e passages, especially of the quasi-forensic kind in
which Massinger so much delights.

To sum up, it may seem inconsistent that, after allowing so many faults in
Massinger, I should protest against the rather low estimate of him which
critics from Lamb downwards have generally given. Yet I do so protest. It
is true that he has not the highest flashes either of verbal poetry or of
dramatic character-drawing; and though Hartley Coleridge's dictum that he
had no humour has been exclaimed against, it is only verbally wrong. It is
also true that in him perhaps for the first time we perceive, what is sure
to appear towards the close of a period, a distinct touch of _literary_
borrowing--evidence of knowledge and following of his forerunners. Yet he
had a high, a varied, and a fertile imagination. He had, and was the last
to have, an extensive and versatile command of blank verse, never perhaps
reaching the most perfect mastery of Marlowe or of Shakespere, but
singularly free from monotony, and often both harmonious and dignified. He
could deal, and deal well, with a large range of subjects; and if he never
ascends to the height of a De Flores or a Bellafront, he never descends to
the depths in which both Middleton and Dekker too often complacently
wallow. Unless we are to count by mere flashes, he must, I think, rank
after Shakespere, Fletcher, and Jonson among his fellows; and this I say,
honestly avowing that I have nothing like the enthusiasm for him that I
have for Webster, or for Dekker, or for Middleton. We may no doubt allow
too much for bulk of work, for sustained excellence at a certain level, and
for general competence as against momentary excellence. But we may also
allow far too little; and this has perhaps been the general tendency of
later criticism in regard to Massinger. It is unfortunate that he never
succeeded in making as perfect a single expression of his tragic ability as
he did of his comic, for the former was, I incline to think, the higher of
the two. But many of his plays are lost, and many of those which remain
come near to such excellence. It is by no means impossible that Massinger
may have lost incomparably by the misdeeds of the constantly execrated, but
never to be execrated enough, minion of that careless herald.

As in the case of Clarendon, almost absolutely contradictory opinions have
been delivered, by critics of great authority, about John Ford. In one of
the most famous outbursts of his g