illustration of this is the little record kept by old Simon Forman, a noted mountebank and quack doctor, in 1610 and 1611. It has preserved for us our earliest notices of performances of Macbeth, Cymbeline, and A Winter's Tale; but this is accidental. The doctor's intention was merely to note for his own guidance such lessons as he learned from the plays presented on the stage. Such benefits were, according to the views of wiser men, to be gained chiefly from comedies; tragedy, and classical tragedy in particular, had a finer, a more permanent value. Tragedy was the voice of the wisest men of the world, the ancients, upon the most serious themes of human life; it not only, as Aristotle had said, purified the mind through pity and terror, it fortified the inner life, and both by example and by sententious maxim prepared man to meet the most subtle attacks of fate, the temptations of success, or the discouragements of failure. Tragedy therefore had a unique value for the Elizabethans, and the performances of classical plays, or those written in imitation of the classics, by the universities or the inns of court, did not fall into the abyss which now receives amateur theatricals.
Failure to take account of the value attached to the lessons and the examples of tragedy may perhaps account for the misunderstanding which exists so widely, even among scholars, in regard to the first tragedy in English, Gorboduc, or Ferrex and Porrex. Everyone knows that this was written in direct imitation of Seneca, and everyone discusses glibly its Senecan features, the bloody theme, the division into five acts, the use of the chorus, the removal of the action from the view of the spectators, the long speeches; but critics are, without exception, offended to the heart by the fifth act, and especially by the two long disquisitions of Arostus and Eubulus. It is, however, no exaggeration to say that the play exists solely for the sake of these speeches. This was not a mere academic exercise. It was a serious attempt by some of the most thoughtful men of England to move the queen, Elizabeth, to a course of action which they regarded as absolutely essential to the welfare of the realm. Other attempts to secure the same end were made by her best statesmen throughout the reign. The failure of this effort was not due to the weakness of the tragedy, but, like the failure of all the rest, to some feature of Elizabeth's character or some circumstance in her life which has not yet been fully and convincingly explained. The purpose of the writers is clear. They wished to persuade Elizabeth to marry and settle once for all the succession to the throne of England. They, in common with all thoughtful and patriotic Englishmen, feared the horrors of an unsettled succession or a divided rule. These
