said in the person of Cæsar, one speaking to him, 'Cæsar, thou dost me wrong.' He replied, 'Cæsar did never wrong, but with just cause;' and such like, which were ridiculous. But he redeemed his vices with his virtues. There was even more in him to be praised, than to be pardoned." This criticism, full as it is of candour, has been made the basis of charges of malignity against Shakespeare.
We have spoken of Jonson as the author of tragedy, of comedy, of masque, as a translator, and prose writer. But it is as a lyric poet also that we claim for him a homage and admiration which has hitherto been sparingly given, if yielded at all. In the aspects in which we have already viewed him, he is a great rather than a pleasing writer. He is not one of those whose works we make fireside friends, and the constant companions of our leisure and solitude. It is a duty more perhaps than a pleasure to read him. This is not a high praise of a writer of tragedy and comedy; but we must admit when we rise from the study, it is with a profound conviction of the vast powers of the writer. There is something grand, massive, colossal in his intellect. There is in him the profound erudition, and sustained dignity which we admire in Milton, and which cause us to gaze at reverent distance and muse in sacred silence, on his genius. And although we may not make either the one or the other familiar friends, as we do Homer and Shakespeare, with their more genial strains, yet they are not all gloom and grandeur. They have their lighter moods, and livelier utterances. Do not let us forget "Lycidas and l'Allegro," and the lyrics of Jonson. Than these nothing can be more exquisite, and their beauty is heightened by the contrast in which they stand to the other works. The smile of a countenance usually grave, has more charms than all the dimples and laughter of
