ve
earned but a precarious subsistence by his pen; although from
the little we can glean of his history, the inference is, he was
improvident, and easily led away by gay, dissipated companions.
One of his biographers gives a melancholy account of the
destitution of his latter days, and states, that he was reduced to the
necessity of borrowing a shilling, to satisfy the cravings of hunger,
from a gentleman, who, shocked at the distress of the author of "Venice
Preserved," put a guinea into his hands; that Otway was choked with a
piece of bread, which he had immediately purchased. He is said to have
died the 14th April, 1685. at a public-house on Tower Hill. This story
is contradicted by Dr. Warton, who says that the poet died of a
distemper brought on by a severe cold.

Out of Shakspeare's unapproachable domain, we know of no
tragedy in the English language to compare with this in the
earnestness of its passion, the depth of its pathos, and the aptitude
of its language. Although it has not been represented of late
years as frequently as formerly, it will be long before it is
superseded in its foremost rank in our acting drama.

VENICE PRESERVED

ACT 1.

_Scene I.--St. Mark's._

_Enter Priuli and Jaffier, L._

_Priuli._ (r.) No more! I'll hear no more! Begone
and leave me!

_Jaf._ Not hear me! By my sufferings, but you shall!
My lord--my lord! I'm not that abject wretch
You think me. Patience! where's the distance throws
Me back so far, but I may boldly speak
In right, though proud oppression will not hear me?

_Priuli._ Have you not wronged me?

_Jaf._ Could my nature e'er
Have brooked injustice, or the doing wrongs,
I need not now thus low have bent myself
To gain a hearing from a cruel father.--
Wronged you?

_Priuli._ Yes, wronged me! In the nicest point,
The honour of my house, you've done me wrong.
You may remember (for I now will speak,
And urge its baseness) when you first came borne
From travel, with such hopes as made you looked on
By all men's eyes, a youth of expectation;
Pleased with your growing virtue, I received you;
Courted, and sought to raise you to your merits;
My house, my table, nay, my fortune too,
My very self was yours; you might have used me
To your best service; like an open friend,
I treated, trusted you, and thought you mine: