No disproportion holds with human souls, 'Twixt them and bodies, making bodies fitter Cato. Past doubt, though others ; Think heaven a world too high for our low reaches. Not knowing the sacred sense of him that sings, The sea, the air, and all the elements Retain those forms of knowledge learn'd in life ; ; His last words. now I am safe, Come Cæsar, quickly now, or lose your vassal. Vulcan from heaven fell, yet on his feet did light, [The selections which I have made from this poet are sufficient to give an idea of that "full and heightened style" which Webster makes characteristic of Chapman. Of all the English playwriters, Chapman perhaps approaches nearest to Shakspeare in the descriptive and didactic, in passages which are less purely dramatic. Dramatic imitation was not his talent. He could not go out of himself, as Shakspeare could shift at pleasure, to inform and animate other existences, but in himself he had an eye to perceive and a soul to embrace all forms. He would have made a great epic poet, if indeed he has not abundantly shown himself to be one; for his Homer is not so properly a translation as the stories of Achilles and Ulysses re-written. The earnestness and passion which he has put into every part of these poems would be incredible to a reader of mere modern translations. His almost Greek zeal for the honour of his heroes is only paralleled by that fierce spirit of Hebrew bigotry, with which Milton, as if personating one of the zealots of the old law, clothed himself when he sat down to paint the acts of Samson against the uncircumcised. The great obstacle to Chapman's translations being read is their unconquerable quaintness. He pours out in the same breath the most just and natural and the most violent and forced expressions. He seems to grasp whatever words come first to hand during the impetus of inspiration, as if all other must be inadequate to the divine meaning. But passion (the all in all in poetry) everywhere present, raising the low, dignifying the mean, and putting sense into the absurd. He makes his readers glow, weep, tremble, take any affection which he pleases, be moved by words or in spite of them, be disgusted and overcome their disgust. I have often thought that the vulgar misconception of Shakspeare, as of a wild irregular genius "in whom great faults are compensated by great beauties," would be really true, applied to Chapman. But there is no scale by which to balance such disproportionate subjects as the faults and beauties of a great genius. To set off the former with any fairness against the latter, the pain which they give us should be in some proportion to the pleasure which we receive from the other. As these transport us to the highest heaven, those should steep us in agonies infernal.] THE TRAGEDY OF PHILIP CHABOT, ADMIRAL OF FRANCE: BY GEORGE CHAPMAN AND JAMES SHIRLEY. The ADMIRAL is accused of treason, a criminal process is instituted against him, and his faithful servant ALLEGRE is put on the rack to make him discover: his innocence is at length established by the confession of his enemies; but the disgrace of having been suspected for a traitor by his royal Master, sinks so deep into him, that he falls into a mortal sickness. ADMIRAL. ALLEGRE, supported between two. Adm. Welcome my injur'd servant, what a misery Have they made on thee! Al. Though some change appear Upon my body, whose severe affliction Hath brought it thus to be sustained by others, Adm. Alas, poor man! Were all my joys essential, and so mighty More grief, than all my imagination Could let before into me. Didst not curse me Al. Good my lord, let not |