The Mistaken Husband, which was acted at the Theatre Royal, 1675.

So flexible, so generous as thine,

Immortal Dryden! From her copious fount
Large draughts he took, and unbeseeming song
Inebriated sang. Who does not grieve

To hear the foul and insolent rebuke
Of angry satire from a bard so rare,
To trace the lubricous and oily course
Of abject adulation, the lewd line

Of shameless vice from page to page, and find
The judgment bribed, the heart unprincipled,
And only loyal at the expense of truth,

Of justice, and of virtue ?"

THOMAS SHADWELL.

(1688-1692.)

Shadwell, the great support o' the comic stage,
Born to expose the follies of the age.
To whip prevailing vices, and unite
Mirth with Instruction, Profit with Delight.
For large ideas and a flowing pen,

First of our times, and second but to Ben.
Shadwell, who all his lines from Nature drew,
Copied her out, and kept her still in view.
Who ne'er was bribed by title or estate,
To fawn and flatter with the rich and great.
To let a gilded vice or folly pass,

But always lashed the villain and the ass.”

EPILOGUE TO "THE VOLUNTEERS."

THOMAS SHADWELL was born at Lanton Hall, in Norfolk, in 1640, and educated at Caius College, Cambridge. He was intended for the profession of the law, and studied for some time at the Inner Temple; but deserting its shady courts and dusty books, he went to travel on the Continent, whence he returned full of ambition to shine as a poet.

In that art he was also unsuccessful; but turning his attention to the drama, his really great talents won for him fame and reward, and perhaps a wife, for he married a lady connected with the theatre.

He produced seventeen comedies, all avowedly in imitation of Ben Jonson, whose memory he reverenced, and whose works he was never tired of eulogising as masterpieces of English dramatic literature.

In the dedication of The Virtuoso, he says of Ben Jonson :

"He was incomparably the best dramatic poet that ever was, or I believe ever will be; and I had rather be the author of one scene in his best comedies than of any play this age has produced."

""Twas he alone true humours understood,

And with great wit and judgment made them good."

In imitation of his master, Shadwell in his comedies represents the course of peculiar humours, or the train of events brought about by the eccentricities of certain individuals. This he does with great powers of observation and considerable wit, and the perusal of some of the comedies throws considerable light on the manners of his age. For the groundwork of some of his plots he was indebted to Molière, which author in some respects he more nearly resembles than he does Jonson.

"Of all our modern wits, none seem to me
Once to have touched upon true comedy,
But hasty Shadwell, and slow Wycherly.
Shadwell's unfinished works do yet impart
Great proofs of force of nature, none of art.
With just, bold strokes he dashes here and there,
Showing great mastery with little care,

Scorning to varnish his good touches o'er,
To make fools and women praise them more."

ROCHESTER.

Shadwell clearly explains what he considers to be the proper aim of comedy:

"It does not consist in the representation of mere natural imperfections; they are not fit subjects for comedy, since they are not to

be laughed at, but pitied. But the artificial folly of those, who are not coxcombs by nature, but with great art and industry make themselves so, is a proper object of comedy. Good comical humour ought to be such an affectation as misguides men in knowledge, arts, or science, or that causes defection in manners and morality, or perverts their minds in the main actions of their lives."

Granting this view of comedy to be the correct one, it must be allowed that Shadwell held a very high rank in its composition; but it is now the almost universal opinion that true comedy does not consist in the creation of intrigues caused by the entanglements of a variety of superficial and improbable "humours."

Shadwell lived on very friendly terms with Dryden for several years, and in 1674 they united with Crowne, in the composition of a spiteful attack on Elkanah Settle, the last City poet.

In 1676, Shadwell produced The Virtuoso, and in the epilogue he indulges in a sneer at Dryden's Heroic Tragedies: "But of those ladies he despairs to-day,

Who love a dull, romantic, whining play :
Where poor frail woman's made a deity,
With senseless amorous idolatry,

And snivelling heroes sigh, and pine, and cry,
Though singly they beat armies and huff kings,
Rant at the gods and do impossible things;

Though they can laugh at danger, blood and wounds, Yet if the dame once chides, the milksop hero swoons." This criticism was not beyond the bounds of courtesy; and in 1678 Dryden furnished Shadwell with a prologue for his comedy, The True Widow.

But in March, 1682, Dryden's Medal appeared, in which he espoused the views of the Court, in the much vexed question of the succession to the throne. Shadwell, a Whig, and staunch Protestant, befriended the popular party, and replied in :

THE MEDAL OF JOHN BAYES;

Or, a Satyr upon Folly and Knavery.
"How long shall I endure without reply,
To hear this Bayes, this hackney-rayler lie?
The fool uncudgell'd for one libel, swells,
Where not his wit, but sauciness excells;

Whilst with foul words and names which he lets flie,
He quite defiles the satyr's dignity.

For libel and true satyr different be,

This must have truth and salt, with modesty.
Sparing the persons, this does tax the crimes,
Galls not great men, but vices of the times,
With witty and sharp, not blunt and bitter rimes.
Methinks the ghost of Horace there I see,
Lashing this cherry-cheek'd Dunce of fifty-three;
Who, at that age, so boldly durst profane,
With base hir'd libel, the free satyr's vein.
Thou stil'st it satyr, to call names, rogue, whore,
Traytor and rebel, and a thousand more;
An oyster wench is sure thy muse of late,
And all thy Helicon's at Billingsgate.

As far from satyr does thy talent lye,
As from being cheerful, or good company;
For thou art Saturnine, thou dost confess
A civil word thy dulness to express.

Now farewell wretched, mercenary Bayes,
Who the King libell'd, and did Cromwell praise;
Farewell, abandon'd rascal, only fit

To be abus'd by thy own scurrilous wit."

Shadwell then traces the career of Dryden, in lines remarkable for their coarseness, accusing him of being obscene in his conversation, and servile in his muse.

The most noticeable passages have already been quoted, so far as modern ideas of propriety will allow; they con