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Nathaniel Lee
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Nathaniel Lee : Constantine The Great: A Tragedy. OR The Works...
'O heart, Why dost thou leap against my Bosom like a Cag'd Bird, and beat thyself to Death for an impossible freedom'. ('Constantine')
Century: 1700-1799 Reader/Listener/Group: Gertrude Savile Print: Book
Nathaniel Lee : Caesar Borgia. A Tragedy
Very miserable. 'Like a poor Lunitick that Makes his Moan And for a time beguiles the Lookers-On He reasons well, his Eyes their Wildness lose And vows the keepers his wrong'd sense abuse. But if you hitt the cause that hurts his Brain Then his Teeth gnash; he foams; he Shakes his Chain, His Eyeballs roll, and he is madagain'. (Lee, 'Caesar Borgia')
Century: 1700-1799 Reader/Listener/Group: Gertrude Savile Print: Book
Nathaniel Lee : The Rival Queens, or The Death of Alexander
?He ingenuously seized opportunities, when his parents were away from home, to construct his private theatricals, which he did by converting folding doors into a green curtain, the back apartment into a stage and the front into a pit, boxes and gallery for the accommodation of his imaginary or, at best, scanty audience. ? his favourite play was Alexander, in which he enacted the principal part himself. The mad poetry of that piece was his favourite recitation and it would have been difficult to discover an actor who could give greater force to the tempestuous passage of his Bucephalus than young Maturin.?
Century: 1700-1799 / 1800-1849 Reader/Listener/Group: Charles Robert Maturin Print: Book
Nathaniel Lee :
"I can see no difference between his case [Nathaniel Lee] and Shelley or Byron, except that they have method and he had none."
Century: 1700-1799 / 1800-1849 Reader/Listener/Group: Charles Robert Maturin Print: Book
Nathaniel Lee :
'Since I have been in London I have read nothing but Miss Seward's letters and Miss Owenson's Missionary. Of Miss Seward I am bound to speak well, as she doth so of me; and her monodies are beauiful; but the letters are naught; they abound in false sentiment, and a great many other false things. As to the Missionary, Ambrosio is his father, and Matilde his mother; but, wanting the indelicacy of papa, and the delicacy of mamma, he's a dull fellow. I could think of nothing else but poor Margaret Stewart of Blantyre, and her presbyterian minister, while I read this. Miss Luxina brought her hogs to a bad market, for Hilarion was little better than a beast. Walter Scott's last poem I have also seen, but so hastily that I can be no competent judge of its merits. Talking of words, allow me to recommend to you Ford's plays, lately re-published. Some of them are excellent; the first in the series (which hath an awkward name, I must confess) and the Broken Heart, are particularly admirable. I am sure that you will be struck with them; for Ford is almost as moving as Otway or Lee, - who is the mad poet I adore, yet I can persuade nobody to read him. The History of the Somerville Family, which I have seen in MS., is soon to be printed, and that of Sutherland is to be out shortly'.
