that
everything bad in the play is Dekker's, and everything good Massinger's,
will not hold for a moment; but, on the other side, it must be remembered
that since Lamb there has been a distinct tendency to depreciate Massinger.
All that can be said is, that the grace and tenderness of the Virgin's part
are much more in accordance with what is certainly Dekker's than with what
is certainly Massinger's, and that either was quite capable of the Hircius
and Spungius passages which have excited so much disgust and
indignation--disgust and indignation which perhaps overlook the fact that
they were no doubt inserted with the express purpose of heightening, by
however clumsily designed a contrast, the virgin purity of Dorothea the
saint.

It will be seen that I have reserved _Old Fortunatus_ and _The Honest
Whore_ for separate notice. They illustrate, respectively, the power which
Dekker has in romantic poetry, and his command of vivid, tender, and subtle
portraiture in the characters, especially, of women. Both, and especially
the earlier play, exhibit also his rapid careless writing, and his
ignorance of, or indifference to, the construction of a clear and
distinctly outlined plot. _Old Fortunatus_ tells the well-known story of
the wishing cap and purse, with a kind of addition showing how these fare
in the hands of _Fortunatus's_ sons, and with a wild intermixture
(according to the luckless habit above noted) of kings and lords, and
pseudo-historical incidents. No example of the kind is more chaotic in
movement and action. But the interlude of Fortune with which it is ushered
in is conceived in the highest romantic spirit, and told in verse of
wonderful effectiveness, not to mention two beautiful songs; and throughout
the play the allegorical or supernatural passages show the same character.
Nor are the more prosaic parts inferior, as, for instance, the pretty
dialogue of Orleans and Galloway, cited by Lamb, and the fine passage where
Andelocia says what he will do "to-morrow."

_Fort._ "No more: curse on: your cries to me are music,
And fill the sacred roundure of mine ears
With tunes more sweet than moving of the spheres.
Curse on: on our celestial brows do sit
Unnumbered smiles, which then leap from their throne
When they see peasants dance and monarchs groan.
Behold you not this Globe, this golden bowl,
This toy call'd world at our