w_, a singular play founded on a similar
conception to that in the late Mr. Anthony Trollope's _Fixed Period_, is
attributed also to Rowley and Dekker, and has sometimes been thought to be
so early that Massinger, except as a mere boy, could have had no hand in
it. The contradictions of critics over _The Virgin Martyr_ (by Massinger
and Dekker) have been complete; some peremptorily handing over all the fine
scenes to one, and some declaring that these very scenes could only be
written by the other. It is pretty certain that the argumentative
theological part is Massinger's; for he had a strong liking for such
things, while the passages between Dorothea and her servant Angelo are at
once more delicate than most of his work, and more regular and even than
Dekker's. No companion is, however, assigned to him in _The Unnatural
Combat_, which is probably a pretty early and certainly a characteristic
example of his style. His demerits appear in the exaggerated and crude
devilry of the wicked hero, old Malefort (who cheats his friend, makes away
with his wife, kills his son in single combat, and conceives an incestuous
passion for his daughter), in the jerky alternation and improbable conduct
of the plot, and in the merely extraneous connection of the farcical
scenes. His merits appear in the stately versification and ethical interest
of the debate which precedes the unnatural duel, and in the spirited and
well-told apologue (for it is almost that) of the needy soldier, Belgarde,
who is bidden not to appear at the governor's table in his shabby clothes,
and makes his appearance in full armour. The debate between father and son
may be given:--

_Malef. sen._ "Now we are alone, sir;
And thou hast liberty to unload the burthen
Which thou groan'st under. Speak thy griefs.

_Malef. jun._ I shall, sir;
But in a perplex'd form and method, which
You only can interpret: Would you had not
A guilty knowledge in your bosom, of
The language which you force me to deliver
So I were nothing! As you are my father
I bend my knee, and, uncompell'd profess
My life, and all that's mine, to be your gift;
And that in a son's duty I stand bound
To lay this head beneath your feet and run
All desperate hazards for your ease and saf