THE NEW EDITION OF BEN JONSON.

THE reprints of standard works in every branch of literature, which are continually appearinss from various quarters, looking less like the bold speculation of an individual than the regular supply of a regular demand, is one of the best siens of a healthy state of the public mind. Editions of our first-rate, but not

merely popular authors, have lately appeared, addr ssed to a class

of readers to whom both money and book-room are primary ob jects. Philosophy, history, divinity, poetry, fiction, and the elite of what is called miscellaneous literature, have been pub

lished, or are publishing, at a price which cannot tempt by its mere waste paper cheapness, but must imply some desire to have

them on the part of the purchasers; whilst the number and continual succession of these reprints prove, that on the whole they pay. It is a sineular fact, that editions of such works, addressed to the wealthy, have remained stationary in number, if they have not, as we suspect they have. considerably fallen A'. With the example of BACON, BURKE, and MILTON'S Prose Works it) our memory, we cannot say that Mr. MossoN's venture

of Ben Janson is of a speculative kind. It is one, hosever, that proves the solid tendency of a large portion of the book-buying public as "Josisoses learned sock" is not one to allure the vulgar, for though his plays contain the essence of much learning, and of a large and penetrating observation of life, they want tile attraction of a well-arranged fable, a living spirit in the characters, or a high] y-imaginative poetry. The Works of BEN Joaisosr are rather for the studious or the critical reader, than for the popular devourer of books, who looks only for amusement. Of these Works, however, the Plays form not much more than half; the rest consisting of Entertainments, Masques, Miscellaneous Poems, and Translations; some prose observations quaintly called Timber, (Sylva,) and an English Grammar, The Entertainments are few in number and slight in design. In their primitive form, they were pageants interspersed with speeches: after the personal show of royalty and nobility, the main interest of the pageantry must have consisted in the architectural and artiatical devices, the description of which is now heavy enough; and the dialogues or set discourses are not always worthy of the genius of JONSON. The Entertainments are remarkable, however, as containing the germs of the Masques, into which they sometimes run : curious, as showing how JONSON founded a courtly and highly intellectual entertainment on a fashion not more poetical in itself than a Lord Mayor's show and the complimentary speeches of the dignitaries who bear a part in it ; and instructive, since we can trace in them the progress of the poet's mind, from the stiff and cumbrous dulness of a pageant, to the elegance, variety, and surprise of the "Masque." This was the invention of Jostsox; and, we suspect, contributed to give him the high reputation he enjoyed not only during his life, but as long as the stately conventional modes, amid which he lived, survived to influence the judgment of men. The reader who is only acquainted with MILTON'S Comas, would form a wrong notion of the Masque proper ; which is not a drama, philosophically ethic in its purpose, regularly constructed in its plan, availing itself of classical and fairy mythology only to add variety to its characters and imagery, and possessing a general interest, in itself: the Masque of Joalso:a was in its subject temporary, and in its form modish: being often designed to do honour to some occasion—as The Masque of Hymen for a marriage, The Masque of Queens to natter the consort of J NNIES by representing her as the highest and most excellent of all the sovereigns who had ever lived. The Masques were corntnonly short ; sometimes not exseeding the length of a scene, never of an act. They had little story, strictly no action ; the persons were fabulous beings; and the denouement was either constrained by the subject, or brought about by supernatural means instead of by the conduct of the persons, the course of events, and the influence of passion—as in The Masque y' Queens, the charms of the Witches are of no effect, and their conclave is dissolved by the appearance of Heroic Virtue, who delivers a flat tering speech. Rigidly speaking, these entertainments had nothing dramatic in them save their dialogue, their arts of action, and representation but they combined in their highest perfection the ballet, the opera, and the courtly muse. Though burly in person and rough in manners, with a temper none of' the mildest, and an intellect of a searching, stern, and saturnine cast, old BEN was able to " gloze and flatter" with a grace. which shamed the courtiers, and a skill which redeemed the flattery, whilst learning and poetry were blended together with so much art and gayety, that in this particular JoNsox must be allowed to stand alone. As a specimen of him in his lighter mood, we will take an extract from The Satyr. It' now, after the

lapse of two centuries, we read it with delight, its effect on the occasion can be guessed, when all its directed arts of music, action, and decoration, were realized—when royalty stood in bodily presence, and the actors were nobility. It was written on the occasion of the Queen's visit.

A Satyr, lodged] in a little spinet by which her Majesty and the Prince were to come, at the report of certain cornets that were (limited in m resat places of the park, to signify her approach, advanced his heart above the top of the wood, wondering, and, with his pije m his hand, began as followeth Here ! there ! and every where !

Some solemnities are near, That these changes strike mine ear.

My pipe and 1 a part shall bear. [After a short strain with his pipe;

Look, see !—heshrew this tree !

What may all this wonder be?

Pipe it who that list for me : I'll fly out abroad, and see.

[Here he leaped down, and gazed the Queen and the Prince in the face.

That is Cyparissus' face ! And the dame bath Syrinx' grace! 0 that Pan were now in place !— Sure they are of heavenly race.

[Here he ran into the wood again, and hid hinrcelf, whilst to the sound of excellent sort music, that was concealed in the thicket, the re canie tripping op the lawn a' bevy of Fairies, attending on Mob their Queen, who. falling into an arti ficial ring. began to dance a round, while their mistress spoke as followeth.

Mob. Hail and welcome, worthiest queen ! Joy bad never perfect been, To the nymphs that haunt this green, Had they not this evening seen. Now they print it on the ground With their feet in figures round ; Marks that will be ever found, To remember this glad stound.

.Sat. (Peeping out of the hush.]

Trust her not, you bonnibell, She will forty leasings tell ; I do know her pranks right well.

Mob. Satyr, we must have a spell For your tongue, it runs too fleet.

Sat. Not so nimbly as your feet,

When about the cream-bowls sweet, You and all your elves do meet.

Here he came hopping .forth, and mixing himself with the Fairies. skipped in, out, and about their circle, while they made many tartrs to catch at him.

This is Mali, the mistress Fairy, That doth nightly rob the dairy, And can hurt or help the cherning, As she please, without discerning.

I Rai. Pug, you will anon take warning.

Sot. She that pinches country wenches, If they rub not clear, their benches, And with sharper nails remembers

When they rake not up their embers :

But if so they chance to feast her, In a shoe she drops a tester.

Fai. Shall we strip the skipping jester? Sat. This is she that empties cradles,

Takes out children, puts in ladles Trains forth midwives in their slumber, With a sieve the holes to number ; And then leads them from her burrows, Home through ponds and water-furrows.

Fa. Shall not all this mocking stir us?

Sat. She can start our Franklin's daughters,

In their sleep, with shrieks and laughters; And on sweet St. Anna's night, Feed them with a promised sight, Some of husbands, some of lovers, Which an empty dream discovers.

1. Fed. Satyr, vengeance near you hovers.

The Witches in The Masque of Queens were so highly approved of by the heir apparent, Prince HENRY, that he requested JONSON to add notes, showing his authorities ; and the poem appears with a most elaborate commentary. As it was represented three years after the usually-received date of Macbeth, it is probable that SHAKSPERE'S witches suggested those of JONSON ; and the latter suffers unavoidably in the comparison. The want of purpose and reality is explainable by the different nature of their pieces ; but they lack the earnestness and supernatural grotesqueness of SHAKSPERE. They speak like maskers. Here is the passage that best bears independent exhibition ; which the curious, who have not BEN JoNsoN's Works, may compare with Macbeth. The Dame (who acts the part of Hecate) has just arrived— Hags. What our Dame bids us du,

We are ready fur.

Dame. Then fall to.

But first relate me, what you have sought, Where you have been, and what you have brought.

I Hug. I have been all day, looking after A raven, feeding upon a quarter ;

And, soon, as she turn'd her beak to the south, I enatch'd this morsel out of her mouth.

2 Hag. 1 have been gathering wolves hairs, The mad dog's foam, and the adder's ears: The .purging of a dead mares eyes, And all since the evening star did rise.

3 Hag. I last night lay all alone On the ground, to hear the mandrake groan ; And plucked him up, though he grew full low ; And, as I had done, the cock did crow.

4 Hag. And 1 have been choosing omit this scull, From charnel-houses, that were full; From private grots, and public pits; And flighted • sexton out of his wits. 5 Hag. Under a cradle I did creep, By day ; and when the child was asleep, At night, I suck'd the breath ; an I rose, And pluck'd the nodding nurse by the nose.

6 Hag. I had a dagger : what did I with that ?

Kill'd an infant to have his fat. A piper it got, at a church-ale,

I bade him again blow wind in the tail.

7 Hag. A murderer, yonder, was hung in chains, The sun and the wind had shrunk his veins; I bit off a sinew ; I clipp'd his hair, I brought off his rags that danced in the air.

8 Hag. The schreech-owl's eggs, and the feathers black,

The blood of the frog, and the bone in his back, I have been getting ; and made of his skin A purset, to keep sir Cranion in.

9 Hag. And I have been plucking, plants among, Hemlock, henbane, adder's-tongue,

Nightshade, moon .wort, lihbard's.bane; And twice, by the dogs, was like to be ta'en.

10 Hag. I, from the jaws of a gardener's bitch,

Did snatch these bones, and then leap'd the ditch : Yet went I hack to the house again,

KM the black cat, and here's the brain.

II Hag. I went to the toad breeds under the wall, I chartn'd him out, and be came at my call ;

I scratch'd out the eyes of the owl before,

I tore the bat's wing ; what would you have more?

Dame. Yes, I have brought, to help our vows,

Horned poppy, cypress boughs, The fig.tree wild that grows on tombs, And juice that from the larch.tree comes, The basilisk's blood, and the viper's skin ; And now our orgies let us begin.

The Miscellaneous Poems, divided into several classes, have some productions which, for grace, gayety, and spirit, may vie with the passage just quoted from The Satyr, or the well-known lyric " Drink to me only with thine eyes ;" but the generality are quaint in sentiment, and somewhat constrained and pedantic in style. The translation of The Art of Poetry renders the views of HORACE, as may be supposed, with &Weal justice; but the versification is stiff and lame. The Grammar, though long since superseded, and seemingly following those of the learned languages, is in reality founded on an extensive observation of our tongue; and perhaps succeeding grammarians had done well to have attended to the brevity and simplicity of old BEN. His prose work called Sylva—Timber, or Discoveries made upon Men and Matter, " as they have flowed out of his [the author's] daily reading, or bad their retlux to his peculiar notion of the times" has not yet had justice done to it. In the shape of brief reflections, it contains the result of much thought, observation, and study, and now and then information regarding contemporary characters. The Sylva has not the method of BACON'S Essays ; but it has all their pith and depth, with more variety, and some instructive criticism.

As no notes are attached to the edition before us, the chief person concerned in it is the bookseller ; and Mr. Moxosr has done all that can be done in the way of a neat text, a good glossary, and a sufficient index. BARRY CORNWALL contributes an agreeable Life; which tells the leading points of BEN JoNsoN's personal and literary career pleasantly, but dashed by some efforts at smartness. The merit, too, is all in the manner : so far from seeking new matter, the biographer does not seem to have read carefully the author he undertook to edite. One object of BARRY Constwarr. is to redeem JossoN's personal character from the obloquy which had been thrown on it ; yet he makes no use of a fact that redounds as much to BEN'S gratitude as to CAMDEN'S merit—that the poet dedicated his first, play to his old schoolmaster. The biographer says, and truly, that it is not known how Josisosr escaped from the consequences of' the duel in which he killed his man : but it would seem, from the dedication of The Poetaster to Mr. RICHARD MARTIN, who was once "a timely and noble voucher" for the author's innocence " to the greatest justice of this kingdom," that influence bad something to do with his release from prison,—unless, indeed, MARTIN was a witness on the trial.

The second part of the Introduction contains a view of the Drama, somewhat superficial both in learning and reflection. The estimate of JONSON is in the main just, and free from the fault of partisanship so often charged upon editors. The following observations contain the pith of the criticism ; and the opening remarks, on the judgment of JONSON, are very judicious so fur as regards his use of it as a poet. Judgment—a critical judgment of men and things—was, however, JoNsoN's chief excellence.

" In the present case, we think that the received idea is an error in criticism. For, when we speak of judgment,' we must mean judgment in reference to the entire drama, nut to a mere arrangement cd scenes or events, (which are little more than it, mechanism,) hut to the construction and development of characters, the conduct and style uf the dialogue, and the general truth and completeness of the play. Now, taking all these things into consideration, there cannot, we conceive, be a doubt as to the immense superiority of Shakspeare. In the management of his scenes, Jonson is frequently injudicious, inasmuch as he is very prolix and inactive, making little or no progress in the story ; whilst the speeches, as in ' Catiline' and other dramas, are tedious beyond those of any contemporary writer. He is injudicious, where he introduces into his dramas a multitude of characters who throw no light upon the story, and lend no interest to it, occupying space that had better have been bestowed upon the principal agents of the plot. He is injudiciou% because he has selected subjects of temporary fashion and interest as the ground-works for the display of his hemour ; instead of resorting to those qualities of the mind, which, however they may vary with circumstances, are nevertheless permanent ha themselves, and matters of interest to all men. Again, the very principle and essence of a play cossista in its attracting the sympathy of the audience, for one or more of the persons of the drama ; and yet there is scarcely a male, ■Dd not one female character in the entire range of Jonson's plays, concerning whose fate. we trouble ourselves even for an instant. It is these drawbacks that,—notwithstanding much good and some beautiful writing, notwithstanding an abundance of sententious sayings, and a great deal of wit and humour,—have banished the dramas of Ben Junson from the English stage. "And vet, the works cf our author richly deserve the attention of every one desirous of becoming acquainted with English literature. For he is a sound and sensible thinker, at all times. His style is, for the most part, pure and natural ; sometimes, indeed, degenerating into vulgarity, (we mean, beyond what the subject requires,) but rarely exhibiting one of those signs of bombast and pretension which distinguish a weak writer. If Jonson did not feel the highest inspiration of ' the god,' he wax at least free from the false afflatus. Ile had no affectation, no hypocrisy. He never lent himself to mean or dishonest purposes. His objects were to brand vice and ridicule folly ; and he did this with a vigorous band. Generally speaking, Ile is sententious, witty, humorous, learned, observant, and acute; rich in illustration ; frequently airy and fanciful ; rarely pathetic ; and never sublime. In enforcing a proposition, however, lie accumulates sentence after sentence, thought after thought, till the original idea is lost, or looks impoverished, amidst the wealth with which it is surrounded. This not only injures the idea, but mare the truth of his characters. It is the fault even of Sir Epicure Mammon's splendid visions. [In this instance the judgment may be fairly demurred to.) There is no. thing savouring of luxury which the Homan miters have put upon record that he does not treat us with. A true epicure would have had a more select taste, we think, and have contented himself with fewer delicacies. At all events, he would not have placed all things upon a level ; far that shows that be had a true relish for none. He who appreciates wines, likes the hest wines, which are few. He who really loves the sex,' loves but one woman—at a

time. • • •

"A8 moral satires, or as histories, putting upon record the manners and buinours of the age in which he lived, Jonson's plays are extremely valuable. But we cannot prevail upon ouraelves to entertain great respect for his (mere) dramatic talent. For his characters do not represent men and women, with the medley of vices and virtues common to human nature about them ; but each is the peraonification of some one single hutnour, and no more. There is no rluctuation—no variety or relief in them. His people speak with a malice prepense. They utter by rote what is set down fur them, every one pursuing one leading idea from beginning to end, and taking his cue evidently from the prompting of the poet. They speak nothing spontaneously. The original design of each character is pursued so rigidly, that, let what will happen, the one single humour is ever uppermost, always the same in point of force, the same in its mode of demonstration ; instead of hieing operated on by circuit]. stances, increased or weakened, hurried or delayed, or turned aside, as the case may require.

" Taking them, however, for what they are, they possess great merit. They have nothing to do with the passions, and do not contain the elements of the higher Drama. But as abstractions, or personifications of humoure, his people are in excellent keeping. They are full of wit, good sense, and shrewd observation ; and exhibit the masculine character of the author, his learning, his industry, and his perseverance, (not to say inveteracy of purpose,) to perfection."

In addition to all this, it may be observed, that being mere abstractions and wanting individuality, the characters of JONSON

want humanity and reality. We care not much about them or their fortunes, for they do not seem to care much themselves. In the purpose, the earnestness, the pursuit of the business in

hand, they fall infinitely below those of SEI tliSPERE ; and even in the art which his admirers claim for him he is deficient, for he bad not the ars celare artcm. A few lines at the opening of Othello place before us a fool and a knave, with some cause of quarrel, and a high probability that the fool has been cheated; the next speech of /ago touches the key-note of his future conduct, naturally and necessarily unfolds the situation of the leading characters, and we are then immediately plunged into the bill stream of the action. In one of JONSON'S cliefs-ff'reuvre, The Alchemist, a quarrel also possesses the audience with the previous state of affairs; but, independent of its length and verbiage, the persons only tell what each knows already. A similar difference may be noted in their clusings. SHAKSPERE'S are rapid; especially when the principal person is disposed of. Josisn:si's sometimes drag. In Macbeth, Richard the Third, Othello, 1,,,ar, very little is said after the death of the hero. In Sejanus, the best of JoNsost's tragic plays, the real termination is the downfal of the favourite, and his departure, guarded, from the Senate ; but the audience are detained for the space of a moderate half act, listening to a narrative of what takes place behind the scenes—an ending at once inartiticial and tedious. Scjanus, however, is a noble production of learning and intellect. The history of the time is mirrored in the drama.