Flora and Zephyrus were seen busily gathering with roses, wedding garments, rocks, and spindles, flowers from the bower, throwing them into baskets which two sylvans held, attired in changeable taffety. Besides two other allegorical characters, Night and Hesperus, there were nine masquers, representing Apollo's knights, and personated by young men of rank. After songs and recitative, the whole vale was suddenly withdrawn, and a hill with Diana's tree discovered. Night appeared in her house with Nine Hours, apparelled in large robes of black taffety, painted thick with stars; their hair long, black, and spangled with gold; on their heads coronets of stars, and their faces black. Every Hour bore in his hand a black torch painted with stars, and lighted. Night. Vanish, dark vales, let night in glory shine, That Cynthia's robbed, but thou must grace the thief? Flora. Be mild, stern Night; Flora doth honour Cynthia and her right; * The nymph was Cynthia's while she was her own, But now another claims in her a right, By fate reserved thereto, and wise foresight. hearts transfixed with arrows, others flaming, vir- Almost naked, wanton, blind; 2d Grace. She that will but now discover 3d Grace. He hath marks about him plenty ; And his breath a flame entire, 1st Grace. At his sight the sun hath turn'd, Zephyrus. Can Cynthia one kind virgin's loss be- 2d Grace. Wings he hath, which though ye clip, moan? How, if perhaps she brings her ten for one? After some more such dialogue, in which Hesperus takes part, Cynthia is reconciled to the loss of her He will leap from lip to lip, nymph; the trees sink, by means of enginery, under 3d Grace. He doth bear a golden bow, the stage, and the masquers come out of their tops to fine music. Dances, processions, speeches, and songs follow, the last being a duet between a Sylvan and an Hour, by the way of tenor and bass. Syl. Tell me, gentle Hour of Night, Wherein dost thou most delight Hour. Not in sleep. Syl. Wherein, then? Hour. In the frolic view of men. Syl. Lov'st thou music? Hour. Oh, 'tis sweet. Syl. What's dancing! Hour. Even the mirth of feet. Syl. Joy you in fairies and in elves? Hour. We are of that sort ourselves : But, Sylvan, say, why do you love Syl. Life is fullest of content, Where delight is innocent. Hour. Pleasure must vary, not be long; Come, then, let's close and end our song. Then the masquers made an obeisance to the king, and attended him to the banqueting room. And a quiver hanging low, 1st Grace. Still the fairest are his fuel. 2d Grace. Trust him not; his words, though sweet, All his practice is deceit ; Every gift it is a bait ; 3d Grace. Idle minutes are his reign; Then the straggler makes his gain, The masques of Jonson contain a great deal of fine poetry, and even the prose descriptive parts are remarkable for grace and delicacy of language—as, for instance, where he speaks of a sea at the back of a scene, catching the eye afar off with a wander | 1st Grace. ing beauty.' In that which was produced at the marriage of Ramsay, Lord Haddington, to Lady Elizabeth Ratcliff, the scene presented a steep red cliff, topped by clouds, allusive to the red cliff from which the lady's name was said to be derived; before which were two pillars charged with spoils of love, amongst which were old and young persons bound 1 Diana. 2d Grace. 3d Grace. Love,' who dance, and then Venus apprehends her son, and a pretty dialogue ensues between them and Hymen. Vulcan afterwards appears, and, claiming the pillars as his workmanship, strikes the red cliff, which opens, and shows a large luminous sphere containing the astronomical lines and signs of the zodiac. He makes a quaint speech, and presents the sphere as his gift to Venus on the triumph of her son. The Lesbian god and his consort retire amicably to their chariot, and the piece ends by the singing of an epithalamium, interspersed with dances of masquers : Up, youths and virgins, up, and praise The god, whose nights outshine his days; Could never boast of brighter lights; Whose bands pass liberty. Two of your troop, that with the morn were free, Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star! What joy, what honours can compare With holy nuptials, when they are Of years, of states, of hands, of hearts! The spouse and spoused have foremost voice! Live what they are, And long perfection see; And such ours be. Shine, Hesperus, shine forth, thou wished star! The Golden Age Restored. The court being seated and in expectation, Loud Music: PALLAS in her chariot descending to a softer music. Look, look! rejoice and wonder That you, offending mortals, are (For all your crimes) so much the care Of him that bears the thunder. Jove can endure no longer, Your great ones should your less invade; Or that your weak, though bad, be made A prey unto the stronger, And therefore means to settle Astræa in her seat again; And let down in his golden chain An age of better metal. Which deed he doth the rather, That even Envy may behold Time not enjoy'd his head of gold Alone beneath his father, But that his care conserveth, As time, so all time's honours too, Regarding still what heav'n should do, And not what earth deserveth. [A tumult, and clashing of arms heard within. But hark! what tumult from yond' cave is heard? What noise, what strife, what earthquake and alarms, As troubled Nature for her maker fear'd, And all the Iron Age were up in arms! Hide me, soft cloud, from their profaner eyes, [She retires behind a cloud. The IRON AGE presents itself, calling forth the EVILS. I. Age. Come forth, come forth, do we not hear What purpose, and how worth our fear, The king of gods hath on us? He is not of the Iron breed, That would, though Fate did help the deed, Rise, rise then up, thou grandame Vice Bring with thee Fraud and Slander, Thy boys, Ambition, Pride, and Scorn, Arm Folly forth, and Ignorance, Upon this enemy so great, And but this once bring under, Which of you would not in a war To keep your own states even? About it, then, and let him feel Since he begins to threat her: And though the bodies here are less Than were the giants; he'll confess Our malice is far greater. The EVILS enter for the Antimasque, and dance to two drums, trumpets, and a confusion of martial music. At the end of which PALLAS re-appears, showing her shield. The EVILS are turned to statues. Pal. So change, and perish, scarcely knowing how, That 'gainst the gods do take so vain a vow, And think to equal with your mortal dates, Their lives that are obnoxious to no fates. 'Twas time t' appear, and let their folly see 'Gainst whom they fought, and with what destiny. Die all that can remain of you, but stone, And that be seen a while, and then be none ! Now, now descend, you both belov'd of Jove, And of the good on earth no less the love. [The scene changes, and she calls ASTREA and the GOLDEN AGE. Descend, you long, long wish'd and wanted pair, Cho. Let narrow natures, how they will, mistake, Pal. Leave that to Jove: therein you are You far-famed spirits of this happy isle, To wait upon the Age that shall your names new nourish, Since Virtue press'd shall grow, and buried Arts shall That in Elysian bowers the blessed seats do keep, That for their living good, now semi-gods are made, And went away from earth, as if but tam'd with sleep? These we must join to wake; for these are of the strain That justice dare defend, and will the age sustain. Cho. Awake, awake, for whom these times were kept. O wake, wake, wake, as you had never slept! Make haste and put on air, to be their guard, Whom once but to defend, is still reward. Pal. Thus Pallas throws a lightning from her shield. [The scene of light discovered. Cho. To which let all that doubtful darkness yield. Ast. Now Peace. The first Dance. Pal. Already do not all things smile? Age. That every thought a seed doth bring, Pal. The earth unplough'd shall yield her crop, Cho. The very shrub shall balsam sweat, Here the main Dance. After which, Pal. But here's not all: you must do more, Poe. The male and female us'd to join, Then Feature did to Form advance, It was a time of no distrust, So much of love had nought of lust; The language melted in the ear, Cho. Each touch and kiss was so well plac'd, Here they dance with the Ladies. Ast. What change is here! I had not more Desire to leave the earth before, Than I have now to stay; My silver feet, like roots, are wreath'd Of all there seems a second birth; I feel the godhead; nor will doubt This, this, and only such as this, Where she would pray to live; Here they dance the Galliards and Corantos. And as his bounty gives you cause, To show the world your fire. Like lights about Astræa's throne, Who vows, against or heat or cold, To write your names in some new flower, Cho. To Jove, to Jove, be all the honour given, FRANCIS BEAUMONT-JOHN FLETCHER. The literary partnerships of the drama which we have had occasion to notice were generally brief and incidental, confined to a few scenes or a single play. In BEAUMONT and FLETCHER, we have the interesting spectacle of two young men of high genius, of good birth and connexions, living together for ten years, and writing in union a series of dramas, passionate, romantic, and comic, thus blending together their genius and their fame in indissoluble connexion. Shakspeare was undoubtedly the inspirer of these kindred spirits. They appeared when his Fletcher. genius was in its meridian splendour, and they were completely subdued by its overpowering influence. They reflected its leading characteristics, not as slavish copyists, but as men of high powers and attainments, proud of borrowing inspiration from a source which they could so well appreciate, and which was at once ennobling and inexhaustible. Francis Beaumont was the son of Judge Beaumont, a member of an ancient family settled at Grace Dieu, in Leicestershire. He was born in 1586, and educated at Cambridge. He became a student of the Inner Temple, probably to gratify his father, but does not seem to have prosecuted the study of the law. He was married to the daughter and co-heiress of Sir Henry Isley of Kent, by whom he had two daughters. He died before he had completed his thirtieth year, and was buried, March 9, 1615-6, at the entrance to St Benedict's chapel, Westminster Abbey. John Fletcher was the son of Dr Richard Fletcher, bishop of Bristol, and afterwards of Worcester. He was born ten years before his friend, in 1576, and he survived him ten years, dying of the great plague in 1625, and was buried in St Mary Overy's church, Southwark, on the 19th of August. The dramas of Beaumont and Fletcher are fiftytwo in number. The greater part of them were not printed till 1647, and hence it is impossible to assign the respective dates to each. Dryden mentions, that Philaster was the first play that brought them into esteem with the public, though they had written two or three before. It is improbable in plot, but interesting in character and situations. The jealousy of Philaster is forced and unnatural; the character of Euphrasia, disguised as Bellario, the page, is a copy from Viola, yet there is something peculiarly delicate in the following account of her hopeless attachment to Philaster: My father oft would speak Your worth and virtue; and, as I did grow My birth no match for you, I was past hope I could not stay with you, I made a vow, Could call together, never to be known, Whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes, For other than I seem'd, that I might ever Abide with you: then sat I by the fount Where first you took me up. Philaster had previously described his finding the disguised maiden by the fount, and the description is highly poetical and picturesque : Hunting the buck, I found him sitting by a fountain-side, Did signify; and how all, order'd thus, The Maid's Tragedy, supposed to be written about the same time, is a drama of a powerful but unpleasing character. The purity of female virtue in Amintor and Aspatia, is well contrasted with the guilty boldness of Evadne; and the rough soldierlike bearing and manly feeling of Melantius, render the selfish sensuality of the king more hateful and disgusting. Unfortunately, there is much licentiousness in this fine play-whole scenes and dialogues are disfigured by this master vice of the theatre of Beaumont and Fletcher. Their dramas are a rank unweeded garden,' which grew only the more disorderly and vicious as it advanced to maturity. Fletcher must bear the chief blame of this defect, for he wrote longer than his associate, and is generally understood to have been the most copious and fertile composer. Before Beaumont's death, they had, in addition to Philaster,' and the Maid's Tragedy,' produced King and no King, Bonduca, The Laws of Candy (tragedies); and The Woman Hater, The Knight of the Burning Pestle, The Honest Man's Fortune, The Coxcomb, and The Captain (comedies). Fletcher afterwards produced three tragic dramas, and nine comedies, the best of which are, The Chances, The Spanish Curate, The Beggar's Bush, and Rule a Wife and Have a Wife. He also wrote an exquisite pastoral drama, The Faithful Shepherdess, which Milton followed pretty closely in the design, and partly in the language and imagery, of Comus. A higher though more doubtful honour has been assigned to the twin authors; for Shakspeare is said to have assisted them in the composition of one of their works, The Two Noble Kinsmen, and his name is joined with Fletcher's on the title page of the first edition. The bookseller's authority in such matters is of no weight; and it seems unlikely that our great poet, after the production of some of his best dramas, should enter into a partnership of this description. The Two Noble Kinsmen' is certainly not superior to some of the other plays of Beaumont and Fletcher. The genius of Beaumont is said to have been more correct, and more strongly inclined to tragedy, than that of his friend. The later works of Fletcher are chiefly of a comic character. His plots are sometimes inartificial and loosely connected, but he is always lively and entertaining. There is a rapid succession of incidents, and the dialogue is witty, elegant, and amusing. Dryden considered that they understood and imitated the conversation of gentlemen much better than Shakspeare; and he states that their plays were, in his day, the most pleasant and frequent entertainments of the stage; two of theirs being acted through the year, for one of Shakspeare's or Jonson's.' It was different some forty years previous to this. In 1627, the King's Company bribed the Master of the Revels with £5, to interfere in preventing the players of the theatre called the Red Bull, from performing the dramas of Shakspeare. One cause of the preference of Beaumont and Fletcher, may have been the license of their dramas, suited to the perverted taste of the court of Charles II., and the spirit of intrigue which they adopted from the Spanish stage, and naturalised on the English. 'We cannot deny,' remarks Hallam, 'that the depths of Shakspeare's mind were often unfathomable by an audience; the bow was drawn by a matchless hand, but the shaft went out of sight. All might listen to Fletcher's pleasing, though not profound or vigorous, language; his thoughts are noble, and tinged with the ideality of romance; his metaphors vivid, though sometimes too forced; he possesses the idiom of English without much pedantry, though in many passages he strains it beyond common use; his versification, though studiously irregular, is often rhythmical and sweet; yet we are seldom arrested by striking beauties. Good lines occur in every page, fine ones but rarely. We lay down the volume with a sense of admiration of what we have read, but little of it remains distinctly in the memory. Fletcher is not much quoted, and has not even afforded copious materials to those who cull the beauties of ancient lore.' His comic powers are certainly far superior to his tragic. Massinger impresses the reader more deeply, and has a moral beauty not possessed by Beaumont and Fletcher, but in comedy he falls infinitely below them. Though their characters are deficient in variety, their knowledge of stage-effect and contrivance, their fertility of invention, and the airy liveliness of their dialogue, give the charm of novelty and interest to their scenes. Mr Macaulay considers that the models which Fletcher had principally in his eye, even for his most serious and elevated compositions, were not Shakspeare's tragedies, but his comedies. It was these, with their idealised truth of character, their poetic beauty of imagery, their mixture of the grave with the playful in thought, their rapid yet skilful transitions from the tragic to the comic in feeling; it was these, the pictures in which Shakspeare had made his nearest approach to portraying actual life, and not those pieces in which he transports the imagination into his own vast and awful world of tragic action, and suffering, and emotion-that attracted Fletcher's fancy, and proved congenial to his cast of feeling.' This observation is strikingly just, applied to Shakspeare's mixed comedies or plays, like the Twelfth Night,' the 'Winter's Tale," As You Like It,' &c. The rich and genial comedy of Falstaff, Shallow, and Slender, was not imitated by Fletcher. His Knight of the Burning Pestle' is an admirable burlesque of the false taste of the citizens of London for chivalrous and romantic adventures, without regard to situation or probability. On the whole, the dramas of Beaumont and Fletcher impress us with a high idea of their powers as poets and dramatists. The vast variety and luxuriance of their genius seem to elevate them above Jonson, though they were destitute of his regularity and solidity, and to place them on the borders of the 'magic circle' of Shakspeare. The confidence and buoyancy of youth are visible in their productions. They had not tasted of adversity, like Jonson or Massinger; and they had not the profoundly-meditative spirit of their great master, cognisant of all human feelings and sympathies; life was to them a scene of enjoyment and pleasure, and the exercise of their genius a source of refined delight and ambition. They were gentlemen who wrote for the stage, as gentlemen have rarely done before or since. [Generosity of Cæsar.] [Ptolemy, king of Egypt, having secured the head of Pompey, comes with his friends Achoreus and Photinus to present it to Cæsar, as a means of gaining his favour. To them enter Caesar, Antony, Dolabella, and Sceva.] Pho. Do not shun me, Cæsar. |