Daily globe., 1879-02-23
The Tragical Deaths of Authors.

from Temple Bar.
Robert Greene, worn out with debauch-
cry and completely shattered with dis
eases which were the consequences of his
i'll. l.guided indulgences, was carried off, it
is said, by surfeit of red herrings. There
is no sadder book iu literature than his
dying homily. "a Groat's Worth of Wit
Bought with Million Of Repentance. -
That Otway died miserable is clear,
though it is not easy to learn the precise
manner of his death. johnson gives three
accounts, either that he was literally
starved to death, or that rushing out in
the rage Of hunger into the streets he went
into coffee house, where, gentleman
giving him guinea, he bought roll,
and choked bimself with the first mouth.
full, Or thirdly, that he died of fever
caught by violent pursuit of thief who
had robbed one his friends For this last
story there is, we believe, no foundation
it is lamentably probable that the i'm
mortal author of ''Venice Preserved" and
"The Orphan" persisted of actual want.
His remains are mouldering away in St
Clement Danes church yard, with no
stone to mark the spot. In the same
place, too, sleeps his friend Lee, who also
"died like dog" Poor Lee! His Rival
Queens" is certainly one of the gems OF
the later drama, and his other plays, with
all their bombast, are full Of beauties. He
had been, it is said, carousing with a
party of friends, none Of whom had the
grace to see him home. In the morning
ne was found dead in the streets, which
were covered with snow. a dray had
passed over his body, whether before or
after death was uncertain. A great mys-
terry hangs over the fate of Peter MotteauA,
who was also connected with the stage,
though he is better known to us as a
coadjutor of Urquhart in the masterly
version of Rabelais' great work, which
almost disput ss''the palm with the original.
He was found strangled in house in
Wych street. into which he Lad gone one
after noon.
-Four women and soldier were put on
trial for numbering him, but after an in
quiry which lasted between five and six
hours the jury acquitted them. There
was no adequate motive, it seems, for the
murder, and though marks on the neck
proved that death must have been caused
by strangulation, it was possible that he
had accidentally made away with him
self; that it was no case of voluntary sui
eide wss perfectly clear, except on sup
position that a paroxysm of suicidal
mania had suddenly seized him. To the
present day the problem of his death re-
mains unsolved. A similar fate. though
without the mystery, befell Thomas MAY,
tho historian nf tho ~; IL
translator and continuer of Lucan's
"Pharsalia," and one of the most versa
tile authors of the seventeenth century.
He was found dead in his bed with all
the signs of having been strangled. An
examination of the bouy, however, proved
to the satisfaction of every one that he
had neither fallen victim to murder or
suicide. He had been sufocated bv the
strings of his night-cop being tied too
closely, for he was very fat, and had gone
to bed intoxicated. Becoming comatose,
it is supposed that he had neither the
power to loosen the strings or to cry for
assistance, and so persisted. Andrew
Marvel has indeed tried to make out in
an amusing poem that his poor friend
had died not from the indirect but the
direct "force of good wine," and conse-
quently is to be mum bered strictly among
the martyrs of Bacchus. Marvel himself,
by the way, died very mysteriously, and
not without strong suspicion of having
been poisoned, though it would be diff.
cult to assign any motive for the deed =
he had little to leave anyone, poor soul,
but his integrity. We question whether
any assassin ''drugged the dire
bowl or pointed the murderous knife"
for that