Or murmuring 'Where's my serpent of old Nile?'

For so he calls me."

His cocks do win the battle still of mine, When it is all to nought; and his quails ever Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds."

his messenger :

"All the east,

Say thou, shall call her mistress."

"I will to Egypt."

The interview between Antony and Cæsar is most masterly. The constrained courtesy on each side-the coldness of Cæsar-the frank apologies of Antony-the suggestion of Agrippa, so opportune, and yet apparently so unpremeditated - the ready assent of Antony all this matter for rhetorical flourishes of at least five hundred lines in the hands of an ordinary dramatist-may be read without a start or an elevation of the voice. It is solid business throughout. Antony, we might think, was a changed man. Enobarbus, who knows him, is of a different opinion. Wonderfully has he described Cleopatra; and when Mecœnas says,

"Now Antony must leave her utterly," the answer is prophetic :—

"Never; he will not:

Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety"

Against this power Enobarbus knows that the "beauty, wisdom, modesty," of Octavia will be a fragile bond. And Antony knows He knows this while he pro

this himself. tests,

"I have not kept my square; but that to come Shall all be done by the rule."

And yet he is not wholly a dissembler. Shakspere has most skilfully introduced the soothsayer, at the moment when Antony's moral weakness appears to have put on some show of strength. He found the incident in Plutarch; but he has made his own application of it:

"Be it art, or hap, He hath spoken true: The very dice obey him;

And in our sports my better cunning faints Under his chance: if we draw lots, he speeds:

"And though I make this marriage for my peace,

I' the east my pleasure lies."

The reckless short-sighted voluptuary was never drawn more truly. His entire policy is shaped by his passion. The wonderful scene in which his marriage with Octavia is made known to Cleopatra assures us that in the extremest intemperance of self-will he will have his equal. Cleopatra would have Antony unmarried,

"So half my Egypt were submerged, and made A cistern for scaled snakes." According to Enobarbus, the unmarrying will scarcely be necessary for her gratification:

"Eno. Octavia is of a holy, cold, and still conversation.

Men. Who would not have his wife so? Eno. Not he, that himself is not so; which is Mark Antony."

The drinking scene between the Triumvirs and Pompey is one of those creations which render Shakspere so entirely above, and so utterly unlike, other poets. Every line is a

trait of character. We here see the solemn "unmeritable" Lepidus; the cautious Cæsar; the dashing, clever, genial Antony. His eye dances; his whole visage "doth cream and mantle;" the corners of his mouth are drawn down, as he hoaxes Lepidus with the most

admirable fooling :

"Lep. What manner o' thing is your crocodile?

Ant. It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as broad as it hath breadth: it is just so high as it is, and moves with its own organs," &c.

"Lep. "T is a strange serpent."

The revelry grows louder and louder, till "the Egyptian bacchanals" close the scene.

Who can doubt that Antony bears "the holding" the loudest of all?

"As loud

As his strong sides can volley." These are not the lords of the world of the French tragedy. Grimm, who, upon the whole, has a leaning to Shakspere, says "Il est assez ridicule sans doute de faire parler les valets comme les héros; mais il est beaucoup plus ridicule encore de faire parler aux héros le langage du peuple."* To make them drunk is worse even than the worst of the ridiculous. It is impossible to define such a sin. We think, with Dogberry, it is "flat burglary as ever was committed." Upton has a curious theory, which would partly make Shakspere belong to the French school. The hero of this play, according to this theory, does not speak "the language of the people." Upton says-" Mark Antony, as Plutarch informs us, affected the Asiatic manner of speaking, which much resembled his own temper, being ambitious, unequal, and very rhodomontade.

* * *

* * *

This style our poet has very artfully and learnedly interspersed in Antony's speeches."+ Unquestionably the language of Antony is more elevated than that of Enobarbus, for example. Antony was of the poetical temperament—a man of high genius—an orator, who could move the passions dramatically— a lover, that knew no limits to his devotion, because he loved imaginatively. When sorrow falls upon him, the poetical parts of his character are more and more developed ; we forget the sensualist. But, even before the touch of grief has somewhat exalted his nature, he takes the poetical view of poetical things. What can be more exquisite than his mention of Octavia's weeping at the parting with her brother?—

"The April 's in her eyes: it is love's spring, And these the showers to bring it on."

That stands upon the swell at the full of tide, And neither way inclines."

This, we think, is not "the Asiatic manner of speaking."

Cold is Antony's parting with Octavia:"Choose your own company, and command what cost

Your heart has mind to."

Rapid is his meeting with Cleopatra. She "hath nodded him to her." The voluptuary has put on his Eastern magnificence :— "I' the market-place, on a tribunal silver'd, Cleopatra and himself in chairs of gold Were publicly enthroned."

He rejects all counsel :-"I'll fight at sea." And so

"The greater cantle of the world is lost

With very ignorance.”

Now comes the generosity of his characterof the same growth as his magnificence and recklessness. He exhorts his friends to take his treasure and fly to Cæsar. His self-abasement is most profound :

"I have offended reputation."

But he has not yet learnt wisdom. Cleopatra is present, and then—

"Fall not a tear, I say; one of them rates

All that is won and lost: Give me a kiss;
Even this repays me."

He then becomes a braggart; he will challenge Cæsar, "sword against sword." Profound is the comment of Enobarbus :

"I see, men's judgments are

A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward
Do draw the inward quality after them,
To suffer all alike."

Cæsar's ambassador comes to Cleopatra. He
tempts her; and it almost looks as if she
yielded to the temptation. He kisses her
hand, at the instant Antony enters :—
"Moon and stars!

Whip him." This is partly jealousy; partly the assertion of small power by one accustomed to unlimited command. Truly Enobarbus says

""T is better playing with a lion's whelp, Than, with an old one dying."

In the Address to the Reader prefixed to the first edition, published in 1612, of 'The White Devil, or Vittoria Corombona,' of JOHN WEBSTER, is the following passage:— "Detraction is the sworn friend to ignorance: for mine own part, I have ever truly cherished my good opinions of other men's worthy labours, especially of that full and heightened style of Master Chapman; the laboured and understanding works of Master Jonson; the no less worthy composures of the both worthily excellent Master Beaumont and Master Fletcher; and lastly (without wrong last to be named), the right happy and copious industry of Master Shakespeare, Master Dekker, and Master Heywood, wishing what I write may be read by their light; protesting that, in the strength of mine own judgment, I know them so worthy, that though I rest silent in my own work, yet to most of theirs I dare (without flattery) fix that of Martial :

and placed in fearful situations, and sometimes with revolting imaginings almost beyond humanity. Those who talk of the carelessness of Shakspere may be surprised “right to find that his praise is that of a happy and copious industry." It is clear what dramatic writers were the objects of Webster's love. He did not aspire to the "full and heightened style of Master Chapman," nor would his genius be shackled by the examples of "the laboured and understanding works of Master Jonson." belonged to the school of the romantic dramatists.

He

Master Beaumont and Master Fletcher are "worthily excellent; " but his aspiration was to imitate "the right happy and copious industry of Master Shakespeare, Master Dekker, and Master Heywood, wishing what I write may be read by their light." There were critics at that time who regarded the romantic drama as a diversion for the multitude only; and Webster thinks it necessary to apologize for this deliberate choice "Willingly, and not ignorantly, in this kind have I faulted." He says “ If it be objected this is no true dramatic poem, I shall easily confess it, non potes in nugas dicere plura meas, ipse ego quam dixi; willingly, and not ignorantly, in this kind have I faulted: for should a man present, to such an auditory, the most sententious

tragedy that was ever written, observing all the critical laws, as height of style, and gravity of person, enrich it with the sententious Chorus, and, as it were, 'liven death, in the passionate and weighty Nuntias; yet, after all this divine rapture, O dura messorum ilia, the breath that comes from the uncapable multitude is able to poison it; and, ere it be acted, let the author resolve to fix to every scene this of Horace

'Hæc porcis hodie comedenda relinques."" As early as 1602, Webster was a writer for Henslow's theatre, in conjunction with Dekker, Drayton, Middleton, Chettle, Heywood, and Wentworth Smith. At a later period he was more directly associated with Dekker alone. His great tragedies of 'The White Devil' and 'The Duchess of Malfi' were produced at the period when Shakspere had almost ceased to write; and it is probably to this circumstance we owe these original and unaided efforts of Webster's genius. There was a void to be filled up, and it was filled up worthily.

Webster has placed his coadjutor DEKKER next to Shakspere. He looked upon the world with an observant eye; and of him it has been said, that his "pamphlets and plays alone would furnish a more complete view of the habits and customs of his contemporaries in vulgar and middle life than could easily be collected from all the grave annals of the times."* He was confident in his powers; and claimed to be a satirist by as indefeasible a title as that of his greater rival Jonson :-"I am snake-proof; and though, with Hannibal, you bring whole hogsheads of vinegar-railings, it is impossible for you to quench or come over my Alpine resolution. I will sail boldly and desperately alongst. the shores of the isle of Gulls; and in defiance of those terrible block-houses, their loggerheads, make a true discovery of their wild yet habitable country."+ Thomas Dekker is certainly one of those who gather humours from all men ; but his wit is not of the highest or the most delicate character. He knows the town, and he makes the most of

;

* Quarterly Review.'

Gull's Hornbook.'

| his knowledge. Though he is a “high flyer in wit," as Edward Phillips calls him, yet is he a poet. As he advanced in years, he was wielding greater powers, and dealing with nobler things, than belonged to the satirist. In his higher walk he is of the school of nature and simplicity. Hazlitt speaks of one of his plays, perhaps the best, with true artistical feeling :-"The rest of the character is answerable to the beginning. The execution is, throughout, as exact as the conception is new and masterly. There is the least colour possible used; the pencil drags; the canvas is almost seen through: but then, what precision of outline, what truth and purity of tone, what firmness of hand, what marking of character!.... It is as if there were some fine art to chisel thought, and to embody the inmost movements of the mind in every-day actions and familiar speech." ""* Dekker acquired some of his satirical propensities, but the tenderness of his heart was also called forth, in the crooked ways and dark places of misfortune. Almost the first record of his life is a memorandum by Henslow of the loan of forty shillings, "to discharge Mr. Dicker out of the Counter in the Poultry." Oldys, in his manuscript notes upon Langbaine, affirms that he was in the King's Bench Prison from 1613 to 1616. His own calamities furnish a commentary to the tenderness of many such passages as the following, in which a father is told of the miseries of his erring daughter :

"I'm glad you are wax, not marble; you are made

Of man's best temper; there are now good
hopes

That all these heaps of ice about your heart,
By which a father's love was frozen up,
Are thaw'd in these sweet show'rs fetch'd