James Shirley.

It has long been one of the commonplaces of literary history that the great series of Elizabethan and Jacobean dramatists, which began with Marlowe, closed with Shirley. He was the youngest of them all, having been born on the 18th of September 1596—after the death, that is, of almost all the members of the pre-Shakespearean generation. It is thought that Shirley's birthplace was the parish of St Mary Woolchurch, in the city of London. He was educated at Merchant Taylors' School, and at St John's College, Oxford, where he attracted the attention of Laud, who was then Master. Laud was very kind to Shirley, but dissuaded him from taking holy orders on account of a large wen which disfigured his left cheek. This affliction, greatly softened down, is yet perceptible in the Bodleian portrait. As early as 1618 Shirley published a poem, Echo, or the Unfortunate Lovers, of which no copy is now known to exist. It was probably, however, identical with the Narcissus printed in 1646, and if so, was one of the sensuous and philosophical narratives fashionable at that time, of which Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis is the most celebrated example. In this graceful exercise Shirley displays the influence of Marlowe and of Beaumont.

As was not unusual in the seventeenth century, Shirley transferred himself from one university to the other; he did spend some precious years at Catherine Hall,' Cambridge, where he took his degree. He stayed there, perhaps, until in 1623 he was appointed a master in St Albans GrammarSchool. But in the meantime he had, in spite of Laud's objection, taken orders and been presented to a living, which, however, he resigned immediately, having become a convert to the Church of Rome. It is said that he continued to be a schoolmaster for about two years, but all this portion of Shirley's career is very indistinctly, and probably very inexactly, reported to us.

In his twenty-ninth year Shirley took seriously to the stage, doubtless as the only mode of making a livelihood open to him. His first play, Love Tricks, was licensed in February 1625, but was not printed until 1631, when it passed through the press as The School of Compliment. It was very popular, although, to a modern judgment, it seems weak both from a literary and a theatrical point of view. It imitates Shakespeare and Fletcher in the pastoral scenes, and has no particular individuality. Yet the style, fluent, urbane, and correct, is that which was to characterise Shirley throughout his long career. The first of Shirley's published plays, his comedy of The Wedding, 1629, has more merit of construction, and The Grateful Servant, 1630, placed the poet high among the dwindling band of dramatists who still kept up something of the great Elizabethan tradition. Of these survivors, Marston, Heywood, Chapman, and Dekker had long been silent, and the only serious

rivals whom the new poet had to encounter were Ben Jonson, Massinger, and Ford.

Shirley was now resident in London, and he took a prominent part in the literary life of the capital. His temperament seems to have been, like his verse, graceful and gentle. Among his friends he counted Ford, Massinger, Randolph, Stanley, and Thomas May. He now took to the composition of tragedies, of which the earliest may have been The Traitor, acted in 1631 and published in 1635. He wrote other tragedies, and

then turned back to the romantic comedies which best suited his talent. From 1631 to 1635 Shirley produced twelve consecutive comedies, closing with what is his finest work in this class, the admirable Lady of Pleasure. Shirley had by this time gained a high reputation for the modesty of his writings, and in July 1633, when registering The Young Admiral, the Master of the Revels volunteered a testimonial to that effect, in which Shirley was encouraged to pursue this beneficial and cleanly way of poetry.' Charles I. said that The Gamester, which was acted in 1633, was 'the best play he had seen for seven years.'

It is believed that Shirley went over to Dublin in the early part of 1636 to help Ogilby in working the new theatre which had been built in Werburgh Street. He seems to have remained in Ireland until 1639 or the beginning of 1640. Among the plays which he produced in Dublin, St Patrick for Ireland is the most original, or at least the most eccentric; the extremely selfcontained dramatist appears on this one occasion to kick over the traces of a studied sobriety. Among the Irish plays, The Royal Master and The Humorous Courtier deserve special mention. Between Shirley's return from Dublin to London and the first ordinance for the suppression of stage plays, he was the foremost playwright in England, and is believed in this short time to have produced ten dramas. Of these last plays, The Cardinal is the best. Shirley, who was a pronounced Royalist, and had been valet of the chamber to Queen Henrietta Maria, lost all at the Rebellion. After the battle of Marston Moor he accompanied to France the Duke of Newcastle, whom he had aided in poetical composition; but he presently crept back to England, where Thomas Stanley protected him. He went back to his old trade of education, and started a successful school in Whitefriars. In 1646 he issued a collection of his poems. It would seem that he did not benefit from the Restoration. In the Great Fire of London, Shirley and his second wife fled from their house near Fleet Street, and, dying of terror and exposure on the same day, were buried in St Giles-in-theFields, in one grave, on the 29th of October 1666. We gather that Shirley had suffered from fire before, since his The Grammar War (1635), a didactic production, contains ‘A lamentation upon the conflagration of the Muses' habitation.'

In the plays of Shirley, which are curiously

uniform in manner, we find grace, melody, and fancy. The violent elements of the great Elizabethan age seem to have been entirely absorbed, and only the gentle and playful ones left. Shirley wrote with pertinacious industry, and, although a great part of his work is probably lost, between forty and fifty of his tragedies, comedies, tragicomedies, pastorals, and masques have come down to us. In this mass of writing-produced between 1625 and 1655, while English poetry was being subjected to a rapid and surprising transformationthere are no signs of change. From The Wedding to The Sisters, Shirley remains exactly the same suave, sweet-tongued, and florid poet, although the England of Shakespeare was shortly to become the England of Dryden. The plays of Shirley seem to have been popular on the stage, at all events in the early part of his career, and if we are inclined to consider them loosely constructed and thinly conceived in comparison with those of the great playwrights of the preceding generation, we have only to turn from them to those of his immediate contemporaries-such as Cartwright, Brome, and Jasper Mayne-to see that Shirley preserved far more than any other Commonwealth man the practical tradition of the stage. Of his comedies, the Witty Fair One and the Lady of Pleasure display his ornate and profuse fancy to the greatest advantage. In the Traitor he comes nearest to being a fine tragedian.

I would it were! my heart can tell, I take
No joy in being his bride, none in your prayers;
You shall have my consent to have him still :
I will resign my place, and wait on you,
If you will marry him.

Ami.
Pray do not mock me,
But if you do, I can forgive you too.
Ori. Dear Amidea, do not think I mock
Your sorrow; by these tears, that are not worn
By every virgin on her wedding-day,
I am compell'd to give away myself:

Your hearts were promis'd, but he ne'er had mine.
Am not I wretched too?

Ami. Alas, poor maid! We too keep sorrow alive then; but I prithee, When thou art married, love him, prithee love him, For he esteems thee well; and once a day Give him a kiss for me; but do not tell him 'Twas my desire: perhaps 'twill fetch a sigh From him, and I had rather break my heart. But one word more, and heaven be with you all.— Since you have led the way, I hope, my lord, That I am free to marry too?

After your own solemnities are done,

To grace my wedding; I shall be married shortly. Pis. To whom?

Ami. To one whom you have all heard talk of,
Your fathers knew him well: one who will never
Give cause I should suspect him to forsake me;
A constant lover, one whose lips, though cold,
Distil chaste kisses: though our bridal bed
Be not adorn'd with roses, 'twill be green;
We shall have virgin laurel, cypress, yew,
To make us garlands; though no pine do burn,
Our nuptial shall have torches, and our chamber
Shall be cut out of marble, where we'll sleep,
Free from all care for ever: Death, my lord,
I hope, shall be my husband. Now, farewell;
Although no kiss, accept my parting tear,
And give me leave to wear my willow here.
(From Act IV. sc. ii.)

Song from 'The Imposture.'
You virgins, that did late despair
To keep your wealth from cruel men,
Tie up in silk your careless hair,
Soft peace is come agen.

Now lovers' eyes may gently shoot A flame that will not kill;

The drum was angry, but the lute Shall whisper what you will.

Sing Io, Io! for his sake,

Who hath restor'd your drooping heads;
With choice of sweetest flowers, make
A garden where he treads:

Whilst we whole groves of laurel bring,
A petty triumph to his brow,,
Who is the master of our spring,
And all the bloom we owe.

(From Act 1. sc. ii.)

From 'The Lady of Pleasure.'

Steward. Be patient, madam; you may have your

pleasure.

Lady Bornwell. 'Tis that I came to town for. I would not Endure again the country conversation,

To be the lady of six shires! The men,
So near the primitive making, they retain
A sense of nothing but the earth; their brains,
And barren heads standing as much in want
Of ploughing as their ground. To hear a fellow
Make himself merry and his horse, with whistling
Sellinger's Round! To observe with what solemnity
They keep their wakes, and throw for pewter candle-
sticks!

How they become the Morris, with whose bells
They ring all in to Whitsun-ales; and sweat,
Through twenty scarfs and napkins, till the Hobbyhorse
Tire, and the Maid Marian, dissolv'd to a jelly,
Be kept for spoon meat!

Stew. These, with your pardon, are no argument
To make the country life appear so hateful;
At least to your particular, who enjoy'd
A blessing in that calm, would you be pleas'd
To think so, and the pleasure of a kingdom;
While your own will commanded what should move
Delights, your husband's love and power join'd

To give your life more harmony. You liv'd there
Secure, and innocent, beloved of all;
Prais'd for your hospitality, and pray'd for:
You might be envied; but malice knew

Not where you dwelt. I would not prophesy,
But leave to your own apprehension,

What may succeed your change.

Lady B. You do imagine,

No doubt, you have talk'd wisely, and confuted
London past all defence. Your master should
Do well to send you back into the country,
With title of superintendent-bailiff.

[Enter Sir Thomas Bornwell.

Bornwell. How now? What's the matter?
Stew. Nothing, sir.

Born. Angry, sweetheart?

Lady B. I am angry with myself,

To be so miserably restrain'd in things,
Wherein it doth concern your love and honour
To see me satisfied.

Born. In what, Aretina,

Dost thou accuse me? Have I not obey'd
All thy desires? against mine own opinion
Quitted the country, and removed the hope
Of our return, by sale of that fair lordship
We lived in? changed a calm and retired life
For this wild town, compos'd of noise and charge?
Lady B. What charge, more than is necessary for
A lady of my birth and education?

Born. I am not ignorant how much nobility
Flows in your blood; your kinsmen great and powerful
I' the state; but with this, lose not you [the] memory
Of being my wife. I shall be studious,
Madam, to give the dignity of your birth

All the best ornaments which become my fortune;
But would not flatter it, to ruin both,

And be the fable of the town, to teach
Other men loss of wit by mine, employ'd

To serve your vast expenses.

Lady B. Am I then

Brought in the balance? So, sir!

Born. Though you weigh

Me in a partial scale, my heart is honest,
And must take liberty to think you have
Obey'd no modest counsel, to affect,

Nay, study ways of pride and costly ceremony:
Your change of gaudy furniture, and pictures
Of this Italian master, and that Dutchman ;
Your mighty looking-glasses, like artillery,
Brought home on engines; the superfluous plate,
Antique and novel; vanities of tires;
Fourscore-pound suppers for my lord, your kinsman,
Banquets for t' other lady aunt, and cousins,
And perfumes that exceed all: train of servants,
To stifle us at home, and shew abroad
More motley than the French or the Venetian,
About your coach, whose rude postillion
Must pester every narrow lane, till passengers
And tradesmen curse your choking up their stalls;
And common cries pursue your ladyship,
For hindering of their market.

Lady B. Have you done, sir?

Born. I could accuse the gaiety of your wardrobe,

And prodigal embroideries, under which
Rich satins, plushes, cloth of silver, dare

Not shew their own complexions; your jewels,

Able to burn out the spectators' eyes,
And shew like bonfires on you by the tapers :
Something might here be spar'd, with safety of
Your birth and honour, since the truest wealth
Shines from the soul, and draws up just admirers.—
I could urge something more.

Lady B. Pray do, I like
Your homily of thrift.

Born. I could wish, madam, You would not game so much.

Lady B. A gamester too!

Born. But are not come to that acquaintance yet, Should teach you skill enough to raise your profit. You look not through the subtilty of cards, And mysteries of dice; nor can you save Charge with the box, buy petticoats and pearls, And keep your family by the precious income ; Nor do I wish you should: my poorest servant Shall not upbraid my tables, nor his hire, Purchas'd beneath my honour. You make play Not a pastime but a tyranny, and vex Yourself and my estate by it.

Lady B. Good! proceed.

Born. Another game you have, which consumes more
Your fame than purse; your revels in the night,
Your meetings call'd THE BALL, to which repair,
As to the court of pleasure, all your gallants,
And ladies, thither bound by a subpœna
Of Venus, and small Cupid's high displeasure;
'Tis but the Family of Love translated
Into more costly sin! There was a PLAY on 't,
And had the poet not been bribed to a modest
Expression of your antic gambols in 't,

Some darks had been discover'd, and the deeds too:
In time he may repent, and make some blush,
To see the second part danced on the stage.
My thoughts acquit you for dishonouring me
By any foul act; but the virtuous know
'Tis not enough to clear ourselves, but the
Suspicions of our shame.

Lady B. Have you concluded
Your lecture?

Born. I have done; and howsoever

My language may appear to you, it carries
No other than my fair and just intent

To your delights, without curb to their modest
And noble freedom.

Sellinger's Round was a dance called after an actor named St Leger. To throw is here said of cock-throwing, an old Shrovetide pastime the prize in this case being candlesticks. Robin Hood, Maid Marian, the hobby-horse, and the fool, all in more or less fantastic costumes, were the principal performers in the Old English May-day Morris-dances.

In The Ball, a comedy partly by Chapman, but chiefly by Shirley, a coxcomb (Bostock), crazed on the point of family, is admirably shown up. Sir Marmaduke Travers, by way of fooling him, tells him that he is rivalled in his suit of a particular lady by Sir Ambrose Lamount:

Bostock. Does she love any body else?
Travers. I know not,

But she has half a score, upon my knowledge,
Are suitors for her favour.

Bos. Name but one,

And if he cannot shew as many coats

Trav. He thinks he has good cards for her, and likes His game well.

Bos. Be an understanding knight,

And take my meaning; if he cannot shew

As much in heraldry

Trav. I do not know how rich he is in fields,

But he is a gentleman.

Bos. Is he a branch of the nobility?

How many lords can he call cousin? else

He must be taught to know he has presumed,
To stand in competition with me.

Trav. You will not kill him?

Bos. You shall pardon me,

I have that within me must not be provok'd;
There be some living now, that have been kill'd
For lesser matters.

Trav. Some living that have been kill'd!

Bos. I mean, some living that have been examples, Not to confront nobility; and I

Am sensible of my honour.

Trav. His name is

Sir Ambrose

Thou 'rt a brave knight, and I commend thy judgment. Lam. Sir Marmaduke himself leans that way too.

Bos. Why did'st conceal it? come, the more the merrier;

But I could never see you there.

Trav. I hope,

Sir, we may live?

Bos. I'll tell you, gentlemen,

Cupid has given us all one livery;

I serve that lady too, you understand me,

But who shall carry her, the Fates determine;
I could be knighted too.

Lam. That would be no addition to your blood.
Bos. I think it would not; so my lord told me.
Thou know'st my lord, not the earl, my t'other
Cousin? there's a spark !-his predecessors
Have match'd into the blood; you understand:
He put me upon this lady, I proclaim

No hopes; pray let's together, gentlemen ;—
If she be wise,-I say no more; she shall not
Cost me a sigh, nor shall her love engage me
To draw a sword, I have vow'd that.

Trav. You did

But jest before.

Lam. 'Twere pity that one drop

Of your heroic blood should fall to the ground:

Who knows but all your cousin lords may die?
Bos. As I believe them not immortal, sir.
Lam. Then you are gulf of honour, swallow all ;—
May marry some queen yourself, and get princes,
To furnish the barren parts of christendom.

The following lyric is found in Shirley's masque, The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses (1659). It is said to have been greatly admired by Charles II. : Death's Final Conquest.

The glories of our blood and state

Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Scepter and crown

Must tumble down,

And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late

They stoop to fate,

And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,

Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now,

See, where the victor-victim bleeds:
Your heads must come

To the cold tomb,

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet, and blossomn in their dust.

Shirley's Dramatic Works were edited by Gifford and Dyce (5 vols. 1833); and there is a selection of five plays and one masque, with a prefatory memoir by the present writer (1888).

EDMUND GOSSE.

He

Minor Dramatists.-Thomas Nabbes (died about 1645) wrote poor tragedies, tolerable comedies, and rather good masques. Microcosmus and Spring's Glory are the best-known masques. Some of his miscellaneous poems are good. Mr Bullen published his works (except his prose continuation of Knolles's Historie of the Turkes) in his Old English Plays (1887). — Nathaniel Field (1587– 1633) was a well-known actor who began to write for the stage about 1610, and produced A Woman is a Weathercock, Amends for Ladies, &c. had the honour of being associated with Massinger in the composition of the Fatal Dowry.-Henry Glapthorne, at one time reputed 'one of the chiefest dramatic poets of the reign of Charles I.,' is but a minor dramatist though he is fluent and eloquent in style. Five of his plays are printed -Albertus Wallenstein, The Hollander, Argalus and Parthenia (his best effort, being part of the Arcadia dramatised), Wit is a Constable, The Lady's Priviledge. These and his poems were reprinted in two volumes in 1874.—Richard Brome (died about 1652) produced twenty-four popular plays, The Northern Lass, The Jovial Crew, The

Antipodes, The City Wit, The Court Beggar, &c., fifteen of which, believed to be written by himself independently, were reprinted in three vols. 1873. He had a share with Dekker in The Lancashire Witches. He was at one time servant to Ben Jonson. A skilful and successful craftsman, he had neither original power, poetic genius, nor literary culture.

Richard Brathwaite, minor poet, was probably born near Kendal in 1588; entered Oriel College, Oxford. in 1604; passed afterwards to Cambridge, and thence to London. In 1611 he published The Golden Fleece, a collection of poems; in 1614 three works, one of them a book of pastorals entitled The Poet's Willow, another The Scholler's Medley; and in 1615 the collection of satires, A Strappado for the Devil, in imitation of The Abuses Whipt and Stript of George Wither, his 'bonnie brother.' Other works are Nature's Embassie, A Solemne Joviall Disputation, The Smoaking Age, The English Gentleman (1630), The English Gentlewoman (1631), Art asleepe, Husband? (a collection of 'bolster lectures,' a seventeenth-century Mrs Caudle). After his first marriage Brathwaite lived the life of a country gentleman in Westmorland, and after his second in Yorkshire. He died near Richmond, 4th May 1673. Of his thirty books, the Barnabæ Itinerarium, or Barnabee's Journal, published in 1638 under the pseudonym 'Corymbæus,' has been often reprinted under the title of 'Drunken Barnaby's Four Journeys'-a facetious but rather aimless and tedious book in rhymed Latin and corresponding doggerel English verse. The best-known verse is :

In my progress travelling northward
Taking farewel of the southward,
To Banbury came I, O profane one!
Where I saw a puritane one
Hanging of his cat on Monday
For killing of a mouse on Sunday.

The Latin being:

In progressu boreali

Ut processi ab australi,

Veni Banbury, O profanum!

Ubi vidi Puritanum

Felem facientem furem,

Quod Sabbatho stravit murem.

The next verse is :

To Oxford came I, whose companion
Is Minerva, well Platonian :

From whose seat do stream most seemly
Aganippe, Hippocrene :

Each thing there's the muse's minion,
The horn at Queen's speaks pure Athenian.

The frequent allusions to strong ale, and to deep drinking and its joys and inconveniences, quite explain the epithet added in the reprints. In the seventh edition (by Haslewood, 1818) its authorship was first made known. See the life prefixed to the ninth edition (1820). An eleventh edition appeared in 1876.

Brathwaite's work was not all in the same vein. Of 'Drunken Barnaby' there is no trace in The English Gentleman and English Gentlewoman, collectively making a folio of three hundred pages, which is edifying, decorous, and 'high-toned' to a degree, and emulates Burton's Anatomy in the multitude and variety of its citations from Eusebius, Tully, Diogenes Laertius, Plutarch, Augustine, Seneca, St Basil, St Gregory of Nazianzus, Picus de Mirandula, and other authorities ancient or comparatively recent. Vanity, foppery, idleness, hot-headedness, and intemperance of any and every kind are wisely and wittily denounced. The corresponding defects in women are deprecated with equal warmth, and an even higher standard of perfect grace, courtesy, and purity established. And so careful is the author for happiness in wedded life that he warns the husband not to busy himself too much in dairying lest the wife be aggrieved at this encroachment on her province. Amorous poetryincluding Venus and Adonis, though without giving Shakespeare's name-is sternly denounced. In the chapter called 'A select choice and recommendation of sundry bookes of instruction to the perusall of our English gentlewomen,' the authors recommended are SS. Hierom, Augustine, Ambrose, Hilary, Gregory (on the virtues of women), also Plato, Seneca, Cicero, 'etc.'; with the following postscript, which most unhappily omits to specify the works without which the library of no contemporary English lady was complete :

But for as much as it is not given to most of you to bee Linguists, albeit many of their workes bee translated in your mother tongue, you may converse with sundry English Authors, whose excellent instructions will suffi ciently store you in all points, and if usefully applied conferre no small benefit to your understanding. I shall not need particularly to name them to you, because I doubt not but you have made choice of such faithfull Reteiners and vertuous Bosome-friends constantly to accompany you.

Hear 'Drunken Barnaby' on the dangers and disgraces of drinking:

Neither onely is restraint to be used in the choice and change of meats, but in the excessive use of drinkes. The reasons are two; the one is, it is an enemy to the knowledge of God; the other is this, it is held to be an enfeebler or impairer of the memorative parts; for you shall ever note that deepe drinkers have but shallow memories. Their common saying is, Let us drowne care in healths: which drowning of care makes them so forgetfull of themselves, as carried away with a brutish appetite, they onely intend their present delight, without reflexion to what is past, or due preparation to what may succeed. O restraine then this mighty assailant of Temperance! Bee ever your selves; but principally stand upon your guard, when occasion of company shall induce you; being the last we are to speake of.

This Company-keeping, how much it hath depraved the hopefullest and towardliest wits, daily experience can witnesse. For many wee see civilly affected and temper- * ately disposed, of themselves not subject to those violent or brain-sicke passions which the fumes of drinke beget;