idea of chastity as a virtue, but only such a conception as a blind man might have of the power of seeing, by handling an ox's eye. In The Queen of Corinth, indeed, they talk differently; but it is all talk, and nothing is real in it but the dread of losing a reputation. Hence the frightful contrast between their women (even those who are meant for virtuous) and Shakspeare's. So, for instance, The Maid in the Mill-a woman must not merely have grown old in brothels, but have chuckled over every abomination committed in them with a rampant sympathy of imagination, to have had her fancy so drunk with the minutia of lechery as this icy chaste virgin evinces hers to have been.

It would be worth while to note how many of these plays are founded on rapes,—how many on incestuous passions, and how many on mere lunacies. Then their virtuous women are either crazy superstitions of a mere bodily negation of having been acted on, or strumpets in their imaginations and wishes, or, as in this Maid in the Mill, both at the same time. In the men, the love is merely lust in one direction,-exclusive preference of one object. The tyrant's speeches are mostly taken from the mouths of indignant denouncers of the tyrant's character, with the substitution of 'I' for 'he,' and the omission of the prefatory 'he acts as if he thought' so and so. The only feelings they can possibly excite are disgust at the Aeciuses, if regarded as sane loyalists, or compassion, if considered as Bedlamites. So much for their tragedies. But even their comedies are, most of them, disturbed by the fantasticalness, or gross caricature, of the persons or incidents. There are few characters that you can really like,(even though you should have erased from your mind all the filth which bespatters the most likable of them, as Piniero in The Island Princess for instance)—scarcely one whom you can love. How different this from Shakspeare, who makes one have a sort of sneaking affection even for his Barnardines;—whose very Iagos and Richards are awful, and by the counteracting power of profound intellects, rendered fearful rather than hateful;-and even the exceptions, as Goneril and Regan, are proofs of superlative judgment and the finest moral tact, in being left utter monsters, nulla virtute redemptæ, and in being kept out of sight as much as possible, they being, indeed, only means for the excitement and deepening of noblest emotions towards the Lear, Cordelia, &c. and employed with the severest economy! But

even Shakspeare's grossness-that which is really so, indepen dently of the increase in modern times of vicious associations with things indifferent (for there is a state of manners conceivable so pure, that the language of Hamlet at Ophelia's feet might be a harmless rallying, or playful teasing, of a shame that would exist in Paradise)—at the worst, how diverse in kind is it from Beaumont and Fletcher's! In Shakspeare it is the mere generalities of sex, mere words for the most part, seldom or never distinct images, all head-work, and fancy-drolleries; there is no sensation supposed in the speaker. I need not proceed to contrast this with B. and F.

ROLLO.

THIS is, perhaps, the most energetic of Fletcher's tragedies. He evidently aimed at a new Richard III. in Rollo;-but as in all his other imitations of Shakspeare, he was not philosopher enough to bottom his original. Thus, in Rollo, he has produced a mere personification of outrageous wickedness, with no fundamental characteristic impulses to make either the tyrant's words or actions philosophically intelligible. Hence the most pathetic situations border on the horrible, and what he meant for the terrible, is either hateful, zò montov, or ludicrous. The scene of Baldwin's sentence in the third act is probably the grandest working of passion in all B. and F.'s dramas;-but the very magnificence of filial affection given to Edith, in this noble scene, renders the after-scene-(in imitation of one of the_least Shaksperian of all Shakspeare's works, if it be his, the scene between Richard and Lady Anne)-in which Edith is yielding to a few words and tears, not only unnatural, but disgusting. In Shakspeare, Lady Anne is described as a weak, vain, very woman throughout.

Act i. sc. 1.

Gis. He is indeed the perfect character

Of a good man, and so his actions speak him.

This character of Aubrey, and the whole spirit of this and several other plays of the same authors, are interesting as traits of the morals which it was fashionable to teach in the reigns of James I. and his successor, who died a martyr to them. Stage,

pulpit, law, fashion,-all conspired to enslave the realm. Massinger's plays breathe the opposite spirit; Shakspeare's the spirit of wisdom which is for all ages. By-the-by, the Spanish dramatists-Calderon, in particular, had some influence in this respect, of romantic loyalty to the greatest monsters, as well as in the busy intrigues of B. and F.'s plays.

THE WILDGOOSE CHASE.

Act ii. sc. 1. Belleur's speech :—

-That wench, methinks,

If I were but well set on, for she is a fable,

If I were but hounded right, and one to teach me.

SYMPSON reads affable,' which Colman rejects, and says, 'the next line seems to enforce' the reading in the text.

Pity, that the editor did not explain wherein the sense, seemingly enforced by the next line,' consists. May the true word be 'a sable,' that is, a black fox, hunted for its precious fur? Or 'at-able,'—as we now say,' she is come-at-able?'

A WIFE FOR A MONTH.

Act iv. sc. 1. Alphonso's speech :

Betwixt the cold bear and the raging lion
Lies my safe way.

Seward's note and alteration to

"Twixt the cold bears, far from the raging lion-

THIS Mr. Seward is a blockhead of the provoking species. In his itch for correction, he forgot the words-' lies my safe way!' The Bear is the extreme pole, and thither he would travel over the space contained between it and 'the raging lion.'

Act iv. sc. 2.

THE PILGRIM.

ALINDA's interview with her father is lively, and happily hit off; but this scene with Roderigo is truly excellent. Altogether, indeed, this play holds the first place in B. and F.'s romantic entertainments, Lustspiele, which collectively are their happiest performances, and are only inferior to the romance of Shakspeare in the As You Like It, Twelfth Night, &c.

Ib.

Alin. To-day you shall wed Sorrow,
And Repentance will come to-morrow.

Read Penitence,' or else

Act ii. sc. 1.

Repentance, she will come to-morrow.

THE QUEEN OF CORINTH.

MERIONE'S speech. Had the scene of this tragi-comedy been laid in Hindostan instead of Corinth, and the gods here addressed been the. Veeshnoo and Co. of the Indian Pantheon, this rant would not have been much amiss.

In respect of style and versification, this play and the following of Bonduca may be taken as the best, and yet as characteristic, specimens of Beaumont and Fletcher's dramas. I particularly instance the first scene of the Bonduça. Take Shakspeare's Richard II., and having selected some one scene of about the same number of lines, and consisting mostly of long speeches, compare it with the first scene in Bonduca,-not for the idle purpose of finding out which is the better, but in order to see and understand the difference. The latter, that of B. and F., you will find a well-arranged bed of flowers, each having its separate root, and its position determined aforehand by the will of the gardener,-each fresh plant a fresh volition. In the former you see an Indian fig-tree, as described by Milton;-all is growth, evolution, yéveois ;-each line, each word almost, begets the following, and the will of the writer is an interfusion, a continuous agency, and not. a series of separate acts. Shakspeare is the height, breadth, and depth of Genius: Beaumont and Fletcher the excellent mechanism, in juxtaposition and succession, of talent.

THE NOBLE GENTLEMAN.

WHY have the dramatists of the times of Elizabeth, James I., and the first Charles become almost obsolete, with the exception of Shakspeare? Why do they no longer belong to the English, being once so popular? And why is Shakspeare an exception? -One thing, among fifty, necessary to the full solution is, that they all employed poetry and poetic diction on unpoetic subjects, both characters and situations, especially in their comedy. Now Shakspeare is all, all ideal,-of no time, and therefore for all times. Read, for instance, Marine's panegyric in the first scene of this play :—

Know

The eminent court, to them that can be wise,
And fasten on her blessings, is a sun, &c.

What can be more unnatural and inappropriate-(not only is, but must be felt as such)—than such poetry in the mouth of a silly dupe? In short, the scenes are mock dialogues, in which the poet solus plays the ventriloquist, but can not keep down his own way of expressing himself. Heavy complaints have been made respecting the transposing of the old plays by Cibber; but it never occurred to these critics to ask, how it came that no one ever attempted to transpose a comedy of Shakspeare's.

THE CORONATION.

Act i. Speech of Seleucus :

Altho' he be my enemy, should any

Of the gay flies that buzz about the court,
Sit to catch trouts i' the summer, tell me so,
I durst, &c.

Colman's note.

PSHAW! 'Sit' is either a misprint for set,' or the old and still provincial word for 'set,' as the participle passive of 'seat' orset.' I have heard an old Somersetshire gardener say Look, Sir! I set these plants here; those yonder I sit yesterday."