet. You are sad, Sir;

Be so no more: if you have been dejected,

It lies in me to mount you to that height
You could not aim at greater. I am yours.
These lips, that only witness it in air,
Now with this truth confirm it.
Mont. I was born to't;
And it shall out at once.

Pet. Sir, you seem passionate;
As if my answer pleas'd not.
Mont. Now my death;

For mine own tongue must kill me noble Lady
You have endear'd me to you, but my vow
Was, ne'er to match with any, of what state
Or birth soever, till before the contract
Some one thing I impose her.

Pet. She to do it?

Mont. Or, if she fail me in my first demand, I to abjure her ever.

Pet. I am she,

That beg to be imploy'd so name a danger,
Whose very face would fright all womanhood,
And manhood put in trance, nay, whose aspect
Would ague such as should but hear it told;
But to the sad beholder, prove like those
That gaz'd upon Medusa's snaky locks,

And turn'd them into marble: these and more,
Should you but speak't, I'd do.

Mont. And swear to this?

Pet. I vow it by my honour, my best hopes, And all that I wish gracious: name it then, For I am in a longing in my soul,

To show my love's expression.

Mont. You shall then

Pet. I'll do it, as I am a Virgin : Lie it within mortality, I'll do it. Mont. You shall

Pet. I will that which appears in

So terrible to speak, I'll joy to act;
And take pride in performance.

Mont. Then you shall

Pet. What, soldier, what?

Mont.

love noble Valladaura

you

And at his soonest appointment marry him.1

Pet. Then I am lost.

[Kisses him.

[Act iv., Sc. 1.2]

[Nine lines omitted.]

2 [Heywood's Dram. Works, 1874, vol. v.]