centuries, were composed of high-spirited and haughty warriors, who were almost equals, and would admit of no greater degrees of subor• dination than they chose themselves, and thought neceffary to the fuccess of their enterprizes. Their conquests, we may be certain, did not abate their haughtiness, or make them more submissive to their leaders. For their own honour, after their fettlement, they allowed those leaders to assume the name of Kings, and gave them a large proportion of the conquered lands to fupport their dignity; but they itill recained in their own hands the power of making laws, imposing taxes, and determining all national questions of importance, in their national assemblies, as their ancestors had done in their native seats on the continent. Of these inestimable privileges they continued to be infinitely jealous, and to defend them with the most undaunted resolution, and it is to this political jealousy and resolation of our remote ancestors, that we are indebted for our present free and legal form of government.' 2. The martial spirit of the Danes, and the causes and proper. ties of that spirit, together with the fondness of that pation for a violent death, are well described by Dr. Henry. Among other éircumstances he hath not forgotten the attention and respect that were fewn to the fair fex; an amiable peculiarity in the character of the northern nations, which has been beautifully displayed, and well accounted for, by Mons. Mallet, in che Introduction to his History of Denmark.

Whatever farther defects might be pointed out in the present performance, it must be acknowledged that, upon the whole, it pofleffes considerable merit. The Author, indeed, is nog diftinguished by elevation of genius, by philosophical penetra. tion, or by a capacity of rising to the highest fpecies of historical composition; but he possesses a great share of good sense, and his diligence and labour muft have been uncommonly great. He refers always to his authorities. His style, if not elegant, or remarkably nervous, is clear, and for the moft part, though not universally, correct. As a collection of facts and materials, Dr. Henry's History of Great Britain cannot but be peculiarly useful. It is a work which every genileman would wish to place in his library, that he may be able to consult it on proper occafions.

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ART. IX. Serbona; a Tragedy. As it is performed at the Theatre,

Royal in Drury-Lane. 8vo. 1$. 6 d. Becket. 17,74.
WOLONEL Dow,' (says the Editor's advertisement) when

he failed for India, left the following tragedy in the poffeflion of Mr. Garrick. The event has hewn, that the reputation of an absent Author could not have been trusted in safer hands.'—We subscribe to this grateful declaration; and we have nb objection to the several acknowledgments which make up the reit of this advertisement. We are only forry that in the next edition, the Reviewers will not be found in the list of benefactors to this poetical bantling, who seems, by the abfence of its natural parent, to demand peculiar indulgence. The only circumstance that renders this wonecessary, is the prudent choice of a guardian. There are many cases in wbich we should prefer a Lord Chancellor, in the management of our affairs, to any unexperienced and injudicious relations. There is hardly any theatrical cafe in which we should not rather chule to have our reputation in the hands of Mr. Garrick, than even in our own. It is our full purpose therefore, when we can, either separately or altogether, produce a play, to transport ourselves, to Ireland at least, and to leave it to the generosity and management of Mr. Garrick.

In sober truth, and without a joke, we do not remember any play so striking and interesting in the representation, and yet lo cold, fo unaffe&ting in the perusal, as the present tragedy. Few of our Readers, we suppose, can be unacquainted with the story of it, as it has been given at large in the news-papers. The scene is in Egypt; and the principal persons who interest us by their distress, are an aged dethroned King; an amiable and excellent daughter and a noble-spirited heroic youth, nephew to the old King, and the lawful heir to the throne. Colonel Dow has well conducted the business of the play, and varied the situations of his characters with great art: but when they are got into the most affecting of those situations, he leaves us to Mr. Garrick; who indeed makes the most of our imaginations, and manages matters so, that we attribute to the play what is rather due to the scenes. We cannot but think that if the actors were made to speak the real language of the passions which they talk about, the several transactions in the Catacombs would be among the most affecting that were ever exhibited on any stage.

The Reader will judge of the Author's talents * by the fol, lowing quotation:

A CiT V.

Enter SETHONA, difra&edly.
SETHONA. Ofris thunders! yet the tyrant lives,

Whilft Seraphis and Menes are no more!
O that my spirit, like that transient beam,

Would take its course upon the veering winds.
AMASIS, Why com't thou thus, Sethöna? Hence, retire !
Seth. (not observing bim.) It is the melancholy bird of night,

Perch'd on that mould'ring battlement, that screams
Her boding notes' of 'woe: Ye hideous forms,

That dimly rise upon the night, and float See also the account of the jully-admired Zingis, a tragedy, by fame Author, Review, vol. xl. p. so.

, . '

In the wild tempeft of the troubled air !
Roll not your mournful voices on the storin.
Away! Your awful gestures are in vain

All-all my fears are vanquish'a by my woes,
AMA. She muft not tarry here!

What groan was that ?
In that dark cell I heard the found of chains.

This is my way! that taper shall direct
My fteps. Ye awful spirits of my tace,
I come to join you in your dark repose !

(gring AMA. Sethona, stop. Let me convey thee hence.

Why dost thou gaze upon the vaulted roof,
As if some god descended; or the heav'ns

Were opend to thy views

The cloud is broke!
Behold him mounted on the cherub's wing!
His white beard Atreams in air! The red drops fall
Upon me! He was old! Hard vias the heart,

And ruthless was the hand!.

She heeds me not !
Excess of grief has almost quench'd the light

of realon in her mind. Seth.

Was ever love
Like mine? Pále as the watry cloud his face!
Cold, cold his breast, and frient'is his tongue !

His tuby lips ! Séthona, like the bee;
:. Sadkld honey from the rose ! I knew not then

*** He wasimy brother! AMAT

How her frenzy buragai, ,
It runs on Menes.t;

When his bright eyes rolid,
I look'd not at the fun; and when he spoke
My fingers dropt the lyre. This wound was death,
"It bleeds! it bleeds! This brealt was void of guilt.
Why do I weep? To night I am the bride,
The bride of Amasis. These wedding robes

Will prove my winding theet.

Remorse begins
To fasten on my heart. I feel, I feel,
That guilt, like the envenom'd scorpio
Jts own's death's sting. Her frenzy seems to add
New lustre to her beauty; and those eyes
Were not so piercing, when the milder beams
Of wisdom temper'd their resistless pow'r:
And yet the form alone remains. The light
Is gone, and, like the dim orb of the moon,

She labours in eclipse.

Hark! Who art thou?
Give me thy hand.

What would'At thou with my hand
SETH, Away, away! walh out these purple itains !

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too late.



Too late! who murder'd them: 7
AMA . Ha! how the probes my heart, where moft inflam'd?
SETH. Why do I tarry here? Let me behold
Their bleeding wounds

AMA: (ftopping ber.) It must not, fhall not be!
SÉTH. Tyrant away! My Sorrows cure themselves,

And vanquish'a nature finds repose in death.
The fountain of my tears, is dry, my eyes
Burn with the raging fever of my brain.
'Tis he! 'tis Menes! Oh, I follow thee!
Roll'd in that Madowy mantle, chou shalt bear
Sethona from her woes.

(rusoes out. We think this scene is one of the most interesting in the play, and we have given it for that reason: the Reader who understands the language of Nature need not recollect Ophelia in order to judge of its merit.

Art. X. The Man of Business; a Comedy. As it is acted at the

Theatre-Royal in Covent Garden. By George Colman. 8vo.
I s. 6 d. Becket. 1774.
HE ftory, and many of the principal circumstances of this

play, have an evident reference to some late and wellknown events in the mercantile world, and they depend mostly on the following parts. First, that of Fable, an old banker; fecondly, Beverley, his partner, a man negligent of his affairs, given up to his pleasures, in fine, a modern man of business ; thirdly, Denier, a young miser; fourthly, Golding, another partner, but resident abroad in the Indies; and, fifthly, Lydia, the daughter of Golding. Beverley embarrasses his affairs in the ways common to a man of pleasure. In conducting the several circumstances of his folly, the Author copies the manners of the times, and yet avoids every thing trite and uninteresting. As Mr. Colman can afford to be criticised, we are the less fcrupulous in remarking whatever we imagine is in any degree unworthy of his talents. The following scene between Beverley and Lydia, we think, is not drawn after Nature. "Beverley's manner of declaring himself is neither delicate nor in character, as Mr. Colman would have us conceive of him. Lydia is generous and good, but the does not speak the language of a woman in such a situation,

Manent B E VÉRLEY and LYDIA,

(They remain some time filent ; Bev. Excuse me, Madam, if I venture to express how deeply I am fenfible of your appearing to be affected by my misfortunes: and yet I cannot but confess that I feel your compassion almost as painfully as a reproach-for I am conscious'I have not deserved it.




Lyd, Touched as I am with the reverse of your situation, Mr. Beverley, I will not dissemble to you that I am pleased with the change in your behaviour.

Rev. Still, ftill, this very approbation ferves to reproach me witk the impropriety of my late conduct towards you. I feel it. I requel your forgiveness of it; and should be happy to pass the rest of my life in endeavouring to atone it.

Lyd. Make no apologies to me, Mr. Beverley; I have no right to expect them, nor has your conduct rendered them necessary: most young gentlemen who pique themselves on their knowledge of the world, act much in the same manner as you behave to me. .: Bev. It is too true; but it is not the swarm of coxcombs that renders them less, impertinent or troublesome. I ought not to have adopted their contemptuous airs, without being maiter also of their tame insensibility; yet l'had youth to plead in excuse for my vanities; and I Aatter myself,' that time and refleâion and another motive that distracts me when I think of it-might have rendered me an object less unworthy your compaffion. Calamity has torn the veil from my eyes, and I now see but too plainly, not only your excellence, but my own imperfe&ions.

Lyd. Calamity is a fevere-master, yet amendment can scarce be purchased too dearly: and as your errors have been venial, your diftress may be but transient; nay, may, perhaps, at laft be the -means of your happiness.

Bev. Impossible! Impossible! However I may be restored to affluence, I can never, never taste of happiness. I have thrown away --perhaps wantonly toomI have thrown away the jewel that should have been the pride and blesing of my life. -Oh, Lydia! the feel. ings of worldly distress are nothing to the agonies of a despairing affečtion. My situation extorts from me what I have hitherto endea: voured to conceal even from myself. I love you-1 feel I long have loved you-though wretch and fool enough to be almost ashamed of a passion in which I ought to have gloried. I am now punithed for ic-heaven knows, feverely punished perhaps too severely-by lofing the very hopes of ever obtaining you.

Lyd. Do not run from one dangerous extreme to another, Mr. Beverley; but guard against despondency, as well as vanity and pre. fumption. I see you are much agitated, much dejected ; and was it would, perhaps, have been dangerous and anpardonable to have owned to you but yesterday, to-day I shall not scruple to declare. Hurried away, as you were, by a torrent of fashionable vanities, and the poor ambition of keeping high company, I thought I could difo cern in your mind and disposition no mean understanding, nor pagenerous principles--too good for the associates you had selected, and too susceptible not to be in danger from such fociety. It is no wonder, therefore, if I felt any growing partiality for you, that I endeavoured to restrain it.

Bev. To reftrain it ! Say rather to extinguish it.. Oh, I now perceive all my wretchedness. But to be supplanted by my bosoma friend! by Denier ! Lyd. I am at a loss to comprehend you.


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