And now perhaps we may hardly be surprised to hear the consenting voice of great authorities place Otway very high among the masters of English tragedy. Dryden, though, when "fearing a rival near the throne," he had called Otway "a barren illiterate man," said afterwards: "The motions which are studied are never so natural as those which break out in the height of a real passion. Mr. Otway possessed this part as thoroughly as any of the ancients or moderns." And again: Charming his face and charming was his verse. Addison says: "Otway has followed nature in the language of his tragedy, and therefore shines in the passionate parts more than any of our English poets." Goldsmith again: "The English language owes very little to Otway, though next to Shakespeare the greatest genius England has ever produced in tragedy." Then let us remember the beautiful lines of Collins: But wherefore need I wander wide To old Ilissus' distant side, Deserted stream and mute! Wild Arun too has heard thy strains, And echo 'midst my native plains Been soothed by Pity's lute. There first the wren thy myrtles shed On gentlest Otway's infant head, To him thy cell was shown, And while he sung the female heart, With youth's soft notes unspoiled by art, Thy turtles mixed their own. And Coleridge, musing upon "mighty poets in their misery dead," in his "Monody on the death of Chatterton" sang: Is this the land of song-ennobled line? Is this the land where genius ne'er in vain Poured forth his lofty strain? Ah me, yet Spenser, gentlest bard divine, Beneath chill disappointment's shade His weary limbs in lonely anguish laid, And o'er her darling dead, Pity, hopeless, hung her head; While 'mid the pelting of that merciless storm Sunk to the cold earth Otway's famished form. Respecting Otway's scenes of passionate affection, Sir Walter Scott says that they "rival and sometimes excel those of Shakespeare; more tears have been shed probably for the sorrows of Belvidera and Monimia than for those of Juliet and Desdemona."