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Art banish'd from their fellowship, and our state.
Corbaccio!-bring him near-We here possess
Thy son of all thy state, and confine thee
To the monastery of San Spirito;

Where, since thou knewest not how to live well here,

Thou shalt be learn'd to die well.

Corb. Ha! what said he?

Com. You shall know anon, sir.

1 Avoc. Thou, Corvino, shalt

Be straight embark'd from thine own house, and row'd

Round about Venice, through the grand canale,
Wearing a cap, with fair long ass's ears,

Instead of horns; and so to mount, a paper
Pinn'd on thy breast, to the Berlina'

Coro. Yes,

And have mine eyes beat out with stinking fish, Bruised fruit, and rotten eggs-'Tis well. I am glad

I shall not see my shame yet.

1 Avoc. And to expiate

Thy wrongs done to thy wife, thou art to send her Home to her father, with her dowry trebled: And these are all your judgments.

All. Honour'd fathers.

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1 Avoc. Which may not be revoked. Now you begin,

When crimes are done, and past, and to be punish'd, To think what your crimes are: away with them. Let all that see these vices thus rewarded,

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To the Berlina-] A pillory, or cucking-stool, as Florio says. I doubt whether John understood what the latter really was, Berlina is always used for a raised stage on which malefactors are exposed to public view, and answers with sufficient accuracy to our pillory.

Take heart, and love to study 'em! Mischiefs feed Like beasts, till they be fat, and then they bleed. [Exeunt.

VOLPONE comes forward.

The seasoning of a play, is the applause.
Now, though the For be punish'd by the laws,
He yet doth hope, there is no suffering due,
For any fact which he hath done 'gainst you;
If there be, censure him; here he doubtful stands:"
If not, fare jovially, and clap your hands. [Exit.'

here he doubtful stands: &c.] This modest Epilogue to the Fox, a play which holds so conspicuous a station among the noblest exertions of human wit, forms a singular contrast to the audacious vouching for the merits of Cynthia's Revels. Vol. II. p. 382.

9 The Fox is indubitably the best production of its author, and in some points of substantial merit yields to nothing which the English stage can oppose to it; there is a bold and happy spirit in the fable, it is of moral tendency, female chastity and honour are beautifully displayed, and punishment is inflicted on the delinquents of the drama with strict and exemplary justice. The characters of the Hæredipete, depicted under the titles of birds of prey, Voltore, Corbaccio, and Corvino, are warmly coloured, happily contrasted, and faithfully supported from the outset to the end: Volpone, who gives his name to the piece, with a fox-like craftiness deludes and gulls their hopes by the agency of his inimitable Parasite, or (as the Greek and Roman authors expressed it) by his Fly, his Mosca; and in this finished portrait Jonson may throw the gauntlet to the greatest masters of antiquity; the character is of classic origin; it is found with the contemporaries of Aristophanes, though not in any comedy of his now existing; the Middle Dramatists seem to have handled it very frequently, and in the New Comedy it rarely failed to find a place; Plautus has it again and again, but the aggregate merit of all his Parasites will not weigh in the scale against this single Fly of our poet. The incident of his concealing Bonario in the gallery, from whence he breaks in upon the scene to the rescue of Celia and the detection of Volpone, is one of the happiest contrivances, which could possibly be devised, because, at the same time that it produces the catastrophe, it does not sacrifice Mosca's character in the manner most villains are sacrificed

Captain oo 0 0 0

in comedy, by making them commit blunders, which do not correspond with the address their first representation exhibits, and which the audience has a right to expect from them throughout, of which the Double Dealer is, amongst others, a notable instance. But this incident of Bonario's interference does not only not impeach the adroitness of the Parasite, but it furnishes a very brilliant occasion for setting off his ready invention and presence of mind in a new and superior light, and serves to introduce the whole machinery of the trial and condemnation of the innocent persons before the court of Advocates. In this part of the fable the contrivance is inimitable, and here the poet's art is a study, which every votarist of the dramatic Muses ought to pay attention and respect to: had the same address been exerted throughout, the construction would have been a matchless piece of art, but here we are to lament the haste of which he boasts in his prologue; and that rapidity of composition, which he appeals to as a mark of genius, is to be lamented as the probable cause of incorrectness, or at least the best and most candid plea in excuse of it. For who can deny that nature is violated by the absurdity of Volpone's unseasonable insults to the very persons who had witnessed falsely in his defence, and even to the very Advocate, who had so successfully defended him? Is it in character for a man of his deep cunning and long reach of thought to provoke those on whom his all depended, to retaliate upon him, and this for the poor triumph of a silly jest? Certainly this is a glaring defect, which every body must lament, and which can escape nobody. The poet himself knew the weak part of his plot, and vainly strives to bolster it up by making Volpone exclaim against his own follyI am caught in mine own noose—

"And again

To make a snare for mine own neck! and run
My head into it, wilfully! with laughter!
When I had newly 'scaped, was free, and clear,
Out of mere wantonness! O, the dull devil
Was in this brain of mine, when I devised it,
And Mosca gave it second-

-These are my fine conceits!

I must be merry, with a mischief to me!

What a vile wretch was I, that could not bear
My fortune soberly? I must have my crotchets,
And my conundrums!

"It is with regret I feel myself compelled to protest against so pleasant an episode, as that which is carried on by sir Politick

Would-be and Peregrine, which, in fact, produces a kind of double plot and catastrophe; this is an imperfection in the fable, which criticism cannot overlook; but sir Politick is altogether so delightful a fellow, that it is impossible to give a vote for his exclusion; the most that can be done against him, is to lament that he has not more relation to the main business of the fable.

"The judgment pronounced upon the criminals in the conclusion of the play is so just and solemn, that I must think the poet has made a wanton breach of character, and gained but a sorry jest by the bargain, when he violates the dignity of his court of judges by making one of them so abject in his flattery to the Parasite upon the idea of matching him with his daughter, when he hears that Volpone has made him his heir; but this is an objection, that lies within the compass of two short lines, spoken aside from the bench, and may easily be remedied by their omission in representation; it is one only, and that a very slight one, amongst those venial blemishes

-quas incuria fudit.

"It does not occur to me that any other remark is left for me to make upon this celebrated drama, that could convey the slightest censure; but very many might be made in the highest strain of commendation, if there was need of any more than general testimony to such acknowledged merit. The Fox is a drama of so peculiar a species, that it cannot be dragged into a comparison with the production of any other modern poet whatsoever; its construction is so dissimilar from any thing of Shakspeare's writing, that it would be going greatly out of our way, and a very gross abuse of criticism to attempt to settle the relative degrees of merit, where the characters of the writers are so widely opposite: In one we may respect the profundity of learning, in the other we must admire the sublimity of genius; to one we pay the tribute of understanding, to the other we surrender up the possession of our hearts; Shakspeare with ten thousand spots about him dazzles us with so bright a lustre, that we either cannot or will not see his faults; he gleams and flashes like a meteor, which shoots out of our sight before the eye can measure its proportions, or analyse its propertiesbut Jonson stands still to be surveyed, and presents so bold a front, and levels it so fully to our view, as seems to challenge the compass and the rule of the critic, and defy him to find out an error in the scale and composition of his structure.

"Putting aside therefore any further mention of Shakspeare, who was a poet out of all rule, and beyond all compass of criticism, one whose excellencies are above comparison, and his

errors beyond number, I will venture an opinion that this drama of the Fox, is, critically speaking, the nearest to perfection of any one drama, comic or tragic, which the English stage is at this day in possession of." Observer, vol. iii. p. 170-176.

This excellent analysis of the Fox, was written by Mr. Cumberland, a man peculiarly fitted by nature for dramatic criticism; but who wasted his ingenuity and his talents in an eager and excessive chase after general notoriety, which frequently led him beyond the sphere of his knowledge. With a respectable portion of ancient literature, a style at once elegant and impressive; with an archness that formed a pleasing substitute for wit, and enough of taste to give zest and currency to his opinions, he wanted little but a distrust of his own powers, to render him at once the delight and ornament of the age. How much he fell short of this, cannot be remembered without sorrow. His fate, however, may "point a moral," and teach that over-weening confidence, and negligence, (inseparable companions,) though they cannot wholly destroy, may yet debase the noblest gifts of nature, and the most valuable acquire. ments of art. But ingenious and liberal as these strictures confessedly are, (for though an idolater of Shakspeare, Mr. Cumberland could be just to Jonson,) they yet seem capable of some degree of modification. The point on which Mr. Cumberland chiefly rests, is the injury done to the unity of the plot by the disguise of Volpone in the last act, which he terms a violation of nature. Now it is evident, I think, that this forms the great moral of the play, and that Jonson had it in view from the beginning. "Is it in character," Mr. Cumberland asks, "for a man of Volpone's deep cunning, and long reach of thought to provoke those on whom his all depended, to retaliate upon him, and this for the poor triumph of a silly jest?" Mr. Cumberland shall answer his own question. In his review of the Double Dealer, (Ibid. p. 244,) he finds Maskwell, like Volpone, losing his caution in the exultation of success; upon which he observes; "I allow that it is in character for him to grow wanton in success; there is a moral in a villain out-witting himself." This appears a singular change of opinion in the course of a few pages: but, whatever may be Mr. Cumberland's versatility, Jonson is consistent with himself and with the invaria. ble experience of mankind. "See," says Falstaff, "how wit may be made a jackanapes when 'tis upon an ill employ !" The same sentiment is to be found in Beaumont and Fletcher :

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"Hell gives us art to reach the depths of sin,
"But leaves us wretched fools when we are in,”
Queen of Corinth.

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