the three plays which Gifford brings forward as his strongest arguments" The Virgin Martyr," "The Maid of Honour," and "The Renegado;" they are crowded not only in the plot, but in the dialogue, with Catholic sentiments. The first is exactly an old monkish legend, and we can fancy Massinger listening to an aged man, himself perhaps in persecution while he told the tale, how the holy Dorothea would live and die a Christian maiden; and how that she was guarded from ill at the hands of fiends and fiend-like men by a holy spirit, that, unknown to herself, was ever her protector; and how that all the tortures employed against her fell harmless; and how that her chastity was preserved to her by Our Lady's Grace; and how that after her painless death she saved the soul of him that had been her persecutor; and how that, with the crosslet of heavenly flowers, Theophilus overcame the wicked one, and with that small weapon fought his way to heaven; and the admiration of the saintly character would sink deep into his heart, and in after life be present to his mind, as he penned the beautiful tragedy bearing her name. None can mistake it for any thing but an old church legend.*

* We cannot refrain from giving a passage from the part of this play composed by Dekker. It must be its own apology.

Thy voice sends forth such music, that I never

Was ravished with a more celestial sound.

Were every servant in the world like thee,

So full of goodness, angels would come down
To dwell with us :-Thy name is Angelo,
And like that name thou art; get thee to rest.
Thy youth with too much watching is opprest.

ANG. No, my dear lady, I could weary stars,
And force the wakeful moon to lose her eyes
By my late watching; but to wait on you,
When at your prayers you kneel before the altar,
Methinks I'm singing with some choir in heaven,
So blest I hold me in thy company :

Therefore, my much-loved mistress, do not bid
Your boy, so serviceable, to get hence,

For then you break my heart.

DOR.

Be near me still, then;

In golden letters I'll set down that day
Which gave thee to me. Little did I think
To meet such words of comfort in thyself,
This little, pretty body; when I, coming
Forth of the temple, heard my beggar-boy,

"The Maid of Honour," again, the second that Gifford quotes, is a singularly interesting play, not only on account of its poetical merit, but because it very much unfolds the political feelings of our author, and throws additional light upon his religious sentiments. A brief sketch of the play will not be amiss.

It opens with a court-scene: by a singular boldness, the poet dares to represent the king (James) and his minion Buckingham, under the names of Roberto and Fulgentio. An ambassador appears, to claim assistance from Roberto, (King of Sicily,) in aid of the duke of Urbin, his ally, who, making war upon the Duchess of Sienna to compel her to marry him, has been by her general overcome, and is now besieged in the town of Sienna. Roberto refuses aid; Bertoldo, a natural son of the late king, eager for war, and heedless of justice or injustice, pleads earnestly with his brother, but in vain, in a remonstrance which the poet evidently means to apply to his own country, under the name of Sicily he says some things not altogether uninteresting at the present time.

"Consider

Where your command lies: 'tis not, Sir, in France,

Spain, Germany, Portugal, but in Sicily;

An island, Sir. Here are no mines of gold

Or silver to enrich you; no worm spins

Silk in her womb, to make distinction
Between you and a peasant in your habits;
No fish lives near our shores, whose blood can dye
Scarlet or purple; all that we possess,
With beasts we have in common: nature did
Design us to be warriors, and to break through
Our ring, the sea, by which we are environed;
And we by nature must fetch in what is wanting
Or precious to us. Add to this, we are
A populous nation, and increase so fast
That if we by our providence are not sent
Abroad in colonies, or fall by the sword,
Not Sicily, though now it were more fruitful

Than when 'twas styled the Granary of great Rome,

Can yield our numerous fry bread; WE MUST STARVE,

OR EAT UP ONE ANOTHER."

He is unable to move the king, but obtains leave to set out himself, with others as volunteers, to the assistance of the duke.

My sweet-faced, godly beggar-boy, crave an alms,

Which with glad hand I gave, with lucky hand!"

Before he

Thus we see, that although to Dekker are owing all the disgraceful scenes of obscenity in this play, upon occasion he can write most beautifully.

goes, however, he obtains an interview with Camiola, who steadily, though gently, rejects his suit. At last, she replies—

"Sir, excuse me ;

One aërie with proportion ne'er discloses*
The eagle and the wren :-tissue and friese
In the same garment, monstrous! But suppose
That what's in you excessive were diminished,
And my desert supplied, the stronger bar,
Religion, stops our entrance; you are, sir,
A Knight of Malta, by your order bound

To a single life; you cannot marry me;

And I assure myself you are too noble

To seek me, though my frailty should consent,

In a base path."

In fine, she rejects the young knight for conscience' sake, but as soon as he is gone her fondness for him returns.

but are

"How soon my sun is set, he being absent,
Never to rise again! What a fierce battle
Is fought between my passions! methinks
We should have kissed at parting."

The last sentence tells the real state of her mind. As soon as the knight of Malta has set sail, Fulgentio, with the aid of the king, proceeds to carry out designs he has formed upon Camiola; he is about to force his way into the house before the lady has received him, but is prevented by Adorni, a humble lover of Camiola's, but who has not courage to make known his passion. They draw upon one another, interrupted by Camiola, who, after holding some conversation with the minion, rejects his suit, and is grossly insulted by him. Meanwhile, Bertoldo is, with his companions, beaten by the general of the duchess, and taken prisoner; Gonzaga, who is himself a senior knight of Malta, dismisses him the order for breaking of his vow—that he would always assist ladies in distress; and then orders him to prison, having fixed his ransom at an enormously high sum. has now obliged Fulgentio, who seeks to escape, to fight with him, and has obtained from him, in writing, a denial of his former calumnies. This he hastens to present to Camiola; she is displeased, and seems somewhat ungrateful; but the following speech does indeed show the mens sibi conscia recti :

"Which of my favours,

I might say bounties, hath begot and nourished

* Disclose, to hatch.

Adorni

This more than rude presumption? Since you had
An itch to try your desperate valour, wherefore
Went you not to the war? couldst thou suppose
My innocence could ever fall so low

As to have need of thy rash sword to guard it
Against malicious slander? Oh! how much
Those ladies are deceived and cheated, when
The clearness and integrity of their actions
Do not defend themselves, and stand secure
On their own bases! Such as in a colour
Of seeming service give protection to them,
Betray their own strengths. Malice scorned puts out
Itself; but argued, gives a kind of credit

To a false accusation. In this, this your

Most memorable service, you believed

You did me right; but you have wronged me more
In your defence of my undoubted honour

Than false Fulgentio could."

Camiola next hears of the captivity of Bertoldo, and that his royal brother refuses to pay his ransom. Her love for him has been continually increasing since his departure, and she determines herself to release him, and to recall him as her husband. To perform this service, she chooses the faithful Adorni, whom she sends to release his rival, and attend him safely to her. Poor Adorni, who is throughout the most amiable character, sets out on this errand, much as in the "Morte d'Arthur," Sir Tristrem is sent to bring his ladye-love, the lady Isolde, to be bride to his own uncle, the King of Cornwall. Bertoldo is represented alone in his dungeon reading Seneca, and soliloquising thus:

"'Tis here determined, (great examples, armed
With arguments, produced to make it good,)
That neither tyrants, nor the wrested laws,

The people's frantic rage, sad exile, want,
Nor that which I endure, captivity,

Can do a wise man any injury.

Thus Seneca, when he wrote it, thought. But then

Felicity courted him; his wealth exceeding

A private man's; happy in the embraces

Of his chaste wife Paulina; his house full
Of children, clients, servants, flattering friends,
Soothing his lip-positions; and created
Prince of the senate, by the general voice,
At his new pupil's suffrage: then, no doubt,
He held, and did believe this. But no sooner
The prince's frowns and jealousies had thrown him
Out of security's lap; and a centurion

Had offered him what choice of death he pleased,

But told him, die he must; when straight the armour
Of his so boasted fortitude fell off,

Complaining of his frailty."

He throws himself on the ground, and by a not very probable occurrence, Adorni enters, and takes off his irons without his knowledge. The mad joy of Bertoldo on hearing he is free, is excellent, and serves well to set off his conduct afterwards; he then swears to a contract, pledging himself to marry Camiola, with the most fervent expressions of gratitude; and with a fine speech of Adorni when left alone, the scene closes.

"Whether a poniard or a halter be

The nearest way to hell, (for I must thither,

When I have killed myself,) is somewhat doubtful.
This Roman resolution of self-slaughter

Will not hold water at the high tribunal,

When it comes to be argued; my good genius
Prompts me to this consideration. He,
That kills himself to avoid misery, fears it,
And, at the best, shows but a bastard valour.
This life's a fort committed to my trust,
Which I must not yield up till it be forced :
Nor will I. He's not valiant that dares die,
But he that boldly bears calamity."

Bertoldo, now released, is sent for by Aurelia, the Duchess of Sienna, and immediately upon her claiming his affections, transfers them to her with a lightness only equalled by the fervency of the gratitude to Camiola he had formerly expressed to Adorni. Fulgentio prevails upon the king to come with him, and second his suit; but Roberto, when Camiola complains of the favourite's conduct, dismisses him from the presence. Adorni returns to Camiola with the news of her lover's treachery. Bertoldo and Aurelia are arrived in Palermo, and are this day to be made man and wife; Camiola enters the palace where Roberto is to give away the bride, and shows the paper signed by Bertoldo and given to Adorni. The king, at the sight of this, and hearing the ingratitude of his brother, orders him to wed Camiola, and Aurelia declares all the affection she formerly felt for him departed. The humbled knight is all submission again to the injured Camiola ; she is reconciled, and announces that that day she will be wedded. The next minute a monk appears, to whom she has taken the vows of chastity, and claims her as the bride of heaven; and Bertoldo resumes his white cross.