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dramas, the 'Atheist's Tragedy' and the Revenger's Tragedy.' tragi-comedy, the Witch of Edmonton,' is remarkable as having been the work of at least three authors-Rowley, Dekker, and Ford. It embodies, in a striking form, the vulgar superstitions respecting witchcraft, which so long debased the popular mind in England: Scene from the Witch of Edmonton.'

MOTHER SAWYER alone.

SAWYER. And why on me? why should the envious world
Throw all their scandalous malice upon me?
'Cause I am poor, deformed, and ignorant,
And like a bow buckled and bent together
By some more strong in mischiefs than myself;
Must I for that be made a common sink
For all the filth and rubbish of men's tongues
To fall and run into? Some call me witch,
And being ignorant of myself, they go
About to teach me how to be one; urging

That my bad tongue-by their bad usage made so-
Forespeaks their cattle, doth bewitch their corn,

Themselves, their servants, and their babes at nurse!
This they enforce upon me; and in part

Make me to credit it.

BANKS, a Farmer, enters.

BANKS. Out, out upon thee, witch!

SAW. Dost call me witch?

BANKS. I do, witch; I do:

And worse I would, knew I a name more hateful. 'What makest thou upon my ground?

SAW. Gather a few rotten sticks to warm me.

BANKS. Down with them when I bid thee, quickly;

I'll make thy bones rattle in thy skin else.

SAW. You won't! churl, cut-throat, miser! there they be. Would they stuck 'cross thy throat, thy bowels, thy maw, thy midriff

Now thy bones ache, thy joints

BANKS. Say'st thou me so? Hag, out of my ground.
SAW. Dost strike me slave, curmudgeon?
cramp, and convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews.

BANKS. Cursing, thou hag? take that, and that. [Exit.
SAW. Strike, do: and withered may that hand and arm,
Whose blows have lamed me, drop from the rotten trunk.
Abuse me! beat me! call me hag and witch!
What is the name? where, and by what art learned?
What spells, or charms, or invocations,

May the thing called Familiar be purchased?

I am shunned

And hated like a sickness; made a scorn

To all degrees and sexes. I have heard old beldams
Talk of familiars in the shape of mice,

Rats, ferrets, weasels, and I wot not what,

That have appeared; and sucked, some say, their blood,
But by what means they came acquainted with them,
I'm now ignorant. Would some power, good or bad
Instruct me which way I might be revenged

Upon this churl, I'd go out of myself,
And give this fury leave to dwell within
This ruined cottage, ready to fall with age:
Abjure all goodness, be at hate with prayer,
And study curses, imprecations,

Blasphemous speeches, oaths, detested oaths,
Or anything that's ill; so I might work
Revenge upon this miser, this black cur,

That barks, and bites, and sucks the very blood
Of me, and of my credit. 'Tis all one

To be a witch as to be counted one.

A Drowned Soldier-From Tourneur's ‘Atheist's Tragedy.'
Walking upon the fatal shore,

Among the slaughtered bodies of their men,
Which the full stomached sea had cast upon
The sands, it was my unhappy chance to light
Upon a face, whose favour, when it lived,
My astonished mind informed me I had seen.
He lay in his armour, as if that had been
His coffin; and the weeping sea-like one
Whose milder temper doth lament the death
Of him whom in his rage he slew-runs up
The shore, embraces him, kisses his cheek;
Goes back again, and forces up the sands
To bury him; and every time it parts,
Sheds tears upon him; till at last-as if
It could no longer endure to see the man
Whom it had slain, yet loath to leave him-with
A kind of unresolved unwilling pace,

Winding her waves one in another-like

A man that folds his arms, or wrings his hands,
For grief-ebbed from the body, and descends:
As if it would sink down into the earth,

And hide itself for shame of such a deed.

An anonymous play, the 'Return from Parnassus,' was acted by the students of St John's College, Cambridge, about the year 1602; it is remarkable for containing criticisms on contemporary authors, all poets. Each author is summoned up for judgment, and dismissed after a few words of commendation or censure. Some of these poetical criticisms are finely written, as well as curious. Of Spenser: A sweeter swan than ever sung in Po; A shriller nightingale than ever blest

The prouder groves of self-admiring Rome.
Blithe was each valley, and each shepherd proud
While he did chant his rural minstrelsy.

Attentive was full many a dainty ear;

Nay, hearers hung upon his melting tongue,
While sweetly of the Faery Queen he sung;
While to the water's fall he tuned her fame,
And in each bark engraved Eliza's name.

The following extract introduces us to Marlowe, Jonson, and Shakspeare; but to the last only as the author of the Venus' and 'Lucrece.' Ingenioso reads out the names, and Judicio pronounces judgment:

INGENIOSO. Christopher Marlowe.

JUDICIO. Marlowe was happy in his buskined muse;
Alas! unhappy in his life and end.

Pity it is that wit so ill should well,

Wit lent from heaven, but vices sent from hell.

ING. Our theatre hath lost, Pluto hath got,

A tragic penman for a dreary plot.

Benjamin Jonson.

JUD. The wittiest fellow of a bricklayer in England.

ING. A mere empiric, one that gets what he hath by observation, and makes only nature privy to what he indites; so slow an inventor, that be were better betake himself to his old trade of bricklaying; a blood whore-son, as confident now in making of a book, as he was in times past in laying of a brick.

William Shakspeare.

JUD. Who loves Adonis' love or Lucrece' rape;
His sweeter verse contains heart-robbing life,
Could but a graver subject him content,
Without love's lazy foolish languishment.

The author afterwards introduces Kempe and Burbage, the actors, and makes the former state, in reference to the university dramatists: 'Why, here's our fellow Shakspeare puts them all down; ay, and Ben Jonson too.' Posterity has confirmed this 'Return from Parnassus.'

GEORGE COOKE-THOMAS NABBES-NATHANIEL FIELD-JOHN DAYHENRY GLAPTHORNE-THOMAS RANDOLPH-RICHARD BROME.

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A lively comedy, called Green's Tu Quoque,' was written by GEORGE COOKE, a contemporary of Shakspeare -THOMAS NABBES (died about 1645) was the author of 'Microcosmus,' a mask, and of several other plays. In 'Microcosmus' is the following tine song of love:

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Welcome, welcome, happy pair,
To these abodes where spicy air
Breathes perfumes, and every sense
Doth find his object's excellence;
Where's no heat, nor cold extreme,

No winter's ice, no summer's scorching beam;
Where's no sun, yet never night,

Day always springing from eternal light.

CHORUS. All mortal sufferings laid aside,

Here in endless bliss abide.

-NATHANEL FIELD (who was one of the actors in Ben Jonson's 'Poetaster') began to write for the stage about 1609 or 1610, and produced Woman is a Weathercock,' Amends for Ladies,' &c. He had the honor of being associated with Massinger in the composition of the Fatal Dowry.'-JOHN DAY, in conjunction with Chettle, wrote the 'Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green,' a popular comedy, and was also author of two or three other plays, and some miscellaneous poems.-HENRY GLAPTHORNE is mentioned as one of the chiefest dramatic poets of the reign of Charles I.' Five of his plays are printed-Albertus Wallenstein,' the Hollander,' 'Argalus and Parthenia, Wit in a Constable,' the Lady's Privilege,' &c. There is a certain smoothness and prettiness of expression about Glapthorne, particularly in his Albertus,' but he is deficient in passion and energy--THOMAS RANDOLPH (1605-34) wrote the Muses' Lookingglass,' the Jealous Lovers,' &c. In an anonymous play, 'Sweet. man the Woman-hater,' is the following happy simile:

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Justice, like lightning, ever should appear

To few men's ruin, but to all men's fear.

-RICHARD BROME (died 1652), one of the best of the secondary dramatists, produced several plays, the 'Antipodes,' the City Wit," the 'Court Beggar,' &c. Little is known of the personal history of these authors: a few scattered dates usually make up the whole amount of their biography. The public demand for theatrical novelties called forth a succession of writers in this popular and profitable walk of literature, who seem to have discharged their ephemeral tasks, and sunk with their works into oblivion. The glory of Shakspeare has revived some of the number, like halos round his name; and the rich stamp of the age, in style and thought, is visible on the pages of most of them.

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PHILIP MASSINGER.

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The reign of James produced no other tragic poet equal to PHILIP MASSINGER, an unfortunate author, whose life was spent in obscurity and poverty, and who, dying almost unknown, was buried with no other inscription than the note in the parish register, Philip Massinger, a stranger'—meaning he did not belong to the parish. This poet was born about the year 1584, and it is supposed at Salisbury. His father, as appears from the dedication of one of his plays, was in the service of the Earl of Pembroke; and as he was at one time intrusted with letters to Queen Elizabeth, and employed in delicate negotiations by Lord Pembroke, the situation of the elder Massinger must have been a confidential one. Whether Philip ever wandered in the marble halls and pictured galleries of Wilton, that princely seat of old magnificence, where Sir Philip Sidney composed his "Arcadia," is not known: in 1602, he was entered of Alban Hall, Oxford. He is supposed to have quitted the university abruptly in 1606, and to have commenced writing for the stage. The first notice of him is in Henslowe's diary, about 1614, where he makes a joint application, with N. Field and R. Daborne, for a loan of £5, without which, they say, they could not be bailed. Field and Daborne were both actors and dramatic authors. The sequel of Massinger's history is only an enumeration of his plays. He wrote a great number of pieces, of which nineteen have been preserved. The manuscripts of eight of his plays were in existence in the middle of the last century, but they fell into the hands of a certain John Warburton, Somerset herald, who had collected no less than fifty-five genuine unpublished English dramas of the golden period, all of which were destroyed by his cook for culinary purposes Massinger was found dead in his bed, at his house on the Bankside, one morning in March 1639. The Virgin Martyr' (about 1620), the Bondman' (1623), the 'Fatal Dowry' (about 1620), the New Way to Pay Old Debts' (about 1623), and the City Madam' (1632), are his best-known productions. The 'New Way to Pay Old Debts' has kept possession of the stage, chiefly on account of the effective and original

character of Sir Giles Overreach, which has been a favourite with great English actors. A tragedy of Massinger's, entitled 'Believe as you List,' which had been long lost, was discovered in 1844, and was included in the poet's works, by his latest editor, Lieutenantcolonel Cunningham (1868). Massinger's comedy resembles Ben Jonson's, in its eccentric strength and wayward exhibitions of human nature. The greediness of avarice, the tyranny of unjust laws, and the miseries of poverty, are drawn with a powerful hand. The luxuries and vices of a city-life, also, afford Massinger scope for his indignant and forcible invective. Genuine humour or sprightliness he had none. His dialogue is often coarse and indelicate, and his characters in low life too depraved. The tragedies of Massinger have a calm and dignified seriousness, a lofty pride, that impresses the imagination very strongly. His genius was more eloquent and descriptive than impassioned or inventive; yet his pictures of suffering virtue, its struggles and its trials, are calculated to touch the heart, as well as gratify the taste. His versification is smooth and mellifluous. Owing, perhaps, to the sedate and dignified tone of Massinger's plays, they were not revived after the Restoration. Even Dryden did not think him worthy of mention, or had forgot his works, when he wrote his Essay on Dramatic Poesy.'

A Midnight Scene.-From the 'Virgin Martyr.'

ANGELO, an Angel, attends DOROTHEA as a Page.
DOROTHEA My book and taper.

ANGELO. Here, most holy mistress.

DOR. Thy voice sends forth such music, that I never

Was ravished with a more celestial sound.

Were every servant in the world like thee,

So full of goodness, angels would come down
To dwel, with us thy name is Angelo,
And like that name thou art Get thee to rest;
Thy youth with too much watching is opprest.
ANG. No, my dear lady. I could weary stars,
And force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes,
By my late watching, but to wait on you.
When at your prayers you kneel before the altar,
Methinks I'm singing with some quire in heaven,
So blest I hold me in your company.

Therefore, my most loved mistress, do not bid
Your boy, so serviceable, to get hence;
For then you break his heart.

DOR. Be nigh me still, then.

In golden letters down I'll set that day
Which gave thee to me. Little did I hope
To meet such worlds of comfort in thyself,
This little, pretty body, when I, coming
Forth of the temple, heard my beggar-boy,
My sweet-faced, godly beggar-boy, crave an alms,
Which with glad hand I gave, with lucky hand;
And when I took thee home, my most chaste bosom,
Methought, was filled with no hot wanton fire,
But with a holy flame, mounting since higher,
On wings of cherubims, than it did before.

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