Lecture the Fifteenth.

GEORGE

CHAPMAN-THOMAS DEKKER-JOHN WEBSTER-THOMAS

MIDDLETON-

JOHN MARSTON-PHILIP MASSINGER-ROBERT TAYLOR-WILLIAM ROWLEY---CYRIL TOURNEUR-GEORGE COOKE-THOMAS NABBES-NATHANIEL FIELD-JOHN

DAY-HENRY GLAPTHORNE-THOMAS RANDOLPH-RICHARD BROME-JOHN FORD -THOMAS HEYWOOD-JAMES SHIRLEY.

HE

TH

great dramatists with whom we have been engaged during the last two lectures, have absorbed so much of our time and attention, that we shall be constrained to notice much more briefly those of their contemporaries who are still to pass in review before us. Of these, Chapman, Dekker, Webster, Middleton, Marston, and Massinger, first claim our attention.

GEORGE CHAPMAN was born at Hitching Hill, Hertfordshire, in 1557. He commenced his collegiate studies at Oxford, and finished them at Cambridge; but in consequence of devoting himself at both universities to the Latin and Greek classics, to the exclusion of philosophy and logic, he did not succeed in obtaining his degree at either. From Cambridge he repaired to London, when the gracefulness of his manners and the elegance of his taste soon recommended him to the acquaintance, and even intimacy, of Spenser, Sir Philip Sydney, and other leading wits of the age. Chapman commenced his literary career with a translation of the Iliad of Homer. This, with all its faults, is a production of great value and interest. It is written in the cumbrous and unwieldy old English measure of fourteen syllables; but notwithstanding this heavy drawback, such passages as the following description from the thirteenth book, of Neptune and his chariot, exhibit, with great clearness, the force and energy of the translation:

He took much ruth to see the Greeks from Troy receive such ill,
And mightily incens'd with Jove, stoop'd straight from that steep hill;
That shook as he flew off, so hard his parting press'd the height,
The woods and all the great hills near, trembled beneath the weight
Of his immortal moving feet: three steps he only took,
Before he far off Ægas reach'd; but with the fourth it shook

With his dread entry. In the depth of those seas he did hold
His bright and glorious palace, built of never-rusting gold;
And there arrived, he put in coach his brazen-footed steeds,
All golden-maned, and paced with wings, and all in golden weeds
He clothed himself; the golden scourge, most elegantly done,
He took, and mounted to his seat, and then the God begun
To drive his chariot through the waves. From whirlpits every way
The whales exulted under him, and knew their king; the sea
For joy did open, and his horse so light and swiftly flew,
The under axle-tree of brass no drop of water drew.

The beauty of Chapman's compound Homeric epithets, such as silverfooted Thetis, triple-feathered helm, the fair-haired boy, high-walled Thebes, and the strong-winged lance, bear the impress of a poetical imagination, chaste yet luxuriant.

Chapman's first play, The Blind Beggar of Alexandria, was produced in 1598; but as a dramatist, he did not realize the expectations which his translations had excited. He continued to furnish, for the stage, frequent tragedies and comedies for over twenty years, yet of the sixteen that have descended to us, all are heavy and cumbrous, and not one possesses the creative and vivifying power of dramatic genius. In didactic observation and description, he is sometimes happy, and hence he has been praised for possessing more thinking' than most of his contemporaries of the dramatic His judgment, however, vanishes in action; for his plots are unnatural, and his style is too hard and artificial to admit of any nice delineation of character. The best of his plays are Bussy D'Ambois, Byron's Conspiracy, All Fools, and The Gentleman Usher. Chapman's dramas do not contain many striking passages, but the following invocation for a Spirit of Intelligence, in 'Bussy D'Ambois,' is worthy of very high praise :

muse.

6

I long to know

How my dear mistress fares, and be inform'd
What hand she now holds on the troubled blood
Of her incensed lord. Methought the spirit,
When he had utter'd his perplex'd presage,

Threw his chang'd count'nance headlong into clouds:
His forehead bent, as he would hide his face:
He knock'd his chin against his darken'd breast,
And struck a churlish silence through his powers.
Terror of darkness! O thou king of flames!
That with the music-footed horse dost strike
The clear light out of crystal on dark earth;
And hurl'st instinctive fire about the world;
Wake, wake the drowsy and enchanted night
That sleeps with dead eyes in this heavy riddle.
Or thou, great prince of shades, where never sun
Sticks his far-darted beams; whose eyes are made
To see in darkness, and see ever best
When sense is blindest: open now the heart
Of thy abashed oracle, that, for fear

Of some ill it includes, would fain lie hid:
And rise thou with it in thy greater light.

In addition to his translation of the Iliad, already noticed, Chapman produced a version of Homer's Odyssey,' and one of 'The Works and Days' of Hesiod. He also completed a translation of 'Hero and Leander,' which had been begun by Marlow. His life is represented to have been one continuous scene of content and prosperity, thus contrasting remarkably with the lives of the great majority of his dramatic contemporaries. In his personal habits he was temperate and pious, and, according to Oldys, 'preserved in his conduct the true dignity of poetry, which he compared to the flower of the sun, that disdains to open its leaves to the eye of a smoking taper.' The life of this venerable scholar and poet closed in 1634, at the advanced age of seventy-seven years.

THOMAS DEKKER was, perhaps, a few years younger than Chapman, though he commenced his dramatic career at about the same time. Neither the period nor the place of his birth is now known, nor have we any record of his family or of his early studies. He was evidently, however, a good scholar, and was a very industrious writer, having himself produced, according to Collier, more than twenty entire dramas, besides a number conjointly with other dramatists. He was, for some time, connected with Ben Jonson in writing for the Admiral's theatre; but Jonson and he became, eventually, bitter enemies, and the former, in his 'Poetaster,' satirized Dekker under the character of Crispinus, representing himself as Horace. Jonson's charges against his adversary are, 'his arrogancy and impudence in commending his own things, and for his translating. To these charges Dekker replied in his Satiromastix, or the Untrussing the Humorous Poet, in which Jonson appears as Horace junior. There is more raillery and abuse in Dekker's answer than wit or poetry, but it was well received by the play-going public. Dekker's Fortunatus, or the Wishing Cap, unites the simplicity of prose with the graces of poetry, and is, perhaps, his best drama. His poetic diction is choice and elegant, but he often wanders into absurdity. Passages like the following are frequent in his plays, and would do honor to any dramatist :

PATIENCE.

Patience! why, 'tis the soul of peace:

Of all the virtues, 'tis nearest kin to heaven:
It makes men look like gods. The best of men
That e'er wore earth about him was a sufferer,
A soft, meck, patient, humble, tranquil spirit:
The first true gentleman that ever breath'd.

FEMALE HONOUR AND SHAME CONTRASTED.

Nothing did make me, when I loved them best
To loathe them more than this: when in the street
A fair, young modest damsel I did meet;

She seem'd to all a dove when I pass'd by,
And I to all a raven: every eye

That follow'd her, went with a bashful glance:
At me each bold and jeering countenance
Darted forth scorn: to her, as if she had been
Some tower unvanquish'd, would they all vail:
'Gainst me swoln rumour hoisted every sail;

She, crown'd with reverend praises, pass'd by them;
I, though with face mask'd, could not 'scape the hem:
For, as if heaven had set strange marks on such,
Because they should be pointing-stocks to man,
Drest up in civilest shape, a courtesan.

Let her walk saint-like, noteless, and unknown,
Yet she's betray'd by some trick of her own.

THE PICTURE OF A LADY SEEN BY HER LOVER.

My Infelice's face, her brow, her eye,

The dimple on her cheek: and such sweet skill
Hath from the cunning workman's pencil flown,
These lips look fresh and lively as her own;
Seeming to move and speak. Alas! now I see
The reason why fond women love to buy
Adulterate complexion: here 'tis read;
False colours last after the true be dead.
Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks,
Of all the graces dancing in her eyes,
Of all the music set upon her tongue,
Of all that was past woman's excellence,
In her white bosom; look, a painted board
Circumscribes all! Earth can no bliss afford ;
Nothing of her but this! This can not speak;
It has no lap for me to rest upon;
No lip worth tasting. Here the worms will feed,
As in her coffin. Hence, then, idle art,

True love's best pictur'd on a true love's heart.
Here art thou drawn, sweet maid, till this be dead.
So that thou livest twice, twice art buried.
Thou figure of my friend, lie there.

Dekker's life was passed in irregularity and poverty, presenting thus, a striking contrast with that of Chapman. He was, according to Oldys, three years in King's Bench prison; thus reminding us of one of his own beautiful lines:

We ne'er are angels till our passions die.

He died in want and despair, at an advanced age, in 1638.

JOHN WEBSTER was another of that race of remarkable contemporary dramatists about whose early life scarcely any thing is known. The date of his birth is supposed to have corresponded very nearly with that of Dekker, and it is certain that they both died in the same year. Webster, it has