that he might be so blest as to pay his dear for the very dregs of his wit." They wrote not for fame but bread, and of the former they were as careless, as of their wit and purses they were prodigal.

That the strange insanity of their poetry did not originate from the poverty, but from the superabundance of their imagination, will be manifest to all who read their plays. Brilliant images and poetic expressions are profusely scattered throughout them, but they are frequently out of place-they are good in themselves, but become extravagant and absurd by their application or juxta-position. Their minds appear like a spring, the serenity of whose surface has been broken, and which reflects the surrounding country in a loose, disjointed, and confused landscape, where trees, hills, and sky, are commixed in gay disorder. There is in these authors, and more particularly in Peele, an accumulation of ornament, and a gorgeousness of diction approaching to oriental exuberance. But these seem partly the result of design, and partly of the haste with which some of their dramas were undoubtedly written, rather than of a vitiated taste. For that they could write better is obvious, from insulated passages in their plays, and from the lyrical poems of both Greene and Marlowe, some of which are composed with uncommon harmony of numbers and felicity of expression. Of these three authors, Greene is, we think, inferior, in point of dramatic skill and power, to Peele; and Marlowe, whose works will form the subject of a future article, infinitely superior to both.

There is, in Peele's dramas, a voluptuousness of imagery, a pomp and stateliness of style, with a richness and amenity of versification, which distinguishes them from those of Greene and every other author, as will be observed from his David and Bethsabe, from which we made copious extracts in the first article on this subject, and, in a less degree, perhaps, in the Araynment of Paris, which we are about to notice.*

There seems to be a very considerable difference of opinion as to Peele's merits, but it is somewhat extraordinary, that Dr. Drake should place him a degree below mediocrity. On the other hand, Mr. Campbell describes his David and Bethsabe as the earliest fountain of pathos and harmony that can be traced in our dramatic poetry, and he quotes the same passage from it, in terms of praise, as Mr. Charles Lamb has given in his dramatic specimens, and to which he has subjoined, in a note, "there is more of the same stuff, but I suppose the reader has a surfeit." Our readers will be able, from the extracts we have given from this drama and from those which occur in the present article, to form their own judgment of the merits of Peele.

The chief defect of Greene is a want of circumstance-he is ignorant of the winding passages which lead to the portals of passion of those repeated strokes which mark the progression of emotion, and in the end produce a pathetic effect. We do not find in him any of those casual expressions which escape from the bitterness of the soul-any of those slight indications of the storm within, more effective than a cento of extravagant hyperboles. There is spirit enough to produce effervescence, but it rises into bombast or sinks into flatness. These remarks are, of course, made with reference to his dramatic works, not to the capabilities of his mind, which was quick and inventive. In addition to his plays, he was the author of a great variety of works-some of a satirical description which manifest great power of wit and humour; and his paltry novel, as it has been termed, of Dorastus and Faunia, on which, as is well known, Shakspeare founded his Winter's Tale, is an interesting and well related story. Indeed, if his novels had not possessed merit of some kind, they would hardly have obtained the popularity they undoubtedly enjoyed. For that they were bought up with eagerness and read with admiration, appears not only from the authority of Nash before quoted, but even from the testimony of his coward enemy Gabriel Harvey, in the foul and disgusting four letters, which he published against Greene, after his death. After saying that not only the fine comedies of the daintiest attic wit were become stale, he proceeds; "even Guicciardini's silver historie, and Ariosto's golden cantoes, grow out of request, and the Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia is not greene enough for queasie stomackes, but they must have Greene's Arcadia, and I believed most eagerly longed for Greene's Faerie Queene." And we learn from Sir Thomas Overbury, that he was popular amongst one class of females; for that author, in his Character of a Chambermaid, tells us she reads Greene's works over and over.

The first production which we shall now introduce to our readers, is Peele's Araynment of Paris, a pastoral, on the mythological story of the golden apple to be awarded, by Paris, to the most beautiful of the three goddesses, Juno, Venus, and Minerva. This, as well as the other dramas of Peele (with the exception of David and Bethsabe, which was reprinted in Hawkins's collection) is of excessive rarity. From this pastoral we will make a few extracts, selecting, as we generally do, the most favourable specimens; which, of course, chiefly illustrate the eulogistic portion of our criticisms. The Araynment of Paris is written in a variety of measures, partly in rhyme, and partly in verse, and is not divided into acts.

In the preparation of the festival in honour of Diana, Flora

is introduced as taking a conspicuous part in the decoration of the sylvan scene; of which, she gives a description in a sweet vein of poetry.

"Flor. Not Iris in her pride and braverie,
Adornes her arche with such varietie:

Nor doth the milke-white way in frostie night,
Appeare so faire and beautiful in sight:

As done these fieldes, and groves, and sweeter bowres,
Bestrew'd and deckt with partie-collor'd flowres.
Alonge the bubling brookes and silver glyde,
That at the bottome doth in sylence slyde,
The waterie flowres and lillies on the bankes,
Like blazing comets burgen all in rankes:
Under the hawthorne and the poplar tree,
Where sacred Phoebe may delight to be:
The primerose and the purple hyacinthe,
The dayntie violet and the bolsome minthe.
The double daisie, and the couslip, queene
Of sommer flowres, do overpeere the greene:
And rounde about the valley as ye passe,
Ye may ne see, for peeping floures, the grasse:
That well the mighty Juno and the reste,
May boldly thinke to be a welcome guest
On Ida hills, when to approve this thing,

The queene of flowres prepares a second spring.

Sil. Thou gentle nymphe, what thankes shall we repaie

To thee, that makest our fields and woodes so gaie?
Flor. Silvanus, when it is thy hap to see

My workemanship, in portraying all the three,
First, stately Juno, with her porte and grace,
Her robes, her lawnes, her crownet, and her mace:
Would make thee muse this picture to beholde,
Of yellow ox lips bright as burnisht golde.

Pom. A rare device, and Flora, well perdie,

Did paint her yellow for her jellozie.

Flor. Pallas in flow'rs, of hue and collours red,
Her plumes, her helme, her launce, her Gorgon's head,

Her trayling tresses that hang flaringe rounde,

Of Julie-flowers so graffed in the grounde,

That trust me, sirs, who did the cunning see,

Would at a blush suppose it to be shee.

Pom. Good Flora, by my flocke 'twere verie goode,

To dight her all in red resembling blood.

Flor. Faire Venus of sweete violetts in blue,

With other flow'rs infixt for chaunge of hue,

Her plumes, her pendants, bracelets, and her ringes,
Her daintie fan and twentie other thinges:
Her lustie mantle wavinge in the winde,
And everie parte in collour and in kinde:
And for her wreath of roses she nil dare,
With Flora's cunning counterfet compare.
So that what living wight shall chaunce to see
These goddesses, eche placed in her degree,
Portray'd by Flora's workmanshipe alone,
Must say that arte and nature met in one."

Sil. A daintie draught to lay her downe in blue,

The collour commonly betokeneth true.

Flor. This peece of worke compact with many a flow'r,

And well layde in at entrance of the bow'r,

Where Phoebe meanes to make this meetinge royall,

Have I prepared to welcome them withall.

Pom. And are they yet dismounted, Flora saye:

That wee maye wend to meet them on the waye.

Flor. That shall not neede: they are at hand by this,

And the conductour of the traine, hight Rhanis.
Juno hath left her chariot long agoe,

And hath return'd her peacocks by her rainebowe.
And bravelie, as becomes the wife of Jove,
Doth honour, by her presence, to our grove.
Fair Venus, she hath let her sparrowes flie
To tende on her and make her melodie:
Her turtles and her swannes unyoked bee,
And flicker neere her side for companie.
Pallas hath set her tygers loose to feede,
Commanding them to waite when she hath neede.
And hitherward with proude and statelie pace
To doe us honour in the silvan chase,
They marche like to the pomp of heaven above,
Juno the wife and sister of King Jove,

The warlike Pallas, and the Queene of Love.

Pom. Pipe, Pan, for joy, and let thy shepherdes sing,

Shall never age forget this memorable thing.

Flor. Clio, the sagest of the sisters nine,

To doe observance to this dame divine,

Ladie of learning and of chyvalrie,

Is here aryved in faire assemblie,

And wand'ring up and downe th' unbeaten wayes,
Ring through the woodes, sweet songes of Pallas' prayse.

Pom. Harke Flora, Faunus, here is melodie,

A charme of birdes and more than ord'narie."

The three rival deities thus disclose their pretensions and promises to the shepherd Paris.

"Juno. Nay, shepherde, looke upon my stately grace, Because the pompe that longs to Junoe's mace,

Thou mayst not see: and thinke Queene Junoe's name,

To whom old shepherds title workes of fame,

Is mightye and maye easily suffize,

At Phœbus' hands, to gaine a golden prize.

And for thy meede, sythe I am Queen of Riches,
Shepherde, I will reward thee with greate monarchies,
Empires and kingdomes, heapes of massye golde,
Scepters and diadems, curious to beholde,

Riche robes of sumptuous workmanship and cost,
And thousand things whereof I make no boast.

The moulde whereon thou treadest shall be of Tagus' sandes,
And Xanthus shall runne liquid gold for thee to wash thy

handes:

And if thou like to tende thy flocke, and not from them to flie,
Their fleeces shall be curled gold to please their master's eye.
And last to sett thy heart on fire, give this one fruite to me,
And shepherde, lo, this tree of golde I will bestowe on thee.

Hereuppon did rise a Tree of Gold, laden with diadems and crownes of golde.

The ground whereon it growes, the grasse, the roote of golde,
The body and the barke of golde, all glistninge to beholde,
The leaves of burnisht gold, the fruites that thereon growe
Are diadems set with pearle in golde, in gorgeous glistringe

showe.

And if this tree of gold in lue may not suffice,

Require a grove of golden trees, so Juno beares the prize.
[The tree sinketh.

Pall. Me list not tempt thee with decoyinge wealthe,

Which is embas'd by want of lustie healthe:

But if thou have a mind to fly above,

Ycrown'd with fame neare to the seate of Jove:

If thou aspire to wysdome's worthines,

Whereof thou mayst not see the brightnes;
If thou desire honour of chyvalrie,
To bee renown'd for happy victorie,

To fight it out and in the champain fielde,
To shrowd thee under Pallas' warlike shielde,
To praunce on barbed steedes, this honour loe,
Myselfe for guerdon shall on thee bestowe.