PHILIP MASSINGER. 31 No. 32. EARL OF STIRLING. From a scarce Print, by Marshall, prefixed to his " Recreations with the Muses." It is WILLIAM EARL OF STIRLING, author of " Recreations with the Muses," composed divers tragedies in rhyme, and one of those "divine" poems which were formerly so often indited, called "Domesday, or the great Day of the Lord's Judgement.' not easy to conceive how the following lines from the noble author's tragedy of "Julius Cæsar" could have been written fifty years after Shakspeare's drama, and with the example of that great poet before him. It is the account of Cæsar dying under the blows of the conspirators: "As of so great ingratitude ashamed, He with his gowne when covered first o'er all, As one who neither sought, nor wished reliefe, No sigh consenting to betray his grief. Yet, (if by chance or force, I cannot tell) Even at the place where Pompey's stature stood, Shakspeare's account of this is not in his best style, but it is much better, and more to the purpose, at least, than this. There is an air of vraisemblance, and a national character in the countenance of Lord Stirling, which the reader will not fail to perceive. No. 33. PHILIP MASSINGER. From a Print, by Cross, prefixed to his "Dramatic Works." THIS likeness of MASSINGER is the only one, we believe, that is known to exist. It certainly looks very little like either a high 32 SIR JOHN SUCKLING. poet, or an intelligent man. There is something cramped and diminutive about it; and yet withal, it has the look of a portrait, and with that, we (and the reader also) must perforce be satisfied. Massinger was a good dramatist, notwithstanding his picture. His "Fatal Dowry," and "Duke of Milan,"-his “Unnatural Combat," and above all, his Sir Giles Over-reach, in the wellknown play of "A new Way to pay Old Debts," are enough to justify a great portion of the renown which he now possesses. He is a little over-rated perhaps, at present, owing to the exertions of his editor, (and we confess that we are not inclined to quarrel with that sort of partizanship; it is better than letting one's author " go down the wind," as some editors have done :) but he will find his level eventually, and it will not be a low one. We cannot rate him equally with Ben Jonson in any way, nor with Fletcher as a writer of poetry. He has neither the richness of the one, nor the fluent elegance of the other. Yet we should be exceedingly perplexed to find in any of their plays, a character so complete,-one which went on so manfully and straightforward to his purposes, from beginning to last, as the "Over-reach” of Massinger. He is quite the beau ideal of a fierce and sordid tyrant. He is brave as a lion; ravenous as a shark; his pity is to be subdued by nothing, and his hate is quenchable only in blood. No. 34. SIR JOHN SUCKLING. From an original Picture in the Ashmolean Museum. SIR JOHN SUCKLING-Who resembled Horace in more ways than in writing verses, was a precocious wit. According to Langbaine, he spoke Latin at five, and wrote it at nine years of age. He was indeed a very lively writer, and in his songs, such as, "Why so pale and wan, fond lover?" SIDNEY GODOLPHIN. 66 3333 and others, reasons pleasantly upon that universal theme-love; and sports with lips and dimples, like one who evidently never felt a wound." As Sir Philip Sidney was the victim, so was Suckling the foe of love; or rather, he was the rhyming Momus who haunted the court of Cupid, and had the privilege to say what he pleased. "Out upon it, I have loved Three whole days together; "Time shall moult away his wings Within the wide world again Such a constant lover:" and so he goes on, jibing and versifying, to the end of the chapter. No. 35. SIDNEY GODOLPHIN. From a Drawing by Bulfinch, in the Collection at Strawberry Hill. THIS portrait, and the next (Cartwright) are two of the least attractive in our collection: and as our object is to give, as nearly as may be, a correct account of this publication, we have no hesitation in stating thus much for the benefit of the reader. SIDNEY GODOLPHIN, a small poet of his time, was brother to Godolphin, the treasurer. It would be difficult to admit that a person, seemingly so like a stiff petit-maître, could belong to the sounding name of Godolphin, were it not that his own verses, to a certain extent, corroborate the picture: they are neat, but without force. The features in this portrait are small, and the countenance altogether diminutive and weak; while the hair flows down like the waves of the sea, and erases the little appearance of Ꭰ 34 WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. manhood and intellect which the face might otherwise have possessed. We ought not to omit to state, however, that Sidney Godolphin was, (according to Clarendon) a young man of promise and much accomplishment, and that he fell fighting in the civil wars. No. 36. WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. From a scarce Print by Lombart, prefixed to his Poems. "writes like "My son CARTWRIGHT," says old Ben Jonson, a man." We should not have guessed this from his portrait, which is mean and unintellectual; nor do we, in truth, altogether subscribe to old Ben's opinion of his "son," even after an acquaintance with his verses. Cartwright wrote often pleasantly, and sometimes well, but he certainly does not shine amongst the literary stars of his age, most of whom were decidedly his superiors. His lines are generally harsh and bad; and they do not contain much matter to compensate for their want of music. He has written "On a Sparrow,"-not like Catullus; and his verses on the "Memory of Ben Jonson," seem dug out of the most rugged vein of poetry. The most melodious lines that occur to us, are the following, addressed by Cartwright, "To the Memory of a Shipwreck'd Virgin." "And thou unfaithful, ill-compacted pine, That in her nuptials didst refuse to shine, Blaze in her pile. Whiles thus her death I weep, Swim down, my murmuring lute; move thou the deep And make her fate become her elegy." Those called "Love's Darts," (which Mr. Campbell has quoted in his Specimens) are entitled also to considerable praise. GEORGE SANDYS. 35 No. 37. GEORGE SANDYS. From an original Picture in the Collection of the Marchioness of Downshire. THIS portrait of SANDYS, the well known translator of Ovid, makes us amends for the two last. With a prepossessing and striking countenance, and his hair, which looks. "sable-silvered," his slashed dress, and his collar of lace, he forms altogether an exceedingly graceful picture. The eyes are mild and intelligent; and the mouth has a pleasant expression. The portrait is not that of a scholar, or a courtier, or a soldier, or a mere traveller; but it is rather a combination of all. The "Travels" of this author, with their scraps of verse intermixed, are now not much known, yet they are not unamusing. best work, however, is his translation of Ovid; and from this volume we must take leave to make one extract, because it is a great favourite with a very excellent friend of ours. The passage relates to the change of Cadmus and Hermione into serpents, and is in the fourth Book of the Metamorphoses. "His tongue was yet in motion, when it cleft In two, forthwith of human speech bereft : He licked her willing lips even as she spake : His |