sentation of the emperor, arrests our attention, and awakens our feelings in the strongest manner; the conference of Mathias and Baptista, when Sophia's virtue becomes suspected; the pleadings in the Fatal Dowry, respecting the funeral rites of Charalois; the interview between don John, disguised as a slave, and his mistress, to whom he relates his story; but, above all, the meeting of Pisander and Cleora,' after he has excited the revolt of the slaves, in order to get her within his power. These scenes are eminently distinguished by their novelty, correctness, and interest; the most minute critic will find little wanting, and the lover of truth and nature can suffer nothing to be taken away. It is no reproach of our Author, that the foundation of several, perhaps all, of his plots may be traced in different historians, or novellists; for in supplying himself from these sources, he followed the practice of the age. Shakspeare, Jonson, and the rest, are not more original, in this respect, than our Poet; if Cartwright may be exempted, he is the only exception to this remark. As the minds of an audience, unacquainted with the models of antiquity, could only be affected by immediate application to their passions, our old writers crowded as many incidents, and of as perplexing a nature as possible, into their works, to support anxiety • Picture. 7 A Very Woman. 8 Bondman. and expectation to their utmost height. In our reformed tragic school, our pleasure arises from the contemplation of the writer's art; and instead of eagerly watching for the unfolding of the plot, (the imagination being left at liberty by the simplicity of the action,) we consider whether it be properly conducted. Another reason, however, may be assigned for the intricacy of those plots, namely, the prevailing taste for the manners and writings of Italy. During the whole of the sixteenth, and part of the seventeenth century, Italy was the seat of elegance and arts, which the other European nations had begun to admire, but not to imitate. From causes which it would be foreign to the present purpose to enumerate, the Italian writers abounded in complicated and interesting stories, which were eagerly seized by a people not well qualified for invention;' but the richness, variety, and distinctness of character which our writers added to those tales, conferred beauties on them which charm us at this hour, however disguised by the alterations of manners and language. Exact discrimination and consistency of character appear in all Massinger's productions: sometimes, indeed, the interest of the play suf 9 Cartwright and Congreve, who resemble each other strongly in some remarkable circumstances, are almost our only dramatists who have any claim to originality in their plots. fers by his scrupulous attention to them. Thus, in the Fatal Dowry, Charalois's fortitude and determined sense of honour are carried to a most unfeeling and barbarous degree: and Francisco's villainy, in the Duke of Milan, is cold and considerate beyond nature. But here we must again plead the sad necessity under which our Poet laboured, of pleasing his audience at any rate. It was the prevailing opinion, that the characters ought to approach towards each other as little as possible. This was termed art, and in consequence of this, as Dr. Hurd observes,' some writers of that time have founded their characters on abstract ideas, instead of copying from real life. Those delicate and beautiful shades of manners, which we admire in Shakspeare, were reckoned inaccuracies by his contemporaries. Thus Cartwright says, in his verses to Fletcher, speaking of Shakspeare, whom he undervalues, "nature was all his art.” General manners must always influence the stage; unhappily, the manners of Massinger's age were pedantic. Yet it must be allowed that our Author's characters are less abstract than those of Jonson or Cartwright, and that, with more dignity, they are equally natural with those of Fletcher. His conceptions are, for the most part, just and noble. We have a fine instance of this in the character of Dioclesian, who, very differently from the ranting tyrants Essay on the Provinces of the Drama. by whom the stage has been so long possessed, is generous to his vanquished enemies, and persecutes from policy as much as from zeal. He attracts our respect, immediately on his appearance, by the following sentiments: In all growing empires, Even cruelty is useful; some must suffer, Virgin Martyr, Act. I. sc. i. Sforza is an elevated character, cast in a different mould; brave, frank, and generous, he is hurried, by the unrestrained force of his passions, into fatal excesses in love and friendship. He appears with great dignity before the emperor, on whose mercy he is thrown, by the defeat of his allies, the French, at the battle of Pavia. After recounting his obligations to Francis, he proceeds: If that, then, to be grateful To Sforza brings his head And would but shame thy victory; for conquest And not a triumph. I ne'er fear'd to die, More than I wish'd to live. When I had reach'd My veins then did not swell with pride; nor now The Duke of Milan, Act III. sc. ii. In the scene where Sforza enjoins Francisco to dispatch Marcelia, in case of the emperor's proceeding to extremities against him, the Poet has given him a strong expression of horror at his own purpose. After disposing Francisco to obey his commands without reserve, by recapitulating the favours conferred on him, Sforza proceeds to impress him with the blackest view of the intended deed: But you must swear it; And put into the oath all joys or torments But, whensoe'er my will shall speak, Strike now, Thou must do, then, What no malevolent star will dare to look on, |