The mind's taper burns bright, the heart springs to the muses, When nectar its magical virtue infuses; To me far more grateful the tavern's pure juices, Than what my Lord's butler with water reduces. Appropriate the stamp which from nature each bore; No stanzas when hungry and parched do I pour; Beyond me, if famished, the schoolboy may soar, And hunger and thirst like the grave I abhor. The strains I indite mate the wine in my glass; Not a verse I can scrawl when I'm fasting, alas ! Or, if I attempt it, I find I'm an ass; Though Naso himself in my cups I surpass. The poet's fine phrenzy to feel is not mine, Till from table I rise with my skin full of wine ; When my brain owns the influence of Bacchus divine, Then-then comes the glow-then Apollo ! I'm thine! X. HORE CANTABRIGIENSES. No II. I. LINES by WALTER DE MAPES, Archdeacon of Oxford, and the Anacreon of England. Mihi est propositum in taberna mori: May my life in a tavern fleet joyous away, With a flask at my lips as my spirits decay; That angels descending to fetch me, may say, "Heaven's blessing on him who thus mois tens his clay." II. VERSES, by a Young Man of Trinity College, Cambridge, upon being denied by the Dean (along with another scholar) the office of reading grace, on account of the lack of personal comeliness and other qua-` lifications, though they eventually proved, respectively, the Senior Medallist and Scnior Wrangler of their year. Una ibant Juvenes duo Ripam ad flumineam forte; silentium Luctus causa eadem, culpa eadem. Deus Ore; at lingua minus congrua gutturi, Tum, par flebile turturum, Alterno incipiunt cum gemitu. B." Scelus Ut me tu, Juvenum sancte Pater, vetes R. "Sprevisti quoque me; muneris at memor B." At quamvis mihi vox barbara Vandalum, R." Quamvis et statua sim taciturnior, B. "Quamvis ora magis cardine dissona R." Quamvis me superat ventus et improbus, R."Quamvis me superat pullus avis querens, B. "Non flavens meruit dedecus hoc coma, Aut gressus pedis impares:" R. "Nec nos hoc tulimus jure, quia in genis Dum corvi veluti grex alius strepunt." Imitated. Down to the river's side, Silent and sad of heart, went Gownsmen twain ; In cause of grief they vied, And vied in crime: to pour the flowing strain Ill could their faultering tongue As moan two turtle-doves, they mourn: B. "What sin Against these walls, O Dean, Is mine, that me thus sternly thy behest R. "Me, too, thou'st spurn'd; yet, mind ful of my cue, To thee thy priest was true." B. "But though my struggling throat's hoarse tones, alas! Vandal and Goth surpass ;" R." Still as a statue, though I seldom speak, And shriek whene'er I speak ;" B. "Though harsher than the hinge my accents grate, R. " B. R. O digne Tu, qui Socraticus puer Ires, Athena quem legerent suum; Omnisque jactaret repostum Populcis Academus umbris! En ipsa Te quam Granta colit deam Votisque et alma prosequitur prece! · Fallorne ? vel te jam morantem "At o beatis edibus exiens Patribus annumerat Senatus ; "Sive otiosus fallis, idoneus Sponsa et fideli conjugio," Tuus "Virtute (dices) veritate Granta, fui studiisque totus !'" O may the Muse of sprightliest vein, Dear Perceval! beloved name! What elegance, what faith, are thine! Which bears the rusted gate;" Though forced through slender chink, What virtue Goddess ever seen, the whistling wind My thin lisp leaves behind;" Though Indian gongs, or hammer'd stithy, far My voice exceeds in jar;" Though me excels the callow chirping brood, Whose dam's abroad for food;" B. " My yellow locks deserved not such a fate, Nor such my halting gait ;" R." Nor this of right my meed, for that my face Is reft of youth's soft grace." B. "But me the Samian sage his son shall deem ; And, mute for aye, the stream Deep from thy fount, Mathesis, will I drain: R. "For me the lyre's sweet strain Shall speak, while all beside like ravens hoarse shall scream.' III. Ad Percevallum e Granta exiturum, Oltioris quæ comes ingeni Delicias decus et tuorum! Proh! quanta morum gratia! quæ fides When throned on the ingenuous mein, Of Athen's self the love; Whom Learning's venerable host Thee Granta's genius tends with care, "O though thou quitt'st this happy spot, Be not my fostering love forgot, Dearest of births and best. Thy God, the Muse, be dear! "Or favouring stars thy footsteps guide To holier joys-the loved fireside, The wife and prattling line; 'Granta (thou❜lt say), to thee in truth, And studious lore, I gave my youthIn head in heart I'm thine."" PRIDE AND VANITY. MR EDITOR, HAVING lately heard a young lady, who is one of your readers, say, that she thought it very difficult to distinguish between Pride and Vanity," I have sent you this hasty sketch, rather common place perhaps, which may serve in some measure to explain the difference between these two prevailing points of character, should you think it worthy of a place in Blackwood's Magazine. Although Pride and Vanity differ in various respects and degrees, yet certainly it often requires some experience and tact to distinguish between the one and the other. However, the general observation appears to be a good one," that Pride is founded on an estimable action, whereas Vanity may be founded on an action, not only not estimable, but entirely useless, and even highly culpable.” be as much, if not more highly gratified than the beauty-but her feeling. would be vanity. 3d, A man of the world who seeks gratification (and courts applause) from drinking six bottles of claret at a sitting, or seducing his friends' wife or daughter, may be vain; he cannot be proud of such actions. But a man who subjects himself to the greatest deprivations to promote the interests of his country, or risks his life to preserve the family of his friend from disgrace and ruin, may justly be proud of his conduct. 4th, Were Mr Hogg, when in company with Mr ed as the undoubted author of the to be complimentTales of my Landlord, and were he seemingly to swallow the compliment, his acquiescence would proceed from vanity, while Mr reserve, feel proud of the praise, especiwould, with all his ally if it came from a judicious critic. But, I am sorry to remark, that there are people whose vanity leads them a step still farther, and who unblushingly endeavour to palm upon their friends and neighbours literary productions as their own, from which they have no merit, and in which they have, indeed, had no hand, other than the employment of their right hand, in writing out a fair copy. This is vanity combined with lying and stealingbut, like murder, seldom escapes detection, and from its odious meanness and turpitude, deserves (next to boasting of favours from the fair sex) the most severe reprobation. I could be more pointed and particular, but have no doubt that the remark as it stands will find a ready application. Another general distinction between Pride and Vanity is this, "that the proud man rests satisfied with the approbation of his own mind, whereas the rain man eagerly courts gratification from the applause of others,"-all which I shall endeavour to exemplify in a manner as practicable as possible. 1st, Should an Astronomer, after a long life spent in severe study, discover a new constellation, he might fairly be proud of his success, though his discovery should not procure him the meed of public applause. Were a votary of that exhilarating sport called coursing, to find a hare more readily than his brother sportsmen in the field, and receive their praise for his adroitness, he would probably be as much gratified by the discovery of mawkin, as the Astronomer would be by the discovery of the constellation-going truisms may possibly be of some but as there is nothing very estimable, farther than has reference to a tureen of soup, in finding a hare, the sportsman's feeling would be vanity. 2d, Were a beautiful and accomplished woman to overhear the wellmerited praise of her own charms from the lips of an amiable and sensible man, she might, and probably would be proud of the tribute. Were an ugly, vulgar woman, to overhear her fancied perfections praised by a fool, or a puppy, she would, I imagine, VOL. IV. There are doubtless many other shades of difference between pride and vanity, which it does not suit my present purpose to exhibit; but the fore use to shew, at least in part, wherein the distinction rests, and may serve as a sort of familiar illustration to my fair young friend, and also to others, whose practice in such matters may prevail over their theory. little pretence will not be considered It is hoped that this exposition of with an eye of scorn, because, without deavour has been made to render it as entering into nice distinctions, an enplain as I A. B. C. ANALYTICAL ESSAYS ON THE EARLY ENGLISH DRAMATISTS. No VI. The Traitor.-SHIRLEY.* "SHIRLEY," says Mr Lambe in his Specimens of the Early English Dramatic Poets, "claims a place among the worthies of this period, not so much for any transcendent genius in himself, as that he was the last of a great race; all of whom spoke nearly the same language, and had a set of moral feelings and notions in common. A new language, and quite a new turn of tragic and comic interest came in with the restoration." It is true, that Shirley is excelled by several of his contemporaries in depth of passion, which is the soul of tragedy; but we cannot grant that he is not entitled, on his own peculiar merits, to take his seat among those immortals. We shall have an opportunity to speak at length of his genius, when Mr Gifford's edition of his plays appears; when the world, now little acquainted with their multifarious beauties, will We are not acquainted with any particulars of Shirley's life that are not mentioned in the following passage from "Ellis's Specimens," &c. If any thing farther can be brought to light, it will not escape the research of Mr Gifford. "James Shirley was born in London about 1594, educated at Merchant Taylor's Schools, entered at St John's College, Oxford, and afterwards, having taken no degree, removed to Catharine Hall, Cambridge, (Vid. Bancroft's Epigrams, 4to, 1639, B. I. Ep. 13.) He successively be came an English divine, a Popish schoolmaster, and a deservedly celebrated writer of plays, (of which he published 39), from 1629 to 1660. He was patronised by William Duke of Newcastle, (whom he assisted, according to Wood, in the composition of his plays, as well as Ogilby, by notes for his translation), and followed this his patron's fortunes in the wars, till the decline of the royal cause, when he retired obscurely to London. Here he was countenanced by his learned friend T. Stanley, Esq., and during the suppression of the theatres, followed his old trade of school teaching, in which he educated many eminent men. He died in 1660, immediately after the great fire of London, and was interred in the same grave with his second wife, who died the same day, and was supposed, as well as Shirley, to have owed her death to the fright occasioned by that calamity. Besides his plays, he published a volume of poems, 1646, 12mo." at once acknowledge that the revival of this great worthy was a work fitting the most acute, accurate, judicious, and learned of the critics and commentators on our dramatic literature. That our readers may be enabled to judge of the value of those treasures which Mr Gifford is about to restore from oblivion, we shall give them an analysis of the tragedy of "The Traitor," and some of its finest passages. It is for this purpose that we deviate from that chronological order which we have hitherto followed; and perhaps our readers will, independently of this, be pleased to meet with specimens of a tragedy more regular in its design, and more uniformly elegant in the execution, than the original but imperfect dramas of Marlow and Web ster. We understand too, that this tragedy is soon to be brought out, with alterations, on the stage of Coknown taste, judgment and genius of vent Garden; and from the wellthe gentleman (Mr Shiel), to whom these alterations are, we hear, intrusted, there can be no doubt that it will be successful. It is called "The Traitor," because Lorenzo, the ruling character, kinsman and favourite of Alexander Duke of Florence, plots the overthrow of his Prince and benefactor. In the second scene, which is written with great eloquence and animation, and moreover, truly dramatic, the Duke, who has received letters unveiling the treachery of Lorenzo, taxes him with his guilt. That arch-traitor repels the charge with crafty indignation, and convinces his credulous kinsman of his innocence. The following lines will serve to show the character of the dialogue: Lor. This, o' the sudden, Sir; I must owe the title of a Traitor To your high favours; envy first conspir'd, And malice now accuses: but what story Mention'd his name, that had his prince's bosom, Without the people's hate? 'tis sin enough, In some men, to be great; the throng of Escaped from this peril, Lorenzo undertakes to forward the designs of the Duke on Amidea, that her brother Sciarrha, a man fierce and jealous of his family's honour, may be thus instigated to murder the seducer. The second act, accordingly, opens with a conversation between Lorenzo and Sciarrha, in which the latter, when informed of the dishonour me ditated against his sister, is worked up by the artifices of the "Traitor" into furious passion. Sci. My sister! Though he be the duke, Patience, patience! if there be such a virtue, sister! My It has thrown wild-fire in my brain, Lorenzo, But my roof must be guilty of new lusts, Lor. Temper your rage. Sci. Are all the brothels rifled? no quaint Left him in Florence, that will meet his hot Sci. He is no prince of mine; he forfeited Lor. Then I'm sorry Sci. Why should you be sorry, sir? I do not think but all the ashes of It is their cause, as well as mine; and should Their dust must of necessity conspire Lorenzo finding Sciarrha in this key, admits him to his confidenceinforms him of his design to destroy Alexander-and before they part, Sciarrha vows to put that prince to death, in revenge for his insult to Amidea. Lor. From horrid rape-las, Amidea! Return my willingness to be his pander, dies; The roof he would dishonour with his lust Conduct him, good Lorenzo, I'll dispose In pursuance of this scheme, Sciarrha, in his first interview with his sister Amidea, pretends to her that he wishes her to submit to the Duke's embraces, as the best means of the advancement of the family. The lady listens with indignation to the vile proposal, and after one of those fine, animated, dignified altercations, of which there are so many, similar in subject and sentiment, in the old dramatists, Sciarrha, proud of his sister's virtue, exclaims My excellent, chaste sister.-Florio, tues. Let him, let him! he comes to be our guest; We cannot forbear quoting part of this fine scene. As Amidea approaches, Sciarrha says to her brother Florio, Is she not fair, Exceeding beautiful, and tempting, Florio? Look on her well, methinks I could turn poet, And make her a more excellent piece than Let not fond men hereafter commend what He then begins his temptation in a strain of warmth and vigour, characteristic of the safe fearlessness of the energetic minds of old. Sci. What do great ladies do at court, I pray? Enjoy the pleasures of the world, dance, kiss Rehearse their sprightly bed-scenes, and boast, which Hath most idolaters; accuse all facos Jest upon courtiers' legs, laugh at the wag- Of their own feathers, and a thousand more |