Menaphon. Passing from Italy to Greece, the tales To Thessaly I came; and living private, Amethus. I cannot yet conceive what you infer By art and nature. Men. I shall soon resolve you. A sound of music touched mine ears, or rather, This youth, this fair-faced youth, upon his lute, Men. A nightingale, Nature's best skilled musician, undertakes The well-shaped youth could touch, she sung her own; Upon his quaking instrument, than she, The nightingale, did with her various notes That such they were, than hope to hear again. For an amplification of the subject of this extract, see notice of RICHARD CRASHAW, Amet. How did the rivals part? For they were rivals, and their mistress, Harmony. Whom art had never taught cliffs, moods, or notes, To end the controversy, in a rapture So many voluntaries, and so quick, Amet. Now for the bird. Men. The bird, ordained to be Music's first martyr, strove to imitate These several sounds: which, when her warbling throat THOMAS HEYWOOD was one of the most indefatigable of dramatic writers. He had, as he informs his readers, an entire hand, or at least a main finger,' in two hundred and twenty plays. He wrote also several prose works, besides attending to his business as an actor. Of his huge dramatic library, only twenty-three plays have come down to us, the best of which are: A Woman Killed with Kindness, the English Traveller, A Challenge for Beauty, the Royal King and Loyal Subject, the Lancashire Witches, the Rape of Lucrece, Love's Mistress, &c. The few particulars respecting Heywood's life and history have been gleaned from his own writings and the dates of his plays. The time of his birth is not known; but he was a native of Lincolnshire, and was a fellow of Peter-House, Cambridge: he is found writing for the stage in 1596, and he continued to exercise his ready pen down to the year 1640. In one of his prologues, he thus adverts to the various sources of his multifarious labours: To give content to this most curious age, The gods themselves we 've brought down to the stage, And figured them in planets; made even hell Deliver up the Furies, by no spell Saving the Muse's rapture-further we Have trafficked by their help; no history We have left unrifled; our pens have been dipped As well in opening each hid manuscript As tracks more vulgar, whether read or sung Of fairies, elves, nymphs of the sea and land, This was written in 1637, and it shews how eager the playgoing public were then for novelties, though they possessed the theatre of Shakspeare and his contemporaries. The death of Heywood is equally unknown with the date of his birth. As a dramatist, he had a poetical fancy and abundance of classical imagery; but his taste was defective; and scenes of low buffoonery, 'merry accidents, intermixed with apt and witty jests,' deform his pieces. His humour, however, is more pure and moral than that of most of his contemporaries. 'There is a natural repose in his scenes,' says a dramatic critic, 'which contrasts pleasingly with the excitement that reigns in most of his contemporaries. Middleton looks upon his characters with the feverish anxiety with which we listen to the trial of great criminals, or watch their behaviour upon the scaffold. Webster lays out their corpses in the prison, and sings the dirge over them when they are buried at midnight in unhallowed ground. Heywood leaves his characters before they come into these situations. He walks quietly to and fro among them while they are yet at large as members of society; contenting himself with a sad smile at their follies, or with a frequent warning to them on the consequences of their crimes." The following description of Psyche, from Love's Mistress, is in his best Astioche. But Psyche lives, and on her breath attend Delights that far surmount all earthly joy; Music, sweet voices, and ambrosian fare; Winds, and the light-winged creatures of the air; Clear channeled rivers, springs, and flowery meads, Are proud when Psyche wantons on their streams, When Psyche on their rich embroidery treads, When Psyche gilds their crystal with her beams. We have but seen our sister, and, behold! She sends us with our laps full brimmed with gold. In 1635, Heywood published a poem entitled the Hierarchy of Angels. In this piece he tells us how the names of his dramatic contemporaries were shortened or corrupted in familiar conversation : Mellifluous Shakspeare, whose enchanting quill Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day; *Henry Mackenzie in Edinburgh Review, vol. lxiii. Wings from the wind to please her mind, To give my love good-morrow, Wake from thy nest, robin-redbreast; To give my love good-morrow, Shepherds' Song. We that have known no greater state As those be-stained in scarlet dye. JAMES SHIRLEY. The last of these dramatists-'a great race,' says Charles Lamb, 'all of whom spoke nearly the same language, and had a set of moral feelings and notions in common'-was JAMES SHIRLEY (1594-1666). Though chronologically belonging to a later period than that of James I. Shirley's plays are of the same general character as those of his predecessors, with perhaps a dash of the gay cavalier spirit, which was reviving. This dramatist was a native of London. Designed for holy orders, he was educated first at Oxford, where Archbishop Laud refused to ordain him, on account of his appearance being disfigured by a mole on his left cheek. He afterwards took the degree of A.M. at Cambridge, and officiated as curate near St Albans. Like his brother divine and poet, Crashaw, Shirley embraced the communion of the Church of Rome. He lived as a schoolmaster in St Albans, but afterwards settled in London, and became a voluminous dramatic writer. Thirty-nine plays proceeded from his prolific pen; and a modern edition of his works (1833), edited by Gifford, with additions by Dyce, is in six octavo volumes. When the Master of the Revels, in 1633, licensed Shirley's play of the Young Admiral, he entered on his books an expression of his admiration of the drama, because it was free from oaths, profaneness, or obsceneness; trusting that his approbation would encourage the poet 'to pursue this beneficial and cleanly way of poetry.' Shirley is certainly less impure than most of his contemporaries, but he is far from faultless in this respect. His dramas seem to have been tolerably successful. When the civil wars broke out, the poet exchanged the pen for the sword, and took the field under his patron, the Earl of Newcastle. After the cessation of this struggle, a still worse misfortune befell our author in the shutting of the theatres, and he was forced to betake himself to his former occupation of a teacher. The Restoration does not seem to have mended his fortunes. In 1666, the Great Fire of London drove the poet and his family from their house in Whitefriars; and shortly after this event, both he and his wife died on the same day. A life of various labours and reverses thus found a sudden and tragic termination. Shirley's plays have less force and dignity than those of Massinger; less pathos than those of Ford. His comedies have the tone and manner of good society. Campbell has praised his 'polished and refined dialect, the airy touches of his expression, the delicacy of his sentiments, and the beauty of his similes.' He admits, however, what every reader feels, the want in Shirley of any strong passion or engrossing interest. Hallam more justly and comprehensively states: 'Shirley has no originality, no force in conceiving or delineating character, little of pathos, and less, perhaps, of wit; his dramas produce no deep impression in reading, and, of course, can leave none in the memory. But his mind was poetical; his better characters, especially females, express pure thoughts in pure language; he is never tumid or affected, and seldom obscure; the incidents succeed rapidly, the personages are numerous, and there is a general animation in the scenes, which causes us to read him with some pleasure. No very good play, nor possibly any very good scene, could be found in Shirley; but he has many lines of considerable beauty.' Of these fine lines, Dr Farmer, in his Essay on the Learning of Shakspeare, quoted perhaps the most beautiful, being part of Fernando's description, in the Brothers, of the charms of his mistress : Her eye did seem to labour with a tear, In the same vein of delicate fancy and feeling is the following passage in the Grateful Servant, where Cleona learns of the existence of Foscari, from her page, Dulcino: Cleona. The day breaks glorious to my darkened thoughts. He lives, he lives yet! Cease, ye amorous fears, A thankful sacrifice for his return To life and me. Speak, and increase my comforts. Is he in perfect health? Dulcino. Not perfect, madam, Until you bless him with the knowledge of Cle. O get thee wings, and fly, then; Thou goest away too soon. Where is he? speak. Relate his gestures when he gave thee this. Cle. The sun's loved flower, that shuts his yellow curtain When he declineth, opens it again At his fair rising: with my parting lord The Prodigal Lady.-Prom the Lady of Pleasure. ARETINA and the STEWARD. Steward. Be patient, madam; you may have your pleasure. Aretina. 'Tis that I came to town for; I would not How they become the morris, with whose bells Stew. These, with your pardon, are no argument Praised for your hospitality, and prayed for: Not where you dwelt.-I would not prophesy, A favourite though homely dance of those days, taking its title from an actor named St Leger. 181 Enter SIR THOMAS BORNWELL. Bornwell. How now, what's the matter? Angry, sweetheart ? Aret. I am angry with myself, To be so miserably restrained in things Wherein it doth concern your love and honour To see me satisfied. Born. In what, Aretina, Dost thou accuse me? Have I not obeyed Born. I am not ignorant how much nobility All the best ornaments which become my fortune; And be the fable of the town, to teach Aret. Am I then Brought in the balance so, sir? Born. Though you weigh Me in a partial scale, my heart is honest, Nay, study, ways of pride and costly ceremony. Fourscore pound suppers for my lord, your kinsman ; About your coach, whose rude postilion Must pester every narrow lane, till passengers And tradesmen curse your choking up their stalls, Aret. Have you done, sir? Nor do I wish you should. My poorest servant Aret. Good; proceed. Born. Another game you have, which consumes more Some darks had been discovered, and the deeds too; Aret. Have you concluded Born. I have done; and howsoever To your delights, without curb to their modest In the Ball, a comedy partly by Chapman, but chiefly by Shirley, a coxcomb (Bostock), crazed on the point of family, is shewn up in the most admirable manner. Sir Marmaduke Travers, by way of fooling him, tells him that he is rivalled in his suit of a particular lady by Sir Ambrose Lamount. Bos. Be an understanding knight, And take my meaning; if he cannot shew As much in heraldry Mar. I do not know how rich he is in fields, But he is a gentleman. Bos. Is he a branch of the nobility? How many lords can he call cousin?-else Mar. You will not kill him? Bos. You shall pardon me ; I have that within me must not be provoked; Mar. Some living that have been killed? Bos. I mean some living that have seen examples, Not to confront nobility; and I Am sensible of my honour. Mar. His name is Sir Ambrose. Bos. Lamount; a knight of yesterday, And he shall die to-morrow; name another. Mar. Not so fast, sir; you must take some breath. Bos. I care no more for killing half-a-dozen Knights of the lower house-I mean that are not Descended from nobility-than I do To kick any footman; an Sir Ambrose were Bos. I think it would not; so my lord told me ; The finest verses of Shirley occur in his play, the Contention of Ajax and Ulysses. They are said to have been greatly admired by Charles II. The thoughts are elevated, and the expression highly poetical. Death's Final Conquest. The glories of our birth and state Are shadows, not substantial things; Must tumble down, Some men with swords may reap the field, They stoop to fate, The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar, now, See where the victor victim bleeds: All heads must come Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. There was a long cessation of the drama during the Civil War and the Commonwealth. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. In Puttenham's Art of English Poesy (1589), is the following 'ditty of Her Majesty's own making, passing sweet and harmonical :' Verses by Queen Elizabeth. The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy, And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy ; For falsehood now doth flow, and subject faith doth ebb, Which would not be if reason ruled, or wisdom weaved the web. But clouds of toys untried do cloak aspiring minds, Which turn to rain, of late repent, by course of changed winds. The top of hope supposed, the root of ruth will be, Shall be unsealed by worthy wights, whose foresight falsehood finds, The daughter of debate, that eke discord doth sow, Shall reap no grain where former rule hath taught still peace to grow. No foreign banished wight shall anchor in this port ; Our realm it brooks no stranger's force-let them elsewhere resort. Our rusty sword with rest shall first his edge employ, To poll their tops that seek such change, and gape for future joy. The Old and Young Courtier. Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a great estate, But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges; With an old study filled with learned old books; With an old reverend chaplain-you might know him by his looks; With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks; And an old kitchen, that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks; Like an old courtier, &c. With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, and bows, With old swords and bucklers, that had borne many shrewd blows; And an old frieze coat, to cover his worship's trunk hose; With a good old fashion, when Christmas was come, Like an old courtier, &c. |