Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation. Ink. I'm sorry to hear this! for friendship, you know Our poor friend!—but I thought it would terminate so. Tra. What! won't you return to the lecture? Ink. Why, the place is so cramm'd, there's not room for a spectre. Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd Tra. How can you know that till your hear him? Ink. I heard Quite enough; and, to tell you the truth, my retreat Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat. Tra. I have had no great loss then? Ink. Loss!-such a palaver! I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours To the torrent of trash which around him he pours, Pump'd up with such effort, disgorged with such labour, Thatcome-do not make me speak ill of one's Tra. I make you! [neighbour. Ink. Yes, you! I said nothing until You compell'd me, by speaking the truth Tra. Is that your deduction? Ink. To speak ill? When speaking of Scamp ill, I certainly follow, not set, an example. The fellow's a fool, an impostor, a zany. Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool makes many. Bat we two will be wise. Ink. Tra. I would, but▬▬ Ink. Pray, then, let us retire. There must be attraction much higher Than Scamp, or the Jew's-harp he nicknames his lyre, To call you to this hot-bed. Tra. I own it-'tis true Miss Lilac! The Blue! The devil! why, man! Pray get out of this hobble as fast as you can. You wed with Miss Lilac! 't would be your perdition: She's a poet, a chemist, a mathematician. Tru. I say she's an angel. Ink. Say rather an angle. If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle. (1) say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether. Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together? Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy alliance Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science. She's so learned in all things, and fond of concerning Herself in all matters connected with learning, (1) Her favourite science was the mathematical— In short, she was a walking calculation, Miss Edgeworth's novels stepping from their covers, Morality's prim personification~~ And you feel nothing loth To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet Her life is as good as your own, I will bet. Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I demand [hand. Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand—that hand on the pen. Tra. Apropos-Will you write me a song now and Ink. To what purpose? [then? Tra. You know, my dear friend, that in prose My talent is decent, as far as it goes; But in rhyme-Ink. You're a terrible stick, to be sure. Tra. I own it: and yet, in these times, there's no For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two; [lure And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few? Ink. In your name? Tra. Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye, Ink. As sublime!-Mr. Tracy-I've nothing to say. Stick to prose-As sublime!!-but I wish you good day. Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-consider-I'm I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song. [wrong; Ink. As sublime!! Why so? Tra. soon I have heard people say And I own, for my own part, that 't is not unpleasant. But let us proceed; for I think, by the hum Ink. Very true; let us go, then, before they can come, Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levy, All flocking to moisten their exquisite throttles (1) Messrs. Southey and Sotheby.-L. E. (2) "My Grandmother's Review, the British." See Moore's Life of Lord Byron. This heavy journal has since been gathered to its grandmothers.-L. E. (3) The Journal de Trevoux (in fifty-six volumes) is one of the most curious collections of literary gossip in the world, and the Poet paid the British Review an extravagant compliment when he made this comparison.-L. E. (4) "Sotheby is a good man-rhymes well (if not wisely); but is a bore. He seizes you by the button. One night of a rout at Mrs. Hope's, he had fastened upon me-(something about Agamemnon, or Orestes, or some of his plays) ECLOGUE SECOND. An Apartment in the House of LADY BLUEBOTTLE, ---A Table prepared. SIR RICHARD BLUEBOTTLE solus. Sir Rich. Was there ever a man who was married! In science and art, I'll be cursed if I know smatter and chatter, glean'd out of reviews, By the rag, tag, and bobtail of those they "BLUES;" -But soft, here they come. Would to God I were deaf! as I'm not, I'll be dan Enter LADY BLUEBOTTLE, MISS LILAC, LADY BLUEMOUNT, MR. BOTHERBY, INKEL, TRACY Miss Mazarine, and others, with Scamp the Leeturer, etc. etc. Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morning; Lady Blueb. next me. Sir Rich. (aside.) If he does, his fatigue is to come Lady Blueb. Mr. Tracy Lady Bluemount-Miss Lilac-be pleased, pray, place ye; And you, Mr. BotherbyBoth. I obey. Oh, my dear Lady, Lady Blueb. Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye: You were not at the lecture. Ink. Excuse me, I was; But the heat forced me out in the best part-alas! -notwithstanding my symptoms of manifest distress-for I was in love, and just nicked a minute when neither me thers, nor husbands, nor rivals, nor gossips were near then idol, who was beautiful as the statues of the gallery where we stood at the time). Sotheby, I say, had seated upon me by the button and the heart-strings, and spared neither. William Spencer, who likes fun, and don't dise mischief, saw my case, and, coming up to us both, took me by the hand, and pathetically bade me farewell; for, said he, I see it is all over with you.' Sotheby then we away: 'sic me servavit Apollo." B. Diary, 1821.–L E. Never mind if he did; 't will be seen That whatever he means won't alloy what he says. Both. Sir! Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise; T was in your defence. Both. If you please, with submission, I can make out my own. Ink. It would be your perdition. While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend Ink. Why I thought-that's to say-there had pass'd A few green-room whispers, which hinted-you know That the taste of the actors at best is so so. (3) Both. Sir, the green-room 's in rapture, and so's the committee. Ink. Ay-yours are the plays for exciting our แ pity And fear," as the Greek says: "for purging the mind," I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind. Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have pray'd For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid. Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play's to be play'd. Is it cast yet? Both. The actors are fighting for parts, As is usual in that most litigious of arts. Lady Blueb. We'll all make a party, and go the first night. Not quite. Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Inkel. Ink. However, to save my friend Botherby trouble, I'll do what I can, though my pains must be double. Tra. Why so? Ink. To do justice to what goes before. Both. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on that score. Your parts, Mr. Inkel, are Ink. Never mind mine; Have taken already, and still will continue Scamp. Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my strictures. Lady Bluem. Sir George (1) thinks exactly with Lady Bluebottle; And my Lord Seventy-four, (2) who protects our dear Bard, And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard For the poet, who, singing of pedlars and asses, (3) Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus. Tra. And you, Scamp! Scamp. I needs must confess I'm embarrass'd. Ink. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already so harass'd With old schools, and new schools, and no schools, and all schools. [fools. Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be This "feast of our reason, and flow of the soul." (I) The late Sir George Beaumont-a constant friend of Mr. Wordsworth.-L. E. (2) The venerable Earl of Lonsdale. This nobleman on one occasion liberally offered to build, and completely furnish and man, a ship of seventy-four guns, towards the close of the American war, for the service of his country, at his own expense;-hence the sobriquet in the text.-L. E. (3) "Pedlars," and "boats," and "waggons!" O ye shades Of Pope and Dryden! are we come to this? That trash of such sort not alone evades Contempt, but from the bathos' vast abyss Floats scumlike uppermost, and these Jack Cades Of sense and song above your graves may hiss Our spirits from earth; the sublimest of gifts; For which poor Prometheus was chain'd to his mountain. [tain: ! 'Tis the source of all sentiment-feeling's true four"T is the vision of heaven upon earth: 'tis the gas Of the soul: 't is the seizing of shades as they pass, And making them substance! 'tis something divine:- | Ink. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more wine? Both. I thank you; not any more, sir, till I dine. Ink. Apropos-Do you dine with Sir Humphry(5) to-day? Tra. I should think with Duke Humphry was more in your way. Ink. It might be of yore; but we authors now look To the knight, as a landlord, much more than the duke. The truth is, each writer now quite at his ease is, Both. I honour that meal: For 'tis then that our feelings most genuinely-feel Ink. True; feeling is truest then, far beyond question: I wish to the gods 't was the same with digestion! Ink. "T is at least worth concealing For itself, or what follows-But here comes your carriage. Sir Rich. (aside.) I wish all these people were d-d with my marriage! [Exeunt The "little boatman" and his "Peter Bell" (4) Fact from life, with the words. (5) The late Sir Humphry Davy, President of the Royal Society.-L. E. (6) The late Miss Lydia White, whose hospitable fune tions have not yet been supplied to the circle of London artists and literati-an accomplished, clever, and tray amiable, but very eccentric lady. The name in the test could only have been suggested by the jingling resemblance it bears to Lydia.-L. E. Marino Faliero, Doge of Venice; AN HISTORICAL TRAGEDY. IN FIVE ACTS. (1) Dux inquieti turbidus Adrie."-Horace. PREFACE. THE Conspiracy of the Doge Marino Faliero is one of the most remarkable events in the annals of the most singular government, city, and people of modern history. It occurred in the year 1355. Every thing about Venice is, or was, extraordinary-her aspect ss like a dream, and her history is like a romance. The story of this Doge is to be found in all her chronicles, and particularly detailed in the Lives of the Doges, by Marin Sanuto, which is given in the Appendix. It is simply and clearly related, and is perhaps more dramatic in itself than any scenes which can he founded upon the subject. Marine Faliero appears to have been a man of Lord Byron finished the composition of this tragedy on the 16th July, 1820.* He at the time intended to keep by him for six years before sending it to the press; but resolutions of this kind are, in modern days, very seldom adhered to. It was published in the end of the same year; and, to the poet's great disgust, and in spite of his urgent and repeated remonstrances, was produced on the stage of Drury Lane Theatre early in 1821. The extracts from bis setters given by Mr. Moore in his Life, sufficiently explain As feelings on this occasion. Marino Faliero was, greatly to his satisfaction, commended warmly for the truth of its adhesion to Venetian ratory and manners, as well as the antique severity of its structure and language, by that eminent master of Italian and classical literature, the late Ugo Foscolo. Mr. Gifford alan delighted him by pronouncing it "English-genuine English. It was, however, little favoured by the contem rary critics. There was, indeed, only one who spoke of as quite worthy of Lord Byron's reputation. "Nothing," aid he, has for a long time afforded us so much pleasure, as the rich promise of dramatic excellence unfolded in this production of Lord Byron. Without question, no such tragedy as Marino Faliero has appeared in English, since the day when Otway also was inspired to his masterpiece the interests of a Venetian story and a Venetiau conracy. The story of which Lord Byron has possessed Emself is, we think, by far the finer of the two.-and we may possessed, because we believe he has adhered almost to the letter of the transactions as they really took place." -The language of the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviewers, Mr. Jeffrey and Bishop Heber, was in a far different strain. The former says talents and of courage. I find him commander-inchief of the land forces at the siege of Zara, where he beat the King of Hungary and his army of eighty thousand men, killing eight thousand men, and keeping the besieged at the same time in check; an exploit to which I know none similar in history, except that of Cæsar at Alesia, and of Prince Eugene at Belgrade. He was afterwards commander of the fleet in the same war. He took Capo d'Istria. He was ambassador at Genoa and Rome,-at which last he received the news of his election to the dukedom; his absence being a proof that he sought it by no intrigue, since he was apprised of his predecessor's death and his own succession at the same moment. But he appears to have been of an ungovernable temper. A story is told by Sanuto, of his having, many years before, Marine Faliero has undoubtedly considerable beauties, both ate and poetical; and might have made the fortune of any aspirant for fame: but the name of Byron raises expectations are not so easily satisfied; and judging of it by the lofty standand which he himself has established, we are compelled to say, that cannot but regard it as a failure, both as a poem and a play. This may be partly accounted for from the inherent difficulty of these two sorts of excellence of confining the daring and di e genius of poetry within the forms and limits of a regular fa, and, at the same time, imparting its warm and vivifying spirit On the original MS. sent from Ravenna, Lord Byron has writ Begun April 4th, 1320-completed July 16th, 1820-finished ing August 16th-17th, 1820; the which copying makes ten times The star of composing, considering the weather--thermometer 90 in e shade-and my domestic duties."-L. E. "It was planned at Venice, and as far back as 1817." Galt.-P. E. to the practical preparation and necessary details of a complete the- 15 |