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Lor. In such a night

Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens Did pretty Jessica, like a little shrew,

The form of plausive manners; that these men, Slander her love, and he forgave it her. ..

Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect; How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music

Their virtues else, be they as pure as grace, Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night

As infinite as man may undergo, Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Shall in the general censure take corruption Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven

From that particular fault : The dram of base
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;

Doth all the noble substance often dout,
There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st, To his own scandal.
But in his motion like an angel sings,

Enter GHOST.
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;

Hor. Look, my lord, it comes !
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay

Ham. Angels and ministers of grace defend us !Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.

Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned,

Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, Enter Musicians.

Be thy intents wicked, or charitable,

Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, Come, ho, and wake Diana with a hymn :

That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee, Hamlet, With sweetest touches pierce your mistress' ear,

King, Father, Royal Dane ; Oh, answer me ; And draw her home with music.

Let me not burst in ignorance ! but tell Fes. I'm never merry when I hear sweet music.

Why thy canonised bones, hearsed in death, Lor. The reason is, your spirits are attentive;

Have búrst their cerements ! why the sepulchre, For do but note a wild and wanton herd,

Wherein we saw thee quietly inurned, Or race of youthful and unhandled colts,

Hath oped his ponderous and marble jaws, Fetching mad bounds, bellowing, and neighing loud

To cast thee up again! What may this mean, Which is the hot condition of their blood

That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel,
If they perchance but hear a trumpet sound,

Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon,
Or any air of music touch their ears,
You shall perceive them make a mutual stand,

Making night hideous; and we fools of nature,

So horribly to shake our disposition, Their savage eyes turned to a modest gaze,

With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? By the sweet power of music. Therefore, the poet

Say, why is this? Wherefore? What should we do? Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones, and floods;

(Ghost beckons Hamlet. Since nought so stockish, hard, and full of rage,

Hor. It beckons you to go away with it, But music for the time doth change his nature.

As if it some impartment did desire The man that hath no music in himself,

To you alone. Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,

Mar. Look, with what courteous action Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;

It waves you off to a removed ground : The motions of his spirit are dull as night,

But do not go with it. And his affections dark as Erebus :

Hor. No, by no means.

[Holding Hamlet. Let no such man be trusted. Merchant of Venice, Act V. sc. 1.

Ham. It will not speak : then I will follow it.
Hor. Do not, my lord.

Ham. Why, what should be the fear?
Ghost-scene in Hamlet.

I do not set my life at a pin's fee ;
Hamlet. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold.

And, for my soul, what can it do to that, Horatio. It is a nipping and an eager air.

Being a thing immortal as itself? Ham. What hour now?

It waves me forth again.-I'll follow it. Hor. I think it lacks of twelve.

Hor. What if it tempt you toward the flood, my lord, Marcellus. No, it is struck.

Or to the dreadful summit of the cliff, Hor. Indeed? I heard it not. It then draws near

That beetles o'er his base into the sea ; the season

And there assume some other horrible form, Wherein the spirit held his wont to walk.

Which might deprive your sovereignty of reason, [Noise of warlike music within. And draw you into madness? Think of it. What does this mean, my lord ?

The very place puts toys of desperation, Ham. The king doth wake to-night, and takes his Without more motive, into every brain,

That looks so many fathoms to the sea, rouse,

And hears it roar beneath.
Keeps wassail, and the swaggering up-spring reels;
And as he drains his draughts of Rhenish down,

Ham. It waves me still.-Go on, I 'll follow thee.

Act I. SC. 4. The kettle-drum and trumpet thus bray out The triumph of his pledge. Hor. Is it a custom?

Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death. Ham. Ay, marry, is 't :

To be, or not to be, that is the questionBut to my mind-though I am native here,

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer And to the manner born-it is a custom

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, More honoured in the breach than the observance. Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, This heavy-headed revel, east and west,

And, by opposing, end them? To die--to sleep-
Makes us traduced, and taxed of other nations ;

No more ; and, by a sleep, to say we end
They clepe us drunkards, and with swinish phrase The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
Soil our addition; and, indeed, it takes

That flesh is heir to !-'tis a consummation
From our achievements, though performed at height, Devoutly to be wished. To die—to sleep-
The pith and marrow of our attribute.

To sleep !-perchance to dream ay, there's the rub; So, oft it chances in particular men,

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, That for some vicious mole of nature in them,

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, As in their birth (wherein they are not guilty,

Must give us pause. There's the respect Since nature cannot choose his origin),

That makes calamity of so long life : By the o'ergrowth of some complexion,

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason ; The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

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The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

Who, you all know, are honourable men. The insolence of office, and the spurns

I will not do them wrong : I rather choose That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you, When he himself might his quietus make

Than I will wrong such honourable men. With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar : To groan and sweat under a weary life;

I found it in his closet ; 'tis his will. But that the dread of something after death

Let but the commons hear this testamentThat undiscovered country, from whose bourn

Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read No traveller returns-puzzles the will,

And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds, And makes us rather bear those ills we have,

And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Than fly to other that we know not of ?

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And, dying, mention it within their wills, And thus the native hue of resolution

Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ;

Unto their issue. And enterprises of great pith and moment,

4th Cit. We'll hear the will ; read it, Mark Antony. With this regard, their currents turn awry,

All. The will! the will! We will hear Cæsar's will! And lose the name of action.

Act III. SC. 1. Ant. Have patience, gentle friends! I must not

read it; Mark Antony over Cæsar's Body.

It is not meet you know how Cæsar loved you.

You are not wood, you are not stones, but men; Antony. Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar, your ears.

It will inflame you, it will make you mad. I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.

'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs ; The evil that men do lives after them ;

For if you should, oh, what would come of it! The good is oft interred with their bones :

4th Cit. Read the will ! we will hear it, Antony : So let it be with Cæsar. Noble Brutus

You shall read us the will ; Cæsar's will! Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious;

Ant. Will you be patient? will you stay a while ? If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

I have o'ershót myself to tell you of it. And grievously hath Cæsar answered it.

I fear I wrong the honourable men Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest

Whose daggers have stabbed Cæsar. I do fear it. For Brutus is an honourable man,

4th Cit. They were traitors. Honourable men ! So are they all, all honourable men

All. The will ! the testament ! Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.

2d Cit. They were villains, murderers! The will ! He was my friend, faithful and just to me;

Read the will ! But Brutus says he was ambitious;

Ant. You will compel me, then, to read the will? And Brutus is an honourable man.

Then make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar, He hath brought many captives home to Rome, And let me shew you him that made the will

. Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill.

Shall I descend ?' And will you give me leave? Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious ?

All. Come down. When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept ;

2d Cit. Descend. (He comes down from the pulpit. Ambition should be made of sterner stuff :

31 Cit. You shall have leave. Yet Brutus says he was ambitious ;

4th Cit. A ring! Stand round. And Brutus is an honourable man.

ist Cit. Stand from the hearse, stand from the body. You all did see that on the Lupercal

2d Cit. Room for Antony_most noble Antony ! I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Ant. Nay, press not so upon me : stand far off. Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?

All. Stand back ! room ! bear back! Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

Ant. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. And, sure, he is an honourable man.

You all do know this mantle: I remember I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke ;

The first time ever Cæsar put it on; But here I am to speak what I do know.

'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent; You all did love him once, not without cause :

That day he overcame the Nervii.
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? Look! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through ;
O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,

See, what a rent the envious Casca made !
And men have lost their reason !-Bear with me: Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed ;
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,

And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it ! Ist Cit. Methinks there is much reason in his As rushing out of doors, to be resolved sayings.

If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no; 2d Cit. If thou consider rightly of the matter, For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel : Cæsar has had great wrong.

Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him ! 3d Cit. Has he, masters? I fear there will a worse This was the most unkindest cut of all; come in his place.

For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, 4th Cit. Marked ye his words? He would not Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, take the crown ;

Quite vanquished him : then burst his mighty heart; Therefore, 'tis certain he was not ambitious.

And, in his mantle muffing up his face, Ist Cit. If it be found so, some will dear abide it. Even at the base of Pompey's statue, 2d Cit. Poor soul ! his eyes are red as fire with Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell, weeping.

Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 3d Cit. There's not a nobler man in Rome than Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Antony.

Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. 4th Cit. Now mark him, he begins again to speak. Oh, now you weep; and I perceive you feel Ant. But yesterday, the word of Cæsar might The dint of pity : these are gracious drops. Have stood against the world ; now lies he there, Kind souls ! What! weep you when you but behold And none so poor to do him reverence.

Our Cæsar's vesture wounded ? Look you here ! Oh, masters ! if I were disposed to stir

Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors. Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,

Ist Cit. () piteous spectacle ! I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,

2d Cit. O noble Cæsar!

3d Cit. O woful day!
4th Cit. O traitors! villains !
ist Cit. O most bloody sight!

2d Cit. We will be revenged! Revenge! Aboutseek-burn-fire-kill-slay! Let not a traitor live!

Julius Cæsar, Act III. sc. 2.

Bolingbroke's Entry into London.

DUKE OF YORK and the DUCHESS. Duch. My lord, you told me you would tell the rest, When weeping made you break the story off Of our two cousins coming into London.

York. Where did I leave?

Duch. At that stop, my lord, Where rude misgoverned hands, from windows' tops, Threw dust and rubbish on King Richard's head.

York. Then, as I said, the duke, great BolingbrokeMounted upon a hot and fiery steed, Which his aspiring rider seemed to knowWith slow, but stately pace, kept on his course, While all tongues cried: God save thee, Bolingbroke! You would have thought the very windows spake, So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage; and that all the walls, With painted imagery, had said at once : Jesu preserve thee ! welcome, Bolingbroke ! Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespake them thus : I thank you, countrymen. And thus still doing, thus he passed along. Duch. Alas, poor Richard ! where rode he the

whilst ? York. As in a theatre, the eyes of men, After a well-graced actor leaves the stage, Are idly bent on him that enters next, Thinking his prattle to be tedious : Even so, or with much more contempt, men's eyes Did scowl on Richard; no man cried: God save him; No joyful tongue gave him his welcome home : But dust was thrown upon his sacred head ; Which with such gentle sorrow he shook offHis face still combating with tears and smiles, The badges of his grief and patienceThat had not God, for some strong purpose, steeled The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted, And barbarism itself have pitied him.

King Richard II. Act V. sc. 2.

Keeps honour bright : to have done, is to hang
Quite out of fashion, like a rusty mail
In monumental mockery. Take the instant way,
For honour travels in a strait so narrow,
Where one but goes abreast : Keep, then, the path;
For Emulation hath a thousand sons,
That one by one pursue : if you give way,
Or hedge aside from the direct forthright,
Like to an entered tide, they all rush by,
And leave you hindmost;
Or, like a gallant horse, fall’n in first rank,
Lie there for pavement to the abject rear,
O'er-run and trampled on: then what they do in

present,
Though less than yours in past, must o’ertop yours;
For Time is like a fashionable host,
That slightly shakes his parting guest by the hand,
And with his arms outstretched, as he would fly,
Grasps in the comer : Welcome ever smiles,
And Farewell goes out sighing. O! let not Virtue seek
Remuneration for the thing it was ; for beauty, wit,
High birth, vigour of bone, desert in service,
Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all
To envious and calumniating Time.
One touch of nature makes the whole world kin
That all with one consent praise new-born gawds,
Though they are made and moulded of things past,
And give to dust that is a little gilt,
More laud than gilt o'erdusted :
The present eye praises the present object.

Troilus and Cressida, Act III. SC. 3

Mercy.
The quality of mercy is not strained ;
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes :
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shews the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings.
But mercy is above the sceptred sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then shew likest God's,
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

Merchant of Venice, Act IV. sc. I.

Fear of Death.
Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ;
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprisoned in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about

The pendent world ; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts
Imagine howling: 'tis too horrible !
The weariest and most loathed worldly life,
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death.

Measure for Measure, Act III. sc. 1.

The Forest of Arden. DUKE, senior, AMIENS, and other Lords. Duke. Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, Hath not old custom made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court? Here feel we but the penalty of Adam, The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say: This is no flattery ; these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am. Sweet are the uses of adversity, Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, Wears yet a precious jewel in his head : And this our life, exempt from public haunt, Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in everything. I would not change it!

Perseverance. Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, Wherein he puts alms for Oblivion, A great-sized monster of ingratitudes : Those scraps are good deeds past, which are devoured As fast as they are made, forgot as soon As done. Perseverance, dear my lord,

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Amiens. Happy is your grace,
That can translate the stubbornness of fortune

Oberon's Vision.
Into so quiet and so sweet a style !
Duke. Come, shall we go and kill us venison?

Oberon. My gentle Puck, come hither : Thou re. And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools,

member'st Being native burghers of this desert city,

Since once I sat upon a promontory, Should, in their own confines, with forked heads,

And heard a mermaid, on a dolphin's back, Have their round haunches gored.

Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath, First Lord. Indeed, my lord,

That the rude sea grew civil at her song, The melancholy Jaques grieves at that ;

And certain stars shot madly from their spheres, And, in that kind, swears you do more usurp

To hear the sea-maid's music. Than doth your brother that hath banished you.

Puck. I remember. To-day, my lord of Amiens and myself

Obe. That very time I saw (but thou couldst not), Did steal behind him, as he lay along

Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out

Cupid all armed ; a certain aim he took Upon the brook that brawls along this wood;

At a fair vestal, throned by the west ; To the which place a poor sequestered stag,

And loosed his love shaft smartly from his bow, That from the hunters' aim had ta'en a hurt,

As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts : Did come to languish : and, indeed, my lord,

But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft The wretched animal heaved forth such groans,

Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon; That their discharge did stretch his leathern coat

And the imperial votaress passed on, Almost to bursting; and the big round tears

In maiden meditation, fancy-free. Coursed one another down his innocent nose

Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell : In piteous chase ; and thus the hairy fool,

It fell upon a little western flowerMuch marked of the melancholy Jaques,

Before, milk-white; now, purple with love's woundStood on the extremest verge of the swift brook,

And maidens call it love-in-idleness. Augmenting it with tears.

Fetch me that flower; the herb I shewed thee once; Ďuke. But what said Jaques ?

The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, Did he not moralise this spectacle?

Will make or man or woman madly dote First Lord. O yes, into a thousand similes.

Upon the next live creature that it sees.

Fetch me this herb: and be thou here again, First, for his weeping in the needless stream-

Ere the leviathan can swim a league. 'Poor deer,' quoth he, 'thou mak'st a testament As worldlings do, giving thy sum of more

Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth To that which had too much.' Then, being alone,

In forty minutes.

Midsummer Night's Dream, Act II. sc. 2.
Left and abandoned of his velvet friends ;
“'Tis right,' quoth he; 'thus misery doth part
The flux of company.' Anon, a careless herd,

BEN JONSON.
Full of the pasture, jumps along by him,
And never stays to greet him : 'Ay,' quoth Jaques,

The second name in the dramatic literature of 'Sweep on, you fat and greasy citizens;

this period has been generally assigned to BEN 'Tis just the fashion : Wherefore do you look JONSON, though some may be disposed to claim Upon that poor and broken bankrupt there?' it for the more Shakspearian genius of Beaumont As You Like It, Act II, sc. 1.

and Fletcher. Jonson was born nine years after Shakspeare-in 1573—and appeared as a writer for the stage in his twentieth year. His early life

was full of hardship and vicissitude. His father, The World Compared to a Slage.

a clergyman in Westminster-a member of a All the world's a stage,

Scottish family from Annandale-died before the And all the men and women merely players ;

poet's birth, and his mother marrying again, Ben They have their exits and their entrances,

was brought from Westminster School, and put And one man in his time plays many parts,

to the employment of his stepfather, which was His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, that of a bricklayer. Disliking the occupation, Mewling and puking in his nurse's arms :

Jonson enlisted as a soldier, and served in the And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel Low Countries. He is reported to have killed And shining morning face, creeping like snail

one of the enemy in single combat, in the view of Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover,

both armies, and to have otherwise distinguished Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad

himself for his youthful bravery. As a poet, Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then, the soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Jonson afterwards reverted with pride to his conJealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel ;

duct as a soldier. On his return, he is said to Seeking the bubble reputation

have entered St John's College, Cambridge ; but Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice,

his stay there must have been short-if he ever In fair round belly, with good capon lined,

was enrolled of the university-for, about the age With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,

of twenty, he is found married, and an actor in Full of wise saws and modern instances ;

London. Ben made his début at a low theatre And so he plays his part. The sixth age shists near Clerkenwell, and, as his opponents afterInto the lean and slippered pantaloon,

wards reminded him, failed completely as an With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ;

actor. At the same time, he was His youthful hose well saved, a world too wide

writing for the stage, either by himself or conFor his shrunk shanks; and his big manly voice, Turning again towards childish treble, pipes

jointly with others. He quarrelled with another And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

performer, and on their fighting a duel with That ends this strange eventful history,

swords, Jonson had the misfortune to kill his Is second childishness, and mere oblivion :

antagonist, and was severely wounded himself. Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

He was committed to prison on a
Ibid. Act II. sc. 7.

murder, but was released without a trial. On

engaged in

charge of

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regaining his liberty, he commenced writing for there than we do here.' The offended nationality the stage, and produced, in 1596, his Every Man of James must have been laid to rest by the subin his Humour. The scene was laid in Italy, but sequent adulation of Jonson in his court-masks, the characters and manners depicted in the piece for he eulogised the vain and feeble monarch aś were English; and Jonson afterwards recast the one that would raise the glory of England more whole, and transferred the scene to England. In than Elizabeth! Jonson's three great comediesits revised form, Every Man in his Humour was Volpone, or the Fox; Epicene, or the Silent brought out at the Globe Theatre in 1598, and Woman; and the Alchemist-were his next seriShakspeare was one of the performers in the play. ous labours; his second classical tragedy, Catiline, He had himself produced some of his finest come appeared in 1611. His fame had now reached its dies by this time, but Jonson was no imitator of highest elevation; but he produced several other his great rival, who blended a spirit of poetical comedies, and a vast number of court entertainromance with his comic sketches, and made no ments, ere his star began sensibly to decline. In attempt to delineate the domestic manners of his 1618, Jonson made a journey on foot to Scotland, countrymen. Jonson opened a new walk in the where he had many friends. He was well received drama: he felt his strength, and the public cheered by the Scottish gentry, and was so pleased with him on with its plaudits. Queen Elizabeth pat- the country, that he meditated a poem, or drama, ronised the new poet, and ever afterwards he was on the beauties of Loch Lomond. The last of his 'a man of mark and likelihood.' In 1599, appeared visits was made to Drummond of Hawthornden, his Every Man out of his Humour, a less able with whom he lived three weeks ; and Drummond performance than its predecessor. Cynthia's Revels kept notes of his conversation, which, in a subseand the Poetaster followed, and the fierce rivalry quent age, were communicated to the world. In and contention which clouded Jonson's after-life conclusion, Drummond entered on his journal the seem to have begun about this time. He had following character of Ben himself : attacked Marston and Dekker, two of his brother- 'He is a great lover and praiser of himself; a dramatists, in the Poetaster. Dekker replied with contemner and scorner of others; given rather to spirit in his Satiromastix, and Ben was 'silent for lose a friend than a jest ; jealous of every word two years, 'living upon one Townsend, and scorn- and action of those about him, especially after ing the world, as is recorded in the diary of a drink, which is one of the elements in which he contemporary. In 1603, he tried 'if tragedy had liveth; a dissembler of ill parts which reign in a more kind aspect,' and produced his classic him; a bragger of some good that he wanteth ; drama of Sejanus. Shortly after the accession thinketh nothing well but what either he himself of King James, a comedy called Eastward Hoe or some of his friends and countrymen hath said or was written conjointly by Jonson, Chapman, and done; he is passionately kind and angry; careless Marston. Some passages in this piece reflected either to gain or keep; vindictive, but, if well on the Scottish nation; and the matter was repre- answered, at himself; for any religion, as being sented to the king by one of his courtiers-Sir versed in both ; * interpreteth best sayings and James Murray—in so strong a light, that the deeds often to the worst; oppressed with fantasy, authors were thrown into prison, and threatened which hath ever mastered his reason, a general with the loss of their ears and noses. They were disease in many poets.' not tried; and when Ben was set at liberty, he This character, it must be confessed, is far gave an entertainment to his friends den and from being a flattering one ; and probably it was, Camden being of the number. His mother was unconsciously, overcharged, owing to the recluse present on this joyous occasion, and she produced habits and staid demeanour of Drummond. We a paper of poison, which, she said, she intended to believe it, however, to be substantially correct. have given her son in his liquor, rather than he Inured to hardships and to a free, boisterous life should submit to personal mutilation and disgrace, in his early days, Jonson seems to have contracted and another dose which she intended afterwards a roughness of manner and habits of intemperance to have taken herself. The old lady must, as which never wholly left him. Priding himself Whalley remarks, have been more of an antique immoderately on his classical acquirements, he Roman than a Briton. Jonson's own conduct in was apt to slight and condemn his less learned this affair was noble and spirited. He had no associates ; while the conflict between his limited considerable share in the composition of the piece, means and his love of social pleasures, rendered and was, besides, in such favour, that he would him too often severe and saturnine in his temper. not have been molested ; 'but this did not satisfy Whatever he did was done with labour, and hence him,' says Gifford; 'and he, therefore, with a high was highly prized. His contemporaries seemed sense of honour, voluntarily accompanied his two fond of mortifying his pride, and he was often at friends to prison, determined to share their fate.' war with actors and authors. With the celeWe cannot now ascertain what was the mighty brated Inigo Jones, who was joined with him in satire that moved the patriotic indignation of the preparation of the court-masks, Jonson waged James; it was doubtless softened before publica- a long and bitter feud, in which both parties tion; but in some copies of Eastward Hoe (1605), were to blame. When his better nature prevailed, there is a passage in which the Scots are said to and exorcised the demon of envy or spleen, be dispersed over the face of the whole earth ;' Jonson was capable of a generous warmth of and the dramatist sarcastically adds : 'But as for them, there are no greater friends to Englishmen * Drummond here alludes to Jonson having been at one period and England, when they are out on't, in the world, of his life a Roman Catholic. When in prison, after killing the than they are ; and, for my part, I would a hun-actor, a priest converted him to the Church of Rome, and he con

At the expiration of that dred thousand of them were there [in Virginia), time, he returned to the Protestant communion. As a proof of his for we are all one countrymen now, you know, and enthusiastic temperament, it is mentioned that Jonson drank out we should find ten times more comfort of them ciliation with the Church of England.

the full cup of wine at the communion-table, in token of his recon

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