John Ford.

BORN A.D. 1586.—died cir. a. D. 1639.

JOHN FORD, like the great majority of the dramatists of the Elizabethan age, has left behind him no record of his character, or of the events of his life, save the scanty allusions to self which are to be found in the prologues and dedications to his plays. He was descended from a family of high respectability, and was born in Devonshire in the year 1586. Where he received his education is uncertain, but it is improbable that he entered either of the universities, since in 1602, he became a member of the Middle Temple. He began at an early age to relieve the tedium of his law-studies by paying devotion.at the shrine of the muses, since in 1606, he published his Fame's Memorial,' a long elegiac poem on the death of the earl of Devonshire, which certainly bears every mark of having been a very juvenile performance. From this period little more is known concerning him, until the year 1629, when he published his Lover's Melancholy.' The interval was spent in the discharge of his legal duties,—in writing for the stage in conjunction with Dekker and others, and probably, in composing the four plays, of which, through the carelessness of Warburton's servant, or rather of Warburton himself, we have only the titles remaining. The next record we have of his life relates to the year 1633, in which his genius seems to have been extraordinarily prolific, since in the course of it he gave to the world three of his best plays: Tis pity she's a Whore,' The Broken Heart,' 'Love's Sacrifice.' In the following year he published a historical drama, founded on the story of Perkin Warbeck; in 1638, the Fancies Chaste and Noble ;' and in 1639, ' The Lady's Trial.' The publication of this play is the last trace we have of his existence. Whether he died shortly after, or whether, withdrawing from literary publicity to the shades of retirement, his life was protracted to a late period, is alike unknown. At this point he drops suddenly into the fathomless ocean of the past, leaving us to imagine how and when he was gathered to his fathers. In addition to the plays we have mentioned, there are two commonly printed with his works, entitled, ‘The Sun's Darling,' and 'The Witch of Edmonton,' which he wrote in conjunction with Dekker and Rowley.

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Unsatisfactory as this sketch must necessarily be, yet the subject of it has left behind him writings bearing marks of such pre-eminent excellence as to entitle him to no mean rank among those choice master-spirits, whose learning and genius have made the dramatic annals of the Elizabethan age more illustrious than those of any similar period in the history of any nation. We do not mean to deny that his plays are guilty of many faults-that he very seldom attends to the unities-that his plots are often ill-constructed, and the denouements frequently placed in the fourth act, while the fifth is left to drag its slow length along as best it may that his characters are often in bad keeping, and often uninteresting or disgusting-that unnatural crime is a favourite subject of his penor that his comic scenes are the most deplorable abortions conceivable, sometimes nauseating from their obscenity, and always wearisome from

their stupidity. None of these faults do we mean to deny, though we are quite aware that the numerous class of readers whose taste has been vitiated by the refinements and artifices which have been engrafted on our native English style of thought and writing-those who believe Addison to be the greatest of English prose-writers, and Pope, of English poets will find it difficult to comprehend the co-existence of any excellencies with such palpable defects. Those, however, who have soul enough to prefer the flowers of native genius to the exotics of artificial culture, and who therefore worship our old writers with that enthusiastic reverence which they so richly merit, will discover beauties in Ford, far more delightful than the tame monotony of mere correctness. He is not distinguished by the fire and impetuosity which characterized his predecessor Marlowe, and his associate Dekker; nor by the high and stately beauty of Chapman, and Massinger; nor the romantic fancy of Beaumont and Fletcher; least of all by the versatility and transcendant imagination of Shakspeare: his excellency consists in the music-breathing flow of his verse,-in the powerful working up of some of his scenes,-in a vein of the most tender and exquisite pathos,-and in a certain indescribable air of placid melancholy which pervades all his more serious passages, producing an effect on the mind of the reader not unlike that occasioned by the closing twilight of a summer's evening. He very seldom reaches the sublime, but he has an almost unrivalled command over the delicately pathetic and beautiful. has indeed been thought by some that his forte lies in the dreadful and appalling, but a very slight examination of his plays will suffice to show that, in Ford, the horrible is produced by stage-directions to put half-a-dozen of his characters to death, or by entrapping in a chair and bloodily murdering one of the heroes-not as in Shakspeare, by the mere descriptions and images of the poet operating on the imagination of the reader. Ford is unequal to the production of that higher and more intellectual species of the horrible which is exemplified in Clarence's dream, though quite capable of that grosser species which would have consisted in putting Clarence into the water in reality. Touching pathos and inimitable melody of versification are his grand excellencies, and in these no dramatic writer, save Shakspeare, can be styled his equal. Our limits prevent us from extracting a whole scene, but the following brief passage will give the reader who is unacquainted with Ford, some idea of the treasures laid up for him:

Glories

Of human greatness are but pleasing dreams,
And shadows soon decaying; on the stage

Of my mortality, my youth has acted
Some scenes of vanity, drawn out at length

By varied pleasures, sweeten'd in the mixture,

But tragical in issue; beauty, pomp,

With every sensuality our giddiness
Doth frame an idol, are unconstant friends

When any troubled passion makes assault
On the unguarded castle of the mind.

The Broken Heart, Act III. Scene 5.

It

Ford's works have been several times reprinted. Incomparably the best edition is that published in London in 2 vols. 8vo. 1827, edited by Gifford.

Philip Massinger.

BORN A. D. 1584.-died a. d. 1640.

THE genius of this writer entitles him to be ranked among those to whom the English drama is chiefly indebted for the place it holds in the national literature. He was born in 1584, at Salisbury, and probably, it has been suggested, in the mansion of the earl of Pembroke, to whose establishment his father was attached in some capacity which enabled him to obtain the confidence and friendship of that enlightened nobleman. Our poet, it is supposed, passed all the earlier part of his youth in the earl's house at Wilton; but he had only attained the age of sixteen when the beneficent patron of both himself and his father died, and they were left to the protection of his son, a nobleman not less generous, or less inclined to patronize merit, but having claims upon his munificence which drew his attention from those of the younger Massinger. It is not known what situation his father held in

the earl's household, but there is reason to believe that he was enabled to send his son to college without the assistance of his patron. Philip, who was entered as a commoner at Saint Alban's hall, continued there a space of about four years, when he was obliged to leave the university for want of funds. Of the manner in which he spent his time, while at college, two very opposite accounts are given; but it is easy to see that their apparent contradictions result from the different manner in which the writers of them viewed the same object. While Langbaine describes him as a diligent and talented student, Wood contemptuously announces that he knew neither logic nor philosophy, and that the whole of his time was wasted in idling over poetry and romance. But had he not been more than ordinarily careful in the pursuit of those studies which suited his taste, he would never have drawn down upon himself this severe rebuke; and Langbaine, who was far less devoted to scholastic learning than the historian, considered that he might with great fairness allow the poet credit for industry, and the acquisition of knowledge, though he had no ambition to seek honour in the schools.

Various reasons are alleged to account for his leaving Oxford without a degree, or rather for his not being able to raise a sufficient income for his support while he completed his residence. The death of his father is the most obvious cause of his misfortune; but it is considered strange that the earl of Pembroke should have neglected a young man whose talents were sufficiently manifest to give him a claim on his liberality. To explain this mystery, it is alleged, that there is evidence to prove that he had become a convert to catholicism, and that his being obliged to leave the university was, in various ways, the consequence of his conversion.

Without either a profession or a patron,-as destitute of interest as of money,―he hastened to London, and immediately sought the theatres as affording the best prospect of furnishing him with employment. In what way he commenced his labours is not precisely known, but he appears to have formed a connexion with some of the wits about town, and to have earned his livelihood by assisting them in the composition

of their works, the produce of which, when successful, they were thereby bound to share with him. The principal reason on which this supposition is founded is, that he wrote no piece in his own name for sixteen years after his arrival in London, while he is known, during that time, to have had no means of support but his pen. It appears from the interesting researches of Mr Gifford on this subject, that he was connected at this period with the best-known dramatists of the day. He was the associate, and, as it seems, the assistant of Beaumont and Fletcher, in the composition of several of whose plays he is supposed to have had an important share. These were not the only authors of reputation to whom he lent the aid of his genius; but the income he earned was insufficient for his wants, and both he and his friends were sometimes plunged into the deepest distress. A note is still in existence, in which three of them earnestly implore the assistance of a manager to advance them five pounds out of ten which they were shortly to receive, as the only means of saving them from arrest and ruin.

The Virgin Martyr' was the first play which Massinger ventured to print, and the earliest mention of his name in the office-book of the master of the revels, is under the date of December 3d, 1623, when his Bondman' was performed. He printed this work the following year, with a dedication to Philip, Earl of Montgomery, second son of the late earl of Pembroke, in which he speaks with good sense, but mournfully, of his situation and struggles. The relationship between the earl and his former patron, appears to have induced him to seek his patronage, while the manner in which he forbears making any allusion to his early connexion with the Pembroke family increases the difficulty of accounting for the neglect with which he had been treated. Happily for him, however, the earl of Montgomery proved a kind and liberal friend, and the assistance he rendered him contributed perhaps, in some degree, to improve his circumstances and his prospects. Some signal favours must have been conferred, or at least expected, to induce the poet to write the following lines. His obligations, he says, were more

"Than they could owe, who since, or heretofore,
Have laboured, with exalted lines, to raise
Brave piles, or rather pyramids, of praise
To Pembroke, and his family."

It appears, however, from the dedications of Massinger's productions after this period, that the patronage of the earl was far from sufficient to secure him independence, and that it was not only necessary for him to continue writing, but to pay assiduous court to the great. The 'Renegado,' which was printed in 1629, was dedicated to Lord Berkeley, and the Roman Actor,' which appeared in the same year, to Sir Philip Knyvet and Sir Thomas Jeay. But notwithstanding his industry, the profits of his labour must have been wretchedly small. In the space of four years he produced seven plays, all of which, there is every reason to believe, proved successful; but according to the rate at which dramatic authors were then remunerated, his indigence must have been extreme, supposing he depended solely on the exertion of his talents. The highest sum paid for a play by the players was twenty pounds; and if the author preferred the chance of a benefit to taking a fixed sum, it was seldom, says Mr Gifford, that so good a price was obtained. With

the profits of publication, and the fee of 40 shillings, which, according to the fashion of the times, was looked for from the person to whom the play was dedicated, it is calculated that under the most favourable circumstances, Massinger might have made fifty pounds a year. "But," observes his learned editor," nothing is better known than the precarious nature of dramatic writing. Some of his pieces might fail of success, (indeed, we are assured they actually did so,) others might experience a thin third day;' and a variety of circumstances, not difficult to enumerate, contribute to diminish the petty sum which we have ventured to state as the maximum of the poet's revenue."

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The reputation which he enjoyed at this time, was very forcibly shown by the honourable manner in which he was treated by the members of the Inner Temple. On his dedicating to them The Picture,' they gave him permission to place their names individually at the head of the dedication; but he had sufficient good sense to reply, that, “he had rather enjoy the real proofs of their friendship, than, mountebanklike, boast their numbers in a catalogue." In the year following, that is, in 1631, he produced three new plays, namely, Believe as You List,' the Unfortunate Piety,' and the Emperor of the East.' The two former of these have perished, but the latter was published with a dedication to Lord Mohun, in 1632, and obtained for its author an assurance from that nobleman of "intended favour." The City Madam,' The Maid of Honour,' and 'New Way to pay Old Debts,' were produced in quick succession after this, as well as two other pieces which proved unsuccessful, and reduced, by their failure, the unfortunate author to a state of great distress. The Guardian,' however, which appeared in October 1633, was eminently popular, and the mind of Massinger speedily recovered its former elasticity. Three pieces were the result of the next twelve or fourteen months. They were followed by The Bashful Lover,' which was written in 1636, and three others. These conclude the list of Massinger's numerous works. The Anchoress of Pausilippo,' the last he wrote, was acted on the twenty-sixth of January 1640; and he died on the 17th of March in the same year. He suffered no previous illness, but having retired the previous evening in good health, was found in his bed a corpse. His remains were deposited in Saint Saviour's church-yard, in the Borough, but no stone was erected to mark the spot, and the register simply states, "March 20th, 1639-40, buried Philip Massinger, a stranger."

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The life of this admirable writer was chequered with few changes, but it was one of disappointment and misfortune. His works are con sidered to afford sufficient evidence of the excellence of his heart, and the purity of his principles,-characteristics which ought in conjunction with his noble genius to have secured him the support as well as the respect of those who knew his merits, and had it in their power to serve him. But he was ill-adapted for playing the part of a courtier, and he lived in days when genius, unaccompanied by servility on the one side, or party-zeal on the other, had little chance of winning the favour of the great, or making its way to profitable popularity. profitable popularity. As a dramatist, Massinger is true to nature, especially in delineations of the tenderer emotions. His language is apt and powerful, and his versification exquisitely harmonious without ever sinking into either monotony or weakness.