is not in so common circulation as his 'Fa- • THE PROEME 'Great marvel hath it been, (and that not unworthily) to diverse worthy wits, that in this our island of Britain, in all rare sciences so greatly abounding, more especially in all kinds of poesy highly flourishing, no poet (though otherways of notable cunning in roundelays) hath bit on the right simple Eclogue, after the true ancient guise of Theocritus, before this mine attempt. Thou wilt not find my shepherdesses idly piping on oaten reeds; but milking the kine, tying up the sheaves, or if the hogs are astray, driving them to their styes. My shepherd gathered none other nosegays but what are the growth of our own fields; he sleepeth not under myrtle shades, but under a hedge; nor doth be vigilantly defend his flocks from wolves, because there are none, as Maister Spenser well observeth, Well is known that since the Saxon King 'For as much as I have mentioned Maister Other poet travailing in this plain highway Spenser, soothly I must acknowledge him of pastoral know I none. Yet, certes, such a bard of sweetest memorial. Yet hath his it behoveth a pastoral to be, as nature in the shepherd's boy at sometimes raised his rustic country affordeth; and the manners also reed to rhymes more rumbling than rural. Dimeetly copied from the rustical folk therein. verse grave points also hath he handled of In this also my love to my native country churchly matter, and doubts in religion daily Britain much pricketh me forward, to de arising, to great clerks only appertaining. scribe aright the manners of our own honest What liketh me best are bis names, indeed and laborious ploughmen, in no wise, sure, right simple and meet for the country, such more unworthy a British poet's imitation, as Lobbin, Cuddy, Hobbinol, Diggon, and than those of Sicily or Arcady; albeit, not ig- others, some of which I have made bold to norant I am what a rout and rabblement of borrow Moreover, as he called his Eclogues, critical gallimawfry hath been made of late The Shepherd's Calendar, and divided the days by certain young men of insipid deli- same into twelve months, I have chosen cacy, concerning I wist not what Golden (peradventure not over rashly) to name mine Age, and other outrageous conceits, to which by the days of the week, omitting Sunday or they would confine pastoral; whereof, I the Sabbath, ours being supposed to be Chrisavow, I account nought at all, knowing no age so justly to be instiled Golden, as this of our sovereign lady Queen Anne. This idle trumpery (only fit for schools and school-boys) unto that ancient Doric shepherd Theocritus, or his mates, was never known. "Verily, as little pleasance receiveth a true home-bred taste from all the fine finical new fangled fooleries of this gay Gothic gar niture, wherewith they so nicely bedeck their court clowns, or clown courtiers, (for which to call them rightly, I wot not) as would a prudent citizen journeying to his country farms, should he find them occupied by people of this motly make, instead of plain, down-right, hearty, cleanly folk, such as be now tenants to the burgesses of this realm. Furthermore, it is my purpose, gentle Reader, to set before thee, as it were, a pic ture, or rather, lively landscape of thy own country, just as thou mightest see it, didst thou take a walk into the fields at the proper season; even as Maister Milton hath elegantly set forth the same. As one who long in populous city pent, The smell of grain, or tedded grass or kine, tian Shepherds, and to be then at churchworship. Yet further of many of Maister Spenser's Eclogues it may be observed, though months they be called, of the said months therein nothing is specified, wherein I have also esteemed him worthy my imitation. That principally, courteous Reader, whereof I would have thee to be advertised, (seeing I depart from the vulgar usage) is touching the language of my shepherds; which is, soothly to say, such as is neither spoken by the country maiden or the courtly dame; nay, not only such as in the present times is not uttered, but was never uttered in times past, and, if I judge aright, will never be ut tered in times future; it having too much of the country to be fit for the court; too much of the court to be fit for the country; too much of the language of old times to be fit for the present; too much of the present to have been fit for the old; and too much of both to be fit for any time to come. Granted also it is, that in this my language I seem unto myself as a London mason, who calcu lateth his work for a term of years, when he buildeth with old materials upon a groundrent that is not his own, which soon turneth to rubbish and ruins. For this point no reason can I allege, only deep-learned ensamples having led me thereunto. 'But here again much comfort ariseth in me, from the hopes, in that I conceive, when these words in the course of transitory things JOHN GAY.' 'Cud. My brown Buxoma 'is the featest maid 'Lob. Cl. Sweet is my toil when Blouzelind is bear, Of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year. With this premonition the reader will be With her no sultry summer's heat i know; prepared to take up the bucolic. 'LOBBIN CLOUT, CUDDY, CLODDIPOLE. 'Lobbin Clout. E. THY younglings, Cuddy, are but just awake, For he that loves, a stranger is to rest; Lob. Cl. Ah Blouzelind, I love thee more by Than does their fawns,or cows their new fall'n calf: Cud. Hold, witless Lobbin Clout, I thee ad- Lest blisters sore on thy own tongue arise. Made of the skin of sleetest fallow-deer: Cud. Begin thy carols, then, thou vaunting Be thine the oaken staff, or mine the pouch. Lob. Cl. My Blouzelinda is the blithest lass, In winter, when she's nigh, with love I glow. Cud. As with Buxoma once I work'd at hay, Lob. Cl. As Blouzelinda in a gamesome mood, 'Cud. As my Buxoma, in a morning fair, Of Irish swains potato is the cheer; 'Cud. In good roast-beef my landlord sticks The capon fat delights his dainty wife; Lob. Cl. As once I play'd at blindman's-buff, About my eyes the towel thick was wrapt: blind." 'Cud. As at Hot-cockles once I laid me down, Now high, now low, my Blouzelinda swung. 'Cud. Across the fallen oak the plank I laid, And myself pois'd against the tottering maid: * Populus Alcidæ gratissima, vilis Iaccho, &c. Virg. High leapt the plank; adown Buxoma fell: This wily riddle puzzles every swain; What flower is that which bears the Virgin's name,* The richest metal joined with the same? I'll frankly own thee for a cunning wight; Clod. Forbear, contending louts, give o'er An oaken staff each merits for his pains. Cud. Answer, thou carl, and judge this rid- Your herds for want of water stand adry, * Marygold. ART. 10. THESPIAN REGISTER. Saturday Evening, May 24. better grace inquire about him; and where she finely shows, as she gazes after him, how love's To enter into a detailed criticism of this ad- authentic arrow had penetrated her heart to the mirable tragedy, at this time, would be su- very dove-feather that plumed it. For another, perfluous. Suffice it to say, that it contains some we would notice the latter part of the garden of Shakespeare's finest fancy, and that, no scene, where she calls Romeo back, after having where, is the passion of love, in all its purity, hid him good-night the first time, and forgets why. fondness, fidelity, and strength, drawn more true The modesty and timidity, also,-the "rosy pu to nature, or rendered more interesting. With dency," which Mrs. B. exhibited, when Romeo Mrs. Barnes's personation of Juliet we were led her, "nothing loth," from Friar Lawrence's much gratified. Her conception of the charac- cell to be married, was correctly judged and hap ter we thought correct and vivid, and her execu- pily expressed, and showed that she does not tion generally did justice to her judgment. She stand in need of directions in brackets to teach exhibited not merely the passion of love, well distinguished from other kind affections, nearly allied to it, but love such as Juliet Capulet felt, and that too at the age of eighteen, when it was capable of absorbing all other feelings; before experience in life, or acquaintance with the world, had dimmed its brightness, or dashed its charming enthusiasm with the chilling spirit of selfish calculation. Mrs. B. also had reflected upon the object, which excited the love she was to portray. This love was not excited by great talents, splendid achievements, or grandeur of character; but by a young man of surpassing beauty, her equal in birth and fortune, and nearly her equal in age; of gallant spirit, generous disposition, polished manners, and many accomplishments. Mrs. B. penetrated further: she represented Juliet, and justly, as loving her parents, but no more than she need love parents of their character, who possessed no qualities to heighten filial piety into any thing beyond the cheerful discharge of the ordinary duties of a daughter; and though she felt the true touch of consanguinity for her kinsmen, yet there was nothing so great or amiable in either of them as to form any counterpoise in her heart to the love she bore to Romeo, which, at the same time that it was all ardour and constancy, received an additional interest from the eninity between their families. Nor did Mrs. B. forget other charms of Juliet's character; her frank simplicity, in her first confessions to Romeo, and the sweetness of her temper, manifested in her treatment of her nurse, and proved to be uniform and genuine by the fondness of the nurse. If we were to specify the passages in Mr. B's Juliet, with which we felt most unhesitatingly satisfied, we should fix on that, for one, in which she inquires the name of the Montagues, as they leave the masquerade, beginning with the names of Romeo's companions, that she may with the VOL. I. NO. III. her how to act. We had the pleasure to hear, in her Juliet, also, more of Mrs. B's natural voice than we ever heard before, and we most earnest. ly entreat her to let us always hear it. We cannot well imagine how a lady of Mrs. B's accuracy of taste, could ever make a wrong choice be tween two voices so very different as are her natural and artificial voices; and that she should a second time quit the former for the latter, surprises us as much as did his mother's marriage with his uncle surprise Hamlet. She must, we presume, have acquired this disagreeable voice, with which she so often afflicts us, under an inpression that in her natural tones she could not be sufficiently energetic and audible. But this impression is a mistake. To be well heard, the quantity of sound is much less important than distinctness of articulation, in which Mrs. B. excels; and from her wish to be energetic, we are persuaded that she over-acts when she is not aware of it. We say so much of Mrs. B's voice, because we earnestly wish her to manage it better. We can assure her that it is universally offensive, and very often spoils the effect of all her other accomplishments. Mr. Simpson's Romeo was generally respecta ble, and in some parts touching and forcible. His conception was accurate, and his execution, in the latter part of the story, after the death of Tybalt, and after the sorrows of separation and banishment came upon him, was more just and impressive than in the former wooing scenes. Mercutio's friendship for Romeo, his wit, and gaiety, and irascibility, and esprit du corps, were quite successfully represented by Mr. Robertson, He failed most, we think, in his account of Queen Mab, in which his manner was hardly free and spirited enough for the fine, rapid fancy, and sar castic gaiety of the passage. Mrs. Baldwin's Nurse was very good, but we think that she, as 2 D well as others, who undertake such characters, L. Monday Evening, May 26. Marmion, or the Battle of Flodden Field.Prisoner at Large. "Whoever has read Scott's Marmion will not be much satisfied with this unskilful and feeble dramatization of that highly wrought poetic tale. Mr. Simpson is not a good Marmion; he has not majesty enough for a hero, and, what is rather singular, he is less erect and tall in his energetic, heroic characters, than in his fine, gay gentleman. In the dying scene, however, he to the remorseful agonizing struggles of Marmion gave excellent effect. Mr. Carpender, in King James, was better than usual. Mr. Anderson's Earl Surrey was poor enough. Mr. Pritchard gave effect to the mysterious character of the Palmer, and resumed bis knighthood with dignity and grace. Mr. Robertson did sufficient justice to Douglas, which, however, is a much tamer character in the drama, than he appears from the bold delineation of Scott. Miss Delinger's Lady Heron was nothing. It would require more than the illusion of the stage, to satisfy us of the verisimilitude of making Lord Marmion condescend to appear in her train. The performance of the character generally was about as good as her performance on the harp. Mrs. Darley, in Clara, was interesting; and Mrs. Groshon's Constance was happily soon over, In the Prisoner at Large, Hilson's Muns was comic and just, and Barnes's old Dowdle, was all the part required. Mr. Pritchard in Jack Conner was chaste and interesting; Carpender was rather less tame than usual in Lord Esmond, and Mr. Darley, shrugged, and spoke broken English pretty well in Count Fripon. The whole entertainment this evening was better calculated for Whitsun-Monday, then to please an audience of intelligence and taste. L. Wednesday Evening, May 28. Wives as they Were.-Matrimony.-Broken Sword. This comedy is from the pen of Mrs. Inchbald, and borrows from her name a credit which it does, not repay. The characters are not only out of nature, but out of keeping. Bronzely is the most amusing personage in the piece, and was faithfully represented by Mr. Simpson. Mr. Barnes's Lord Priory was in his best style, and the part was entirely in his line. Mr. Pritchard's Sir George Evelyn was easy and gentleman-like. Mrs. Groshon, in Lady Priory, did better than usual The salutary restraints of conjugal discipline checked the exuberance of her airs and graces, whilst the supposed simplicity of her cha racter took away all pretext for mouthing. Mrs. Barnes in Miss Dorillon, was by no means interesting, her gaiety was forced, her negligence stiff-in fact, her whole manner artificial. She, however, occasionally, forgot her affectation,and when she was betrayed into herself, was very charming. This was the case whenever she was absorbed in the interest of the scene,-but the moment she was collected enough to attempt to show herself off, she relapsed into her vile tones and prettinesses again. We must candidly confess, that we never heard any thing so disagreeable as Mrs. Barnes's sentimental voice; it is a mawkish compound of cant and cockneyism. реси. Among the erroneous pronunciations of the accented indecorous on the antepenult, Mr. Jones evening, we notice the following,-Mr. Simpson and Mr. Pritchard clipped pecuniary into nary, and Mrs. Barnes called any, anny instead of grossly, by coupling a plural nominative with a enny. Mr. Robertson violated grammar singular verb. the same sort in this gentleman. We have noticed several slips of E. Lovers' Vows.-Day after the Wedding.—The the house so empty.-The Play, the Interlude, with the language of the song. We see no use in words, if they are not to be heard in singing. The sentiment must also, in great part, evaporate, for it is utterly impossible that mere sound, without articulation, whatever pretending connoisseurs may say, should give the whole force of the sentiment or feeling. Dialogue, in which action gives meaning to the word, and the word propriety to action, might as well be wholly given up for Pantomime. Mrs. Groshon's Theodosia Friburg was sufficiently lugubrious; and Mrs. Baldwin's Cottager's wife was quite stirring, notable, and tidy. Mr. Pritchard's singing has always one great excellence; we can hear what the song says, as well as how it is said. Mr. Hilson's Dick, in the Apprentice, was full of life and variety, and did ample justice to the conception of the author. If all the talents on the New-York boards were as legitimately exercised as Mr. Hilson's, we should soon see a first-rate company. L. Monday Evening, June 2. Manuel.-Love Laughs at Locksmiths. This is a new Tragedy by the Rev. Mr. Maturin, the author of Bertram, and whatever other faults it may have, is exempt from the immoralities which deformed that piece. But, before we offer any remarks upon its merits, we will pre sent the reader with an outline of its fable. Don Manuel, an aged Spanish noble, has an only son named Alonzo, who on his return home after a victorious engagement with the Moors, falls a victim to the ambitious designs of a relative named De Zelos. This man, the next heir to the dignities of Alonzo's house, hires a Moor to assassinate him. The unhappy father charges De Zelos with the deed; the evidence is consid. ered inconclusive by the judges; and De Zelos resolves to wipe away the stain from his character by wager of battle, which is accepted on the part of Don Manuel by an unknown knight. The fatter falls; and lifting the vizard from his face, exhibits to the astonished Don Zelos the features of the assassin but repugnant Moor. After some farther vicissitudes the catastrophe is thus brought about:-Ximena, daughter of De Zelos, distracted with the loss of Alonzo, to whom she was at tached, wanders to his tomb, where she discovers the defcated assassin, in the agonies of death. He acknowledges his guilt, states that he is bound by an oath not to reveal the name of his employer, but gives the dagger he had received from him, on the blade of which his name is inscribed. The broken-hearted Ximena, before she dies, transfers this dagger to her brother Torrismond, at the same time exacting a promise, that he should not draw it until it should be delivered to the Court. Torrismond, anxious to clear the character of his father, hastens with the dagger to the assembled judges, and is authorized to read the name. Driven to despair by the discovery which ensues, he plunges the weapon into his own bosom; De Zeles is apprehended for the murder, and Manuel, overpowered by feelings of exultation on his detection, soon afterwards expires. Such was the original sketch of this Tragedy, although as it is now performed, with more justice, if not with greater effect, De Zelos defeats the attempt of his son to commit suicide, and sheathes the fatal dagger in his own remorseless breast. The defects of this plot are obvious. The interest of it is made to grow out of an event of the highest tragic nature introduced in the first act; and to rise progressively from this pitch to a second catastrophe in the last act, is a painful and an unavailing effort. We know not how it might be with others, but we had become so familiar, in the course of the piece, with assassinations, mournings and funerals, duels, death and tombstones, that we came, at last, to look upon insanity and suicide as tame incidents. These melancholy circumstances followed each other in such gloomy succession, that our sympathies were entirely exhausted. It was a cardinal error to attach so much of our own concern, to the fate of one, who is never brought into the scene. The author knew, however, perfectly well, that it would have been violating all rule to have introduced Alonzo to us, to stab him before our faces in the very opening of his drama, but in our opinion, it matters little as to the propriety of the measure that it was perpetrated behind the curtain. There is, besides, a want of probability in the story, and of consistency in the details of this play. The language is moreover too uniformly inflated, and as for characters, Manuel and De Zelos are alone drawn with any discrimination, and even they are very unfinished. But poetical genius is discoverable in many of the author's sentiments and situations. The great difficulty is, that his genius is not tempered by discretion. This Tragedy was cast to the whole strength of the company. Mr. Pritchard personated the arduous character of Manuel with great ability. He conceived his author correctly, was perfect in his study, and delivered himself with effect. Our limits will not allow us to particularize, but we cannot withhold our commendation from his animated recital of the exploits of his youth, and his 'consequent exhaustion. We imagine he will improve in many passages in future representations. His emphasis was not always accurate, nor his cadence full. Mr. Robertson in De Zelos, showed very little discrimination, either in marking the different turns of expression by a difference of inflection, or in enforcing his periods by laying an appropriate stress on the more important words. The malice of De Zelos was the corrosion of disappointment and despair, and was deeply tinctured with the infusion of its original ingredients;-in Mr. Robertson's personation, it appeared unmitigated and diabolical. Mr. Robertson uses his tragic declamation as Procrustes did his bed. He tortures the sentiment to his tone, rather than adapt his tone to the sentiment. His countenance is, however, more flexible than his voice, and he looked some scenes this evening with great force of expression. Mrs. Barnes and Mrs. Darley were well dressed to their parts, and displayed some eloquence of feature. The afterpiece is a favourite Farce, and was well played. Mr. Hilson's Risk was a more apprehensive lad than most gallants are accommo dated with. His dialect was diverting, and his songs were admirably sung. Mr. Pritchard did |