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JAMES SHIRLEY.

[JAMES SHIRLEY, the last of the 'great race' of what are called the Elizabethan dramatists, was descended from the Shirleys of either Sussex or Warwickshire, and was born in September 1596, in or near the parish of St. Mary Woolchurch, London. In October 1608, when twelve years old, he was admitted into Merchant-Taylors' School, where he remained till June 1612, giving diligent attention to his studies. On leaving school he is said to have proceeded to St. John's College, Oxford; the only authority for this assertion being Anthony Wood, who makes the following statement regarding Shirley:- At the same time,' says Wood, 'Dr. William Laud presiding that house, he had a very great affection for him, especially for the pregnant parts that were visible in him; but then having a broad or large mole upon his left cheek, which some esteemed a deformity, that worthy doctor would often tell him that he was an unfit person to take the sacred function upon him, and should never have his consent so to do.' If Shirley ever was at Oxford, he quitted it without taking his degree, and became a student at Catherine Hall, Cambridge, where he graduated Bachelor of Arts, and afterwards took his M.A. Notwithstanding the objections of Laud, Shirley, on having completed his course at college, took holy orders, and was appointed to a living at or near St. Alban's, Hertfordshire. Here, however, he remained but a very short time, as soon after, apparently from conscientious and disinterested motives, he became a convert to the Roman Catholic Church. Abandoning the clerical profession, he obtained the appointment of Master in the Grammar School of St. Alban's, which he held during the years 1623, 1624, which employment also,' says Wood, 'he finding uneasy to him, he retired to the metropolis, lived in Gray's Inn, and set up for a play-maker.' There is reason to believe that while still teaching at St. Alban's, his comedy of Love's Tricks was performed in London. Shirley appears to have led a steady life, and, according to Wood, gained not only a considerable livelihood from his dramas, but also attracted the attention of 'persons of quality,' especially of Queen Henrietta Maria, 'who made him her servant.' He appears, however, to have been too independent to take proper advantage of these opportunities of advancement. 'I never,' he says in the dedication to The Maid's Revenge, affected the ways of flattery; some say, I have lost my preferment by not practising that court sin.' Regarding his domestic circumstances, it is only known that he was twice married, and had several children. From the time that he gave up teaching, Shirley continued industriously writing for the stage, his extant works filling six octavo volumes; besides which, a considerable number have been lost. About 1637 he visited Ireland, under the patronage of the Earl of Kildare, and while there brought out on the Dublin stage his drama, Royal Master. In 1642 Parliament ordered the suppression of stage-plays, thus cutting off the occupation of Shirley and other dramatists, as well as of the actors. As might be expected, both dramatists and actors, almost to a man, took the side of the king in the important struggle which followed, many of them attaining to a respectable rank in the royal army. 'When the rebellion broke out,' says Wood, and Shirley thereupon forced to leave London, and so consequently his wife and children (who afterwards were put to their shifts), he was invited by his most noble patron, William, Earl (afterwards Marquis and Duke) of Newcastle, to take his fortune with him in the wars; for that Count had engaged him so much by his generous liberality towards him, that he thought he could not do a worthier act than to serve him, and so consequently his prince.' After the king's cause had declined, Shirley returned to London,

where he lived in comparative obscurity, resuming his old occupation of teaching, by means of which, and by the publication of some early poems and a few of his dramas, as well as of a grammar and other works, he managed to earn a scanty livelihood. The restoration of Charles II. does not appear to have bettered in any respect the condition of Shirley. On the opening of the theatres, which were eagerly attended by the people, several of his pieces were revived with success; but his declared resolution of never again attempting dramatic poetry was not to be shaken. He continued to earn a livelihood by teaching his school; while a degenerate race of playwrights arose, to delight with bombast and obscenity a tasteless and licentious age.'

'At length,' Wood tells us, 'after Mr. Shirley had lived in various conditions, and had seen much of the world, he, with his second wife, Frances, were driven by the dismal conflagration that happened in London, AN. 1666, from their habitation near to Fleet Street, into the parish of St. Giles's-in-the-Fields, in Middlesex, where being in a manner overcome with affrightments, disconsolations, and other miseries, occasioned by that fire and their losses, they both died within the compass of a natural day; whereupon their bodies were both buried in one grave in the yard belonging to the said church of St. Giles's, on the 29th of October 1666.' At his death Shirley had just entered on his seventy-first year. As we have already said, Shirley seems to have led a comparatively blameless life; 'gentle, modest, and full of sensibility, he seems to have conciliated the affection of all his associates.' Thirty-three regular dramas written by Shirley are still extant: of these the principal -The Brothers (licensed 1626); The Wedding (printed 1629); The Grateful Servant (licensed 1629); The Traitor (licensed 1631); The Changes, or Love in a Maze (licensed 1632); Hyde Park (licensed 1632); The Duke's Mistress (licensed 1636); The Humorous Courtier (published 1640); The Cardinal (licensed 1641); The Sisters (licensed 1642); Honoria and Mammon, and The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses for the Shield of Achilles (published 1659).

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Notwithstanding Dryden's unscrupulous sneer in his MacFlecknoe at this dramatist, Shirley undoubtedly deserves to rank honourably among his great contemporaries and predecessors. He is certainly superior to Heywood, and in several respects puts one in mind of the gracę and ease of Beaumont and Fletcher, as well as of their power of depicting the manners of good society. He also, we are sorry to say, resembles these dramatists in another less commendable point, viz., the obscenity with which their plays are disfigured, although his language is seldom so gross and coarse, and, as compared with many of his immediate successors, is purity itself. Though he occasionally,' says Dyce, 'fails in giving vigour and individuality to his characters, the dramatis persona of his best productions are strongly drawn and clearly discriminated. In the extrication of the fable he sometimes betrays carelessness and haste; but his plots are generally conducted with admirable art and judgment. He abounds in brilliant thoughts, in noble and majestic sentiments, yet exhibits little of profound reflection. His imagination seldom takes a lofty flight; he loves to crowd his dramas with events of romantic beauty; but he shows no fondness for the ideal world, its ghosts and magic wonders. His fancy was exuberant. His scenes are rich in delicate imagery and picturesque similes; and even in those plays where character is somewhat faintly delineated, his eloquent and softly-coloured dialogue bestows a charm.' Though he was the last of this 'great race of Titanic dramatists, he is by no means the least.

We have selected, as being two of his best productions, The Traitor and The Brothers.

THE TRAITOR:

A TRAGEDY.

ACTED BY HER MAJESTY'S SERVANTS.

WRITTEN BY JAMES SHIRLEY.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

WILLIAM CAVENDISH,

EARL OF NEWCASTLE, VISCOUNT MANSFIELD, LORD BOLSOVER AND OGLE.

MY LORD,-The honour of your name, and clear- | justified example to our age. To the last these ness of soul, which want no living monuments in the heart of princes, have already made the title of this poem innocent, though not the author; who confesseth his guilt of a long ambition, by some service to be known to you, and his boldness at last, by this rude attempt to kiss your Lordship's hands.

Fame with one breath hath possessed the world with your Lordship's general knowledge, and excellent nature, both an ornament to your blood, and in both you stand the rare and

cold papers address themselves, which if (with
truce to your richer contemplations) you vouch-
safe to read and smile upon, not only they shall
receive a life, beyond what the scene exactly
gave them in the presentment, rewarded with
frequent applause, but your Lordship shall in-
finitely honour him, whose glory is to be men-
tioned

The humblest of your Lordship's servants,
JAMES SHIRLEY.

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Gentlemen.

Servants.

AMIDEA, SCIARRIA's sister.

ORIANA, beloved of PISANO (Cosmo's Mis-
MOROSA, her mother.

Youth.
Lust.

Pleasure.

Death.
Furies.

SCENE-Florence.

That I could let thee nearer into me!

[tress).

My heart counts this embrace a distance, yet;
Let us incorporate.

Pis. I was wooing, Cosmo,

My man, to tell thee I was gone abroad,
Before thou cam'st.

Cos. How's this? your words and looks
Are strange, and teach me to infer I am
Not welcome; that, on riper counsel, you
Do wish my absence.

Pis. What, for telling truth?

He thus should have but made thee fit to see
Thy friend; thou com'st with expectation
To hear me talk sense, dost not?

Cos. Yes.

Pis. La, now!

And to discourse as I was wont, of state,
Our friendship, or of women? no such matter.
Cos. This is more wild than usual; your
language

Is not so clear as it was wont; it carries
Not the same even thread; although some words
May knit, the sense is scatter'd.

Pis. Right, right, Cosmo:
The reason is, I have straggled,

And lost myself, I know not where, in what Part of the world:-and would not this have shown

As well in him [points to Pet.] to have prepar'd thee now?

Cos. What humour's this, Pisano? I am yet To understand.

Pis. To understand? why, Cosmo,
Had I not changed my dialect and method,
What need this tedious apology?

That's it, I would have had thee know before.
Thou canst not understand me, yet thou hast
A name in Florence, for a ripe young man,
Of nimble apprehension, of a wise
And spreading observation; of whom
Already our old men do prophesy

Good and great things, worthy thy fair dimensions!

Cos. This is an argument above the rest,
Pisano is not well; for, being temperate,
He was not wont to flatter and abuse
His friend.

Pis. Beside, there is another reason,
Thou shouldst discover me at heart, through all
These mists: thou art in love, too, and who
cannot,

That feels himself the heat, but shrewdly guess
At every symptom of that wanton fever?-
Oh, Cosmo!

Cos. What misfortune can approach
Your happy love in fairest Amidea?

You have been long contracted, and have pass'd
The tedious hope; Hymen doth only wait
An opportunity to light his torch,
Which will burn glorious at your nuptials:
Let jealous lovers fear, and feel what 'tis

To languish, talk away their blood, and strength,
Question their unkind stars; you have your game
Before you, sir.

Pis. Before me? where? why dost
Thou mock me, Cosmo? she's not here.
Cos. It is

No pilgrimage to travel to her lip.
Pis. "Tis not for you.

Cos. How, sir; for me? you've no

Suspicion I can be guilty of

A treason to our friendship. Be so just,
If malice have been busy with my fame,
To let me know-

Pis. You hastily interpret.

Thy pardon, I have only err'd, but not
With the least scruple of thy faith and honour
To me.
Thou hast a noble soul, and lov'st me
Rather too well; I would thou wert my enemy,
That we had been born in distant climes, and

never

Took cement from our sympathies in nature. Would we had never seen, or known each other! This may seem strange from him that loves thee, Cosmo,

More precious than his life.

Cos. Love me, and wish

This separation?

Pis. I will give thee proof;

So well I love thee, nothing in the world
Thy soul doth heartily affect, but I
Do love it too: does it not trouble thy

Belief? I wear not my own heart about me,
But thine exchang'd; thy eyes let in my objects;
Thou hear'st for me, talk'st, kissest, and enjoy'st
All my felicities.

Cos. What means this language?

Pis. But what's all this to thee? Go to Oriana, And bathe thy lips in rosy dew of kisses; Renew thy eye, that looks as Saturn hung Upon the lid; take in some golden beam, She'll dart a thousand at one glance; and if, At thy return, thou find'st I have a being In this vain world, I'll tell thee more.

Cos. But, sir, you must not part so. Pet. Not with my good will;

I have no great ambition to be mad.

[Exit.

Cos. Petruchio, let me conjure thee, tell What weight hangs on thy master's heart? why

does he

Appear so full of trouble?

Pet. Do you not guess?

Cos. Point at the cause; I cannot.

Pet. Why, he loves

Cos. The beauteous Amidea: I know that. Pet. Some such thing, was; but you are his friend, my lord:

His soul is now devoted to Oriana,

And he will die for her, if this ague hold him.
Cos. Ha!

Pet. Your doublet pinch you, sir; I cannot tell;

But ne'er a woman in the world should make
Me hang myself. It may be, for his honour,
He'll choose another death, he is about one;
For 'tis not possible, without some cure,
He should live long: he has forgot to sleep;
And for his diet, he has not eaten this se'nnight
As much as would choke a sparrow; a fly is
An epicure to him. Good sir, do you counsel
him.-
[Exit Cosmo.

So, so, it works;

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Cos. While I have art to help thee? Oriana
And I were but in treaty; howsoever,
I were not worthy to be call'd his friend,
Whom I preferr'd not to a mistress. If
You can find dispensation to quit

With Amidea, your first love, be confident
Oriana may be won; and it were necessary
You did prepare the mother; be not modest.
Pis. Each syllable is a blessing-Hark, Pe-
truchio.

Cos. There is an engine levell'd at my fate,
And I must arm.

Pis. Away!

Enter LORENZO and DEPAZZI.

Alon. He is here,
Shall we apprehend him?

Lor. Happy morning to
My gracious sovereign!
Duke. Good morrow, coz.-

Can treason couch itself within that frame?

[Whispers him. We have letters for you. [Aside. [Exit PETRUCHIO.

Cos. This for thy comfort: Although some compliments have pass'd between Me and Oriana, I am not warm

Yet in the mother's fancy, whose power may Assist you much; but lose no time: let's follow. Pis. Thou miracle of friendship!

ACT I-SCENE II.

A Room in the DUKE's Palace.

[Exeunt.

Enter DUKE, FREDERICO, FLORIO, and ALONZO.

Duke. Letters to us? from whom?

Alon. Castruchio.

Duke. The exile? whence?

Alon. Sienna, my good lord;

It came enclos'd within my letter, which
Impos'd my care and duty in the swift
Delivery.

[He delivers letters, which the DUKE reads.
Fred. The duke is pale o' the sudden.
Duke. A palsy does possess me; ha! Lorenzo?
Our cousin the enemy of our life and state!
My bosom kinsman?-Not too loud; the traitor
May hear, and by escape prevent our justice.

Flo. What traitor?

[Aside.

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Our guard!-Were he more precious, had he shared

Our soul, as he but borrows of our flesh,
This action makes him nothing; had I been
In heaven, I could have lent him my eternity.
He turn conspirator? Oh the fate of princes!
But stay, this paper speaks of no particular;
He does not mention what design, what plot.
Alon. More providence is necessary.
Duke. Right,

Right, good Alonzo; thou'rt an honest man,
And lov'st us well. What's to be done?
Alon. 'Tis best

To make his person sure; by this you may
Discover soonest who are of his faction.
Duke. And at our leisure study of his punish-
ment,

Which must exceed death; every common trespass
Is so rewarded: first, apply all tortures

To enforce confession, who are his confederates, And how they meant to murder us; then some

rare

Invention to execute the traitor,

So as he may be half a year in dying, Will make us famed for justice.

[Aside

[Gives LORENZO the letters. Lor. Letters! these, dread sir, Have no direction to me, your highness Is only named.

Duke. They will concern your reading.Alonzo, now observe and watch him.-Florio, Depazzi, come you hither; does Lorenzo Look like a traitor?

Dep. How, sir? a traitor?

Duke. Ay, sir.

Dep. I, sir? by my honour, not I, sir; I defy him that speaks it. I am in a fine pickle.

Lor. I have read.

[Aside.

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A pox upon him for a traitor, he Has hedged me in; but I'll confess. Duke. What answer

Make you to this, Lorenzo?

Lor. This, o' the sudden,

[Aside.

[Aside.

Sir; I must owe the title of a Traitor
To your high favours; envy first conspir'd,
And malice now accuses: but what story
Mention'd his name, that had his prince's bosom,
Without the people's hate? 'tis sin enough,
In some men, to be great; the throng of stars,
The rout and common people of the sky,
Move still another way than the sun does,
That gilds the creature: take your honours
back,

And, if you can, that purple of my veins,
Which flows in yours, and you shall leave
me in

A state I shall not fear the great one's envy,
Nor common people's rage; and yet, perhaps,
You may be credulous against me.

Duke. Ha!

Alon. The duke is cool.

Duke. Alonzo, look you prove Lorenzo what you say.

Alon. I say, my lord?

I have discover'd all my knowledge, sir.
Dep. Stand to't.

Lor. With licence of your highness, what
Can you imagine I should gain by treason?
Admit I should be impious, as to kill you-
I am your nearest kinsman, and should forfeit
Both name and future title to the state,
By such a hasty, bloody disposition;
The rabble hate me now, how shall I then
Expect a safety? Is it reformation

Of Florence they accuse me of? suggesting

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