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Updated: June 18, 2025
That pageant of the sunny waves is gone, Her glory lives on memory's page alone; It flashes still in Shakespeare's living lay, And Otway's song has snatched it from decay. But ah! her Chian steeds of brass no more Shall lord it proudly over sea and shore; Nor ducal sovereigns launch upon the tide, To win the Adriatic for their bride!
Her hand resisted Otway's approach; she would not seat herself, but moved nervously hither and thither, her eyes constantly turning to the door.
The truth is, if a poet would affect the heart, he must not exceed nature too much, nor colour too high; distressful circumstances, short speeches, and pathetic observations never fail to move infinitely beyond the highest rant, or long declamations in tragedy: The simplicity of the drama was Otway's peculiar excellence; a living poet observes, that from Otway to our own times,
To the faculty by which I had characterized Milton, we should confine the term 'imagination; while the other would be contra-distinguished as 'fancy. Now were it once fully ascertained, that this division is no less grounded in nature than that of delirium from mania, or Otway's Lutes, laurels, seas of milk, and ships of amber, from Shakespeare's
Englishwomen, especially English servants, were lazy good-for-nothings! Poor old Anna; she did not feel happy or placid to-day, and she hated the thought of opening the door to some one who, maybe, would condole with her on to-day's news. All Mrs. Otway's friends knew Anna, and treated her as a highly respected institution. Those who knew a little German were fond of trying it on her.
At this period of the year such an appendage under any other touch would have been formal as the Miss Flamborough's oranges, but it was graceful in this woman's slight clasp. "Enchanting creature!" "Fine woman!" "Otway's devoted wife to the life!" murmured the company, in a flutter of genuine admiration forgetting themselves, these Sir Plumes and Belindas, once in a way.
Poor pensive punk now peeps ere plays begin, Sees the bare bench, and dares not venture in; But manages her last half-crown with care, And trudges to the Mall, on foot, for air. The scene of the first Act of Otway's The Soldier's Fortune is laid in the Mall, and gives a vivid picture of the motley and not over respectable company that was wont to foregather there. p. 189 the Ring.
Affectionate loyalty to his father had ever been a guiding principle in Piers Otway's life; he was uneasy under the sense that he had begun to slip towards neglectfulness, towards careless independence. He would have written this morning, but, after all, it was better to wait until he had settled the doubt which made havoc of his days.
Real's romance, and yet more so in Otway's coarse and boisterous tragedy, which, by dint of some powerful coups de theatre, still maintains possession of the English stage, we have hitherto mentioned but the name; and, in fact, even for that name we are indebted only to the more than suspected summary of the Interrogatories of the Accused.
She knew that, in response to that call, Jervis Blake would certainly enlist, if not with the approval, at any rate with the reluctant consent, of his father; and Rose believed that this would mean the passing of Jervis out of her life. To Rose Otway's mind there was something slightly disgraceful in any young man's enlistment in the British Army.
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