in these by-forms of the drama;
while in "The Masque of Christmas," and "The Gipsies Metamorphosed"
especially, is discoverable that power of broad comedy which, at court as
well as in the city, was not the least element of Jonson's contemporary
popularity.

But Jonson had by no means given up the popular stage when he turned to
the amusement of King James. In 1605 "Volpone" was produced, "The Silent
Woman" in 1609, "The Alchemist" in the following year. These comedies,
with "Bartholomew Fair," 1614, represent Jonson at his height, and for
constructive cleverness, character successfully conceived in the manner
of caricature, wit and brilliancy of dialogue, they stand alone in
English drama. "Volpone, or the Fox," is, in a sense, a transition play
from the dramatic satires of the war of the theatres to the purer comedy
represented in the plays named above. Its subject is a struggle of
wit applied to chicanery; for among its 'dramatis personae', from
the villainous Fox himself, his rascally servant Mosca, Voltore (the
vulture), Corbaccio and Corvino (the big and the little raven), to Sir
Politic Would-be and the rest, there is scarcely a virtuous character in
the play. Question has been raised as to whether a story so forbidding
can be considered a comedy, for, although the plot ends in the
discomfiture and imprisonment of the most vicious, it involves no moral
catastrophe. But Jonson was on sound historical ground, for "Volpone"
is conceived far more logically on the lines of the ancients' theory
of comedy than was ever the romantic drama of Shakespeare, however
repulsive we may find a philosophy of life that facilely divides the
world into the rogues and their dupes, and, identifying brains
with roguery and innocence with folly, admires the former while
inconsistently punishing them.

"The Silent Woman" is a gigantic farce of the most ingenious
construction. The whole comedy hinges on a huge joke, played by a
heartless nephew on his misanthropic uncle, who is induced to take to
himself a wife, young, fair, and warranted silent, but who, in the end,
turns out neither silent nor a woman at all. In "The Alchemist," again,
we have the utmost cleverness in construction, the whole fabric building
climax on climax, witty, ingenious, and so plausibly presented that we
forget its departures from the possibilities of life. In "The Alchemist"
Jonson represented, none the less to the life, certain sharpers of
the metropolis, rev