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most careless of all versifiers, their style is occur in his performances, and must to all more remarkably and offensively artificial impartial judges appear quite absurd and than that of any other class of writers. They unnatural. Before entering upon the charachave mixed in, too, so much of the mawkish ter of a contemporary dramatist

, it was of tone of pastoral innocence and babyish sim- some importance, therefore, to show that plicity, with a sort of pedantic emphasis and there was a distinct, original, and independent ostentatious glitter, that it is difficult not to school of literature in England in the time of be disgusted with their perversity, and with Shakespeare; to the general tone of wlose the solemn self-complacency, and keen and productions his works were sufficiently w.. vindictive jealousy, with which they have put formable; and that it was owing to circumin their claims on public admiration. But we stances in a great measure accidental, that this have said enough elsewhere of the faults of native school was superseded about the time those authors; and shall only add, at present, of the Restoration, and a foreign standard of exthat, notwithstanding all these faults, there is cellence intruded on us, not in the drama only, a fertility and a force, a warmth of feeling but in every other department of poetry. This and an exaltation of imagination about them, new style of composition, however, though which classes them, in our estimation, with adorned and recommended by the splendid a much higher order of poets than the fol- talents of many of its followers, was never lowers of Dryden and Addison ; and justifies perfectly naturalised, we think, in this counan anxiety for their fame, in all the admirers try; and has ceased, in a great measure, to of Milton and Shakespeare.

be cultivated by those who have lately aimed Of Scott, or of Campbell, we need scarcely with the greatest success at the higher honsay any thing, with reference to our present ours of poetry. Our love of Shakespeare, object, after the very copious accounts we therefore, is not a monomania or solitary and have given of them on former occasions. The unaccountable infatuation ; but is merely the former professes to copy something a good natural love which all men bear to those forms deal older than what we consider as the golden of excellence that are accommodated to their age of English poetry,-and, in reality, has peculiar character, temperament, and situacopied every style, and borrowed from every tion; and which will always return, and assert manner that has prevailed, from the times of its power over their affections, long after Chaucer to his own ;-illuminating and unit. authority has lost its reverence, fashions been ing, if not harmonizing them all, by a force antiquated, and artificial tastes passed away. of colouring, and a rapidity succession, In endeavouring, therefore, bespeak some which is not to be met with in any of his share of favour for such of his contemporaries many models. The latter, we think, can as had fallen out of notice, during the prevascarcely be said to have copied his pathos, or lence of an imported literature, we conceive his energy, from any models whatever, either that we are only enlarging that foundation of recent or early. The exquisite harmony of native genius on which alone any lasting his versification is elaborated, perhaps, from superstructure can be raised, and invigorating the Castle of Indolence of Thomson, and the that deep-rooted stock upon which all the serious pieces of Goldsmith ;-and it seems perennial blossoms of our literature must still to be his misfortune, not to be able to reconcile be engrafted. himself to any thing which he cannot reduce The notoriety of Shakespeare may seem to within the limits of this elaborate harmony. make it superfluous to speak of the peculiariThis extreme fastidiousness, and the limita- ties of those old dramatists, of whom he will tion of his efforts to themes of unbroken ten- be admitted to be so worthy a representative. derness or sublimity, distinguish him from the Nor shall we venture to say any thing of the careless, prolific, and miscellaneous authors confusion of their plots, the disorders of their of our primitive poetry ;-while the enchant- chronology, their contempt of the unities, or ing softness of his pathetic passages, and the their imperfect discrimination between the power and originality of his more sublime provinces of Tragedy and Comedy. Yet there conceptions, place him at a still greater dis- are characteristics which the lovers of literatance from the wits, as they truly called ture may not be displeased to find enumerated, themselves, of Charles II. and Queen Anne. and which may constitute no dishonourable

We do not know what other apology to distinction for the whole fraternity, independoffer for this hasty, and, we fear, tedious ent of the splendid talents and incommunicasketch of the history of our poetry, but that ble graces of their great chieftain. it appeared to us to be necessary, in order to Of the old English dramatists, then, inexplain the peculiar merit of that class of cluding under this name (besides Shake. writers to which the author before us belongs ; speare), Beaumont and Fletcher, Massinger, and that it will very greatly shorten what we Jonson, Ford, Shirley, Webster, Dekkar, Field, have still to say on the characteristics of our and Rowley, it may be said, in general, that older dramatists. An opinion prevails very they are more poetical, and more original in generally on the Continent, and with foreign their diction, than the dramatists of any other bred scholars among ourselves, that our na- age or country. Their scenes abound more tional taste has been corrupted chiefly by our in varied images, and gratuitous excursions idolatry of Shakespeare ;-and that it is our of fancy. Their illustrations, and figures of patriotic and traditional admiration of that speech, are more borrowed from rural life, singular writer, that reconciles us to the mon- and from the simple occupations or universal strous compound of faults and beauties that I feelings of mankind. They are not confined to a certain range of dignified expressions, formly leave the scene without exhausting nor restricted to a particular assortment of the controversy, or stating half the plausible imagery, beyond which it is not lawful to look things for themselves that any ordinary ad, for embellishments. Let any one compare visers might have suggested-after a few the prodigious variety, and wide-ranging free weeks' reflection. As specimens of eloquent dom of Shakespeare, with the narrow round argumentation, we must admit the signal ir. of flames, tempests, treasons, victims, and feriority of our native favourites; but as true tyrants, that scantily adorn the sententious copies of nature,-as vehicles of passion, and pomp of the French drama, and he will not representations of character, we confess we fail.o recognise the vast superiority of the are tempted to give them the preference. former, in the excitement of the imagination, When a dramatist brings his chief characters and all the diversities of poetical delight on the stage, we readily admit that he must That very mixture of styles, of which the give them something to say,—and that this French critics have so fastidiously complained, something must be interesting and characterforms, when not carried to any height of ex- istic ;-but he should recollect also, that they travagance, one of the greatest charms of our are supposed to come there without having ancient dramatists. It is equally sweet and anticipated all they were to hear, or medinatural for personages toiling on the barren tated on all they were to deliver; and that it heights of life, to be occasionally recalled to cannot be characteristic, therefore, because it some vision of pastoral innocence and tran- must be glaringly unnatural, that they should quillity, as for the victims or votaries of am- proceed regularly through every possible view bition to cast a glance of envy and agony on of the subject, and exhaust, in set order, the the joys of humble content.

whole magazine of reflections that can be Those charming old writers, however, have brought to bear upon their situation. a still more striking peculiarity in their con- It would not be fair, however, to leave this duct of the dialogue. On the modern stage, view of the matter, without observing, that every scene is visibly studied and digested this unsteadiness and irregularity of dialogue, beforehand, -and every thing from beginning which gives such an air of nature to our older to end, whether it be description, or argument, plays, and keeps the curiosity and attention or vituperation, is very obviously and osten- so perpetually awake, is frequently carried to tatiously set forth in the most advantageous a most blameable excess; and that, indepenlight, and with all the decorations of the most dent of their passion for verbal quibbles, there elaborate rhetoric. Now, for mere rhetoric, is an inequality and a capricious uncertainty and fine composition, this is very right;-but, in the taste and judgment of these good old for an imitation of nature, it is not quite so writers, which excites at once our amazement well: And however we may admire the skill and our compassion. If it be true, that no of the artist, we are not very likely to be other man has ever written so finely as Shakemoved with any very lively sympathy in the speare has done in his happier passages, it is emotions of those very rhetorical interlocutors. no less true that there is not a scribbler now When we come to any important part of the alive who could possibly write worse than he play, on the Continental or modern stage, we has sometimes written, -- who could, on occa are sure to have a most complete, formal, sion, devise more contemptible ideas, or misand exhausting discussion of it, in long flourish- place them so abominably, by the side of such ing orations;-argument after argument pro- incomparable excellence.' That there were pounded and answered with infinite ingenuity, no critics, and no critical readers in those days, and topic after topic brought forward in well- appears to us but an imperfect solution of the digested method, without any deviation that difficulty. He who could write so admirably, the most industrious and practised pleader must have been a critic to himself. Children, would not approve of, -till nothing more re- indeed, may play with the most preciour mains to be said, and a new scene introduces gems, and the most worthless pebbles, with us to a new set of gladiators, as expert and out being aware of any difference in their persevering as the former. It is exactly the value ; but the fiery powers which are neces same when a story is to be told,-a tyrant to sary to the production of intellectual excel. be bullied, :-or a princess to be wooed. On lence, must enable the possessor to recognise the old English stage, however, the proceed- it as excellence; and he who knows when he ings were by no means so regular. There the succeeds, can scarcely be unconscious of his discussions always appear to be casual, and failures. Unaccountable, however, as it is the argument quite artless and disorderly. the fact is certain, that almost all the dramatic The persons of the drama, in short, are made writers of this age appear to be alternately to speak like men and women who meet inspired, and bereft of understanding; and without preparation, in real life. Their rea- pass, apparently without being conscious of. sonings are perpetually broken by passion, or the change, from the most beautiful displays left imperfect for want of skill. They con- of genius to the most melancholy exemplifistantly wander from the point in hand, in the cations of stupidity. most unbusinesslike manner in the world;- There is only one other peculiarity which and after hitting upon a topic that would afford we shall notice in those ancient dramas; and a judicious playwright room for a magnificent that is, the singular, though very beautiful seesaw of pompous declamation, they have style, in which the greater part of them are generally the awkwardness to let it slip, as composed,-a style which we think must be if perfecily unconscious of its value ; and uni- felt as peculiar by all who peruse them, though

it is by no means easy to describe in what its from what they promised to do in the beginpeculiarity consists. It is not, for the most ning. This kind of surprise has been repiepart

, a lofty or sonorous style, ,—nor can it be sented by some as a master-stroke of art in said generally to be finical or affected, -or the author, and a great merit in the performstrained, quaint, or pedantic :-But it is, at ance. We have no doubt at all, however, that the same time, a style full of turn and con- it is to be ascribed merely to the writer's trivance, -with some little degree of constraint carelessness, or change of purpose; and have and involution,-very often characterised by never failed to feel it a great blemish in every a studied briefness and simplicity of diction, serious piece where it occurs. yet relieved by a certain indirect and figura- The author has not much of the oratorical tive cast of expression, -and almost always stateliness and imposing flow of Massinger; coloured with a modest tinge of ingenuity, nor a great deal of the smooth and flexible and fashioned, rather too visibly, upon a par- diction, the wandering fancy, and romantic ticular model of elegance and purity. In sweetness of Beaumont and Fletcher; and yet scenes of powerful passion, this sort of arti- he comes nearer to these qualites than to any ficia! prettiness is commonly shaken off; and, of the distinguishing characteristics of Jonson in Shakespeare, it disappears under all his or Shakespeare. He excels most in representforms of animation : But it sticks closer to ing the pride and gallantry, and high-toned most of his contemporaries. In Massinger honour of youth, and the enchanting softness, (who has no passion), it is almost always dis- or the mild and graceful magnanimity of fecernable; and, in the author before us, it gives male character. There is a certain melana peculiar tone to almost all the estimable choly air about his most striking representaparts of his productions.--It is now time, how- tions; and, in the tender and afflicting pathetic, ever, and more than time, that we should turn he appears to us occasionally to be second to this author.

only to him who has never yet had an equal. His biography will not detain us long ; for The greater part of every play, however, is very little is known about him. He was born bad ; and there is not one which does riot in Devonshire, in 1586; and entered as a contain faults sufficient to justify the derision student in the Middle Temple; where he even of those who are incapable of comprebegan to publish poetry, and probably to write hending its contrasted beauties. plays, soon after his twenty-first year. He The diction we think for the most part did not publish any of his dramatic works, beautiful, and worthy of the inspired age however, till 1629; and though he is supposed which produced it. That we may not be susto have written fourteen or fifteen pieces for pected of misleading our readers by partial the theatres, only nine appear to have been and selected quotations, we shall lay before printed, or to have found their way down to them the very first sentence of the play which the present times. He is known to have stands first in this collection. The subject is written in conjunction with Rowley and Dek- somewhat revolting; though managed with kar, and is supposed to have died about 1640; great spirit, and, in the more dangerous parts,

-and this is the whole that the industry of with considerable dignity. A brother and Mr. Weber, assisted by the researches of sister fall mutually in love with each other, Steevens and Malone, has been able to dis- and abandon themselves, with a sort of splencover of this author.

did and perverted devotedness, to their in. It would be useless, and worse than use. cestuous passion. The sister is afterwards less, to give our readers an abstract of the married, and their criminal intercourse de. fable and management of each of the nine tected by her husband, --when the brother, plays contained in the volumes before us. A perceiving their destruction inevitable, first very few brief remarks upon their general kills her, and then throws himself upon the character, will form a sufficient introduction sword of her injured husband. The play to the extracts, by which we propose to let opens with his attempting to justify his passion our readers judge for themselves of the merits to a holy friar, his tutor—who thus addresses of their execution. The comic parts are all him. utterly bad. With none of the richness of Friar. Dispute no more in this; er know Shakespeare's humour, the extravagant mer- young man, riment of Beaumont and Fletcher, or the These are no school points ; Nice philosophy strong colouring of Ben Johnson, they are as May tolerate unlikely arguments, heavy and as indecent as those of Massinger, On wit too much, by striving how to prove

But heaven admits no jest. Wits that presum'd and not more witty, though a little more va- There was no God, with foolish grounds of art, ried, than the buffooneries of Wycherley or Discover'd first the nearest way to hell, Dryden. Fortunately, however, the author's And filled the world with dev'lish atheism. merry vein is not displayed in very many to bless the sun, than reason why it shines

Such questions, youth, are sond: for better 'tis parts of his performances. His plots are not Yet he thou talk'st of is above the sun. very cunningly digested; nor developed, for No more! I mey not hear it. the most part, by a train of probable incidents. Gio.

Gentle father, His characters are drawn rather with occa- To you I have unclasp'd my burden'd soul, sional felicity, than with general sagacity and Emptied the storehouse of my thoughts and heart, judgment. Like those of Massinger, they are

Made myself poor of secrets; have not left very apt to startle the reader with sudden and All what I ever durst, or think, or know;

Another word untold, which hath not spoke unexpected transformations, and to turn out, And yet is here the comfort I shall have ? in the latter half of the play, very differently Must I not do what all men else may, -love? 39

2 A 2

No, father! in your eyes I see the change Alas, these gay attires were not put on
Of pity and compassion; from your age,

But io some end; this sudden solemn feast
As from a sacred oracle, distils

Was not ordain'd to riot in expense ; The life of counsel. Tell me, holy man,

I that have now been chamber'd here alone, What cure shall give me ease in these extremes ? Barr'd of my guardian, or of any else,

Friar. Repentance, son, and sorrow for this sin :) Am not for nothing at an instant freed For thou hasi mov'd a majesty above

To fresh access. Be not deceiv'd, my brother ; With thy unranged, almost, blasphemy.

This banquet is an harbinger of Death Gio. O do not speuk of that, dear confessor. To you and me! resolve yourself it is, Friar. Then I have done, and in thy wilful flames And be prepar'd to welcome it.

[face Already see thy ruil; Heaven is jusi.

Gio. Look up, look here ; what see you in my Yet hear my counsel!

Ann. Distraction and a troubled countenance. Gio. As a voice of life. Gio. Death and a swift repining wrath !

Yet Friar. Hie to thy father's house; there lock thee What see you in mine eyes ?

(look, Alone within thy chamber; then fall down (fast Ann.

Methinks you weep. On both thy knees, and grovel on the ground; Gio. I do indeed. These are the funeral tears Cry to thy heart; wash every word thou uller'st Shed on your grave! These furrow'd up my cheeks In tears (and if 'i be possible) of blood :

When first I lov'd and knew not how to woo. Beg Heaven to cleanse the leprosy of love

Fair Annabella! should I here repeat That rots thy soul; weep, sigh, pray

The story of my life, we might lose time! Three times a day, and ihree times every night: Be record, all the spirits of the air, For seven days' space do this; then, if thou find'st And all things else that are, that day and night, No change in thy desires, return to me;

Early and late, the tribute which my heart I'll think on remedy. Pray for thyself

Hath paid to Annabella's sacred love (now! At home, whilst I pray for thee here. Away! Hath been these tears,—which are her mourners My blessing with thee! We have need to pray." Never till now did nature do her best

Vol. i. pp. 9.-12. To show a matchless beauty to the world,

Which in an instant, ere it scarce was seen, In a subsequent scene with the sister, the The jealous destinies require again. same holy person maintains the dignity of his Pray, Annabella, pray! since we must part, style.

Go ihou, while in thy soul, to fill a throne Friar. I am glad to see this penance; for, believe Pray, pray, my sister.

Of innocence and sanctity in heaven. You have unripp'd a soul so foul and guilty, (me


Then I see your drift; As I must tell you true, I marvel how

Ye blessed angels, guard me! The earth hath borne you up; but weep, weep on, Gio.

So say I. These tears may do you good; weep faster yet,

Kiss me! If ever after-times should hear Whilst I do read a lecture.

Of our fast-knit affections, though perhaps Ann.

Wretched creature ! The laws of conscience and of civil use Friar. Ay, you are wretched, miserably wretch: May justly blame us, yet when they bui know Almost condemned alive. There is a place, [ed, Our loves, that love will wipe away that rigour, List, daughter,) in a black and hollow vault,

Which would in other incesis be abhorr'd. Where day is never seen; there shines no sun,

Give me your hand. How sweetly life doth run But flaming horror of consuming fires;

In these well-colour'd veins ! how constantly A lightless sulphur, chok'd with smoky fogs

These palms do promise health! but I could chido Of an infected darkness; in this place

With nature for this cunning flattery.Dwell many thousand thousand sundry sorts

Kiss me again !--forgive me! Of never-dying deaths. There damned souls


With my heart. Roar without pity; there are gluttons fed

Gio. Farewell. With toads and adders; there is burning oil


Will you be gone? Pour'd down the drunkard's throat; the usurer Gio.

Be dark, bright sun, Is forc'd to sup whole draughts of molten gold ; And make this mid-day night, that thy gilt rays There is the murderer for ever stabb'd,

May not behold a deed will turn their splendour Yet can he never die; there lies the wanton

More sooty than the poets feign their Siyx! On racks of burning steel, whilst in his soul

One other kiss, my sister ! He feels the torment of his raging lust.


What means this? Ann. Mercy! oh mercy!

[things, Friar.

Gio. To save thy fame, and kill thee in a kiss! There stand these wretched

(Stabs her. Who have dream'd out whole years in lawless sheels Thus die! and die by me, and by my hand ! And secret incests, cursing one another,” &c.

Ann. Oh brother, by your hand!
Vol. i. pp. 63, 64. Gio.

When thou art dead The most striking scene of the play, how- i'll give my reasons for'!; for to dispute ever, is that which contains the catastrophe Would make me stagger to perform this act

With ihee, even in thy death, most lovely beauty, of the lady's fate. Her husband, after shut. Which I most glory in, ting her up for some time in gloomy privacy, Ann. Forgive him, Heaven-and me my sins ! invites her brother, and all his family, to a

Farewell. solemn banquet; and even introduces him, Brother unkind, unkind,-mercy, great Heaven:þefore it is served up, into her private cham


(Dies. ber, where he finds her sitting on her mar. In all her best, bore her alive and dead.

Gio. She's dead, alas, good soul! This marriage

(bed, riage-bed, in splendid attire, but filled with Soranzo, thou hast miss'd thy aim in this ; boding terrors and agonising anxiety. He, I have prevented now thy reaching plots, though equally aware of the fate that was And kill'd a love, for whose each drop of blood prepared for them, addresses her at first with I would have pawn'd my heart. Fair Annabella, a kind of wild and desperate gaiety, to which How over-glorious art thou in thy wounds, she tries for a while to answer with sober and Shrink not, courageous hand ; stand up, my heart, earnest warnings, and at last exclaims im. And boldly ac: my last, and greater part! patiently,

-Vol. i. pp. 98—101. (Exit with the body. 0 let's not waste

There are few things finer than this in These precious haurs in vain and useless speech., Shakespeare. It bears an obvious resemblance


indeeu to the death of Desdemona; and,


Not yet, heaven taking it as a detached scene, we think it I do beseech thee! first, let some wild fires rather the more beautiful of the two. The Scorch, not consume it ! may the heat be cherish'd

With desires infinite, but hopes impossible! sweetness of the diction—the natural tone of

Ith. Wrong'd soul, thy prayers are heard. tenderness and passion—the strange perver- Pen.

Here, lo, I breathe, sion of kind and magnanimous natures, and A miserable creature, led to ruin the horrid catastrophe by which their guilt is By an unnatural brother! at once consummated and avenged, have not In languishing affections of that trespass ;

I consume often been rivalled, in the pages either of the

Yet cannot die. modern or the ancient drama.


The handmaid to the wages, The play entitled “The Broken Heart,” is The untroubled but of country toil, drinks streams in our author's best manner; and would sup- With leaping kids and with the bleating lambs, ply more beautiful quotations than we have And so allays her thirst secure; whilst I left room for inserting. The story is a little Quench my hot sighs with fleetings of my tears. complicated; but the following slight sketch Earn'd with his sweat, and lies him down to sleep;

Ilh. The labourer doth eat his coarsesi bread, of it will make our extracts sufficiently in- Whilst every bit I touch turns in digestion telligible. Penthea, a noble lady of Sparta, To gall, as bitter as Penthea's curse. was betrothed, with her father's

approbation Put me to any penance for my tyranny and her own full consent, to Orgilus; but And I will call thee merciful. being solicited, at the same time, by Bassanes, Rid me from living with a jealous husband,

Pray kill me! a person of more splendid fortune, was, after Then we will join in friendship, be again her father's death, in a manner compelled by Brother and sister.-Kill me, pray! nay, will ye ! her brother Ithocles to violate her first en- Ith. Thou shalt stand gagement, and yield him her hand. In this A deity, my sister, and be worshipp'd ill-sorted alliance, though living a life of un- For thy resolved martyrdom: wrong'd maids impeachable purity, she was harassed and And married wives shall to thy hallow'd shrine degraded by the perpetual jealousies of her Pure iuriles, crown'd with myrtle, if thy pity unworthy husband; and pined away, like her Unto a yielding brother's pressure, tend deserted lover, in sad and bitter recollections One finger but, to ease it. of the happy promise of their youth. Itho- Pen. Who is the saint you serve? (daughter! cles, in the meantime, had pursued the course Sole heir of Sparta.-Me, most miserable !

Ith. Calantha 'tis!-the princess! The king's of ambition with a bold and commanding Do I now love thee? For my injuries spirit, and had obtained the highest honours Revenge thyself with bravery, and gossip of his country; but too much occupied in the My treasons to the king's ears! Do !-Calantha pursuit to think of the misery to which he knows it not yet; nor Prophilus, my nearest. had condemned the sister who was left to his

Pen. We are reconcil'd!protection : At last, however, in the midst of Alas, sir, being children, but two branches

Of one stock, 'ris not fit we should divide : his proud career, he is seized with a sudden Have comfort ; you may find it. passion for Calantha, the heiress of the sover- Ith.

Yes, in thee; eign; and, after many struggles, is reduced to Only in thee, Penthea mine! ask the intercession and advice of his un- Pen.

If sorrows happy sister, who was much in favour with Have not too much dullid my infected brain, the princess. The following is the scene in I'll cheer invention for an active strain.

Ith. Mad man! why have I wrong'd a maid so which he makes this request;—and to those

excellent ?"

Vol. i. pp. 273-277. who have learned, from the preceding passages, the lofty and unbending temper of the We cannot resist the temptation of adding suppliant, and the rooted and bitter anguish a part of the scene in which this sad ambasof her whom he addresses, it cannot fail to sadress acquits herself of the task she had appear one of the most striking in the whole undertaken. There is a tone of heart-struck compass of dramatic composition.*

sorrow and female gentleness and purity

about it that is singularly engaging, and con"Ith. Sit nearer, sister, to me!--nearer yet! We had one father, in one womb took life;

trasts strangely with the atrocious indecenWere brought up twins together ;-Yet have liv'acies with which the author has polluted his At distance, like two strangers! I could wish paper in other parts of the same play.—The That the first pillow, whereon I was cradled, princess says, Had proved to me a grave! Pen.

You had been happy! Cal. Being alone, Penthea, you now have Then had you never known that sin of life

The opportunity you sought; and might (granted Which blois all following glories with a vengeance, At all times have commanded. For forfeiting i he last will of the dead,


'Tis a benefit From whom you had your being.

Which I shall owe your goodness even in death for: Ith.

Sad Penthea! My glass of life, sweet princess, haih few minutes Thou canst not be too cruel; my rash spleen Remaining to run down; the sands are spent; Hath with a violent hand pluck'd from thy bosom For by an inward messenger I feel A love-blest heart, to grind it into dust

The summons of departure short and certain.
For which mine's now a-breaking.

Cal. You feed too much your melancholy.

Glories * I have often fancied what a splendid effect Mrs. Of human greatness are but pleasing d•cams Siddons and John Kemble would have given to the And shadows soon decaying. On the stage opening of this sceno, in actual representation !- of my mortality, my youth hath acteu with the deep throb of their low voices, their pa. Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length thetic pauses, and majestic attitudes and move. By varied pleasures, sweetened in the mixture, Inents!

But tragical in issue. Beauty, pomp,

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