rately the resemblance of the poet's own times is drawn, the more alien it is to the habits and feelings of modern days; in precise proportion that such pieces are valuable to the antiquarian, they are obsolete and unintelligible to the common reader. Much, therefore, of the zest and raciness of the following scene must, of course, be lost; it is from "The Lady of Pleasure," a play which, but for one wanton and unnecessary blemish, might be quoted almost throughout as a very curious and lively description of fashionable manners in the days of Charles I. Aretina, the wife of Sir Thomas Bornwell, is the Lady Townley, or the Lady Teazle, of an older date :

"Steward. Be patient, Madam; you may have your pleasure.
Lady Bornwell. 'Tis that I came to town for. I would not
Endure again the country conversation,

To be the lady of six shires! The men,
So near the primitive making, they retain

A sense of nothing but the earth; their brains,

And barren heads standing as much in want

Of ploughing as their ground. To hear a fellow
Make himself merry and his horse, with whistling

Sellinger's Round! To observe with what solemnity

They keep their wakes, and throw for pewter candlesticks,
How they become the morris, with whose bells

They ring all in to Whitsun-ales; and sweat,

Through twenty scarfs and napkins, till the hobby-horse
Tire, and the Maid Marian, dissolv'd to a jelly,

Be kept for spoon meat!

Stew. These, with your pardon, are no argument
To make the country life appear so hateful;

At least to your particular, who enjoy'd

A blessing in that calm, would you be pleas'd
To think so, and the pleasure of a kingdom;

While your own will commanded what should move
Delights, your husband's love and power join'd
To give your life more harmony. You liv'd there
Secure, and innocent, beloved of all;
Prais'd for your hospitality, and pray'd for:
You might be envied; but malice knew

Not where you dwelt. I would not prophesy,
But leave to your own apprehension,
What may succeed your change.

Lady B. You do imagine,

No doubt, you have talk'd wisely, and confuted
London past all defence. Your master should
Do well to send you back into the country,

With title of superintendent-bailiff.

Stew. How, Madam!

Wherein it doth concern your love and honor
To see me satisfied.

Born. In what, Aretina,

Dost thou accuse me? Have I not obey'd
All thy desires? against mine own opinion
Quitted the country, and removed the hope
Of our return, by sale of that fair lordship
We lived in? changed a calm and retired life
For this wild town, compos'd of noise and charge?
Lady B. What charge, more than is necessary for
A lady of my birth and education? . . . .

Born. Your charge of gaudy furniture, and pictures
Of this Italian master, and that Dutchman;

Your mighty looking-glasses, like artillery,

Brought home on engines; the superfluous plate,
Antique and novel; vanities of tires;

Four-score pound suppers for my lord your kinsman,
Banquets for t' other lady aunt, and cousins,

And perfumes that exceed all: train of servants,
To stifle us at home, and show abroad

More motley than the French or the Venetian,
About your coach, whose rude postillion

Must pester every narrow lane, till passengers

And tradesmen curse your choking up their stalls;
And common cries pursue your ladyship,
For hindering of their market.

Lady B. Have you done, sir?

B. I could accuse the gayety of your wardrobe,

And prodigal embroideries, under which

Rich satins, plushes, cloth of silver, dare

Not share their own complexions; your jewels,

Able to burn out the spectators' eyes,

And show like bonfires on you by the tapers:
I could urge something more.

Lady B. Pray do, I like

Your homily of thrift.

Born. I could wish, madam,

You would not game so much.

Lady B. A gamester too!

Born. But are not come to that acquaintance yet,
Should teach you skill enough to raise your profit.
You look not through the subtilty of cards,
And mysteries of dice; nor can you save

Charge with the box, buy petticoats and pearls,
And keep your family by the precious income;
Nor do I wish you should: my poorest servant
Shall not upbraid my tables, nor his hire,
Purchas'd beneath my honor. You make play
Not a pastime but a tyranny, and vex

Yourself and my estate by it.

Lady B. Good! proceed.

Born. Another game you have, which consumes more

Your fame than purse; your revels in the night,

Your meetings call'd THE BALL, to which repair,

As to the court of pleasure, all your gallants,

And ladies, thither bound by a subpœna

Of Venus, and small Cupid's high displeasure;
"T is but the Family of Love translated
Into more costly sin!

Lady B. Have you concluded?

Born. I have done; and howsoever
My language may appear to you, it carries
No other than my fair and just intent

To your delights, without curb to their modest
And noble freedom." - Vol. iv. pp. 5-10.

We conclude with a few observations on this "editio princeps" of Shirley. The plays, as we have before observed, were collected, arranged, and edited by the late Mr. Gifford; and his was a task of no light labor, for never had unhappy author suffered so much from careless and ignorant printers as Shirley. Some errors of the press, which have either crept into this edition or have remained uncorrected, show that the keen eye of that most accurate scholar was somewhat bedimmed before his work was concluded ; but the fame of Shirley is deeply indebted to the collector of his dramas. Many passages of poetry, which had been crowded into halt and disjointed prose, have been brought back, as near as possible, to their original harmonious flow in some places, the sense, which might have appeared irrevocably lost, by the dislocation of sentences and the transposition of lines, has been restored by conjectural emendations, both bold and felicitous; in others, where words or lines have been lost, the hiatus is marked, and the reader is spared much unprofitable waste of time, in endeavouring to elucidate the meaning of vocables which might seem cast at random from the types. * No one, in short, who has not attempted to acquaint himself with the beauties of Shirley's drama, through the old quartos, can appreciate the luxury of reading them in the clearer letter, and more genuine text of the present edition. Mr. Dyce has performed his humbler task as editor of the poems, with his accustomed ability; and, on the whole, it is no fault of the edition, if justice be not at length fairly done to the merit of Shirley. One of his cotemporary poets ventured to prophesy,

"That ages yet to come shall hear and see,
When dead, thy works a living elegy."

For the first time, in the nineteenth century, this elegy has been removed from the obscure and inaccessible quarter where it had long mouldered unseen; it has been transcribed in legible characters; and fully asserts the claim of this last of our Elizabethan dramatists, to be admitted to a high place among the second class of the poetical hierarchy of England.

* In the fine and eloquent tragedy of "Chabot," the obscurity of Chapman's manner, the hardness of which his contemporaries called his "full and heightened style," is greatly increased by the incorrectness of the press. This play, as bearing the name of Shirley in its title-page, conjoined with that of Chapman, ought not to have been omitted: yet it is very difficult to assign any part of it to Shirley; even the comic scenes are more in Chapman's close and pregnant manner than in the light and airy style of Shirley.

[From "The Gentleman's Magazine, for April, 1833.”]

ART. II. CEDMON'S Metrical Paraphrase of Parts of the Holy Scriptures, in Anglo-Saxon; with an English Translation, Notes, and a Verbal Index. By BENJAMIN THORPE, ESQ., F. S. A. Published by the Society of Antiquaries. 8vo.

ALTHOUGH at a period when the most sluggish apathy seemed to have overwhelmed Europe respecting the knowledge and intellectual cultivation of the people whose tongue we speak, and under whose laws we live, a few laborious Englishmen were striving to call back the feelings of the Teutonic nations to a reverential survey of the past, it cannot be denied that, the impulse once given, we contentedly suffered ourselves to be oustripped, in every direction, by our Continental brethren. We had made a great stride, and were either too timid or too self-satisfied to continue the effort; in every respect a misfortune, since the materials, the wealthy stores we had to work upon, rendered us eminently capable, by a proper developement of the Anglo-Saxon language, of assisting the labors of German and Scandinavian scholars, men who, though far our superiors in industry and philological acumen, possess no such wide field for the exertion of those prime qualities. It is far from our wish to undervalue the earlier Saxonists of England; they had a new path to fray for themselves, and brought abundant zeal to the task. In comparison with their successors, even to the present day, they were a mighty race; but they neither did nor could possess that spirit of cautious philology which would render them sure guides in a new study. Hickes overshot his own mark, and no less did Junius, who, himself a foreigner, and far better acquainted with the ancient languages of Denmark and Germany than of England, might still have added worthy increase to our knowledge had his plans been more moderate, more commensurate to the space over which it was lawful for him to extend his rule. The Elstobs and Rawlinson appear to have possessed, as far as it went, sound and useful knowledge; but for the host of the Barringtons, Gibsons, and Thwaiteses, the sooner their systems and their editions are forgotten the better. Want of critical knowledge by which to test the value of MSS., in some cases want of industry to make use of the better material, when a worse might be more readily come by, have rendered every edition of a Saxon work printed in England hitherto, useless, or worse than useless, deceptive. It is strange, and not matter of pride or pleasure to Englishmen, that a Dane and a German should have put us in the right road; that Rask and Grimm, without even an opportunity of seeing Anglo-Saxon MSS. should, from their knowledge of the tongue, have corrected the faulty printed works, and that the MSS. should nearly always confirm their readings; that Schmidt should give a better edition of the Anglo-Saxon Laws than Wilkins or

Lambard, merely by bettering their blunders; that Grundtwig should append to his Danish paraphrase of Beowulf page after page of conjectural emendations, which are after all the real forms found in the manuscript. But so it is; and we have nothing left but to hope that henceforward our countrymen will be content to step a little out of their own narrow circle, and to make use of the lights which others have afforded.

The gentleman to whom, under the auspices of the Society of Antiquaries, we owe the paraphrase of Cædmon, is one who has studied in this sound school of northern philologists, and his work is consequently beyond comparison the best edition of a Saxon author that has ever issued from the press in England. The opportunity of canvassing its merits and demerits, is not to be passed over; for, as there appears at present a sort of zeal for the reproduction of our old records, so valuable to the philosopher, the historian, and the philologist, it is well that it should be known what may and what may not be looked for at the hands of those to whom the task of editing them is committed.

Most of those who will read these remarks, are familiar with the subject and nature of the work; some of them may perhaps have attempted to read the metrical version of the Old Testament in Junius's edition, and with Lye's Dictionary; to either class of persons we seriously recommend the perusal of Mr. Thorpe's book; it will give them new lights upon the subject. A profound and extensive knowledge of the Anglo-Saxon poetic language, which is very distinct from that of the Gospels and Homilies and Histories, has enabled the Editor to make an excellent text out of one of the worst and most carelessly written of all the Saxon MSS.; while his ear, well-tuned to the harmony of Saxon rhythm, separates line from line, as far as we have observed, with unerring accuracy. But these, great merits in themselves, are crowned by an accurate translation, the difficulty of which can only be appreciated by those who have attempted similar labors. We do not always agree with the learned Editor; but in the very few passages wherein we at present feel inclined to differ from him, it must be admitted that great difficulty exists; these have received deep consideration at his hands, and therefore it is not improbable that maturer study may compel us to give him the bucklers. It would serve no useful purpose to enter here upon a detailed examination of this poem; and the following extract will probably convey a clearer notion of its merits, than any long-drawn eulogium:

"There had not here as yet, save cavern shade,

aught been;

but this wide abyss

stood deep and dim,
strange to its Lord,
idle and useless;

on which looked with his eyes
the King firm of mind,

and beheld those places

void of joys;

saw the dark cloud
lower in eternal night,

swart under heaven,

dark and waste,

until this worldly creation
through the word existed
of the Glory-king.