this deplorable affectation of profundity, let us see the reformed metre.

"You are vélry péremptory, pray you stay ;II once héld you.'

"We could adduce many instances," (they add,)" to shew that this verse is conformable to Massinger's rules of comic versification. One line of similar structure will be sufficient.

"And púnishment ó [vertake him when he least expécts | it."

P. 107.

The two unfortunate syllables "you" and " it," which are shut out of the pale, are meant, I presume, for “beautiful specimens" of the pes proceleusmaticus.

Seriously, I must either be as stupid as the critics, or have a most degrading opinion of the understanding of the reader, if I condescended to waste one word in proving, that neither of these notable" verses" possesses a single feature of poetry. With respect to the last line, (the former is not Massinger's,) which is spoken as the characters are leaving the stage, it has neither modulation nor metre, and was never meant for verse. It is easy prose, and that is all. Yet of this, the critics say, after more pompous jargon about unaccented syllables, &c. that its metre has been, perhaps, as studiously arranged as the most melodious lines of his finer passages!" p. 107. And it is by "these long-eared judges," (they know where to find the quotation,) who, when they have erected five perpendiculars upon any given number of syllables in a right line, contend that it is thereby converted into poetry, that I am accused of deforming the metre of Massinger!

The next observation is confined to a circumstance, in which I take little or no concern. I believed (as I still do believe,) that a line was lost at the press, because the passage was devoid of meaning; and therefore gave, at the foot of the page, what I imagined to be its import.

For this, I must refer to the place, vol. i. 137. The Reviewers, as they have a right to do, propose an emendation of their own; and those who can find either rhythm or sense in it, will naturally prefer it to what I have suggested. The line stands thus,

"Repented to have brought forth, all compassion."

All, they suppose to be a misprint for without, which (from the striking similarity of the two words) is very likely; and with respect to the extra-syllable, that, they say, "restores the metre according to the author's manner," p. 108. I suspect that there is still a misprint, and that, for the author's manner, we should read our manner.

They now come to my application of the character of Dr. Rut to Dr. D-n, p. 108. It is pertinent and it is just. When I find occasion to change my opinion it will be quite time enough to remove the offensive passage; meanwhile, the Doctor's friends may console themselves for my "satire," in the cordial approbation of the Edinburgh Reviewers. It would be ungrateful, however, in me to pass their censure unnoticed.-And truly, when their natural disposition to "courtesy and gentleness," their proverbial candour and liberality, their freedom from all prejudice, their abhorrence of "all personalities," their rigid abstinence from all "harshness and invective," are considered, the most zealous of their friends will find it difficult to determine whether the modesty, or the consistency, of their reproof, be the fittest subject for admiration.

these "soft

As a set-off to my " satire" on Dr. D sprited gentlemen" hold it fit to turn their Tibaldry against Dr. Ireland. His offence is an inexpiable one in the eyes of an Edinburgh Reviewer; it is, as far as I can discover, his piety, or, as the critics term it, his " preaching," p. 111. I will not injure my friend so much as to offer one

word in his defence-but I have yet something to say in my own.

Of the two passages which they have quoted from Dr. Ireland, they are pleased to express their surprise that I should condescend to print the last. Their indignation (which is very hot) is levelled at a few passages printed in italics, such as "glorious vision," "heavenly garden," "fruit of immortality," &c. which they term ridiculous in the wretched state of the stage at that time, without seeing that every syllable of it is taken from Massinger himself! "thus it appears that they wrote their observations on the last part of the play before they had even read the first." As to the contradictions which I am accused of admitting, they exist only in the confused head of the critics. The stage was certainly without decorations; nor had it any moveable scenery; but in the description to which they object, there is nothing but a procession, a basket of flowers, and a wreath. Abundance of passages scattered among our old plays shew that the stage was not without a considerable portion of expensive dresses in those days,† which were viewed with pleasure by our ancestors, who had seen no better; and this is all that was meant. The vision of Dorothea in the Virgin Martyr, is of the same nature as that of Queen Katherine in Henry VIII., and

* Perhaps, the confusion lies in another part-but it is really strange that my own words are never taken. I say—“ Scourging, racking, and beheading, are circumstances of no very agreeable kind, and with the poor aids of which the stage was then possessed, must be somewhat worse than ridiculous.” Vol. i. p. 118. Yet the critics, without shame, or dread of detection, apply the quotation to the glorious vision" of Dorothea! p. 111.

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+ In Greene's Groats Worth of Wit, published many years before the Virgin Martyr, a player is introduced boasting, that "his SHARE in stage apparel would not be sold for TWO HUNDRED POUNDS!"

was perhaps exhibited on the same stage, and with the same materials. Costly dresses were more common in Massinger's age than in our own; gorgeous robes were occasionally procured from the nobility; and there was, at all times, abundance of cast finery to be cheaply purchased. The Reviewers are as ignorant of the customs of those days as of the language.

"Perhaps," (continue the critics, p. 112,) " Mr. Gifford will be offended at the little ceremony with which we have treated his favourite dramatist." Not in the least. Judgment is free to all, and the decision rests with the public. In the present case, indeed, if the anxious call for another Edition be permitted to stand for any thing, they have already determined the question in my favour. At any rate, Massinger has taken his place on our shelves; he is noticed by those who overlooked him in the blundering volumes of Coxeter and M. Mason, and cannot again be thrown entirely out of the estimate of our ancient literature.

But though I have no desire to change the critics' opinion of Massinger, I must not lightly forego my own. I incidentally produced a passage from the Parliament of Love, where every pause, of which verse is susceptible, is introduced with such exquisite feeling, such rhythmical variety, that I spoke of it with the warmth which its unparalleled artifice appeared to demand. The Reviewers " are at a loss," they say, " to discover that pre-eminent beauty which called forth such unqualified praise," p. 112. I believe it: the ears which relaxed, with delight, over such soothing melody, as

"You are very peremptory, pray you, stay. I once held you." “And punishment overtake him when he least expects it”— may well be pricked up in scorn at the verses which I commended, and which the reader will find, vol. ii. P. 246,

But have not the critics, in their anxiety to depreciate Massinger, been somewhat inconsiderate? They say that "Massinger has not a single passage which can call forth a tear, amidst all his butchery," p. 113. His butchery (if it must be so termed) is not more bloody than that of his contemporaries. But has he really no pathos? Cumberland declares that a scene in the Fatal Dowry is one of the most pathetic in the English language: and many others might be pointed out, which cannot easily be read "dryeyed:"-But where men have tears of sympathy only for axioms and postulates, obduracy to fantastic miseries is a matter of course.

But their taste is not more alive than their natural feelings. When young Beaufort (not "Belgarde," the buffoon of the play,) first discovers the body of the injured, the innocent Theocrine, he bursts into tears, with this simple and touching adjuration to his friends:

"All that have eyes to weep,

Spare one tear with me: Theocriné's dead."

He hears an incidental remark, that the thunder-bolt which killed her wicked father, had deformed his features, when he interrupts his sorrows, and exclaims, with triumphant affection,

"But here's one, retains

Her native innocence, that never yet

Called down heaven's anger!"

And the piece concludes with a paternal and pious application of the catastrophe, (or what the Reviewers sneeringly call " a dry moral,") by old Beaufort. This "cursory dismission of the circumstance" is attributed to the incom. petency of Massinger to call forth a tear: and certain it is, that a modern writer would have yelled out many syllables of dolour on the occasion. But this was not Massinger's mode; and it yet remains to be proved that the modern writer would be right.