of his (De Flores in the "Changeling") which, for effect at once tragical, probable, and poetical, surpasses anything I know of in the drama of domestic life. Middleton has the honor of having furnished part of the witch poetry to Macbeth, and of being conjoined with it also in the powerful and beautiful music of Locke. From Massinger, Ford, and the others (as far as I have met with them, and apart from the connexion of Massinger's name with Decker), I could find nothing to extract of a nature to suit this particular volume, and of equal height with its contents. It is proper to state, however, that I have only glanced through their works for though no easily daunted reader, I never read an entire play either of Ford or Massinger. They repel me with the conventional tendencies of their style, and their unnatural plots and characters. Ford, however, is elegant and thoughtful; and Massinger has passion, though (as far as I know) not in a generous shape. With these two writers began that prosaical part of the corruption of dramatic style (merging passionate language into conventional) which came to its head in Shirley. Donusa. What magic hath transform'd me from myself? My boasted freedom! what new fire burns up My scorch'd entrails!! what unknown desires Hialas. To this union Massinger's Renegado. The good of both the Church and Commonwealth Durham. To this unity, a mystery Of providence points out a greater blessing Ford's Perkin Warbeck. Both these passages are the first I came to, on dipping into their works. One might fancy one's self reading Cato or the Grecian Daughter, instead of men who had breathed the air of the days of Shakspeare. Massinger was joint author with Decker, of the play from which the scene of the lady and the angel is taken; but nobody who knows the style of the two men can doubt for a moment to which it belongs. I have, therefore, without hesitation assigned it according to the opinion expressed by Mr. Lamb. FLIGHT OF WITCHES. Scene, a Field. Enter HECATE, STADLIN, Hoppo, and other Witches. FIRESTONE in the background. Hec. The moon's a gallant; see how brisk she rides! Stad. Here's a rich evening, Hecate. Stad. There was a bat hung at my lips three times, The very screech-owl lights upon your shoulder, [Exeunt all the Witches except HECATE. Fire. They are all going a birding to-night: they talk of fowls i' th' air that fly by day; I am sure they'll be a company of foul sluts there to-night: if we have not mortality after 't, I'll be hanged, for they are able to putrefy it, to infect a whole region She spies me now. Hee. What, Firestone, our sweet son? Fire. A little sweeter than some of you, or a dunghill were too good for me. [Aside. Hec How much hast here? Fire. Nineteen, and all brave plump ones, besides six lizards and three serpentine eggs. Hec. Dear and sweet boy! what herbs hast thou? Fire. I have some marmartin and mandragon. Hec. Marmaritin and mandragora, thou wouldst say. Fire. Here's panax too-I thank thee-my pan aches I'm sure, with kneeling down to cut 'em. Hec. And selago, Hedge-hysop too; how near he goes my cuttings! Were they all cropt by moonlight? Fire. Every blade of 'em, Hie thee home with 'em : Or I'm a moon-calf, mother. Hec. Look well to the house to-night; I'm for aloft. Fire. Aloft, quoth you? I would you would break your neck once, that I might have all quickly! [Aside.]—Hark, hark, mother! they are above the steeple already, flying over your head with a noise of musicians. Hec. They're they indeed. Help, help me; I'm too late else. And Hoppo too, and Hellwain too; We lack but you, we lack but you; Come away, make up the count. Hec. I will but 'noint and then I mount. [A spirit like a cat descends [Voice above.] There's one comes down to fetch his dues, A kiss, a coll, a sip of blood; And why thou stay'st so long, I muse, Since the air 's so sweet and good? Hec. O, art thou come? what news, what news? Spirit. All goes still to our delight, Either come, or else refuse. Hec. Now I'm furnished for the flight. Fire. Hark, hark, the cat rings a brave treble in her own language! [Hec. going up.] Now I go, now I fly, Malkin my sweet spirit and I. O what a dainty pleasure 't is To ride in the air When the moon shines fair, And sing and dance, and toy and kiss! No, not the noise of water's breach, Or cannon's throat our height can reach. [Voice above.] No ring of bells, &c. Fire. Well, mother, I thank your kindness: you must be gambolling i' th' air, and leave me to walk here, like a fool and a mortal. MIDDLETON. THE CHRISTIAN LADY AND THE ANGEL. An ANGEL, in the guise of a Page, attends on DOROTHEA. Dor. My book and taper Ang. Here, most holy mistress. Dor. Thy voice sends forth such music, that I never Was ravish'd with a more celestial sound. Were every servant in the world like thee, So full of goodness, angels would come down Ang. No, my dear lady; I could weary stars, Therefore, my most lov'd mistress, do not bid Your boy, so serviceable, to get hence; For then you break his heart. Dor. Be nigh me still then. In golden letters down I'll This little, pretty body, when I, coming Ang. Proud am I, that my lady's modest eye Dor. Know who my mother was; but by yon palace, Dor. O blessed day! We all long to be there, but lose the way. [Exeunt DOROTHEA is executed; and the ANGEL visits THEOPHILUS, the Judge Theoph. (alone) that condemned her. This Christian slut was well, A pretty one; but let such horror follow The next I feed with torments, that when Rome Ang. Are you amazed, sir? So great a Roman spirit, and doth it tremble? Theoph. How cam'st thou in? to whom thy business? I had a mistress, late sent hence by you Upon a bloody errand; you entreated, That, when she came into that blessed garden |