Davies finds a servility in his dedications which I have not been able to discover: they are principally characterised by gratitude and humility, without a single trait of that gross and servile adulation which distinguishes and disgraces the addresses of some of his contemporaries. That he did not conceal his misery, his editors appear inclined to reckon among his faults; he bore it, however, without impatience, and we only hear of it when it is relieved. Poverty made him no flatterer, and, what is still more rare, no maligner of the great: nor is one symptom of envy manifested in any part of his compositions.

His principles of patriotism appear irreprehensible: the extravagant and slavish doctrines which are found in the dramas of his great contemporaries make no part of his creed, in which the warmest loyalty is skilfully combined with just and rational ideas of political freedom. Nor is this the only instance in which the rectitude of his mind is apparent; the writers of his day abound in recommendations of suicide; he is uniform in the reprehension of it, with a single exception, to which, perhaps, he was

led by the peculiar turn of his studies. Guilt of every kind is usually left to the punishment of divine justice: even the wretched Malefort excuses himself to his son on his supernatural appearance, because the latter was not marked out by heaven for his mother's avenger; and the young, the brave, the pious Charalois accounts his death fallen upon him by the will of heaven, because "he made himself a judge in his own cause."

But the great, the glorious distinction of Massinger, is the uniform respect with which he treats religion and its ministers, in an age when it was found necessary to add regulation to regulation, to stop the growth of impiety on the stage. No priests are introduced by him," to set on some quantity of barren spectators" to laugh at their licentious follies; the sacred name is not lightly invoked, nor daringly sported with; nor is Scripture

2 See the Duke of Milan, Vol. I. p. 252. The frequent violation of female chastity, which took place on the irruption of the barbarians into Italy, gave rise to many curious disquisitions among the fathers of the church, respecting the degree of guilt occurred in preventing it by self-murder. Massinger had these, probably, in his thoughts.

profaned by buffoon allusions lavishly put into the mouths of fools and women.

To this brief and desultory delineation of his mind, it may be expected that something should here be added of his talents for dramatick composition; but this is happily rendered unnecessary. The kindness of Dr. Ferriar has allowed me to annex to this, Introduction the elegant and ingenious Essay on Massinger, first printed in the third vo lume of the Manchester Transactions; and I shall presently have to notice, in a more particular manner, the value of the assistance which has been expressly given to me for this work. These, if I do not deceive myself, leave little or nothing to be desired on the peculiar qualities, the excellencies and defects, of this much neglected and much injured writer.

Mr. M. Mason has remarked the general harmony of his numbers, in which, indeed, Massinger stands unrivalled. He seems, however, inclined to make a partial exception in favour of Shakspeare; but I cannot admit of its propriety. The claims of this great poet on the admiration of mankind are innumerable, but rhythmical modulation is not one of them;

nor do I think it either wise or just to hold him forth as supereminent in every quality which constitutes genius: Beaumont is as sublime, Fletcher as pathetick, and Jonson as nervous:-nor let it be accounted poor or niggard praise, to allow him only an equality with these extraordinary men in their peculiar excellencies, while he is admitted to possess many others, to which they make no approaches. Indeed, if I were asked for the discriminating quality of Shakspeare's mind, that by which he is raised above all competition, above all prospect of rivalry, I should say it was wit. To wit Massinger has no pretensions, though he is not without a considerable portion of humour; in which, however, he is surpassed by Fletcher, whose style bears some affinity to his own: there is, indeed, a morbid softness in the poetry of the latter, which is not visible in the flowing and vigorous metre of Massinger, but the general manner is not unlike.'

3 There is yet a peculiarity which it may be proper to notice, as it contributes, in a slight degree, to the fluency of Massinger's style; it is, the resolution of his words (and principally of those which are derived from the Latin through the medium of the French) into their

With Massinger terminated the triumph of dramatick poetry; indeed, the stage itself survived him but a short time. The nation was convulsed to its centre by contending factions, and a set of austere and gloomy fanaticks, enemies to every elegant amusement, and every social relaxation, rose upon the ruins of the state. Exasperated by the ridicule with which they had long been covered by the stage, they persecuted the actors with unrelenting severity, and consigned them, together with the writers, to hopeless obscurity and wretchedness. Taylor died in the extreme of poverty, Shirley opened a little school, and Lowin, the boast of the stage, kept an alehouse at Brentford:

Balneolum Gabiis, furnos conducere Roma

Tentarunt!.

Others, and those the far greater number,

component syllables. Virtuous, partial, nation, &c. &c. he usually makes dactyls, (if it be not pedantick to apply terms of measure to a language acquainted only with accent,) passing over the last two syllables with a gentle but distinct enunciation. This practice, indeed, is occasionally adopted by all the writers of his time, but in Massinger it is frequent and habitual. This singularity may slightly embarrass the reader at first, but a little acquaintance will shew its advantages, and render it not only easy but delightful.