Before we dismiss the subject of the early English stage, and for the purpose of throwing some additional light on what we have already written, we shall devote a few pages to some of the minor dramatists that illustrated the reigns of the first and second princes of the house of Stewart.

1. Of these, none had greater celebrity than George Chapman (1557-1634). Omitting in this place all consideration of his version of Homer, which Pope so much condemns, and of his various poetical effusions, which may one day, perhaps, be collected, his dramas deserve something more than the neglect with which they have been uniformly treated. They discover, indeed, no great knowledge of human nature; they are more conversant with books than with the world; but the dialogue is often lively, the sentiments are often just, and there is variety enough in the incidents to keep the attention alive.

No fewer than twenty pieces, either wholly or partly written by Chapman, are enumerated by the historians of our ancient drama. Of them, the most celebrated are Bussy d'Amboys, The Widow's Tears, and The Inns of Court. Dryden will not allow the first to have any merit: "I have sometimes wondered in the reading what was become of those glaring colours which

amazed me in Bussy d'Amboys upon the theatre; but when I had taken up what I supposed a fallen star, I found that I had been cozened with a jelly: nothing but a cold, dull mass, which glittered no longer than it was shooting. A dwarfish thought dressed up in gigantic words, repetition in abundance, looseness of expression, and gross hyperboles; the sense of one line expanded prodigiously into ten; and, to wind up all, incorrect English, and a hideous mingle of false poetry and true nonsense, or, at best, a scantling of wit, which lay gasping for life and groaning beneath a heap of rubbish. A famous modern poet used to sacrifice, every year, a Statius to Virgil's manes; and I have indignation enough to burn a D'Amboys annually, to the memory of Jonson." Certainly Bussy d'Amboys is not, however popular it once was, among the chefs-d'œuvre of Chapman. It has some of the defects which Dryden reprehends; yet it does not merit this severity. Any one, indeed, may see that the critic is endeavouring to be strong rather than true; he is more observant of the manner than the substance. The Widow's Tears has some comic merit; and the same may be said of All Fools. In fact, the mind of Chapman was better fitted for humour than for passions.

From his translation of Homer, Hesiod, &c., the world need not be told that Chapman was a scholar. In a profound knowledge of Latin and Greek, few of his time were equal to him. Wood does not know whether he was educated at Oxford or Cambridge: he appears to have resided for some time at the former, where, however, he took no degree. He was much esteemed at court, especially by prince Henry, the eldest son of James I. His private character was more estimable than that of most dramatists, either at that or any other period. Old Antony tells us that "he was a person of most reverend aspect, religious and temperate; qualities rarely meeting in a poet." He was cautious in the choice of his companions and this added

either, and perhaps they are undeserving of the biographer's notice. We know not when Marston died; but he was alive in 1633. Probably he did not long survive that year, or he would have given to the world some token of his existence. Yet if, as some conjecture, he turned preacher, - whether puritanical, or in the established church, 'they do not inform us, he would certainly bid farewell to a profession which at no period was considered creditable. If he be the same Marston who was lecturer of the Middle Temple, and who, in 1642, preached at St. Margaret's, Westminster, he must, indeed, have greatly changed in his pursuits; but we suspect that they were two individuals.

Among the dramas of this excellent writer, The Malcontent will always hold the first rank. We can enter into no analysis of the piece; but we cannot dismiss it without giving a few short extracts from it. Here is an invocation to sleep:

"Malevole.. I cannot sleep, my eyes' ill-neighbouring lids Will hold no fellowship. O thou pale sober night,

Thou that in sluggish fumes all sense dost steep;

Thou that givest all the world full leave to play,
Unbend'st the feebled veins of sweaty labour;

The gally-slave, that all the toilsome day
Tugs at the oar against the stubborn wave,
Straining his rugged veins, snores fast;

The stooping scythe-man, that doth barb the field,
Thou makest wink sure: in night all creatures sleep,

Only the malcontent, that 'gainst his fate

Repines and quarrels: alas, he 's goodman tell-clock,

His sallow jaw-bones sink with wasting moan;

Whilst others' beds are down, his pillow's stone."

This would be tolerable enough, did we not remember