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General Baptift Denomination. By James Walder. 8vo. 6d.) Buckland, 1779.

M.

There is a pleasing fimplicity and plainness of speech in this dif courfe. The truths it recommends are of the greatest importance, and they are recommended in a manner which appears to indicate the integrity, piety, and benevolence, of the man who pleads in their favour. His text is 2 Cor. xiii. 11. In his advertisement prefixed, he afferts the right which every man has to make choice of and profeís what religion he pleases, and to worship the fupreme Father Almighty in what way and manner he thinks most acceptable to him, without the controul or interruption of any civil power whatever. Yet, fays he, I cannot omit this opportunity of expreffing my fincere gratitude and thanks to the worthy members of the British Parliament, for the relief granted to Diffenting Minifters by the late act, which I rejoice in as a great enlargement of religious liberty. The declaration, annexed to the bill, I can readily fubfcribe, not as believing or acknowledging the magistrate's right to demand it, but as believing the matter and fubftance of the declaration to be true.' H. X. Preached in the Parish Church of Richmond in Surrey, Feb. 4, 178c, being the Day appointed for a General Faft. By Thomas Wakefield, A. B. Minister of Richmond. 4to. Is. Davenhill. This is tolerably well written, and appears to be the production of a mind that is impreffed with pious and patriotic principles, and wishes to extend the good influence of them amongst his parishioners, to whom this discourse is inscribed, and who honoured it with their approbation.

CORRESPONDENCE.

B...

The letter from Mr. C. G. of Penrith is acknowledged. We would not have the Writer give himself the trouble to fend the book mentioned in his letter; when we fee it advertised for sale, it will fall into our hands in course.

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++ The Gentleman who fent his Propofals for printing by Subfcription, a volume of Essays, Letters, &c.' did not, perhaps, know, that all advertisements printed on the Covers of the Review, are to be paid for; and that they are fubjected to the duty, in the fame manner with thofe that are inferted in the news-papers.

ttt We are obliged to G. H. for his information concerning the first edition of the " Effay towards attaining a true Idea of the Character, &c. of King Charles I." of which an account was given in our laft. We had recollected the original publication, in 1748, before the receipt of our Correfpondent's letter; and we can, in return for his favour, inform G. H. that the Effay, &c. is generally fuppofed to have been the work of a celebrated writer among the Diffenters at Exeter.

THE

MONTHLY REVIEW,

For JUNE, 1780.

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ART. I. The Dramatic Works of Beaumont and Fletcher; collated with all the former Editions, and corrected, with Notes critical and explanatory, by various Commentators and adorned with Fifty-four original Engravings. In Ten Volumes. 8vo. 31. in Boards. Printed by Sherlock, and fold by Evans.

IN

N our remarks on the tragedy of Bonduca, we hinted our approbation of the prefent edition of Beaumont and Fletcher. On a more particular examination of its merit, we are by no means difpofed, either from a fenfe of justice, or from a lefs worthy motive, to retract the opinion we have formerly given of it. That opinion, indeed, was only delivered in a tranfient way, and in very general terms. We shall now attempt to juflify it by a more particular inveftigation of the genius and writings of the Authors, and of the refpective merits of their feveral Editors.

The rank which Beaumont and Fletcher ought to hold in the dramatic line hath been long adjusted. The decifion hath been made by time itself, which never fails to fettle all claims, by an impartiality which cannot be queftioned, and by an authority from which there lies no appeal. Friendship that was unwilling, or ignorance that was unable, to fee objects in their true light, exalted thefe bards to the very fummit of poetic excellence, and, by a partiality that was equally abfurd and invidious, placed even Shakespear himself below them. Their poetical encomiafts lavished on them more applause than the fublimeft genius ever merited: and, in the rage of panegy ric, exhausted their invention for hyperbole.

One of Fletcher's panegyrifts fays, that

His fcenes were acts, and every act a play.' If this hyperbole had been carried as far as it would go, the author might with equal propriety have faid, that each fentence was a fcene, and every word a sentence!

Beaumont and Fletcher, though reduced from the rank to which they had been exalted by the partiality of their injudicious friends,. or the envy of Shakespear's enemies, muft be confidered as writers VOL. LXII.

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of diflinguished merit, and will probably continue to be models to fucceeding dramatifts, while wit and good sense shall be held in any eftimation on the English theatre. Their productions have been copied with abundant freedom by many writers whofe works are confidered as no mean acquifition to the ftage. The obligation hath been frankly acknowledged by fome: while others have left the more curious Reader to make the difcovery for himself. This avowal or concealment of an obligation hath frequently been the effect of pride operating different ways: for we cannot avoid remarking, that it is often as decifive a characteristic of pride to point out the fource of our ideas when we can fhew a fuperior dexterity in the application and management of them, as it is an evidence of the fame principle to endeavour at other times to conceal it with ingenious care, in order to make the whole pass for a creation of our own fancy.

With respect to our dramatic bards, it is but juftice to acknow ledge, that, in general, their plots are regular. Their characters are on the whole well drawn, and properly marked and fupported. Their language is eafy and elegant; clear and perfpicuous. Their plays abound with a variety of beautiful paffages; and a felection might be made out of them to illuftrate every fpecies of compofition, and delineate every emotion of paffion.

Mr. Seward, the former Editor, devotes a large part of his preface to a comparison between the language and characters of Beaumont and Fletcher and those of Shakespear. The grand characteristic of Shakespear's language is energy-an energy which aftonishes the imagination! That of our Authors is elegance-a diffufive elegance, which pleases the fancy and foothes the heart. Shakespear will frequently give more expreffion by a word than Beaumont and Fletcher are capable of affording by many lines. A thousand inftances might be given of this, if it were neceffary, to prove Shakespear's fuperiority to his contemporary poets in that which is the very first excellence of dramatic compofition-an irrefiftible force of language. Mr. Seward hath produced feveral paffages to prove, that in many places Beaumont and Fletcher are fuperior in language, defcrip. tion and fentiment to Shakespear. We think, however, that he might have fupported his comparison by inftances that would have better ferved his purpose. The paffage quoted from the Maid's Tragedy, is indeed exquifitely beautiful, and a painter might well copy from the poet but in long defcriptions it is not easy to fee the whole at once. The impreffion grows languid and faint, and the principal effect is either weakened or totally loft. An energetic, comprehenfive expreffion gives the whole at one glance, and produces a more powerful, because a more immediate effect. The rainbow is an object the more beautiful, because its impreffion is inftantaneously felt. Divided into fruftrums of a circle, and feen only in fmall parts, its principal effect would be entirely loft.

We fhall present our Readers with a fpecimen of Mr. Seward's talle and fagacity in the line of comparifon, by a quotation of the paffages compared, at full length, with the critic's remarks on them.

At the letter end of King John, the King has received a burning poison and being afk'd

-How

How fares your Majefty?

K. John, Poifon'd! ill fare! dead, forfook, caft off:
And none of you will bid the Winter comé
To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;

Nor let my kingdom's rivers take their courfe
Thro' my burnt bofom: nor entreat the North
To make his bleak winds kifs my parched lips
And comfort me with cold. I do not ask you much,
I beg cold comfort.

The first and laft lines are to be ranged among the faults that fo much difgrace Shakespear, which he committed to please the corrupt taste of the age he lived in: but to which Beaumont and Fletcher's learning and fortune made them fuperior. The intermediate lines are extremely beautiful, and marked as fuch by the late great editor [Mr. Pope] but yet are much improved in two plays of our Authors; the first in Valentinian, where the Emperor, poifoned in the fame manner, dies with more violence, fury and horror, than King John. But the paffage that I fhall quote is from A Wife for a Month; a play which doth not upon the whole equal the poetic fublimity of Valentinian, though it rather excels it in the poifoning fcene. The Prince Alphonfo, who had been long in a phrenzy of melancholy, is poifon'd with a hot, fiery potion, under the agonies of which he

raves:

Give me more air, more air, air: blow, blow, blow,
Open, thou eastern gate! and blow upon me:
Diftil thy cold dews, oh, thou icy moon,

And rivers run thro' my afflicted fpirit.

I am all fire, fire, fire; the raging Dog-ftar

Reigns in my blood; oh! which way fhall I turn me?
Etna and all her flames burn in my head.

Fling me into the ocean, or I perish,

Dig, dig, dig, dig, until the springs fly up-
The cold, cold fprings, that I may leap into them

And bathe my fcorch'd limbs in their purling pleasures:
Or fhoot me into the higher region,

Where treasures of delicious fnow are nourish'd,
And banquets of fweet hail.

Rug.

Hold him faft, friar.

Oh! how he burns!

Alph.

What, will ye facrifice me?

Upon the altar lay my willing body,

And pile your wood up, fling your holy incenfe:
And as I turn me, you fhall fee all flame,

Confuming flame. Stand off me, or you're afhes.

Mart. To bed, good Sir.

Alph.

My bed will burn about me.
Like Phaeton, in all-confuming flashes

Am I inclos'd let me fly, let me fly, give room;
'Twixt the cold Bears, far from the raging Lion,
Lies my fafe way: oh, for a cake of ice now
To clap into my heart to comfort me.
Decrepit Winter hang upon my shoulders
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And

And let me wear thy frozen icicles,

Like jewels round about my head, to cool me.
My eyes burn out, and fink into their fockets,
And my infected brain like brimstone boils.
I live in hell, and several furies vex me.
Oh! carry me where never fun e'er fhew'd yet
A face of comfort, where the earth is chrystal
Never to be diffolved, where nought inhabits
But night, and cold, and nipping frofts and winds,
That cut the ftubborn rocks, and make them fhiver;

Set me there, friends.

⚫ Every man of tafte will fee how fuperior this is to the quotation from Shakespear. The images are vaftly more numerous, more judicious, more nervous, and the paffions are wrought up to the highest pitch.'

The images, indeed, are, as this critic obferves, vastly more numerous; and on that very account the whole defcription becomes, in our eftimation, les judicious and les nervous. Fletcher, or whoever was the writer, difcovers an exuberant fertility of invention. But in the prodigality of metaphors, allufions and images, the defcription lofes much of the beautiful fimplicity of nature, and looks too much like the gaudy picture of art. Ice-water, and cold air, eafily fuggeft themselves to a perfon who (to use Seward's words) hath been poisoned with a hot, fiery potion. But the Dog-ftar, Mount Etna, and the different regions of the atmosphere; Phaeton, the cold Bears, and the raging Lion (or the conftellations to which aftronomy hath fancifully applied these terms); and above all, a fine, but artificial and highly metaphorical defcription of a country where fun ne'er fhew'd yet a face of comfort,' is entirely inconfiftent with that intoxication of agony and diftrefs under which Alphonfo is supposed to labour at the moment when thefe expreffions are uttered.

In the tragedy of Philafter there is a beautiful defcription of rural
melancholy :
-I have a boy,
Sent by the Gods I hope to this intent,

Not yet feen in the court. Hunting the buck,
I found him fitting by a fountain fide,

Of which he borrow'd fome to quench his thirst.
And paid the nymph again as much in tears,
A garland lay by him, made by himself
Of many feveral flowers, bred in the bay,
Stuck in that myftic order that the rarenefs
Delighted me: but ever when he turn'd
His tender eyes upon them, he would weep
As if he meant to make them grow again.
Seeing fuch pretty, helpless innocence
Dwell in his face, I afk'd him all his flory;
He told me that his parents gentle died,
Leaving him to the mercy of the fields

Which gave him roots, and of the chryftal fprings
Which did not stop their courfes; and the fun

Which ftill, he thank'd him, yielded him his light:
Then up he took his garland, and did thew
What every flower, as country people hold,

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