the floor of hell and watches with
equanimity the writhings of the damned. The reader is at once strangely
attracted and repelled by the pages of Tacitus; there is a weird
fascination that holds him fast, as the glittering eye of the Ancient
Mariner held the Wedding Guest. It was owing partly, no doubt, to the
hideousness of the subject that the Elizabethan Dramatists shrank from
seeking materials in the _Annals_; but hardly the abominations of Nero
or Tiberius could daunt such daring spirits as Webster or Ford. Rather
we must impute their silence to the powerful mastery of Tacitus; it was
awe that held them from treading in the historian's steps. Ben Jonson
ventured on the enchanted ground; but not all the fine old poet's wealth
of classical learning, not his observance of the dramatic proprieties
nor his masculine intellect, could put life into the dead bones of
Sejanus or conjure up the muffled sinister figure of Tiberius. Where Ben
Jonson failed, the unknown author of the _Tragedy of Nero_ has, to some
extent, succeeded.

After reading the first few opening-lines the reader feels at once that
this forgotten old play is the work of no ordinary man. The brilliant
scornful figure of Petronius, a character admirably sustained
throughout, rivets his attention from the first. In the blank verse
there is the true dramatic ring, and the style is "full and heightened."
As we read on we have no cause for disappointment. The second scene
which shows us the citizens hurrying to witness the triumphant entry of
Nero, is vigorous and animated. Nero's boasting is pitched in just the
right key; bombast and eloquence are equally mixt. If he had been living
in our own day Nero might possibly have made an ephemeral name for
himself among the writers of the Sub-Swinburnian School. His longer
poems were, no doubt, nerveless and insipid, deserving the scornful
criticism of Tacitus and Persius; but the fragments preserved by Seneca
shew that he had some skill in polishing far-fetched conceits. Our
playwright has not fallen into the error of making Nero "out-Herod
Herod"; through the crazy raptures we see the ruins of a nobler nature.
Poppaea's arrowy sarcasms, her contemptuous impatience and adroit tact
are admirable. The fine irony of the following passage is certainly
noticeable:--

"_Pop_. I prayse your witt, my Lord, that choose such safe
Honors, safe spoyles, worm without dust or blood.

_Nero_. What, mocke ye me, Poppaea.