"Peace at the root must dwell." At length I met a reverend good old man; I did demand, he thus began: "There was a prince of old At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase Of flock and fold. "He sweetly lived; yet sweetness did not save His life from foes, But after death out of his grave There sprang twelve stalks of wheat: Which many wond'ring at, got some of those To plant and set. "It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse Through all the earth; For they that taste it do rehearse, That virtues lie therein; A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth, MATTENS. I CANNOT ope mine eyes, But thou art ready there to catch Then we must needs for that day make a match. My God, what is a heart? Silver, or gold, or precious stone, Or star, or rainbow, or a part Of all these things, or all of them in one? My God, what is a heart? That thou shouldst it so eye and woo, As if that thou hadst nothing else to do? Indeed, man's whole estate Teach me thy love to know; THE COLLAR. I STRUCK the board, and cried, "No more! What! shall I ever sigh and pine? Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest, but a thorn To let my blood; and not restore Sure there was wine Call in thy death's head there: tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need, Deserves his load." But as I raved, and grew more fierce and wild At every word, Methought I heard one calling, "Child!" And I replied, "My Lord!" JOHN MARSTON. [Died, 1634.] THIS writer was the antagonist of Jonson in the drama, and the rival of Bishop Hall in satire,* though confessedly inferior to them both in their respective walks of poetry. While none of his biographers seem to know any thing about him, Mr. Gifford (in his Memoirs of Ben Jonson) conceives that Wood has unconsciously noticed him as a gentleman of Coventry, who married Mary, the daughter of the Rev. W. Wilkes, chaplain to King James, and rector of St. Martin, in Wiltshire. According to this notice, our poet died at London, in 1634, and was buried in the church belonging to the Temple. These particulars agree with what Jonson said to Drummond respecting this dramatic opponent of his, in his conversation at Hawthornden, viz. that Marston wrote his father-in-law's preachings, and his father-inlaw Marston's comedies. Marston's comedies are somewhat dull; and it is not difficult to conceive a witty sermon of those days, when puns FROM SOPHONISBA, A TRAGEDY. SOPHONISBA, the daughter of Asdrubal, has been wooed by Syphax and Massinissa, rival kings of Africa, and both the allies of Carthage. She prefers Massinissa; and Syphax, indignant at her refusal, revolts to the Romans. Massinissa, on the night of his marriage, is summoned to the assistance of the Carthaginians, on the alarm of Scipio's invasion. The senate of Carthage, notwithstanding Massinissa's fidelity, decree that Syphax shall be tempted back to them by the offer of Sophonisba in marriage. Sophonisba is on the point of being sacrificed to the enforced nuptials, when Massinissa, who had been apprized of the treachery of Carthage, attacks the troops of Syphax, joins the Romans, and brings Syphax a captive to Scipio's feet. Syphax, in his justification to Scipio, pleads, that his love for Sophonisba alone had tempted him to revolt from Rome. Scipio therefore orders that the daughter of Asdrubal, when taken prisoner, shall belong to the Romans alone. Lelius and Massinissa march on to Cirta, and storm the palace of Syphax, where they find Sophonisba. The cornets sounding a march, MASSINISSA enters with his beaver up. Mass. MARCH to the palace! Of Lybia thy fair arms speak, give heart To amazed weakness: hear her that for long time He wrote the Scourge of Villany; three books of satires, 1599. He was also author of the Metamorphosis of Pigmalion's Image, and certain Satires, published 1598, which makes his date as satirist nearly coeval with that of Bishop Hall. were scattered from the pulpit, to have been as lively as an indifferent comedy. Marston is the Crispinus of Jonson's Poetaster, where he is treated somewhat less contemptuously than his companion Demetrius, (Dekker;) an allusion is even made to the respectability of his birth. Both he and Dekker were afterwards reconciled to Jonson; but Marston's reconcilement, though he dedicated his Malcontent to his propitiated enemy, seems to have been subject to relapses. It is amusing to find Langbaine descanting on the chaste purity of Marston as a writer, and the author of the Biographia Dramatica transcribing the compliment immediately before the enumeration of his plays, which are stuffed with obscenity. To this disgraceful characteristic of Marston an allusion is made in "The Return from Parnassus," where it is said, "Give him plain naked words stript from their shirts, That might beseem plain-dealing Aretine." Therefore, with tears that wash thy feet, with hands O save me from their fetters and contempt, Mass. Rarity! By thee and this right hand, thou shalt live free! Let slaughter cease! sounds, soft as Leda's breast, [Soft music. Slide through all ears! this night be love's high feast. Soph. O'erwhelm me not with sweets; let me not drink Till my breast burst! O Jove! thy nectar, think[She sinks into MASSINISSA's arms. Mass. She is o'ercome with joy. Some happiness, ye powers! I've joy to spare Mass. Peace: Mass. Sophonisba ! Lel. Sophonisba. We are now in Rome's power. Lelius, Most sinking from that state his heart did keep. Lel. But thou dost forget Thy vow, yet fresh thus breathed. When I desist Mass. Lelius, enough: Salute the Roman-tell him we will act What shall amaze him. Lel. Wilt thou yield her, then? Mas. She shall arrive there straight. Enter Page with a bowl of wine. Mass. Thou darest not die-some wine-thou darest not die! Soph..... [She takes a bowl, into which MASSINISSA puts poison.] Behold me, Massinissa, like thyself, A king and soldier; and, I pray thee, keep Mass. Speak, sweet. Soph. Dear! do not weep. And now with undismay'd resolve behold, An abhorr'd life! (She drinks.) You have been good I bless your goodness, that, with breast unstain'd, FROM ANTONIO AND MELLIDA. Representing the affliction of fallen greatness in ANDRUGIO, Duke of Genoa, after he has been defeated by the Venetians, proscribed by his countrymen, and left with only two attendants in his flight. Enter ANDRUGIO in armour, LUCIO with a shepherd's gown in his hand, and a Page. And. Is not yon gleam the shuddering morn, that flakes With silver tincture the east verge of heaven? Luc. I think it is, so please your excellence. And. Away! I have no excellence to please. Prithee observe the custom of the world, That only flatters greatness, states exalts; And please my excellence! Oh, Lucio, Thou hast been ever held respected, dear, Even precious to Andrugio's inmost love. Good, flatter not. Nay, if thou givest not faith That I am wretched; oh, read that, read that.... My thoughts are fix'd in contemplation Why this huge earth, this monstrous animal, That eats her children, should not have eyes and ears. Philosophy maintains that Nature's wise, man, Paints me a puppet even with seeming breath, And choak'st their throats with dust: open thy breast, And let me sink into thee. Look who knocks; Andrugio calls. But, oh! she's deaf and blind. A wretch but lean relief on earth can find. Luc. Sweet lord, abandon passion, and disarm. Since by the fortune of the tumbling sea, We are roll'd up upon the Venice marsh, Let's clip all fortune, lest more low'ring fateAnd. More low'ring fate? Oh, Lucio, choke that breath. Now I defy chance. Fortune's brow hath frown'd, And that nor mischief, force, distress, nor hell, can take. Fortune my fortunes, not my mind shall shake. Luc. Spoke like yourself: but give me leave, my lord, To wish your safety. If you are but seen, Your arms display you; therefore put them off, And take And. Wouldst have me go unarm'd among my foes? Being besieged by passion, entering lists, Alas! survey your fortunes, look what's left He, who hath that, hath a battalion royal, Luc. Then, noble spirit, slide in strange disguise Unto some gracious prince, and sojourn there, Till time and fortune give revenge firm means. And. No, I'll not trust the honour of a man: Gold is grown great, and makes perfidiousness A common waiter in most princes' courts : He's in the check-roll: I'll not trust my blood: I know none breathing but will cog a dye For twenty thousand double pistolets. How goes the time? Luc. I saw no sun to-day. And. No sun will shine where poor Andrugio breathes: My soul grows heavy: boy, let's have a song; We'll sing yet, faith, even in despite of fate. FROM THE SAME. ACT IV. Andr. COME, Lucio, let's go eat-what hast thou got? Roots, roots? Alas! they're seeded, new cut up. But boots not much, thou but pursu'st the world, Andr. Why, man, I never was a prince till now! Who can enjoy himself, maugre the throng Whose brow is wreathed with the silver crown GEORGE CHAPMAN. [Born, 1557. Died, 1634.] GEORGE CHAPMAN was born at Hitching-hill,* in the county of Hertford, and studied at Oxford. From thence he repaired to London, and became the friend of Shakspeare, Spenser, Daniel, Marlowe, and other contemporary men of genius. He was patronized by Prince Henry, and Carr Earl of Somerset. The death of the one, and the disgrace of the other, must have injured his prospects; but he is supposed to have had some place at court, either under King James or his consort Anne. He lived to an advanced age; and, according to Wood, was a person of reverend aspect, religious, and temperate. Inigo Jones, with whom he lived on terms of intimate friendship, planned and erected a monument to his memory over his burial-place, on the south side of St. Giles's church in the fields: but it was unfortunately destroyed with the ancient church. FROM THE COMEDY OF ALL FOOLS. A SON APPEASING HIS FATHER BY SUBMISSION, AFTER A STOLEN MARRIAGE. Persons-GOSTANZO, the father; VALERIO, the son; MARCANTONIO and RYNALDO, friends: and GRATIANA, the bride of VALERIO. Ryn. COME on, I say; Your father with submission will be calm'd! down on your knees. Come on, Gost. Villain, durst thou Presume to gull thy father? dost thou not Val. Father, if that part I have in your blood, Can drown these outward (lend me thy handkerchief,) And being indeed as many drops of blood, Gost. Out upon thee, villain. Marc. Ant. Nay, good Gostanzo, think you are a father. Gost. I will not hear a word; out, out upon thee: Wed without my advice, my love, my knowledge, Ay, and a beggar too, a trull, a blowze? * William Browne, the pastoral poet, calls him "the learned Shepherd of fair Hitching-hill." [ "Chapman, who assisted Ben Jonson and some others in comedy, deserves no great praise for his Bussy D'Ambois. The style in this, and in all his tragedies, is extravagantly hyperbolical; he is not very dramatic, nor has any power of exciting emotion except in those who sympathize with a tumid pride and self-confidence. Yet he has more Chapman seems to have been a favourite of his own times; and in a subsequent age, his version of Homer excited the raptures of Waller, and was diligently consulted by Pope. The latter speaks of its daring fire, though he owns that it is clouded by fustian. Webster, his fellow dramatist, praises his "full and heightened style," a character which he does not deserve in any favourable sense; for his diction is chiefly marked by barbarous ruggedness, false elevation, and extravagant metaphor. The drama owes him very little; his Bussy D'Ambois is a piece of frigid atrocity, and in the Widow's Tears, where his heroine Cynthia falls in love with a sentinel guarding the corps of her husband, whom she was bitterly lamenting, he has dramatized one of the most puerile and disgusting legends ever fabricated for the disparagement of female constancy.† her to thee, Live with her still, I know thou count'st thyself Be happy still, here, take her hand, enjoy her. Take truce with passion, license your sad son, Gost. What? what excuse? Can any orator in this case excuse him? thinking than many of the old dramatists. His tragicomedies All Fools and The Gentleman-Usher, are perhaps superior to his tragedies."-HALLAM, Lit. Hist., vol. iii. p. 621. "Chapman would have made a great Epic Poet, if indeed he has not abundantly shown himself to be one; for his Homer is not so properly a Translation as the stories of Achilles and Ulysses re-written."-LAMB.-C.] |