Maid's Tragedy," "The Scornful Lady,” and “Four Plays in One." It is possible that others had some share in the "Cupid's Revenge," the "Coxcomb," and the "Captain." There are no fewer than fifty-six dramas in all in which traces, at least, of both writers are found, but chiefly of Fletcher. The "Woman Hater," and the "Masque of the Inner Temple," and "The Honest Man's Fortune," are regarded as Beaumont's work. Fletcher collaborated with Shakespeare in "The Two Noble Kinsmen." In loftiness of imagination, purity of style and strength, Beaumont surpassed the more exuberant and lighter touch of his co-worker. Their masterpieces are "Philaster" and "The Maid's Tragedy," splendid examples of poetical romance at its highest. Where Beaumont excelled in pathos, the elder sparkled in wit and drollery; yet the former produced the brilliant burlesque on the romance of chivalry (ridiculed a few years earlier by Cervantes in his "Don Quixote"), entitled the "Knight of the Burning Pestle." Fletcher's greatest comedy, perhaps his chief work, is "Rule a Wife and Have a Wife;" and not much inferior in merit, though belonging to another order of mixed comedy and romance, are "The Little French Lawyer," "The Custom of the Country," "The Wild-goose Chase," and "The Noble Gentleman,"-the last being pure extravaganza. The poetical element which informs the whole range of Beaumont and Fletcher's dramatic pieces has already been remarked upon; but, outside the plays proper, both are entitled to rank with the foremost poets of even their golden age. Though cast in dramatic form, Fletcher's famous "Faithful Shepherdess" is a lyrical gem of purest ray. His touch here is matched with the sweetest notes of Milton, whose "Comus" owes much to this first model.

Fletcher's death occurred in 1625. Where both had the gift it is ungracious to seek to draw comparisons of merit. Great as each was in the literary art, together they compounded a body of dramatic and lyric poetry which Shakespeare need not have hesitated to own. The exquisite charm of their lighter verse is not surpassed, in all that gives immortality to human work, by the more impressive volume of their writings for the theatre.

PHILASTER'S JEALOUSY.

IN the tragi-comedy "Philaster, or Love Lies a-Bleeding," Philaster finds the boy Bellario in the forest, and takes him into his service. Afterwards he gives the boy as servant to the princess Arethusa, with whom he is in love. Bellario serves both faithfully, but the prince becomes jealous. Eventually it turns out that the boy is a girl who had disguised herself to be near Philaster, whom she had loved hopelessly.

Bellario. Health to you, my lord;

The princess doth commend her love, her life
And this unto you.

Philaster. O Bellario,

Now I perceive she loves me, she does show it
In loving thee, my boy; she has made thee brave.
Bell. My lord, she has attired me past my wish,
Past my desert, more fit for her attendant,

Though far unfit for me who do attend.

Phi. Thou art grown courtly, boy. O let all women
That love black deeds learn to dissemble here.

Here by this paper she does write to me

As if her heart were mines of adamant

To all the world besides, but unto me

A maiden snow that melted with my looks.

Tell me, my boy, how doth the princess use thee?

For I shall guess her love to me by that.

Bell. Scarce like her servant, but as if I were
Something allied to her, or had preserved
Her life three times by my fidelity;
As mothers fond do use their only sons;

As I'd use one that's left unto my trust,

For whom my life should pay if he met harm,
So does she use me.

Phi. Why this is wondrous well:

But what kind language does she feed thee with?

Bell. Why, she does tell me, she will trust my youth

With all her loving secrets, and does call me

Her pretty servant, bids me weep no more
For leaving you; she'll see my services
Regarded and such words of that soft strain,

That I am nearer weeping when she ends
Than ere she spake.

Phi. This is much better still.

Bell. Are you ill, my lord?

Phi. Ill? No, Bellario.

Bell. Methinks your words

Fall not from off your tongue so evenly,

Nor is there in your looks that quietness,

That I was wont to see.

Phi. Thou art deceived, boy.-And she strokes thy head? Bell. Yes.

Phi. And she does clap thy cheeks?

Bell. She does, my lord.

Phi. And she does kiss thee, boy, ha?

Bell. How, my lord?

Phi. She kisses thee?

Bell. Not so, my lord.

Phi. Come, come, I know she does.
Bell. No, by my life.

Ay, now I see why my disturbed thoughts
Were so perplexed when first I went to her;
My heart held augury. You are abused,
Some villain has abused you; I do see
Whereto you tend; fall rocks upon his head,
That put this to you; 'tis some subtle train
To bring that noble frame of yours to naught.

Phi. Thou think'st I will be angry with thee. Come,

Thou shall know all my drift. I hate her more

Than I love happiness, and placed thee there

To pry with narrow eyes into her deeds.

Hast thou discovered? is she fallen to lust,

As I would wish her? Speak some comfort to me.
Bell. My lord, you did mistake the boy you sent:

Had she a sin that way, hid from the world,

I would not aid

Her base desires; but what I came to know

As servant to her, I would not reveal,

To make my life last ages.

Phi. O my heart!

This is a salve worse than the main disease.
Tell me thy thoughts; for I will know the least
That dwells within thee, or will rip thy heart

To know it; I will see thy thoughts as plain
As I do know thy face.

Bell. Why, so you do.

She is (for aught I know), by all the gods,

As chaste as ice; but were she foul as hell,

And I did know it, thus; the breath of kings,
The points of swords, tortures, nor bulls of brass,
Should draw it from me.

Phi. Then it is no time

To dally with thee, I will take thy life,

For I do hate thee; I could curse thee now.

Bell. If you do hate, you

could not curse me

a man,

That sees the best of men thus passionate,

Thus without reason?

Phi. Oh, but thou dost not

know what 'tis to die.

Bell. Yes, I do know, my lord!

'Tis less than to be born; a lasting sleep;

A quiet resting from all jealousy;

A thing we all pursue; I know besides
It is but giving over of a game

That must be lost.

Phi. But there are pains, false boy,

For perjured souls; think but on these, and then
Thy heart will melt, and thou wilt utter all.

Bell. May they fall all upon me whilst I live,
If I be perjured, or have ever thought

Of that you charge me with; if I be false,
Send me to suffer in those punishments
You speak of; kill me.

Phi. Oh, what should I do?

Why, who can but believe him? He does swear

So earnestly, that if it were not true,

The gods would not endure him. Rise, Bellario;
Thy protestations are so deep, and thou

Dost look so truly when thou utter'st them,
That though I know them false, as were my hopes,

I cannot urge thee further; but thou wert
To blame to injure me, for I must love
Thy honest looks, and take no revenge upon
Thy tender youth: a love from me to thee
Is firm whate'er thou dost: it troubles me
That I have called the blood out of thy cheeks,
That did so well become thee: but, good boy,
Let me not see thee more; something is done
That will distract me, that will make me mad,
If I behold thee; if thou tender'st me,

Let me not see thee.

Bell. I will fly as far

As there is morning, ere I give distaste

To that most honored mind. But through these tears,
Shed at my hopeless parting, I can see

A world of treason practised upon you,

And her, and me. Farewell for evermore;

If you shall hear that sorrow struck me dead,

And after find me loyal, let there be

A tear shed from you in my memory,
And I shall rest at peace.

THE HOME-MADE DUKE.

IN Beaumont and Fletcher's play, "The Noble Gentleman,' an intriguing wife and her companions persuade Monsieur Mount-Marine that the king has conferred many favors on him and made him a duke Their purpose is to keep him in the city that they may spend his money. Afterwards, in further prosecution of the same design, they pretend to have been ordered to unmake the poor dupe.

SCENE-A room in the house of Marine.

Longueville. Where's Monsivar Mount-Marine?

Gentleman. Why, there he stands; will ye aught with him?