professing to disclose the slang of thieves and vagabonds; and, remarks Warton, from a contemporary writer, the most witty, elegant, and eloquent display of the vices of London then extant. "Lanthern and Candle Light: Or, The Bel-Man's Second Night's Walke. In which he brings to light a Brood of more strange Villanies than ever were till this Year discovered." 4to. 1612. “Villanies discovered by Lanthorn and Candle Light, and the Helpe of a new Crier called O-per-se-0. Being an Addition to the Belman's second Night's Walke, with canting Songs never before printed." 4to. 1616. It will occasion no surprise, therefore, if we find this describer of the arts and language of thieving himself in a jail; he was, in fact, confined in the King's Bench prison from 1613 to 1616, if not longer. The most remarkable transaction of his life appears to have been his quarrel with Ben Jonson, who, no doubt sufficiently provoked, satirizes him in his Poetaster, 1601, under the character of Crispinus; a compliment which Decker amply repaid in his "Satiromastix, or the Untrussing of the humorous Poet," 1602, where he lashes Ben without mercy, under the designation of Horace Junior. Jonson replied in an address to the Reader, introduced in the 4to edition of his play, in place of the epilogue, and points to Decker, under the appellation of the "Untrusser." Decker was an old man in 1631, for in his "Match me in London," published in that year, he says: "I have been a priest in Apollo's Temple many years, my voice is decaying with my age;" he probably died in 1639, the previous year being the date of his latest production. Of Robert Greene, the author of near fifty productions,* the history is so highly monitory and interesting as to demand more than a cursory notice. It affords, indeed, one of the most melancholy proofs of learning, taste, and genius being totally inadequate, without a due control over the passions, to produce either happiness or respectability. This misguided man was born at Norwich, about the middle of the sixteenth century, of parents in genteel life and much esteemed. He was sent to St. John's College, Cambridge, from whence, at an early period of his education, he was, unfortunately for his future peace of mind, induced to absent himself, on a tour through Italy and Spain. His companions were wild and dissolute, and, according to his own confession,† he ran headlong with them into every species of dissipation and vice. On his return to England, he took his degree of Bachelor of Arts at St. John's, in 1578, and afterwards, removing to Clare-hall, his Master of Arts degree in that college, 1583. We learn, from one of his numerous tracts, that, immediately after this event, he visited the metropolis, where he led a life of unrestrained debauchery. Greene was one of those men who are perpetually sinning and perpetually repenting; he had a large share of wit, humour, fancy, generosity, and good-nature, but was totally deficient in that strength of mind which is necessary to resist temptation; he was conscious, too, of his great abilities, but at the same time deeply conscious of the waste of talent which had been committed to his When we find, therefore, that he was intended for the church, and that he was actually presented to the vicarage of Tollesbury, in Essex, on the 19th of June, 1584, we may easily conceive how a man of his temperament and habits would feel and act; he resigned it, in fact, the following year, no doubt shocked at the disparity between his profession and his conduct; for we find, from his own relation, that a few years previous to this incident, he had felt extreme compunction on hearing a sermon "preached by a godly learned man," in St. Andrew's Church, Norwich. care. It was shortly after this period that he married; and, if any thing could have saved Greene from himself, this was the expedient; for the lady he had chosen For a catalogue of these, as far as they have hitherto been discovered, we refer the reader to Mr. Beloe's Anecdotes of Literature. vol. ii., and to Censura Literaria, vol. viii. In his pamphlet, entitled The Repentance of Robert Greene, he informs us, that "wags as lewd" as himself drew him to march into Italy and Spaine," where he "saw and practised such villanie as is abhominable to declare." was beautiful in her person, amiable and moral in her character, and we know, from the works of this unhappy man, that his heart had been the seat of the milder virtues, and that he possessed a strong relish for domestic life. The result of the experiment must lacerate the feelings of all who hear it; for it exhibits, in a manner never surpassed, the best emotions of our nature withering before the touch of Dissipation. The picture is taken from a pamphlet of our author's, entitled "Never Too Late," printed in 1590, where his career is admirably and confessedly shadowed forth under the character of the Palmer Francesco. It would appear from this striking narrative, if the minutiæ, as well as the outline of it, are applicable to Greene, that he married his wife contrary to the wishes of her father; their pecuniary distress was great, but prudence and affection enabled them to realize the following scene of domestic felicity: "Hee and Isabel joyntly together taking them to a little cottage, began to be as Ciceronicall as They were amorous; with their hands thrift coveting to satisfy their hearts thirst, and to be as diligent in labours, as they were affectionate in loves; so that the parish wherein they lived, so affected them for the course of their life, that they were counted the very mirrors of methode; for be being a scholer, and nurst up in the universities, resolved rather to live by his wit, than any way to be pinched with want, thinking this old sentence to be true, "the wishers and woulders were never good householders;" therewith he applied himselfe in teaching of a schoole, where, by his industry, hee had not onely great favour, but gate wealthe to withstand fortune. Isabel, that shee might seeme no less profitable, then her husband carefull, fell to her needle, and with her Worke sought to prevent the injurie of necessitie. Thus they laboured to maintain their loves, being as busie as bees, and as true as turtles, as desirous to satisfie the world with their desert, as to feede the humours of their own desires. Living thus in a league of united virtues, out of this mutuall concord of conformed perfection, they had a sonne answerable to their owne proportion, which did increase their amitie, so as the sight of their young infant was a double ratifying of their affection. Fortune and love thus joyning in the league, to make these parties to forget the stormes, that had nipped the blossom of their former yeres. The poetry of Greene abounds still more than the prose with the most exquisite delineations of rural peace and content, and the following lines feelingly paint this short and only happy period of his life : "Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content, The quiet minde is richer than a crowne: Sweete are the nights in carelesse slumber spent, The poor estate scornes Fortune's angry frowne : The homely house that harbours quiet rest, The cottage that affoords no pride nor care, A minde content both crowne and kingdome is. † Deeply is it to be lamented, and with a sense, too, of humiliation for the frailty of human nature, that, with such inducements to a moral and rational life, with sufficient to support existence comfortably, for he had some property of his own, and his wife's dowry had been paid, and with a child whom he loved, and with a wife whom he confesses was endowed with all that could endear and dignify her sex, he could suffer his passions so far to subdue his reason, as to throw these essentials towards happiness away! In the year 1586 he abandoned this amiable woman and her son, to revel in all the vicious indulgences of the metropolis. The causes of this iniquitous desertion may be traced in his works; from these we learn that, in the first place, she had endeavoured, and perhaps • Censura Literaria, vol viii. p. 11, 12. + From Greene's Farewell to Follie. Vide Beloe's Anecdotes, vol. vi. p. 7 We learn these circumstances his having squandered his paternal inheritance and his marriage ertion-from his two tracts, "Never Too Late," and "Repentance," where all the prominent events of Ha life are detailed too importunately for such an irritable character, to reform his evil propensities;" and secondly that on a visit to London on business, he had been fascinated by the allurements of a courtesan, † and on this woman, whose name was Ball, and on her infamous relations, for her brother was afterwards hanged, he squandered both his own property and that of his wife. It is almost without a parallel that during the remainder of Greene's life, including only six years, he was continually groaning with anguish and repentance, and continually plunging into fresh guilt; that in his various tracts he was confessing his sins with the deepest contrition, passionately apostrophising his injured wife, imploring her forgiveness in the most pathetic terms, and describing, in language the most touching and impressive, the virtue of her whom he had so basely abandoned. He tells us, under the beautifully drawn character of Isabel, by whom he represents his wife, that upon her being told, by one of his friends, of his intended residence in London, and by another, of the attachment which had fixed him there, she would not at first credit the tale; but, when convinced, she hid her face, and inwardly smothered her sorrows, yet grieving at his follies, though unwilling to hear him censured by others, and at length endeavouring to solace her affliction by repeating to her cittern some applicable verses from the Italian of Ariosto, He then adds, that she subsequently hinted her knowledge of the amour to him in a letter, saying " the onely comfort that I have in thine absence is the child, who lies on his mother's knee, and smiles as wantonly as his father when he was a wooer. But, when the boy says, 'Mam, where is my dad, when wil he come home; then the calm of my content turneth to a present storm of piercing sorrow, that I am forced sometime to say, unkinde Francesco that forgets his Isabell. I hope Francesco it is thine affaires, not my faults, that procure this long delay."S The following pathetic song seems to have been suggested to Greene by the scene just described, and is a further proof of the singular disparity subsisting between his conduct and his feelings. "BY A MOTHER TO HER INFANT. WEEPE not, my Wanton, smile upon my knee, Weepe not, my Wanton, smile upon my knee, Thus he grieved in every part, Weep not, my Wanton, smile upon my knee, Fathers sorrow, fathers joy. Weep not, my Wanton, smile upon my knee, In the mean time he pursued his career of debauchery in Town, whilst his forsaken wife retired into Lincolnshire. In July, 1588, he was incorporated at Oxford, at which time, says Wood, he was "a pastoral sonnet maker, and author of several things which were pleasing to men and women of his time: they made much sport, and were valued among scholars."++ In short, such had been the Oldys says, that "he left his wife, for her good advice, in the year 1586." Berkenhout's Biograp Literaria, p. 390. note d. Berkenhout, p. 390. note d. See Censura Literaria, vol. viii. p. 13. "Never Too Late." See Censura Literaria, vol. viii. p. 15. Greene's Arcadia, 1587. ++ Biographia Literaria. p. 289. extravagance of Greene, that he was now compelled to write for his daily support, and his biographers, probably without any sufficient foundation, have chosen to consider him as the first of our poets who wrote for bread. It should be recorded, however, that his pen was employed not only for himself but for his wife; for Wood tells us, and it is a mitigating fact which has been strangely overlooked by every other writer, that he "wrote to maintain his wife, and that high and loose course of living which poets generally follow."* We have reason, indeed, to conclude, that the income which he derived from his literary labours was considerable, for his popularity as a writer of prose pamphlets, which, as Warton observes, may "claim the appellation of satires," was unrivalled. Ben Jonson alludes to them in his Every Man out of his Humour," and Sir Thomas Overbury, describing a chamber-maid, says "she reads Greene's works over and over; but is so carried away with the Mirror of Knighthood, she is many times resolv'd to run out of herself, and become a lady-errant."‡ " It must be confessed that many of the prose tracts of Greene are licentious and indecent; but there are many also whose object is useful and whose moral is pure. They are written with great vivacity, several are remarkable for the most poignant raillery, all exhibit a glowing warmth of indignation, and many are interspersed with beautiful and highly polished specimens of his poetical powers. On those which are employed in exposing the machinations of his infamous associates, he seems to place a high value, justly considering their detection as an essential service done to his country; and he fervently thanks his God for enabling him so successfully to lay open the "most horrible Coosenages of the common ConyCatchers; Cooseners and Crosse Biters," names which in those days designated the perpetrators of every species of deception and knavery.S But the most curious and interesting of his numerous pieces, are those which relate to his own character, conduct, and repentance. The titles of these, as they best unfold the laudable views with which they were written, we shall give at length. 1. Greene's Mourning Garment, given him by Repentance at the Funerals of Love, which he presents for a Favour to all young Gentlemen that wishe to weane themselves from wanton desires. Both pleasant and profitable. By R. Greene, Utriusque Academiæ in Artibus Magister. Sero sed serio. Lond. 1590. 2. Greene's Never Too Late. Sent to all youthful Gentlemen, decyphering in a true English Historie those particular vanities, that with their frosty vapours nip the Blossomes of every Braine from attaining to his intended perfection. As pleasant as profitable, being a right Pumice Stone, apt to race out Idlenesse with delight, and folly with admonition. By Robert Greene, In Artibus Magister. Lond. 1590. 3 Greene's Groatsworth of Wit. Bought with a million of Repentance, describing the Folly of Youth, the Falshood of make-shift Flatteries, the Miserie of the Negligent, and Mishaps of deceiving Courtezans. Published at his dying Request, and newly corrected and of many errors purged. Felicem fuisse infaus tum. Lond. 1592. 4. Greene's Farewell to Follie. Sent to Courtiers and Scholers, as a President to warne them from the vain Delights that drawe Youth on to Repentance. Sero sed serio. By Robert Greene. 5. Repentance of Robert Greene, Maister of Artes. Wherein, by himselfe, is laid open his loose Life, with the Manner of his Death. Lond. 1592. Athenæ Oxonienses, vol. i. col. 136. † Act ii. sc. 3. * Vide New and choice Characters of severall Authors, together with that exquisite and unmatcht Tore, The Wife; written by Syr Thomas Overburie. Lond. 1615. His trifling pamphlets of Love," as he himself terms them (see Repentance of Robert Greene), we id not notice; but there are two, under the titles of "Penelope's Webb," and "Ciceronis Amor," which deserve mention, as exhibiting many excellent precepts and examples for the youth of both sexes. 6. Greene's Vision. Written at the instant of his death, conteyning a penitent Passion for the folly of his Pen. Sero sed serio. By Robert Greene. In these publications the author has endeavoured to make all the reparation in his power, by exposing his own weakness and folly, by detailing the melancholy effects of his dissipation, and by painting in the most impressive terms the contrition which he so bitterly felt. In what exquisite poetry he could deplore his vicious habits, and by what admirable precepts he could direct the conduct of others, will be learnt from two extracts taken from his "Never Too Late," in the first of which the Penitent Palmer, the intended symbol of himself, repeats the following ode: "Whilome in the Winter's rage, A Palmer old and full of age, How fond love had made him blinde, Were stales that drew me on to sin: Oh her eyes are paths to sin. Her face was faire, her breath was sweet, The second extract, entitled the Farewell of a friend, is supposed to be ad dressed to Francesco the Palmer, "by one of his companions;" such an one, indeed, as might have saved him from ruin, had he sought for the original in real life. "Let God's worship be thy morning's worke, and his wisdome the direction of thy days labour. "Rise not without thankes, nor sleepe not without repentance. "Choose but a few friends, and try those; for the flatterer speakes fairest. "If thy wife be wise, make her thy secretary; else locke thy thoughts in thy heart, for women are seldome silent. "If she be faire, be not jealous; for suspicion cures not womens follies. "If she be wise, wrong her not; for if thou lovest others she will loath thee. "Let thy children's nurture be their richest portion for wisdome is more precious then wealth. "Be not proude among thy poor neighbours; for a poore man's hate is perillous. "Nor too familiar with great men; for presumption winnes disdaine." + The virtues of Greene were, it is to be apprehended, confined to his books; they were theoretical rather than practical; for, however sincere might be his repettance at the moment, or determined his resolution of reform, the impression seems to have been altogether transient; he continued to indulge, with few interruptions, his vicious course, until a death, too accordant with the dissipated tissue of his life, closed the melancholy scene. He died, says Wood, about 1592, of a surf it taken by eating pickled herrings and drinking Rhenish wine. It appears that his friend Nash was of the party. Of the debauchery, poverty, and misery of Greene, Gabriel Harvey, with whom he had carried on a bitter personal controversy, has left us a highly-coloured description. If the last scene of his life be not exaggerated by this inveterate opponent, it presents with a picture of distress the most poignant and pathetic upon record. * Vide Beloe's Anecdotes of Literature, vol. vi. p. 9. Never Too Late, part . See Censura Literaria, vol. viii. p. 125, 136. |