such authority, which, in fact, we are not aware that we materially oppose-we think, that the hags of Middleton, if not so sublime, are, at the least, as true-more true to our pre-conceived notions of those sinful elders, than even the sexless fictions of Shakspeare himself. The witches of our great poet, as pieces of imagination, must rank perhaps above the mere earthy superstitions of Middleton. They have neither sex nor name, parents nor children; they have no occupation but as ministers of evil; no habitation, save the blasted heath and the haunted cavern. They have nothing in common with humanity; but stand forth, phantoms, as false, though less attractive, than the fabled cloud which arrayed itself in shape and dazzling beauty to tempt the faging love of Ixion. The creatures of Shakspeare are like the Furies, or the Fates of Greek mythology. They seem born of cloud and storm: they come with the tempest, freighted and full of evil, and dissolve in lightning and thunder. The witches of Middleton, on the other hand, seem compounded of earth. They are akin to Caliban, though scarcely so romantic, being dwellers in the neighbourhood of villages, blasters of corn and maimers of cattle, as hate or interest or the love of mischief prompts them. Nevertheless, with all their drawbacks, they are excellent people in their way; and the freshness and truth of some of the scenes wherein they figure are—it is a bold word—not inferior to those of Macbeth. They are altogether a Midsummer Night's Dream,-airy as Titania or Oberon, buoyant as the winds on which they ride. We will give our readers one of these scenes. To us it seems perfect in its way. We have the sense of the "rich evening" upon us-the moonlight-the owl hooting in the copse-the mounting into air :-How light is the dialogue between Hecate and her sisters who are aloft:-We hear them shouting and calling-descending and ascendingand loitering for their mistress on the wind:-They speak of the "dainty pleasure" of riding in the air-in the white moonshine-over woods and hills-steeple-tops and turrets-beyond the sound of bells or the howling of the midnight wolves, and we cannot refuse them our belief.

"Enter Heccate, Stadlin, Hoppo, and other Witches.

Hec. The moon's a gallant; see how brisk she rides!
Stad. Here's a rich evening, Heccate.

Hec. Aye, is't not, wenches,

To take a journey of five thousand miles?

Hop. Our's will be more to night.

Hec. Oh, it will be precious. Heard you the owl yet?
Stad. Briefly in the copse,

As we came thro' now.

Hec. 'Tis high time for us then.

Stad. There was a bat hung at my lips three times
As we came thro' the woods, and drank her fill:

Old Puckle saw her.

Hec. You are fortunate still.

Are you furnished?

The very screech owl lights upon your shoulder,
And woos you like a pidgeon.
Have you your ointments?
Stad. All.

Hec. Prepare to flight then:
I'll overtake you swiftly.
Stad. Hye then, Heccate:

We shall be up betimes.

Hec. I'll reach you quickly.

Enter Firestone.

[They ascend.

Fire. They are all going a birding to-night. They talk of fowls i'th'air that fly by day, I'm sure they'll be a company of foul sluts there to night. If we have not mortality affeared, I'll be hang'd, for they are able to putrify it to infect a whole region. She spies me

now.

Hec. What, Firestone, our sweet son?

Fire. A little sweeter than some of you; or a dunghill were too good for one.

Hec. How much hast there?

Fire. Nineteen, and all brave plump ones; besides six lizards, and three serpentine eggs.

Hec. Dear and sweet boy! What herbs hast thou?

Fire. I have some mar-martin, and mandragon.

Hec. Mar-maritin, and mandragora, thou would'st say.

Fire. Here's pannax too. I thank thee; my pan akes,

I am sure, with kneeling down to cut 'em.

Hec. And selago.

Hedge Hissop too! How near he goes my cuttings!
Were they all cropt by moonlight?

Fire. Every blade of 'em, or I am a mooncalf, mother.
Hec. Hie thee home with 'em.

Look well to th' house to-night; I am for aloft.

Fire. Aloft, quoth you? I would you would break your neck once, that I might have all quickly. [Aside.]-Hark, hark, mother! they are above the steeple already, flying over your head with a noise of musicians.

Hec. They are indeed, help me! help me! I'm too late else.

And Hoppo too, and Hellwain too:
We lack but you, we lack but you.
Come away, make up the count.

Hec. I will but 'noint, and then I mount.

A Spirit descends in the shape of a Cat. [Above.] There's one come down to fetch his dues; A kiss, a coll, a sip of blood;

And why thou stay'st so long, I muse, I muse,
Since th' air's so sweet and good.

Hec. Oh, art thou come,

What news,

what news?

Spirit. All goes still to our delight,

Either come, or else

Refuse, refuse.

Hec. Now, I am furnish'd for the flight.

Fire. Hark, hark! The cat sings a brave treble in her own lan

guage.

Hec. [Ascending with the Spirit.] Now I go, now I fly,

Malkin, my sweet spirit, and I.

Oh, what dainty pleasure 'tis

To ride in the air,

When the moon shines fair,

And sing, and dance, and toy, and kiss!

Over woods, high rocks, and mountains,
Over seas our mistress' fountains,
Over steep towers and turrets

We fly by night, 'mongst troops of spirits.
No ring of bells to our ears sounds;
No howls of wolves, no yelp of hounds;
No not the noise of waters' breach,
Or cannon's roar, our height can reach.

[Above.] No ring of bells, &c.

Fire. Well, mother, I thank you for your kindness,

You must be gambolling i̇'th' air, and leave me here like a

fool and a mortal."

In this play there is a thought

"Nothing lives

But has a joy in somewhat"

[Exit.

which will remind the poetical reader of Mr. Wordsworth. The words themselves would form a good text for all the "Loves"-from the Angels,' and 'Plants,' and Minerals,' &c. down to (almost) the Triangles' themselves.

His

The next play, from which we select a passage, is the tragedy of The Changeling, which Middleton wrote in conjunction with Rowley. And here we may observe a peculiarity which occurs frequently in Middleton's plays, which is, that his heroines, in contradiction to custom, are generally women faithless and abandoned. As other poets seem to raise for themselves a standard of excellence, and appear to be for ever moulding characters and images to approach their ideal model of perfection; so, on the other hand, Middleton seems to have continually contemplated an opposite model-a standard of treachery and infidelity. worship was like an Egyptian's, and his idols are all moral deformities-monsters and hideous creatures, whom no pure and healthy imagination could consent perpetually to cherish. His Dutchess, in The Witch-Biancha, (or Brancha,) in Women beware of Women-Beatrice, in The Changeling—are women who rebel against the conjugal duties, and conspire against their husbands' lives-and, indeed, there is scarcely a single instance of one of his females possessing real virtue, or any share of gentle affection. They are almost all lascivious, faithless, or cruel. His best personages (where none good) are amongst the men; for though the titles of Middleton's dramas may seem occasionally to convey a compliment to the sex,' as it is called-(as More dissemblers besides Women, and A Woman never vect)-yet the detail but seldom answers to the heading of the chapter of praise. In the play called More dissemblers besides Women there are (independantly of a waiting-woman) three female characters, two of whom are of the frailest possible material, and the third but little better, if at all.

are

But, with respect to our extract from The ChangelingBeatrice Joanna, the heroine, is married to Alonzo de Piracquo she dislikes him, and employs Deflores, a deformed dwarf, to kill him. The deed is effected, and the following

is the first interview between the guilty parties,-the beautiful Beatrice and the hideous dwarf. It contains a lesson for ladies.

"Beat. Deflores.

Def. Lady.

Beat. Thy looks promise cheerfully.

Def. All things are answerable, time, circumstance,

Your wishes, and my service.

Beat. Is it done, then?

Def. Piracquo is no more.

Beat. My joys start at mine eyes; our sweet'st delights
Are evermore born weeping.

Def. I've a token for you.

Beat. For me?

Def. But it was sent somewhat unwillingly,

I could not get the ring without the finger.

Beat. Bless me! what hast thou done?

Def. Why, is that more than killing the whole man?

I cut his heart strings.

A greedy hand thrust in a dish at court,

In a mistake, hath had as much as this.

Beat. 'Tis the first token my father made me send him.
Def. And I made him send it [you] back again

For his last token; I was loath to leave it,
And I'm sure dead men have no use of jewels;
He was as loath to part with't, for it stuck

As if the flesh and it were both one substance.

Beat. At the stag's fall, the keeper has his fees;
"Tis soon apply'd, all dead men's fees are yours, sir:
I pray bury the finger, but the stone

You may make use on shortly; the true value,
Tak't of my truth, is near three hundred ducats.

Def. "Twill hardly buy a capcase for one's conscience
To keep it from the worm, as fine as 'tis :

Well, being my fees, I'll take it:

Great men have taught me that, or else my

Would scorn the way on't.

Beat. It might justly, sir;

Why thou mistak'st, Deflores; 'tis not given

In state of recompense.

Def. No, I hope so, lady;

merit

You should soon witness my contempt to't then.

Beat. Prithee! thou look'st as if thou wer't offended.

Def. That were strange, lady; 'tis not possible