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Draw me to wander after idle fires,

Or voices calling me in dead of night

To make me follow, and so tole me on

Through mire and standing pools, to find my ruin.
Else why should this rough thing, who never knew
Manners nor smooth humanity, whose heats
Are rougher than himself, and more misshapen,
Thus mildly kneel to me? Sure there's a power
In that great name of Virgin, that binds fast
All rude uncivil bloods, all appetites
That break their confines. Then, strong chastity,
Be thou my strongest guard; for here I'll dwell
In opposition against fate and hell.

[Faithful Shepherdess.]

The lyrical pieces scattered throughout the plays of Beaumont and Fletcher, though not generally equal, are still of much the same character as those with which Jonson's dramas abound. Of these we subjoin the following:

MELANCHOLY.

Hence, all you vain delights,

As short as are the nights

Wherein you spend your folly!
There's nought in this life sweet,
If man were wise to see't

But only melancholy!

Welcome folded arms, and fixed eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,
A look that's fasten'd to the ground,
A tongue chain'd up without a sound!

Fountain heads, and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves!
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly hous'd, save bats and owls!

A midnight bell, a parting groan!

These are the sounds we feed upon;

Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley:

Nothing's so dainty-sweet as lovely melancholy.

SONG.

Look out, bright eyes, and bless the air!
Even in shadows you are fair.

Shut-up beauty is like fire,

That breaks out clearer still and higher.

Though your beauty be confin'd,

And soft Love a prisoner bound,

Yet the beauty of your mind

Neither check nor chain hath found.

Look out nobly, then, and dare

Ev'n the fetters that you wear!

[Nice Valour.]

[False One.]

THE POWER OF LOVE.

Hear ye, ladies that despise

What the mighty Love has done;
Fear examples and be wise:
Fair Calisto was a nun:
Leda, sailing on the stream,
To deceive the hopes of man
Love accounted but a dream,

Doted on a silver swan;
Danae in a brazen tower,

Where no love was, lov'd a shower.

Hear ye, ladies that are coy,

What the mighty Love can do,

Fear the fierceness of the boy;

The chaste moon he makes to woo.
Vesta, kindling holy fires

Circled round about with spies

Never dreaming loose desires,

Doting at the altar dies;
Ilion in a short hour higher,

He can build, and once more fire.

[Valentinian.]

SONG TO PAN, AT THE CONCLUSION OF THE FAITHFUL

SHEPHERDESS.

All ye woods, and trees, and bow'rs

All ye virtues and ye pow'rs,

That inhabit in the lakes,

In the pleasant springs or brakes,

Move your feet

To our sound,

Whilst we greet

All this ground,

With his honour and his name

That defends our flocks from blame.

He is great and he is just,

He is ever good, and must
Thus be honour'd. Daffodilies,
Roses, pinks, and loved lilies,
Let us fling,

Whilst we sing
Ever holy,

Ever holy,

Ever honour'd, ever young!

Thus great Pan is ever sung.

Lecture the Fifteenth.

GEORGE CHAPMAN-THOMAS DEKKER-JOHN WEBSTER-THOMAS MIDDLETONJOHN MARSTON-PHILIP MASSINGER-ROBERT TAYLOR-WILLIAM ROWLEYCYRIL TOURNEUR-GEORGE COOKE-THOMAS NABBES-NATHANIEL FIELD-JOHN

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

HE great dramatists with whom we have been engaged during the last

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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 gas 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..

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! 0 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

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