Is't not a horrid storm? Oh! well-shap'd sweet,
Could your quick eye strike through these gashed wounds,
You would behold a heart, a heart, fair creature,
Raging more wild than is this frantic sea.
Wil't do me a favor? If thou chance survive,
But visit Venice, kiss the precious white.

Of my most-nay all, all epithets are base
To attribute to gracious Mellida!

Tell her the spirit of Antonio

Wisheth his last gasp breath'd upon

her knee.'

Alas the flinty rocks groan'd at his plaints!

Tell her (quoth he) that her obdurate sire
Hath crack'd his bosom ;' therewith all he wept
And thus sigh'd on. The sea is merciful!

Look how it gapes to bury all my grief:

Well, thou shalt have it; thou shalt be my tomb;
My faith in my love live; in thee die woe;

Die unmatch'd anguish, die Antonio!'

With that he totter'd from the reeling deck,
And down he sunk." Vol. II. P. 125.

The readers must not imagine we have selected this as the choicest specimen of our author's ability; it is by no means equal to the 1st Scene of the 3d Act of the same play, which, as has been observed, bears a striking resemblance to, and is little inferior, to some parts of the Lear of Shakspeare: many others are of equal, if not superior merit to the one we have selected; and there are very few of equal length that would not more effectually have exhibited his peculiar manner of thinking and speaking; for Marston, though he has occasionally some fine touches of genuine poetry, is rarely borne away with it beyond himself; he has nothing of that extraordinary power so conspicuous in Shakspeare of entering altogether into the pecu liarities, and manner, and language of the character he would pourtray: We believe it would be difficult to adduce any passage of equal length to the one we have given, and the opening of the 3d Act above referred to, in which the hand of Marston is not to be traced by the satiric humour running throughout it. We must, however, proceed in our task, and enter upon the sideration of Dekker, who has no small claim upon our attention.

In the biographical notice prefixed to his plays, it is observed by the editor,

"That under easier circumstances he (Dekker) might have been less voluminous and more accurate; but the writer for bread has usually little regard for posthumous fame, and in some of his dramatic works we can imagine him hurrying to complete his labors, and receive his reward."

When,

When, indeed, we called to our recollection that this man was throughout life contending with misfortunes, which perhaps eventually overwhelmed him; that he was always the companion of want, wretchedness, and the most abject misery; with no other means of support, but the precarious produce of his literary labours; that he was for years the inhabitant of a jail; that his known productions exceed seventy; and that in all probability from the nature of them, more are forgotten than have passed down to us; we readily concurred in the Editor's observation; but when we perused his " Old Fortunatus," and discovered the extraordinary genius that poem exhibits (for as a dramatic poem only it can now be read) and of which the editor seems fully aware, we could not but wonder at the cold and somewhat contemptuous language, in which he speaks of his productions, and terms him "Dekker something more correct." Now, it is our opinion, viewing the poem amidst all its contemporaries,, and after all that was the Augustan æra of our literature, it

above the rest

In shape and gesture proudly eminent,
Stood like a tower."

Under happier circumstances, we can imagine its author contending with success against any genius of his age, Shakspeare, and perhaps Fletcher excepted. Upon the subject of the poem we can add nothing to the apology which the editor prefixed; but we cannot allow ourselves to dwell longer upon critical disquisition of this admirable work, but we shall proceed to present our readers with more lengthened extracts: not that any portion our limited space will allow, can afford him any adequate idea of its poetic beauties. The following is the impassioned address to Fortune of one of the deposed kings.

"Accursed queen of chance! what have we done,
Who having sometimes like young phaetons,
Rid in the burnish'd chariot of the sun,

And sometimes been thy minions, when thy fingers
Weav'd wanton love-nets in our curled hair,

And with sweet juggling kisses warm'd our cheeks,
Oh! how have we offended thy proud eyes

That thus, &c. &c." Vol. III. P. 111.

The next extract is Fortune's reply; we make no application of the passage, leaving it altogether to the reader's judgment.

"Behold you not this globe, this golden bowl,
This toy called world, at our imperial feet?
This world is Fortune's ball wherewith she sports:
Sometimes I strike it up into the air,

And

And then create I emperors and kings;
Sometimes I spurn it; at which crawls out
The wild beast multitude: curse on, you fools!
Tis I that tumble princes from their thrones,
And gild false brows* with glittering diadems;
Tis I that tread on necks of conquerors;
And when like semi-gods they have been drawn
In ivory chariots to the capital,

Circled about with wonder of all eyes,

The shout of every tongue, love of all hearts;
Being swoln with their own greatness, I have prick'd
The bladder of their pride, and made them die,
As water bubbles, without memory:

I thrust base cowards into honor's chair,
Whilst the true spirited soldier stands by
Bare headed, and all bare; whilst at his scars
They scoff, that ne'er durst view the face of war
I set an ideot's cap on virtue's head,

Turn learning out of doors, clothe wit in rags,
And point ten thousand images of loam
In gaudy silken colours: on the backs
Of mules and asses I make asses ride,
Only for sport to see the apish world
Worship such beasts with sound idolatry."

For the length of our extracts from this poem, we have no other apology to offer but their extreme beauty. The following is the speech of Fortunatus when Fortune offers him his choice of "wisdom, strength, health, beauty, long life, and riches."

"Oh, whither am I wrapt beyond myself!
More violent conflicts fight in every thought,
Than his whose fatal choice Troy's downfall wrought.
Shall I contract myself to wisdom's lore?

Then I loose riches; and a wise man poor,
Is like a sacred book that's never read,

To himself he lives, and to all else seems dead†:
This age thinks better of a gilded fool,

Than of a thread-bare saint in wisdom's school:

I will be strong; then I refuse long life;

* Usurpers.

+ The editor observes, "our poet may here allude to a passage in the book of Ecclesiastes, chap. 9. 14th and following verses." It is more than probable he did. Though the dramatic authors of that time are not always successful in their application of passages from the sacred writings, they were extremely well read in them; we wish we could add as much for the poets of our own times.

And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds,
There's a lean fellow beats all conquerors:

The greatest strength expires with loss of breath;
The mightiest, in one minute, stoop to death.
Then take long life, or health: should I do so,
I might grow ugly; and that tedious scroll,
Of mouths, and years, much misery might inroll:
Therefore I'll beg for beauty; yet I will not,
The fairest cheek hath oftentimes a soul
Lep'rous as sin itself, than hell more foul:
The wisdom of this world is idiotism;

Strength, a weak reed; health, sickness' enemy,
(And it at length will have the victory ;)
Beauty is but a painting; and long life
Is a long journey in December gone,
Tedious, and full of tribulation."

Let the proud heart think on this.-We confidently hope we have given the reader sufficient extract to have awakened him to its beauties; they are not, however, culled from the whole poem, and here brought together; they are all to be found in the 2d Scene of the 1st Act, where several others of equal beauty 'will present themselves to his notice.

Of all the poets of that age, Chapman* perhaps received the most commendation during his life. That he was altogether deserving of it, we are not inclined to admit; but though as a dramatic writer inferior to the galaxy of genius which sheds a' lustre over those times, he has been equalled by few, and exceeded by still fewer of the poets of after times. His style is often turbid and inflated, and not unfrequently obscure; this is still more evident in his translations than in his dramatic writings; but we shall present the reader with the following extract from his tragedy of Bussy D'Ambois. It is part of the description of the fight between D'Ambois and Barrisor, which in point of spirit Chapman has rarely equalled.

"And then like flame and powder they commixt,
So sprightly, that I wish'd they had been spirits,
That the ne'er-shutting wounds, they needs must open,

* The editor is, by quoting it, inclined to support the opinion of Wharton, that Chapman's translation of Hesiod was never published. We have, however, seen a copy; it is entitled "The Georgicks of Hesiod, by G. Chapman," 1618, and is dedicated to Sir Francis Bacon. There is prefixed to it commendatory verses by Michael Drayton and Ben Jonson.

Might as they open'd shut, and never kill*:
But D'Ambois sword (that lighten'd as it flew,)
Shot like a pointed comet at the face

Of manly Barrisor; and there it stuck:

Thrice pluck'd he at it, and thrice drew on thrusts,
From him, that of himself was free as fire;
Who thrust still as he pluck'd; yet (past belief!)
He with his subtle eye, hand, body, 'scaped:
At last the deadly-biting point tugg'd off,
On fell his yet undaunted foe so fiercely,
That (only made more horrid with his wound,)
Great D'Ambois shrunk, and gave a little ground"
Vol. III. P. 258.

&c. &c. &c.

Of the manner in which this work has been edited, it now becomes our duty to make some observations. For perseverance our readers will be inclined to give us some credit, when we assure them almost every line has been collated with one or more. of the quartos; and though we do not intend to present them with more than a brief abstract of our labours, which moderately. compressed would occupy more space than we can possibly allow, we may demand for our opinion that it shall on particular points be received as conclusive, though we shall not bring forward the evidence which directed us in the forming it. From the minute and careful examination we have given to it, we are convinced that it was undertaken without any settled plan, or suffi ciently matured deliberation. It is impossible by any other means to account for the opposite system that has, in different parts of the work regulated the editor's proceedings: in the early part of it, for instance, a needless deference has been paid to the quartos, even to the pointing and stage directions; when it is notoriously known that punctuation was then in its infancy †, and that these copies, printed from the prompt books, contain

Here is another evidence that Milton was a close and attentive reader of the dramatic writers of that age: as observed by the editor. "It is not improbable that he might have taken a hint from this beautiful passage."

"Yet soon he heal'd: for spirits that live throughout
Vital in every part, not as frail man

In entrails, heart, or head, liver or reins,

Cannot but by annihilating die:

Nor in this liquid texture mortal wound

Receive, no more than can the fluid air."

The note of admiration was hardly known. The earliest instance we remember to have met with, is in one of the quartos of Shakspeare of 1600.

all