and England
possessed other poets inferior to Shakespeare alone; or, indeed, the
higher order of whose plays may claim to be ranked above the inferior
dramas ascribed to him. Among these we may reckon Massinger, who
approached to Shakespeare in dignity; Beaumont and Fletcher, who
surpassed him in drawing female characters, and those of polite and
courtly life; and Jonson, who attempted to supply, by depth of learning,
and laboured accuracy of character, the want of that flow of
imagination, which nature had denied to him. Others, who flourished in
the reign of James and his son, though little known to the general
readers of the present age even by name, had a just claim to be
distinguished from the common herd of authors. Ford, Webster, Marston,
Brome, Shirley, even Chapman and Decker, added lustre to the stage for
which they wrote. The drama, it is true, was the branch of poetry most
successfully cultivated; for it afforded the most ready appeal to the
public taste. The number of theatres then open in all parts of the city,
secured to the adventurous poet the means of having his performance
represented upon one stage or other; and he was neither tired nor
disgusted by the difficulties, and disagreeable observances, which must
now be necessarily undergone by every candidate for dramatic laurels.[2]
But, although during the reigns of Queen Elizabeth and James I, the
stage seems to have afforded the principal employment of the poets,
there wanted not many, who cultivated, with success, the other
departments of Parnassus. It is only necessary to name Spenser, whose
magic tale continues to interest us, in despite of the languor of a
continued allegory; Drayton, who, though less known, possesses perhaps
equal powers of poetry; Beaumont the elder, whose poem on Bosworth Field
carries us back to the days of the Plantagenets; Fairfax, the translator
of Tasso, the melody of whose numbers became the model of Waller;
besides many others, who ornamented this era of British literature.

Notwithstanding the splendour of these great names, it must be
confessed, that one common fault, in a greater or less degree, pervaded
the most admired poetry of Queen Elizabeth's age. This was the fatal
propensity to _false wit_; to substitute, namely, strange and
unexpected connections of sound, or of idea, for real humour, and even
for the effusions of the stronger passions It seems likely that this
fashion arose at court, a sphere in which its d