characters can bear the microscopic scrutiny of wit quickened by
anger; and, perhaps, the best advice to authors would be, that they
should keep out of the way of one another.

Rowe is chiefly to be considered as a tragic writer and a
translator. In his attempt at comedy he failed so ignominiously
that his Biter is not inserted in his works: and his occasional
poems and short compositions are rarely worthy either praise or
censure, for they seem the casual sports of a mind seeking rather to
amuse its leisure than to exercise its powers. In the construction
of his dramas there is not much art; he is not a nice observer of
the unities. He extends time and varies places as his convenience
requires. To vary the place is not, in my opinion, any violation of
nature, if the change be made between the acts, for it is no less
easy for the spectator to suppose himself at Athens in the second
act, than at Thebes in the first; but to change the scene, as is
done by Rowe, in the middle of an act, is to add more acts to the
play, since an act is so much of the business as is transacted
without interruption. Rowe, by this licence, easily extricates
himself from difficulties; as in Jane Grey, when we have been
terrified with all the dreadful pomp of public execution; and are
wondering how the heroine or the poet will proceed, no sooner has
Jane pronounced some prophetic rhymes than--pass and be gone--the
scene closes, and Pembroke and Gardiner are turned out upon the
stage.

I know not that there can be found in his plays any deep search into
nature, any accurate discriminations of kindred qualities, or nice
display of passion in its progress; all is general and undefined.
Nor does he much interest or affect the auditor, except in Jane