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them, Tamerlane and Bajazet muft be too much neglected. All the characters of a play thould be fubordinate to the leading one, and their bufinefs in the drama fubfervient to promote his fate; but this performance is not the tragedy of Bajazet or Tamerlane only, but likewife the tragedies of Monefes and Arpafia, Axala and Selima. It is now performed annually, on the fourth and fifth of November, in commemoration of the Gunpowder Treafon and the landing of King William in this realm; when an occafional prologue is spoken.

Another tragedy of Mr. Rowe's is the Fair Penitent, acted at the Theatre in Lincoln's-inn-fields, and dediIcated to the Dutchefs of Ormond: This is one of the most finished performances of our author. The character of Sciolto, the father, is ftrongly marked; Horatio is the most amiable of all characters, and is fo fuftained as to ftrike an audience very forcibly. In this, as in the former play, Mr. Rowe is guilty of a mifnomer; for his Califta has not the leaft claim to be called the Fair Penitent, which would be better changed to the Fair Wanton; for she discovers not one pang of remorfe till the laft act, and that feems to arife more from the external diftrefs, to which fhe is then expofed, than to any compunctions of confcience. She ftill loves and doats on her base betrayer, though a moft infignificant creature. In this character, Rowe has been true to the fex, in drawing a woman, The generally is, fond of her feducer; but he has not drawn a penitent. The character of Altamont is one of those which, the prefent players obferve, is the hardeft to represent of any in the drama; there is a kind of meanness in him, joined with an unfufpecting honeft heart, and a doating fondness for the falfe fair one, that is very difficult to illuftrate: This part has of late been generally given to performers of but very moderate abilities; by which this play fuffers prodigioufly, and Altamont, who is really one of

as

the most important perfons in the drama, is beheld with neglect, or perhaps with contempt, but seldom with pity. Altamont, in the hands of a good actor, would draw the eyes of the audience, notwithstanding the bluftering Lothario and the fuperior dignity of Horatio; for there is something in Altamont to create our pity, and work upon our compaffion.

So many players failing of late, in this character, leaves it a matter of doubt, whether the actor is most miftaken in his performance, or the manager in the diftribution of parts.

The next tragedy, Mr. Rowe wrote, was his Ulyffes, acted at the Queen's Theatre, in the Hay-market, and dedicated to the Earl of Godolphin. This play is not, at prefent, in the poffeffion of the ftage; though it deferves highly to be fo, as the character of Penelope is an excellent example of conjugal fidelity; who, though her Lord had been ten years abfent from her, and various accounts had been given of his death, yet, notwithstanding this, and the addreffes of many Royal fuitors, preferved her heart for her Ulyffes, who at last triumphed over his enemies, and rescued his faithful Queen from the perfecution of her wooers.-This play has bufinefs, paffion, and tragic propriety to recommend it.

The next play, Mr. Rowe brought upon the ftage, was his Royal Convert, acted at the Queen's Theatre, in the Hay-market, and dedicated to the Earl of Hallifax.

His next was the tragedy of Jane Shore, written in imitation of Shakefpear's ftile, acted at the TheatreRoyal in Drury-lane, and dedicated to the Duke of Queensberry and Dover. How Mr. Rowe could imagine that this play is written at all in imitation of Shakespear's ftile, we cannot conceive; for, fo far as we are able to judge, it bears not the leaft refemblance to that of Shakespear. The conduct of the defign is regular, and, in that fenfe, it partakes not of Shake fpear's wildness; the poetry is uni

form,

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form, which marks it to be Rowe's; but in that it is very different from Shakespear, whofe excellency does not confift merely in the beauty of foft language, or nightingale defcriptions, but in the general power of his drama, the boldness of the images,

and the force of his characters.

From this celebrated performance we fhall give the following extract, being the conclufion of the laft fcene in the fecond act; where Dumont, after having defended Jane Shore from the base attack of Lord Haftings, advifes her to quit the Court, and fly to an afylum in the country.

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Dum. Fear not, my worthiest mistrefs; 'tis a canfe, [purfue, In which Heav'n's guard fhall wait you. Oh Pursue the facred counfels of your foul, Which urge you on to virtue; let not danger, Nor the incumb'ring world, make faint your purpose;

peace.

Affifting angels fhall conduct your steps,
Bring you to blifs, and crown your end with
[eyes clos'd,
J. Sh. Oh that my head were laid, my fad
And my cold corfe wound in my fhrowd to reft!
My painful heart will never cease to beat,
Will never know a moment's peace, till then.
Dum. Would you be happy? Leave this
fatal place,
Fly from the Court's pernicious neighbourhood,
Where innocence is fham'd, and blufhing mo-
defty

Is made the fcorner's jeft; where hate, deceit,
And deadly ruin wear the masks of beauty,
And draw deluded fools with fhews of pleasure,
J. Sh. Where fhould I fly, thus helpless
and forlorn,

Of friends and all the means of life bereft ?

A cell, like that, is all my hopes afpire to.
Hafte, then, and thither let us wing our flight,
E're the clouds gather, and the wintry sky
Defcends in ftorms to intercept our paffage.
Dum. Will you then go? You glad my very
foul;

Banifh your fears, caft all your cares on me;
Plenty, and cafe, and peace of mind fhall

wait you,

And make your latter days of life most happy.
Oh, Lady! But I muft not, cannot tell you,
How anxious I have been for all your dangers,
And how my heart rejoices at your fafety.
And warns the pregnant nightingale to build,
So, when the fpring renews the flow'ry field,
She feeks the fafeft fhelter of the wood,
Where the may truft her little tuneful brood;
Where no rude fwains her fhady cell may know,
No ferpents climb, nor blafting winds may
blow;

Fond of the chosen place, she views it o'er,
Sits there, and wanders thro' the grove no

more;

Warbling, the charms it each returning night,
And loves it with a mother's dear delight.

Our author afterwards brought up-
dicated to the Earl of Warwick: This
on the ftage his Lady Jane Grey, de-
play is juftly in the poffeffion of the
ftage likewife. Mr. Edmund Smith,
of Chrift-church, author of Phædra
and Hippolytus, defigned writing a
tragedy on this fubject; and, at his
death, left fome loose hints of fenti-
ments, and short sketches of scenes.
From the last of these, Mr. Rowe ac-
knowledges, he borrowed part of one,
and inferted it in his third act, viz.
that between Lord Guilford and La-
dy Jane. It is not much to be re-

Dum. Bellmour, whofe friendly care ftill gretted, that Mr. Smith did not live

wakes to ferve you,

Has found you out a little peaceful refuge.
Far from the Court and the tumultuous city,
Within an ancient foreft's ample verge,
There stands a lonely but a healthful dwelling,

Built for convenience and the use of life;
Around it fallows, meads, and pastures fair,
A little garden, and a limpid brook,
By nature's own contrivance, feem difpos'd;
No neighbours, but a few poor fimple clowns,
Honeft and true, with a well meaning priest.
No faction, or domeftic fury's rage,
Did e'er difturb the quiet of that place,
When the contending Nobles fhook the land
With York and Lancafter's difputed sway.
Your virtue, there, may find a safe retreat
From the infulting pow'rs of wicked greatnefs.
J.Sh. Can there be fo much happiness in

Atore!

to finish this, fince it fell into the
hands of one fo much above him, as
a dramatist; for, if we may judge of
Mr. Smith's abilities of writing for
the stage, by his Phædra and Hippo-
lytus, it would not have been fo
well executed, as by Rowe. Phædra
and Hippolytus is a play without paf-
fion, though of inimitable verfifica-
tion; and, in the words of a living
poet, we may say of it, that not the
character, but poet fpeaks.

The following extract will fuffi-
ciently juftify this remark. It is the
laft fcene in the fourth act, when the
Lady Jane, Guilford, the Duke and

Dutchefs

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Guil. Thou ftand'ft unmov'd; Calm temper fits upon thy beauteous brow; Thy eyes, that flow'd fo faft for Edward's lofs, Gaze unconcern'd upon the ruin round thee; As if thou hadft refolv'd to brave thy fate, And triumph in the midft of defolation. Ha! fee it fwells, the liquid crystal rises, It starts in fpite of thee,-but I will catch it; Nor let the earth be wet with dew fo rich.

L. Jane. And doft thou think, my Guilford, I can fee

My father, mother, and ev'n thee my husband Torn from my fide without a pang of forrow? How art thou thus unknowing in my heart! Words cannot tell thee what I feel. There is An agonifing foftnefs bufy here,

That tugs the ftrings, that ftruggles to get loofe,

And pour my foul in wailings out before thee. Guil. Give way, and let the gushing torrent

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fortitude,

That fearless we may tread the paths of horror,
And, in defpite of fortune and our foes,
Ev'n in the hour of death, be more than con-
querors.

Guil. Oh teach me! fay, what energy divine
Infpires thy fofter fex and tender years
With fuch unshaken courage?

L. Jane. Truth and innocence; A confcious knowledge rooted in my heart, That to have fav'd my country was my duty. Yes, England, yes, my country, I would fave

thee; But Heav'n forbids, Heav'n difallows my weakness,

And to fome dear felected Hero's hand
Referves the glory of thy great deliverance.
Lieut. My Lords, my orders.
Guil. See! we muftmust part.

L. Jane. Yet furely we shall meet again. Guil. Oh! Where?

L. Jane. If not on earth, among yon golden

ftars.

Where other funs arife on other earths,
And happier beings reft in happier feats:
Where, with a reach enlarg'd, the foul fhall
The great Creator's never-ceafing hand [view
Pour forth new worlds to all eternity,
And people the infinity of space.

Guil. Fain would I chear my heart with
hopes like thefe;

But
my fad thought turns ever to the grave,
To that laft dwelling, whither now we hafte,
Where the black fhade fhall interpose betwixt us,
And veil thee from these longing eyes for ever.

L, Jane. 'Tis true, by thofe dark paths

our journey leads,

And through the vale of death we pass to life: But what is there in death to blaft our hopes? Behold the univerfal works of nature,

Where life ftill fprings from death. To us the fun

Dies every night, and every morn revives. The flow'rs, which winter's icy hand deftroy'd, Lift their fair heads, and live again in fpring. Mark, with what hopes upon the furrow'd

plain

The careful plowman cafts the pregnant grain;
There hid as in a grave a while it lies,
Till the revolving feafon bids it rife,
Till nature's genial pow'rs command a birth,
And potent call it from the teeming earth:
Then large increase the bury'd treasures yield
And with full harveft crown the plenteous field.

It may be justly faid, of all Rowe's tragedies, that never poet painted virtue, religion, and all the relative and focial duties of life, in a more alluring drefs on the ftage; nor were ever vice or impiety better expofed to contempt and abhorrence.

The fame principles of liberty, he had early imbibed himself, seemed a part of his conftitution, and appeared in every thing he wrote; and he took all occafions, that fell in his way, to make his talents fubfervient to them: His Mufe was fo religiously chaste, that I do not remember, fays Dr. Welwood, one word, in any of his plays or writings, that might admit of a double meaning, in any point of decency or morals. There is nothing to be found in them to flatter a de praved populace, or humour a faThionable folly.

Mr. Rowe's plays were written from the heart: He practifed the vir

tue

tue he admired; and he never, in his gayeft moments, fuffered himself to talk loosely or lightly upon religious or moral fubjects, or to turn any thing facred, or which good men reverenced as fuch, into ridicule.

Our author wrote a comedy of three acts, called, The Biter: It was performed at the Theatre in Lincoln's-Inn-Fields; but without fuccefs, for Rowe's genius did not lie towards comedy. In a converfation, he had with Mr. Pope, that great poet advised him to refcue the Queen of Scots from the hands of Banks, and to make that Lady to fhine on the ftage with a luftre equal to her character. Mr. Rowe obferved, in answer to this, That he was a great admirer of Queen Elifabeth; and, as he could not well plan a play upon the Queen of Scots's ftory, without introducing his favourite Princess, who in that particular makes but an indifferent figure, he chofe to decline it. Befides, he knew that, if he favoured the Northern Lady, there was a ftrong party concerned to crush it; and, if he fhould make her appear lefs great than fhe was, and throw a fhade over her real endowments, he fhould violate truth, and incur the displeasure of a faction which, though by far the minority, he knew, would be yet too powerful for a poet to combate with.

The late Duke of Queenfberry, when Secretary of State, made Mr. Rowe Secretary for public affairs; and, when that Nobleman came to know him well, he was never more delighted, than when in his company. After the Duke's death, all avenues were stopped to his preferment; and, during the reft of Queen Anne's reign, he paffed his time with the Mufes and his books, and fometimes with the converfation of his friends.

While Mr. Rowe was thus without a patron, he went one day to pay his court to the Earl of Oxford, Lord High Treasurer of England, then at the head of the Tory faction; who afked him, If he understood Spanish

well? He answered, No: But, imagining that his Lordship might intend to fend him into Spain on fome honourable commiffion, he prefently added, That, in a fhort time, he did not doubt but he fhould be able both

to understand it, and fpeak it. The Earl approving of what he faid, Mr. Rowe took his leave, and immediately retired out of town to a private country farm; where, within a few months, he learned the Spanish tongue, and then waited on the Earl to give him an account of his diligence. His Lordship asking him, If he was fure he understood it thoroughly Mr. Rowe anfwering in the affirmative, the Earl burst into an exclamation: How happy are you, Mr. Rowe, that you can enjoy the pleafure of reading and understanding Don Quixote in the original!"

and

This wanton cruelty inflicted by his Lordship, of raifing expectations in the mind that he never intended to gratify, needs only to be told to excite indignation.

Upon the acceffion of K. George I. to the throne, Mr. Rowe was made Poet Laureat, and one of the Surveyors of the customs in the port of London. The Prince of Wales conferred on him the place of Clerk of his Council; and the Lord-chancellor Parker made him his Secretary for the prefentations, the very day he received the feals, and without his asking it.

He was twice married; firft to a daughter of Mr. Auditor Parfons, and afterwards to a daughter of Mr. Devenifh, of a good family in Dorfetfhire: By his first wife he had a fon, and, by his fecond, a daughter.

Mr. Rowe died, the 6th of December 1918, in the 45th year of his age, like a Chriftian and a philofopher, and with an unfeigned refignation to the will of God: He preferved an evennefs of temper to the laft, and took leave of his wife and friends, immediately before his laft agony, with the fame tranquillity of mind, as if he had been taking a fhort journey.

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He was interred in WeftminsterAbbey, over-against Chaucer; his body being attended with a vast number of friends, and the Dean and Chapter officiating at the funeral. A tomb

was afterwards erected to his memory, by his wife; for which Mr. Pope wrote an epitaph, which we shall here infert; not one word of which is byperbolical, or more than he deserves.

EPITAPH on Mr. ROWE. By Mr. POPE.

Thy relics, Rowe! to this fad fhrine we truft,
And near thy Shakespear place thy honour'd duft,
Oh, next him fkill'd to draw the tender tear,

For never heart felt paffion more fincere:
To nobler fentiment to fire the brave,
For never Briton more difdain'd a flave!
Peace to thy gentle fhade, and endless rest,
Blefs'd in thy genius, in thy love, too, blefs'd!
And blefs'd, that, timely from our fcene remov'd,
Thy foul enjoys the liberty it lov'd!

To thefe, fo mourn'd in death, fo lov'd in life,
The childless parent and the widow'd wife,
With tears, infcribes this monumental ftone,
That holds their afhes, and expects her own.

• Mr. Rowe, as to his perfon, was graceful and well made, his face regular and of a manly beauty; he had a quick and fruitful invention, a deep penetration, and a large compafs of thought, with a fingular dexterity and eafinefs in communicating his opinions. He was master of moft parts of polite learning, especially the claffic authors, both Greek and Latin; he understood the French, Italian, and Spanish languages. He had likewise read moft of the Greek and Roman hiftories in their original languages; and moft that are written in English, French, Italian, and Spanish; he had a good tafte in philofophy; and, having a firm impreffion of religion upon his mind, he took delight in divinity and ecclefiaftical hiftory, in both which he made great advances in the times he retired to the country, which were frequent. He expreffed, upon all occafions, his full perfuafion of the truth of revealed religion; and, being a fincere member of the eftablished church, he pitied, but condemned not, thofe who departed from her; he abhorred the principle of perfecuting men on account of reli. gious principles, and, being strict in

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his own, he took it not upon him to cenfure those of another perfuafion. His converfation was pleasant, witty, and learned, without the leaft tincture of affectation or pedantry; and his inimitable manner of diverting, or enlivening the company, made it impoffible for any one to be out of humour, when he was in it: Envy and detraction feemed to be intirely foreign to his conftitution; and, whatever provocations he met with at any time, he paffed them over, without the leaft thought of refentment or revenge. There were not wanting fome malevolent people, and fome pretenders to poetry too, that would fometimes bark at his best performances; but he was too much confcious of his own genius, and had fo much good-nature as to forgive them: nor could, however, be tempted to return them an answer.'

This is the amiable character of Mr. Rowe, drawn by Mr. Welwood; to which we fhall add the words of Mr. Pope, in a letter to Edward Blount, Efq; dated February the 10th, 1715:

There was a vivacity and gaiety of difpofition almoft peculiar to Mr. Rowe, which made it impoffible to

part

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