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But since it was thy hap to throw away
Much wit, for which the people did not pay,

Because

Here all the editions give the Knight to Beaumont and Fletcher, this therefore is clear, and the prologue of that play is in stile and sentiments so exactly like that of the Woman-Hater, that the same hand undoubtedly drew both. Believing therefore that the Nice Valour was Beaumont's only, and that he had at least the greatest share of the Woman-Hater and the Knight of the Burning Pestle, I proceed to other plays, and first to the Little French Lawyer, where La-writ runs fighting-mad just as Lazarillo had run eating-mud, the Knight of the Burning Pestle, romance-mad; Chamont in the Nice Valour, honour-mad, &c. This is what our old English writers often distinguish by the name of humour. The stile too of Lawrit, like Lazarillo's and the Knight's, is often the burlesque sublime. Here I found the prologue speaking of the authors in the plural number, i. e. Beaumont and Fletcher. There is a good deal of the same humour in the Scornful Lady, wrote by Beaumont and Fletcher, as all the quartos declare. The publishers of the General Dictionary, whose accuracy deserves the highest applause, have helped me to another play, the Martial Maid, in which Beaumont had a share, and Jonson's manner of characterising is very visible; an effeminate youth and a masculine young lady are both reformed by love, like Jonson's Every Man in his Humour, and Every Man out of his Humour. Wit without Money and the Custom of the Country which have Beaumont's name first in all the editions, have something of the same hand, particularly in Valentine's extravagant contempt of money, and do great honour to Beaumont, as both are excellent plays, and the first an incomparable one. Shirley supposes the Humorous Lieutenant to be one of the plays referred to by Beaumont's verses to Jonson, and the publisher of Beaumont's poems, which came out about five years after Shirley's folio of our author's plays, has wrote under that poem the Maid in the Mill. This, I suppose, was a marginal note of somebody who believed Beaumont to have been a joint author in that play. It seems highly probable that he was so in both these plays, as the Lieutenant and Bustapha are both strong caricatures, and much in Beaumont's manner. The False One mentions the authors in the plural number, and I-believe Beaumont chiefly drew the character of Septimius which gives name to the play; but whatever share he had in that play, it does him great honour. Cupid's Revenge, which all the editions ascribe to Beaumont and Fletcher, is only spoiled from being a very good tragedy by a ridiculous mixture of machinery; this play, the Noble Gentleman, and the Coxcomb, are all that remain which have any sort of external evidence which I know, of Beaumont's being a joint author, and these I build nothing upon. There are two others that partake of his manner, which for that reason only I suspect; the Spanish Curate, and the Laws of Candy; the latter of which extremely resembles the King and no King in its principal characters. But we need not rest upon mere conjectures, since Beaumont's share of the Maid's Tragedy, Philaster, and the King and no King, give him a full right to share equally with Fletcher the fame of a tragic poet; and Wit without Money, the Nice Valour, and the Little French Lawyer, raise his character equally high in comedy. SEWARD,

Mr. Seward has been exceedingly elaborate in this disquisition; wherein, we apprehend, no one meets conviction, though the writer seems to be himself so perfectly satisfied, both with the internal and external evidence. With respect to the first, the reader will judge for himself; in the second, he appears to be uncommonly erroneous.

Seward speaks of the first quarto of the Woman-Hater; the first quarto he never saw: He says, it was published several years after the death of both authors; it was published in the life-time of both, in the year 1607. This copy is, indeed, very scarce; and had not Mr. Garrick's invaluable library been as easy, as most others are difficult, of access, a perusal of that edition would not, perhaps, have been obtained.

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The first quarto was printed (as before observed) in 1607, without any author's name prefixed, but in Mr. Garrick's copy has been wrote by John Fletcher,' through which name a pen has been run, and Francis Beamont' wrote over the line; even this interlineation appears to be very old. The second quarto appeared in 1648, the title whereof mentions Fletcher singly, and the third in 1649, which has both names. The third, however, seems to be merely the second, with a new title-page, and the additions of the auxiliary title The Hungry Courtier, a drama, and D'Avenant's prologue for the revival.

Great stress is also laid by Seward on the situation of Beaumont's letter to Jonson; but this situation is evidently a mere casualty of the press. To expedite the printing, the first folio was divided into eight different portions, as the printer's directory letters for the bookbinder, and the numeration of the pages, evince.

The plays allotted for the third portion were, Chances, Loyal Subject, Laws of Candy, Lovers' Progress, Island Princess, Humorous Lieutenant, and Nice Valour: These not

Because they saw it not, I not dislike
This second publication, which may strike
Their consciences, to see the thing they scorn'd,
To be with so much wit and art adorn'd.
Besides, one 'vantage more in this I see,
Your censurers must have the quality
Of reading, which I am afraid is more
Than half your shrewdest judges had before.

II.

FR. BEAUMONT.

To the worthy Author Mr. JOHN FLETCHER, upon his Faithful Shepherdess.

THE wise, and many-headed bench, that sits

Upon the life and death of plays, and wits,
(Compos'd of gamester, captain, knight, knight's man,
Lady, or Pucelle, that wears mask or fan,

Velvet, or taffata cap, rank'd in the dark

With the shop's foreman, or some such brave spark,
That may judge for his six-pence) had, before

They saw it half, damn'd thy whole play; and, more,
Their motives were, since it had not to do

With vices, which they look'd for, and came to.
I, that am glad thy innocence was thy guilt,
And wish that all the muses' blood were spilt
In such a martyrdom, to vex their eyes,
Do crown thy murder'd poem; which shall rise
A glorified work to time, when fire,

Or moths, shall eat what all these fools admire.

BEN. JONSON.

making perfect sheets, the editor, to avoid leaving a blank leaf in the body of the book, there inserted this letter; and hence, undoubtedly, originated the situation of the poem, which ought (did its title deserve attention) to have been placed at the end of the whole work; for had any specification been intended, we should not have had the vague expression, two of the precedent," but "the two precedent comedies."

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Seward says, Shirley supposes the Humorous Lieutenant to be one of the plays referred to by the verses: Shirley thought nothing of the matter, knew nothing of the arrangement, did nothing but write the preface: It were unjust to believe he did more.-It is not always easy to discover Seward's meaning; but he seems, however, to have distrusted Shirley's supposition, and to have relied on the subsequent editor, by saying the verses were published at the end of the Nice Valour AND Woman-Hater, in the second folio." This proves nothing; that editor continued them with the play to which he found them annexed.

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The title to these verses runs, "Mr. Francis Beaumont's Letter to Ben. Jonson, written before he and Master Fletcher came to London, with two of the precedent comedies then not finished, which deferred their merry meetings at the Mermaid." If this title and the situation afford proof of any kind, it will be directly opposite to Seward's opinion: First, as the title mentions" two of the precedent comedies," the Woman-Hater could NOT be one, hav. ing no place in the first folio. Secondly, Seward says, "Fletcher could not be with Beaumont; but what says the title? Written before he AND Master Fletcher came," &c. And, thirdly, if Beaumont AND Fletcher were together, Nice Valour and the Humorous Lieutenant must be looked on as joint productions.

But, besides the title and situation failing to prove which the comedies were, the poem itself affords no proof that Beaumont was then writing any play at all. The words

When these SCENES are PERFECT,

are all which can lead to such a supposition; and may we not understand those words to mean only, "When I CHANGE the SCENE," or, "when the time for my stay HERE is COMPLETED?" with this sense of the word perfect every reader of old books must be acquainted. Whether this explanation is admitted, or not, it at least seems clear that no such external evidence as Seward supposes, is deducible from either the title or situation of the poem in question. J. N.

Το

III.

To Mr. FRANCIS BEAUMONT, (then living.)
How I do love thee, Beaumont, and thy muse,+
That unto me dost such religion use!
How I do fear myself, that am not worth
The least indulgent thought thy pen drops forth!
At once thou mak'st me happy, and unmak'st;
And giving largely to me, more thou tak st.
What fate is mine, that so itself bereaves?
What art is thine, that so thy friend deceives?
When even there, where most thou praisest me
For writing better, I must envy thee.

IV.

BEN. JONSON.

On Mr. FRANCIS BEAUMONT, on his Imitations of Ovid, an Ode.

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poesy,

Which erst was buried in old Rome's decays,
Now 'gins with heat of rising majesty,

Her dust-wrapt head from rotten tomb to raise,
And with fresh splendour gilds her fearless crest,
Rearing her palace in our poet's breast.

The wanton Ovid, whose enticing rimes

Have with attractive wonder forc'd attention,
No more shall be admir'd at; for these times

Produce a poet, whose more rare invention
Will tear the love-sick myrtle from his brows,
T' adorn his temples with deserved boughs.

The strongest marble fears the smallest rain;
The rusting canker eats the purest gold;
Honour's best dye dreads envy's blackest stain;
The crimson badge of beauty must wax old:
But this fair issue of thy fruitful brain,

Nor dreads age, envy, cank'ring rust or rain.

V.

On Mr. BEAUMONT. (Written presently after his Death.)

BEAUMONT lies here; and where now shall we have

A muse like his to sigh upon his grave?

J. F.

4 This short copy (which seems wrote with a sincerity not common in complimentary poems) treats Beaumont not only as an excellent critic, but as an excellent poet; and is an answer to Beaumont's letter to Jonson. SEWARD.

The J. F. here is undoubtedly John Fletcher, and the ode, though not immediately relating to the plays, is inserted here, first, for its intrinsic merit; and, secondly, as it will be pleasing to find that Fletcher's 'muse was animated with friendship as well as Beaumont's; a circumstance, which, till I saw this ode, seemed wanting to complete the amiable union which reigned between them. In the third stanza, the reader will see an authority for Mil ton's use of the word rime for verse in general,

"Things unattempted yet in prose or rime."

That Beaumont wrote

Which Dr. Bentley so injudiciously altered to prose and verse. something in the Ovidian manner seems evident from these lines; but the Hermaphrodite which is printed as his, and supposed to be the thing referred to in this ode, is claimed by Cleaveland as a conjunct performance between himself and Randolph.

SEWARD.

Ah!

Ah! none to weep this with a worthy tear,
But he, that cannot, Beaumont that lies here.
Who now shall pay thy tomb with such a verse
As thou that lady's didst, fair Rutland's hearse?
A monument that will then lasting be,

When all her marble is more dust than she.
In thee all's lost: A sudden dearth and want
Hath seiz'd on Wit, good epitaphs are scant;
We dare not write' thy elegy, whilst each fears
He ne'er shall match that copy of thy tears.
Scarce in an age a poet, and yet he

Scarce lives the third part of his age to see;
But quickly taken off, and only known,
Is in a minute shut as soon as shewn.
Why should weak Nature tire herself in vain
In such a piece, to dash it straight again?
Why should she take such work beyond her skill,
Which, when she cannot perfect, she must kill?

Alas! what is't to temper slime or mire?

But Nature's puzzled when she works in fire:

Great brains (like brightest glass) crack straight, while those

Of stone or wood hold out, and fear not blows:

And we their ancient hoary heads can see,
Whose wit was never their mortality:

Who now shall pay thy tomb with such a verse

As thou that lady's didst, fair Rutland's hearse?] To pay thy tomb is a little obscure, but it seems to mean, to repay thee for writing so excellent an epitaph, by one as excellent on thyself. There are several epitaphs and elegies in Beaumont's Poems, but by an expression in Mr. Earle's two next lines relating to the marble of the tomb, I believe the following beautiful epitaph is what is here referred to:

AN EPITAPH.

"Here she lies, whose spotless fame
Invites a stone to learn her name.
The rigid Spartan that denied

An epitaph to all that died,
Unless for war, in charity,
Would here vouchsafe an elegy.
She died a wife, but yet her mind,
Beyond virginity refin'd,

From lawless fire remain'd as free,
As now from heat her ashes be.

Her husband yet without a sin,

Was not a stranger, but her kin;

That her chaste love might seem no other

To her husband than a brother.

Keep well this pawn, thou marble chest,

Till it be call'd for, let it rest;

For while this jewel here is set,

The grave is like a cabinet.”

This is extremely in the spirit of Milton and Shakespeare's epitaphs, and shews that Beau mont excelled in every species of writing which he attempted. There are three elegies of his which I believe genuine, and they have great merit; two are signed by his name, and another begins,

"Can my poor lines no better office have, Than, screech-owl like, still dwell about the grave?" This shews that he had wrote several elegies and epitaphs.

SEWARD.

Beaumon

Beaumont dies young,' so Sidney died before;
There was not poetry he could live to more;
He could not grow up higher; I scarce know,
If th' art itself unto that pitch could grow,
Were't not in thee, that hadst arriv'd the height
Of all that Wit could reach, or Nature might.
Oh, when I read those excellent things of thine,
Such strength, such sweetness, couch'd in every line,
Such life of fancy, such high choice of brain,
Nought of the vulgar wit or borrow'd strain,
Such passion, such expressions meet my eye,
Such wit untainted with obscenity,
And these so unaffectedly express'd,
All in a language purely-flowing drest;
And all so born within thyself, thine own,
So new, so fresh, so nothing trod upon,
I grieve not now, that old Menander's vein
Is ruin'd, to survive in thee again;

Such in his time was he, of the same piece,

The smooth, ev'n, natural wit, and love of Greece.
Those few sententious fragments shew more worth,
Than all the poets Athens e'er brought forth;
And I am sorry we have lost those hours

On them, whose quickness comes far short of ours,
And dwell not more on thee, whose every page
May be a pattern for their scene and stage.

I will not yield thy works so mean a praise;

More pure, more chaste, more sainted than are plays,
Nor with that dull supineness to be read,

To

pass a fire, or laugh an hour in bed.

How do the muses suffer every where,

Taken in such mouths' censure, in such ears,

That, 'twixt a whiff, a line or two rehearse,

And with their rheum together spawl a verse!
This all a poem's leisure, after play,
Drink, or tobacco, it may keep the day.

1 So Sidney did before;] It might perhaps have been-so Sidney died before. Beaumont's Poems exhibit died.

This all a poem's leisure after play,

Whilst

SEWARD.

Drink or tobacco, it may keep the day.] What is all a poem's leisure? I can affix no idea to it but a Latinism, which if designed is extremely forced. This is all a poem's, i. e. a poem's part, power or worth, it may serve to spend one's leasure hours after dice, drink, or tobacco. But unless the reader sees a more natural explication, I believe he will agree to its being discarded as a corruption, for a trifling change will give a clear sense,

it

This all a poem's pleasure, after play,
Drink or tobacco, it may keep the day.

i. e. All the pleasure a poem gives to these sons of dulness, is to spin out or pass away the time till sun-set, after cards, bottles, and tobacco are removed; thus to pass a fire, a little above, signifies to pass away the time till the fire is burnt out. But to keep a day, is an expression not very applicable to this sense, (a sense which the context evidently requires) and though may indeed be strained to something like it, yet as we can retain three of the letters in keep, and by a small transposition of the rest, give a much properer verb, it seems probable that ehe was the original, we generally now say, to eke out the day; but it was used by our ancestors without the adverb, to eke a thing, i. e. to protract or lengthen it out. The reader will see a much greater corruption of the press than either of these at the latter end of this poem.

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SEWARD.

The

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