TO THE EDITOR OF THE TABLE BOOK. DEAR SIR, It is not unknown to you, that about sixteen years since I published "Specimens of English Dramatic Poets, who lived about the Time of Shakspeare." For the scarcer Plays I had recourse to the Collection bequeathed to the British Museum by Mr Garrick. But my time was but short, and my subsequent leisure has discovered in it a treasure rich and exhaustless beyond what I then imagined. In it is to be found almost every production in the shape of a Play that has appeared in print, from the time of the old Mysteries and Moralities to the days of Crown and D'Urfey. Imagine the luxury to one like me, who, above every other form of Poetry, have ever preferred the Dramatic, of sitting in the princely apartments, for such they are, of poor condemned Montagu House, which I predict will not speedily be followed by a handsomer, and culling at will the flower of some thousand Dramas. It is like having the range of a Nobleman's Library, with the Librarian to your friend. Nothing can exceed the courteousness and attentions of the gentleman who has the chief direction of the Reading Rooms here; and you have scarce to ask for a volume, before it is laid before you. If the occasional extracts, which I have been tempted to bring away, may find an appropriate place in your Table Book, some of them are weekly at your service. By those who remember the Specimens," these must be considered as mere aftergleanings, supplementary to that work, only comprising a longer period. You must be content with sometimes a scene, sometimes a song; a speech, or passage, or a poetical image, as they happen to strike me.-I read without order of time; I am a poor hand at dates; and for any biography of the Dramatists, I must refer to writers who are more skilful in such matters. My business is with their poetry only. Your well-wisher, 66 January 27, 1827. C. LAMB. SPECIMENS OF ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS GORBODUC, A TRAGEDY : BY THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST, AFTERWARDS EARL OF DORSET; AND THOMAS NORTON. Whilst king GORBODUC in the presence of his councillors laments the death of his eldest son, FERREX, whom PORREX, the younger son, has slain, MARCELLA, a court lady, enters and relates the miserable end of PORREX, stabbed by his mother in his bed. GORBODUC, AROSTUS, EUBULUS, and others. Gorb. What cruel destiny, What froward fate hath sorted us this chance, Should rest and be, even there our only grief Most pining cares and deadly thoughts do grow? Arost. Your grace should now, in these grave years of yours, Have found ere this the price of mortal joys; To whom both man and all the world doth owe Than as the naked hand, whose stroke assays The armed breast, where force doth light in vain. Gorb. Many can yield right grave and sage advice Of patient sprite to others wrapped in woe, mean The sorry cheer of her that here doth come? MARCELLA enters. Marc. Oh! where is ruth, or where is pity now? Do live and dwell, where should we seek it then? Gorb. Madam, alas! what means your woful tale? Marc. O, silly woman I! why to this hour Have kind and fortune thus deferred my breath, That I should live to see this doleful day? Will ever wight believe that such hard heart Could rest within the cruel mother's breast, With her own hand to slay her only son? But out, alas! these eyes beheld the same, They saw the dreary sight, and are become Most ruthful records of the bloody fact. Porrex, alas! is by his mother slain, And with her hand, a woful thing to tell, While slumb'ring on his careful bed he rests, His heart stab'd in with knife is reft of life. Gorb. O Eubulus, oh, draw this sword of ours, And pierce this heart with speed. O hateful light, 1 Nature; natural affection |