MANY of the Bedlam witticisms of this unfortunate man have been recorded by those who can derive mirth from the most humiliating shape of human calamity. His rant and turgidity as a writer are proverbial; but those who have witnessed justice done to the acting of his Theodosius must have felt that he had some powers in the pathetic. He was the son of a clergyman in Hertfordshire. He was bred at Westminster, under Dr. Busby, and became a scholar on the foundation at Trinity College, Cambridge. From thence he came to London, and attempted the profession of an actor. The part which he performed was Duncan, in Sir William Davenant's alteration of Macbeth. He was completely unsuccessful. "Yet Lee," says Cibber, "was so pathetic a reader of his own scenes, that I have been informed by an actor who was present, that while Lee was reading to Major Mohun, at a rehearsal, Mohun, in the warmth of his admiration, threw down his part, and said, Unless I were able to play it as well as you read it, to

what purpose should I undertake it?' And yet," continues the laureate, "this very author, whose elocution raised such admiration in so capital an actor, when he attempted to be an actor himself, soon quitted the stage in an honest despair of ever making any profitable figure there." Failing in this object, he became a writer for the stage, and his first tragedy of " Nero," which came out in 1675, was favourably received. In the nine subsequent years of his life he produced as many plays of his own, and assisted Dryden in two; at the end of which period an hereditary taint of madness, aggravated by habits of dissipation, obliged him to be consigned for four years to the receptacle at Bethlem. He recovered the use of his faculties so far as to compose two pieces, the Princess of Cleves, and the Massacre of Paris; but with all the profits of his invention his circumstances were so reduced that a weekly stipend of ten shillings was his principal support toward the close of his life, and to the last he was not free from occasional derangement.

FROM "THEODOSIUS; OR, THE FORCE OF LOVE." The characters in the following scenes are Varanes, a Persian prince, who comes to visit the Emperor Theodosius; Aranthes, his confidant; Leontine, the prince's tutor; and Athenais, daughter of that philosopher, with whom Varanes is in love. Her father, Leontine, jealous for his daughter's honour, brings his royal pupil to an explanation respecting his designs toward Athenais; and Varanes, in a moment of rash pride, at the instigation of Aranthes, spurns at the idea of marrying the philosopher's daughter and sharing with her the throne of Cyrus. Athenais, however, is seen by the Emperor Theodosius, who himself offers her his hand. The repentance of Varanes for her loss, and the despair of Athenais, form the catastrophe of the tragedy.

Leon. So, Athenais; now our compliment To the young Persian prince is at an end; What then remains, but that we take our leave, And bid him everlastingly farewell?

Athen. My lord!

Leon. I say, that decency requires

We should be gone, nor can you stay with honour. Athen. Most true, my lord,

Leon. The court is now at peace, The emperor's sisters are retired for ever, And he himself composed; what hinders then, But that we bid adieu to prince Varanes?

Athen. Ah, sir, why will you break my heart? Leon. I would not;

Thou art the only comfort of my age;

[The period of Lee's decease has not been hitherto ascertained. That he was buried in St. Clement's Danes was a clue to the period, and searching the Burial Register there the other day, for some assistance, we found the following entry:

"6 April, 1692, Nathaniel Lee a man bur."]

Like an old tree I stand among the storms, Thou art the only limb that I have left me, My dear green branch; and how I prize thee, child, Heaven only knows! Why dost thou kneel and weep? [hope, Athen. Because you are so good, and will, I Forgive my fault, who first occasioned it. [prince. Leon. I charged thee to receive and hear the Athen. You did, and, oh, my lord! I heard too much!

Too much, I fear, for my eternal quiet.

Leon. Rise, Athenais! Credit him who bears More years than thou: Varanes has deceived thee. Athen. How do we differ then! You judge the prince [ness, Impious and base; while I take Heaven to witI think him the most virtuous of men: Therefore, take heed, my lord, how you accuse

him,

Before you make the trial.-Alas, Varanes,

If thou art false, there's no such thing on earth
As solid goodness or substantial honour.-
A thousand times, my lord, he has sworn to give me
(And I believe his oaths) his crown and empire,
That day I make him master of my heart.

Leon. That day he'll make thee mistress of his

power,

Which carries a foul name among the vulgar.
No, Athenais! let me see thee dead,

Borne a pale corpse, and gently laid in earth,
So I may say she's chaste, and died a virgin,
Rather than view thee with these wounded eyes
Seated upon the throne of Isdigerdes,

Athen. O horrid supposition! how I detest it,
Be witness, Heaven, that sees my secret thoughts!
Have I for this, my lord, been taught by you
The nicest justice, and severest virtue,
To fear no death, to know the end of life,
And, with long search, discern the highest good?
No, Athenais! when the day beholds thee
So scandalously raised, pride cast thee down,
The scorn of honour, and the people's prey?
No, cruel Leontine, not to redeem

That aged head from the descending axe,
Not, though I saw thy trembling body rack'd,
Thy wrinkles about thee fill'd with blood,
Would I for empire to the man I love,
Be made the object of unlawful pleasure.

Leon. O greatly said! and by the blood which

warms me,

Which runs as rich as any Athens holds,
It would improve the virtue of the world,
If every day a thousand votaries,

And thousand virgins came from far to hear thee. Athen. Look down, ye powers, take notice we obey

The rigid principles ye have infused!

Yet oh, my noble father, to convince you,
Since you will have it so, propose a marriage;
Though with the thought I'm cover'd o'er with
blushes.

Not that I doubt the prince,—that were to doubt
The heavens themselves; I know he is all truth:
But modesty,

The virgin's troublesome and constant guest,
That, that alone forbids.

Leon. I wish to heaven

There prove no greater bar to my belief.
Behold the prince; I will retire a while,
And, when occasion calls, come to thy aid.
[Exit LEON.

Enter VARANES and ARANTHES. Vara. To fix her on the throne, to me, seems little;

Were I a god, yet would I raise her higher,
This is the nature of thy prince: But, oh!
As to the world, thy judgment soars above me,
And I am dared with this gigantic honour.
Glory forbids her prospect to a crown,

Nor must she gaze that way; my haughty soul,
That day when she ascends the throne of Cyrus,
Will leave my body pale, and to the stars
Retire in blushes, lost, quite lost for ever,

Aran. What do you purpose, then?
Vara. I know not what:

But, see, she comes, the glory of my arms,

Enter ATHENAIS.

The only business of my instant thought,
My soul's best joy, and all my true repose!—
I swear I cannot bear these strange desires,
These strong impulses, which will shortly leave me
Dead at thy feet.

Athen. What have you found, my lord,
In me so harsh or cruel, that you fear
To speak your griefs?

Vara. First let me kneel and swear, And on thy hand seal my religious vow, Straight let the breath of gods blow me from earth, Swept from the book of fame, forgotten ever, If I prefer thee not, O Athenais, To all the Persian greatness! Athen. I believe you

For I have heard you swear as much before. [again! Vara. Hast thou? O why then did I swear But that my love knew nothing worthier of thee, And could no better way express my passion. Athen. O rise, my lord!

Vara. I will do every thing Which Athenais bids: if there be more In nature to convince thee of my love, Whisper it, oh some god, into my ear! And on her breasts thus to her listening soul I'll breathe the inspiration! Wilt thou not speak? What, but one sigh, no more! Can that suffice For all my vast expense of prodigal love? Oh, Athenais! what shall I say or do, To gain the thing I wish?

Athen. What's that, my lord?

[hold thee.

Vara. Thus to approach thee still! thus to beYet there is more

Athen. My lord, I dare not hear you.

Vara. Why dost thou frown at what thou dost not know?

"Tis an imagination which ne'er pierced thee; Yet, as 'tis ravishing, 'tis full of honour.

Athen. I must not doubt you, sir: But oh I tremble

To think if Isdigerdes should behold you,
Should hear you thus protesting to a maid
Of no degree, but virtue, in the world-

Vara. No more of this, no more; for I disdain
All pomp when thou art by; far be the noise
Of king and courts from us, whose gentle souls
Our kinder stars have steer'd another way!
Free as the forest-birds, we'll pair together,
Without remembering who our fathers were;
Fly to the arbours, grots, and flow'ry meads,
And in soft murmurs interchange our souls;
Together drink the crystal of the stream,
Or taste the yellow fruit which autumn yields,
And when the golden evening calls us home,
Wing to our downy nest, and sleep till morn.
Athen. Ah, prince; no more!
Forbear, forbear to charm me,
Since I am doomed to leave you, sir, for ever.
Vara. Hold, Athenais-

Athen. I know your royal temper,

And that high honour reigns within your breast, Which would disdain to waste so many hours With one of humble blood compared to you, Unless strong passion sway'd your thoughts to love her;

Therefore receive, O prince, and take it kindly, For none on earth but you could win it from me, Receive the gift of my eternal love!

'Tis all I can bestow, nor is it little; For sure a heart so coldly chaste as mine, No charms but yours, my lord, could e'er have

For the cold dart you shot at me before.
For this last goodness, O my Athenais!
(For now, methinks, I ought to call you mine,)
I empty all my soul in thanks before you :
Yet oh! one fear remains, like death it chills me;
Why my relenting love did talk of parting!

Athen. Look there, and cease your wonder; I have sworn

To obey my father, and he calls me hence.

Enter LEONTINE.

Vara. Ha, Leontine! by which of all my actions Have I so deeply injured thee, to merit The smartest wound revenge could form to end me? Leon. Answer me now, oh prince! for virtue

prompts me,

And honesty will dally now no longer :
What can the end of all this passion be?
Glory requires this strict account, and asks
What you intend at last to Athenais.

Vara. How, Leontine ? [loved her; Leon. You saw her, sir, at Athens; said you I charged her humbly to receive the honour, [me? And hear your passion: Has she not, sir, obey'd Vura. She has, I thank the gods! but whither would'st thou ?

Leon. Having resolved to visit Theodosius, You swore you would not go without my daughter, Whereon I gave command that she should follow. Vara. Yes, Leontine, my old remembrancer, Most learn'd of all philosophers, you did.

Leon. Thus long she has attended, you have seen her,

Sounded her virtues and her imperfections; Therefore, dread sir, forgive this bolder charge, Which honour sounds, and now let me demand

To satisfy the height of thy ambition.
Besides, old man, my love is too well grown,
To want a tutor for his good behaviour;
What he will do, he will do of himself,
And not be taught by you.-

Leon. I know he will not:

Fond tears, away! I know, I know he will not; But he would buy with his old man's preferment My daughter

*

*

*

*

Vara. Away, I say, my soul disdains the motion! Leon. The motion of a marriage; yes, I see it; Your angry looks and haughty words betray it: I found it at the first. I thank you, sir, You have at least rewarded your old tutor For all his cares, his watchings, services; Yet, let me tell you, sir, this humble maid, This daughter of a poor philosopher, Shall, if she please, be seated on a throne As high as that of the immortal Cyrus.

Vara. I think that age and deep philosophy Have crack'd thy brain: Farewell, old Leontine, Retire to rest; and when this brawling humour Is rock'd asleep, I'll meet my Athenais,

And clear the accounts of love, which thou hast blotted.

[Exit. Leon. Old Leontine! perhaps I am mad indeed. But hold, my heart, and let that solid virtue, Which I so long adored, still keep the reins. O Athenais! But I will not chide thee: Fate is in all our actions, and, methinks, At least a father judges so, it has Rebuked thee smartly for thy easiness: There is a kind of mournful eloquence [sorrow. In thy dumb grief, which shames all clamorous Athen. Alas! my breast is full of death; methinks I fear even you

Leon. Why shouldst thou fear thy father?
Athen. Because you have the figure of a man!
Is there, O speak, a possibility
To be forgiven?

Leon. Thy father does forgive thee,
And honour will; but on this hard condition,
Never to see him more-

Athen. See him! Oh heavens!

Leon. Unless it be, my daughter, to upbraid

And, oh! I find he will not be dislodged
Without a groan at parting hence for ever.
No, no! he vows he will not yet be razed
Without whole floods of grief at his farewell,
Which thus I sacrifice! and oh, I swear,
Had he proved true, I would as easily

Have emptied all my blood, and died to serve him,

As now I shed these drops, or vent these sighs, To show how well, how perfectly I loved him. Leon. No woman sure, but thou, so low in fortune,

Therefore the nobler is thy fair example,

[her;

Would thus have grieved, because a prince adored
Nor will it be believed in after times,
That there was ever such a maid in being;
Yet do I still advise, preserve thy virtue;
And since he does disdain thee for his bride,
Scorn thou to be-

Athen.
Hold, sir, oh hold, forbear,
For my nice soul abhors the very sound;
Yet with the shame of that, and the desire
Of an immortal name, I am inspired:
All kinder thoughts are fled for ever from me,
All tenderness, as if I ne'er had loved,
Has left my bosom colder than the grave.

EARLY RISING AND PRAYER.

FROM "SILEX SCINTILLIANS, OR SACRED POEMS."
WHEN first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave
To do the like; our bodies but forerun
The spirit's duty: true hearts spread and heave
Unto their God as flowers do to the sun;
Give him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep
Him company all day, and in him sleep.

Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer should
Dawn with the day: there are set awful hours
"Twixt heaven and us; the manna was not good
After sun-rising; far day sullies flowers:
Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut,
And heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut.

Walk with thy fellow-creatures: note the hush
And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring
Or leaf but hath his morning hymn; each bush
And oak doth know I AM.-Canst thou not sing?
O leave thy cares and follies! go this way,
And thou art sure to prosper all the day.

Serve God before the world: let him not go
Until thou hast a blessing; then resign
The whole unto him, and remember who
Prevail'd by wrestling ere the sun did shine:

[* Nahum Tate, of all my predecessors, must have ranked the lowest of the laureates, if he had not succeeded Shadwell. Southey's Life of Cowper, vol. ii. p. 112.]

Pour oil upon the stones, weep for thy sin, Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven.

Mornings are mysteries: the first, world's youth,
Man's resurrection, and the future's bud,
Shroud in their births; the crown of life, light,
truth,

Is styled their star; the stone and hidden food:
Three blessings wait upon them, one of which
Should move- -they make us holy, happy, rich.

When the world's up and every swarm abroad,
Keep well thy temper, mix not with each clay;
Despatch necessities; life hath a load

Which must be carried on, and safely may:
Yet keep those cares without thee; let the heart
Be God's alone, and choose the better part.

When Zerah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot,
The youthful world's gray fathers, in one knot
Did with intentive looks watch every hour
For thy new light, and trembled at each shower!
When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and
fair;

Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air;
Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours
Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers.
Bright pledge of peace and sunshine, the sure tie
Of thy Lord's hand, the object* of his eye!
When I behold thee, though my light be dim,
Distant and low, I can in thine see him,
Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne,
And minds the covenant betwixt all and One.
*

*

*

THE WREATH. (TO THE REDEEMER.)

FROM THE SAME.

SINCE I in storms most used to be,
And seldom yielded flowers,
How shall I get a wreath for thee
From those rude barren hours?
The softer dressings of the spring,
Or summer's later store,
I will not for thy temples bring,

Which thorns, not roses, wore:

But a twined wreath of grief and praise
Praise soil'd with tears, and tears again
Shining with joy, like dewy days,
This day I bring for all thy pain,
Thy causeless pain; and as sad death,
Which sadness breeds in the most vain,
O not in vain! now beg thy breath,
Thy quick'ning breath, which gladly bears

Through saddest clouds to that glad place Where cloudless quires sing without tears, Sing thy just praise, and see thy face.

He sought the storms; but for a calm unfit,
Would steer too nigh the sands to boast his wit.
Great wits are sure to madness near allied,
And thin partitions do their bounds divide;
Else why should he, with wealth and honour
Refuse his age the needful hours of rest? [blest,
Punish a body which he could not please;
Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease?
And all to leave what with his toil he won,
To that unfeather'd two-legg'd thing, a son ;
Got while his soul did huddled notions try,
And born a shapeless lump, like anarchy.

* Gen. ch. ix. ver. 16.