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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:
Vinum sit appositum morientis ori;
Ut dicant cum venerint angelorum chori
"Deus sit propitius huic potatori."
Poculis accenditur animi lucerna :
Cor imbutum nectare volat ad superna.
Miki sapit dulcius vinum in taberna
Quam quod aqua miscuit prœsulis pincerna.
Suum cuique proprium dat natura munus.
Ego nunquam potui scribere jejunus :
Me jejunum vincere posset puer unus
Sitim et jejunium odi tanquam funus.
Tales versus facio quale vinum bibo;
Non possum scibere, nisi sumpto cibo.
Nihil valet penitus quod jejunus cribo,
Nasonem post calices facile præibo.
Mihi nunquam spiritus prophetiæ datur,
Nisi cum fuerit venter bene satur,
Cum in arce cerebri Bacchus dominatur
In me Phabus irruit ac miranda fatur.
Imitated.

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
Triste ambos tenet, et dolor.

Luctus causa eadem, culpa eadem. Deus
Pleno non dederat loqui

Ore; at lingua minus congrua gutturi,
Et tornata male, invidet
Nequa verba sonent sesquipedalia.

Tum, par flebile turturum,

Alterno incipiunt cum gemitu. B." Scelus
Quid feci in proprium Larem,

Ut me tu, Juvenum sancte Pater, vetes
Pransuris benedicere !"

R. "Sprevisti quoque me; muneris at memor
Flamen fidus eram tibi.”

B." At quamvis mihi vox barbara Vandalum,
Et raucum sonuit Gothum :"

R." Quamvis et statua sim taciturnior,
Et multum timeo loqui ;"

B. "Quamvis ora magis cardine dissona
"A quo janua vertitur :"

R." Quamvis me superat ventus et improbus,
Per rimam tenuem strepens:"
B." Quamvis me supcrant Indica tympana,
Incus pulsave malleo :"

R."Quamvis me superat pullus avis querens,
Si nido genetrix abest :'

B. "Non flavens meruit dedecus hoc coma, Aut gressus pedis impares:"

R. "Nec nos hoc tulimus jure, quia in genis
Nostris gratia non nitet:"
B." At me Pythagoras seliget ut suum,
Eternumque silens bibam
Doctrinam ex liquido fonte Matheseos :"
R." At nobis Lyra vox erit,

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
Of words they strove in vain ;
Unfitted to its seat, and coarsely hung,

Ill could their faultering tongue
Articulate the long-resounding line."
Then with alternate whine,

As moan two turtle-doves, they mourn: B. "What sin

Against these walls, O Dean,

Is mine, that me thus sternly thy behest
Forbids to bless the feast ?"

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
Voce pia tenet allocuta?

"At o beatis edibus exiens
Dilecte, sis nostri merito memor,
Ædes relicturus togamque et
Plena meis loca disciplinis.
"Sis semper olim, qualis es, artium
Sciens bonarum! sit pictas tibi,
Sit musa cordi! Teque sive

Patribus annumerat Senatus ; "Sive otiosus fallis, idoneus Sponsa et fideli conjugio," Tuus "Virtute (dices) veritate

Granta, fui studiisque totus !'"
(Cooke, Regal. Coll. Lit. Gr. Prof.)
Imitated.

O may the Muse of sprightliest vein,
Still found in gay Good-humour's train,
Thy parting steps attend!

Dear Perceval! beloved name!
Whom all their joy, their pride proclaim,
The scholar and the friend!

What elegance, what faith, are thine!
What guileless guiltless jokes combine
To speak thy candid mind!

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.

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Ad Percevallum e Granta exiturum,
A. D. 1783.

Oltioris quæ comes ingeni
Et Musa blandis apta teporibus,
Te dulcis ornet, Percevalle,

Delicias decus et tuorum!

Proh! quanta morum gratia! quæ fides
Candorque, et expers fraude protervitas ;
Majorque quæ conspectiorque
Ingenuo venit ore virtus!

When throned on the ingenuous mein,
More bright and more refined!
Hail! youth, most worthy to engage
The lessons of th' Athenian page,

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Of Athen's self the love;

Whom Learning's venerable host
Their gentlest noblest son might boast
In Academic Grove!

Thee Granta's genius tends with care,
And offer'd vows, and mother's prayer,
Pursue thy young career.
Am I deceived? Or does she stay
Thy lingering foot with fond delay,
And crave thy filial ear?

"O though thou quitt'st this happy spot, Be not my fostering love forgot,

Dearest of births and best.
These sacred walls left far behind
That robe, this discipline resigned-
O bear them in thy breast.
"Still, as thou art, for ever be
The friend of Science! still to thee

Thy God, the Muse, be dear!
And whether Fate to thee assign
A seat where England's statesmen shine
In proud ambition's sphere;

"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

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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,
he dares not.-

Patience, patience! if there be such a virtue,
I want it, Heaven; yet keep it a little longer,
It were a sin to have it; such an injury
Deserves a wrath next to your own.

sister!

My

It has thrown wild-fire in my brain, Lorenzo,
A thousand Furies revel in my skull.
Has he not sins enough in's court to damn
him,

But my roof must be guilty of new lusts,
And none but Amidea? these the honours
His presence brings our house!

Lor. Temper your rage.

Sci. Are all the brothels rifled? no quaint
piece

Left him in Florence, that will meet his hot
And valiant luxury, that we are came to
Supply his blood out of our families?
Diseases gnaw his title off!
Lor. My lord-

Sci. He is no prince of mine; he forfeited
His greatness that black minute he first gave
Consent to my dishonour.

Lor. Then I'm sorry

Sci. Why should you be sorry, sir?
You say it is my sister he would strumpet,
Mine! Amidea! 'tis a wound you feel not;
But it strikes through and through the poor
Sciarrha.

I do not think but all the ashes of
My ancestors do swell in their dark urns,
At this report of Amidea's shame :

It is their cause, as well as mine; and should
Heaven suffer the duke's sin to pass unpu
nish'd,

Their dust must of necessity conspire
To make an earthquake in the temple.

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!
Sci. I am resolv'd; by all that's blest, he
dies.

Return my willingness to be his pander,
My sister's readiness to meet his dalliance;
His promises have bought our shame :-he

dies;

The roof he would dishonour with his lust
Shall be his tomb ;-bid him be confident;

Conduct him, good Lorenzo, I'll dispose
My house for this great scene of death.

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,
Sci. Let me kiss thee,
Thou hast my soul; I did but try your vir-

tues.

Let him, let him! he comes to be our guest;
'Tis truth, the duke does love thee, viciously,
This night he means to revel at our house,-
The Tarquin shall be entertain'd; he shall.

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
heaven.

Let not fond men hereafter commend what
They most admire, by fetching from the stars,
Or flowers, their glory of similitude,
But from thyself the rule to know all beauty;
And he that shall arrive at so much baldness,
To say his mistress' eyes, or voice, or breath,
Are half so bright, so clear, so sweet as thine,
Hath told the world enough of miracle.
These are the duke's own raptures, Amidea;
His own poetic flames; an argument
He loves my sister.

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
The amorous lords, and change court breath;
sing; lose

Rehearse their sprightly bed-scenes, and
Belief of other heaven; tell wanton dreams,

boast, which

Hath most idolaters; accuse all facos
That trust to the simplicity of nature,
Talk witty blasphemy,
Discourse their gaudy wardrobes, plot new
pride,

Jest upon courtiers' legs, laugh at the wag-
ging

Of their own feathers, and a thousand more
Delights, which private ladies never think of.
But above all, and wherein thou shalt make
All other beauties envy thee, the duke,

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