he stupidity and wickedness of their victims. We may object
to the fact that the only person in the play possessed of a scruple
of honesty is discomfited, and that the greatest scoundrel of all is
approved in the end and rewarded. The comedy is so admirably written and
contrived, the personages stand out with such lifelike distinctness
in their several kinds, and the whole is animated with such verve and
resourcefulness that "The Alchemist" is a new marvel every time it is
read. Lastly of this group comes the tremendous comedy, "Bartholomew
Fair," less clear cut, less definite, and less structurally worthy
of praise than its three predecessors, but full of the keenest and
cleverest of satire and inventive to a degree beyond any English comedy
save some other of Jonson's own. It is in "Bartholomew Fair" that we are
presented to the immortal caricature of the Puritan, Zeal-in-the-Land
Busy, and the Littlewits that group about him, and it is in this
extraordinary comedy that the humour of Jonson, always open to this
danger, loosens into the Rabelaisian mode that so delighted King James
in "The Gipsies Metamorphosed." Another comedy of less merit is "The
Devil is an Ass," acted in 1616. It was the failure of this play that
caused Jonson to give over writing for the public stage for a period of
nearly ten years.

"Volpone" was laid as to scene in Venice. Whether because of the success
of "Eastward Hoe" or for other reasons, the other three comedies declare
in the words of the prologue to "The Alchemist":

"Our scene is London, 'cause we would make known
No country's mirth is better than our own."

Indeed Jonson went further when he came to revise his plays for
collected publication in his folio of 1616, he transferred the scene
of "Every Man in His Humour" from Florence to London also, converting
Signior Lorenzo di Pazzi to Old Kno'well, Prospero to Master Welborn,
and Hesperida to Dame Kitely "dwelling i' the Old Jewry."

In his comedies of London life, despite his trend towards caricature,
Jonson has shown himself a genuine realist, drawing from the life about
him with an experience and insight rare in any generation. A happy
comparison has been suggested between Ben Jonson and Charles Dickens.
Both were men of the people, lowly born and hardly bred. Each knew
the London of his time as few men knew it; and each represented it
intimately and in elaborate detail. Both men were at heart moralists,
seeking the tr