"And almost all their Tragedies will afford us examples of the like nature.

"'Tis true, they have kept the Continuity, or as you called it, Liaison des Scenes, somewhat better. Two do not perpetually come in together, talk, and go out together; and other two succeeded them, and do the same, throughout the Act: which the English call by the name of 'Single Scenes.' But the reason is, because they have seldom above two or three Scenes, properly so called, in every Act. For it is to be accounted a new Scene, not every time the Stage is empty: but every person who enters, though to others, makes it so; because he introduces a new business.

"Now the Plots of their Plays being narrow, and the persons few: one of their Acts was written in a less compass than one of our well-wrought Scenes; and yet they are often deficient even in this.

"To go no further than TERENCE. You find in the Eunuch, ANTIPHO entering, single, in the midst of the Third Act, after CHREMES and PYTHIAS were gone off. In the same play, you have likewise DORIAS beginning the Fourth Act alone; and after she has made a relation of what was done at the soldier's entertainment (which, by the way, was very inartificial to do; because she was presumed to speak directly to the Audience, and to acquaint them with what was necessary to be known: but yet should have been so contrived by the Poet as to have been told by persons of the Drama to one another, and so by them, to have come to the knowledge of the people), she quits the Stage: and PHAEDRIA enters next, alone likewise. He also gives you an account of himself, and of his returning from the country, in monologue: to which unnatural way of Narration, TERENCE is subject in all his Plays.

"In his Adelphi or 'Brothers,' SYRUS and DEMEA enter after the Scene was broken by the departure of SOSTRATA, GETA, and CANTHARA; and, indeed, you can scarce look into any of his Comedies, where you will not presently discover the same interruption.

"And as they have failed both in [the] laying of the Plots, and managing of them, swerving from the Rules of their own Art, by misrepresenting Nature to us, in which they have ill satisfied one intention of a Play, which was Delight: so in the Instructive part [pp. 513, 582-4], they have erred worse. Instead of punishing vice, and rewarding virtue; they have often shown a prosperous wickedness, and an unhappy piety. They have set before us a bloody Image of Revenge, in MEDEA; and given her dragons to convey her safe from punishment. A PRIAM and ASTYANAX murdered, and CASSANDRA ravished; and Lust and Murder ending in the victory of him that acted them. In short, there is no indecorum in any of our modern Plays; which, if I would excuse, I could not shadow with some Authority from the Ancients.

"And one farther note of them, let me leave you! Tragedies and Comedies were not writ then, as they are now, promiscuously, by the same person: but he who found his genius bending to the one, never attempted the other way. This is so plain, that I need not instance to you, that ARISTOPHANES, PLAUTUS, TERENCE never, any of them, writ a Tragedy; AESCHYLUS, EURIPIDES, SOPHOCLES, and SENECA never meddled with Comedy. The Sock and Buskin were not worn by the same Poet. Having then so much care to excel in one kind; very little is to be pardoned them, if they miscarried in it.

"And this would lead me to the consideration of their Wit, had not CRITES given me sufficient warning, not to be too bold in my judgement of it; because (the languages being dead, and many of the customs and little accidents on which it depended lost to us [p. 518]) we are not competent judges of it. But though I grant that, here and there, we may miss the application of a proverb or a custom; yet, a thing well said, will be Wit in all languages: and, though it may lose something in the translation; yet, to him who reads it in the original, 'tis still the same. He has an Idea of its excellency; though it cannot pass from his mind into any other expression or words than those in which he finds it.

"When PHAEDRIA, in the Eunuch, had a command from his mistress to be absent two days; and encouraging himself to go through with it, said, Tandem ego non illa caream, si opus sit, vel totum triduum? PARMENO to mock the softness of his master, lifting up his hands and eyes, cries out, as it were in admiration, Hui! universum triduum! The elegancy of which universum, though it cannot be rendered in our language; yet leaves an impression of the Wit on our souls.

"But this happens seldom in him [i.e., TERENCE]; in PLAUTUS oftner, who is infinitely too bold in his metaphors and coining words; out of which, many times, his Wit is nothing. Which, questionless, was one reason why HORACE falls upon him so severely in those verses.

"Sed Proavi nostri Plautinos el numeros et Laudavere sales, nimium patienter utrumque Ne dicam stolide.

"For HORACE himself was cautious to obtrude [in obtruding] a new word upon his readers: and makes custom and common use, the best measure of receiving it into our writings,

"Multa renascentur quae nunc cecidere, cadentque Quae nunc sunt in honore vocabula, si volet usus Quem penes, arbitrium est, et jus, et norma loquendi.

"The not observing of this Rule, is that which the World has blamed in our satirist CLEVELAND. To express a thing hard and unnaturally is his New Way of Elocution. Tis true, no poet but may sometimes use a catachresis. VIRGIL, does it,

"Mistaque ridenti Colocasia fundet Acaniho—

"in his Eclogue of POLLIO.

"And in his Seventh AEneid—

"Mirantur et unda, Miratur nemus, insuetam fulgentia longe, Scuta virum fluvio, pictaque innare carinas.

"And OVID once; so modestly, that he asks leave to do it.

"Si verbo audacia, detur Haud metuam summi dixisse Palatia coeli

"calling the Court of JUPITER, by the name of AUGUSTUS his palace. Though, in another place, he is more bold; where he says, Et longas visent Capitolia pompas.

"But to do this always, and never be able to write a line without it, though it may be admired by some few pedants, will not pass upon those who know that Wit is best conveyed to us in the most easy language: and is most to be admired, when a great thought comes dressed in words so commonly received, that it is understood by the meanest apprehensions; as the best meat is the most easily digested. But we cannot read a verse of CLEVELAND's, without making a face at it; as if every word were a pill to swallow. He gives us, many times, a hard nut to break our teeth, without a kernel for our pains. So that there is this difference between his Satires and Doctor DONNE's: that the one [DONNE] gives us deep thoughts in common language, though rough cadence; the other [CLEVELAND] gives us common thoughts in abtruse words. 'Tis true, in some places, his wit is independent of his words, as in that of the Rebel Scot—

"Had CAIN been Scot, GOD would have changed his doom, Not forced him wander, but confined him home.

"Si sic, omnia dixisset! This is Wit in all languages. 'Tis like MERCURY, never to be lost or killed. And so that other,

"For beauty, like white powder, makes no noise, And yet the silent hypocrite destroys.

"You see the last line is highly metaphorical; but it is so soft and gentle, that it does not shock us as we read it.

"But to return from whence I have digressed, to the consideration of the Ancients' Writing and Wit; of which, by this time, you will grant us, in some measure, to be fit judges.

"Though I see many excellent thoughts in SENECA: yet he, of them, who had a genius most proper for the Stage, was OVID. He [i.e., OVID] had a way of writing so fit to stir up a pleasing admiration and concernment, which are the objects of a Tragedy; and to show the various movements of a soul combating betwixt different passions: that, had he lived in our Age, or (in his own) could have writ with our advantages, no man but must have yielded to him; and therefore, I am confident the MEDEA is none of his. For, though I esteem it, for the gravity and sentiousness of it (which he himself concludes to be suitable to a Tragedy, Omne genus scripti gravitate Tragadia, vincit); yet it moves not my soul enough, to judge that he, who, in the Epic way, wrote things so near the Drama (as the stories of MYRRHA, of CAUNUS and BIBLIS, and the rest) should stir up no more concernment, where he most endeavoured it.

"The masterpiece of SENECA, I hold to be that Scene in the Troades, where ULYSSES is seeking for ASTYANAX, to kill him. There, you see the tenderness of a mother so represented in ANDROMACHE, that it raises compassion to a high degree in the reader; and bears the nearest resemblance, of anything in their Tragedies, to the excellent Scenes of Passion in SHAKESPEARE or in FLETCHER.

"For Love Scenes, you will find but few among them. Their Tragic poets dealt not with that soft passion; but with Lust, Cruelty, Revenge, Ambition, and those bloody actions they produced, which were more capable of raising horror than compassion in an audience: leaving Love untouched, whose gentleness would have tempered them; which is the most frequent of all the passions, and which (being the private concernment of every person) is soothed by viewing its own Image [p. 549] in a public entertainment.

"Among their Comedies, we find a Scene or two of tenderness: and that, where you would least expect it, in PLAUTUS. But to speak generally, their lovers say little, when they see each others but anima mea! vita mea! [Greek: zoae kai psuchae!] as the women, in JUVENAL's time, used to cry out, in the fury of their kindness.

"Then indeed, to speak sense were an offence. Any sudden gust of passion, as an ecstasy of love in an unexpected meeting, cannot better be expressed than in a word and a sigh, breaking one another. Nature is dumb on such occasions; and to make her speak, would be to represent her unlike herself. But there are a thousand other concernments of lovers as jealousies, complaints, contrivances, and the like; where, not to open their minds at large to each other, were to be wanting to their own love, and to the expectation of the audience: who watch the Movements of their Minds, as much as the Changes of their Fortunes. For the Imaging of the first [p. 549], is properly the work of a Poet; the latter, he borrows of the Historian."

EUGENIUS was proceeding in that part of his discourse, when CRITES interrupted him.

"I see," said he, "EUGENIUS and I are never likely to have this question decided betwixt us: for he maintains the Moderns have acquired a new perfection in writing; I only grant, they have altered the mode of it.

"HOMER describes his heroes, [as] men of great appetites; lovers of beef broiled upon the coals, and good fellows: contrary to the practice of the French romances, whose heroes neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep for love.

"VIRGIL makes AENEAS, a bold avower of his own virtues,

"Sum pius AENEAS fama super aethera notus;

"which, in the civility of our Poets, is the character of a Fanfaron or Hector. For with us, the Knight takes occasion to walk out, or sleep, to avoid the vanity of telling his own story; which the trusty Squire is ever to perform for him [p. 535].

"So, in their Love Scenes, of which EUGENIUS spoke last, the Ancients were more hearty; we, the more talkative. They writ love, as it was then the mode to make it.

"And I will grant thus much to EUGENIUS, that, perhaps, one of their Poets, had he lived in our Age,

"Si foret hoc nostrum fato delupsus in aevum,

"as HORACE says of LUCILIUS, he had altered many things: not that they were not natural before; but that he might accommodate himself to the Age he lived in. Yet, in the meantime, we are not to conclude anything rashly against those great men; but preserve to them, the dignity of Masters: and give that honour to their memories, quos libitina sacravit; part of which, we expect may be paid to us in future times."

This moderation of CRITES, as it was pleasing to all the company, so it put an end to that dispute: which EUGENIUS, who seemed to have the better of the argument, would urge no further.

But LISIDEIUS, after he had acknowledged himself of EUGENIUS his opinion, concerning the Ancients; yet told him, "He had forborne till his discourse was ended, to ask him, Why he preferred the English Plays above those of other nations? and whether we ought not to submit our Stage to the exactness of our next neighbours?"

"Though," said EUGENIUS, "I am, at all times, ready to defend the honour of my country against the French; and to maintain, we are as well able to vanquish them with our pens, as our ancestors have been with their swords: yet, if you please!" added he, looking upon NEANDER, "I will commit this cause to my friend's management. His opinion of our plays is the same with mine. And besides, there is no reason that CRITES and I, who have now left the Stage, should re-enter so suddenly upon it: which is against the laws of Comedy."

"If the question had been stated," replied LISIDEIUS, "Who had writ best, the French or English, forty years ago [i.e., in 1625]? I should have been of your opinion; and adjudged the honour to our own nation: but, since that time," said he, turning towards NEANDER, "we have been so long bad Englishmen, that we had not leisure to be good Poets. BEAUMONT [d. 1615], FLETCHER [d. 1625], and JOHNSON [d. 1637], who were only [alone] capable of bringing us to that degree of perfection which we have, were just then leaving the world; as if, in an Age of so much horror, Wit and those milder studies of humanity had no farther business among us. But the Muses, who ever follow peace, went to plant in another country. It was then, that the great Cardinal DE RICHELIEU began to take them into his protection; and that, by his encouragement, CORNEILLE and some other Frenchmen reformed their Theatre: which, before, was so much below ours, as it now surpasses it, and the rest of Europe. But because CRITES, in his discourse for the Ancients, has prevented [anticipated] me by touching on many Rules of the Stage, which the Moderns have borrowed from them; I shall only, in short, demand of you, 'Whether you are not convinced that, of all nations, the French have best observed them?'

"In the Unity of TIME, you find them so scrupulous, that it yet remains a dispute among their Poets, 'Whether the artificial day, of twelve hours more or less, be not meant by ARISTOTLE, rather that the natural one of twenty-four?' and consequently, 'Whether all Plays ought not to be reduced into that compass?' This I can testify, that in all their dramas writ within these last twenty years [1645-1665] and upwards, I have not observed any, that have extended the time to thirty hours.

"In the Unity of PLACE, they are full[y] as scrupulous. For many of their critics limit it to that spot of ground, where the Play is supposed to begin. None of them exceed the compass of the same town or city.

"The Unity of ACTION in all their plays, is yet more conspicuous. For they do not burden them with Under Plots, as the English do; which is the reason why many Scenes of our Tragi-Comedies carry on a Design that is nothing of kin to the main Plot: and that we see two distincts webs in a Play, like those in ill-wrought stuffs; and two Actions (that is, two Plays carried on together) to the confounding of the audience: who, before they are warm in their concernments for one part, are diverted to another; and, by that means, expouse the interest of neither.

"From hence likewise, it arises that one half of our Actors [i.e., the Characters in a Play] are not known to the other. They keep their distances, as if they were MONTAGUES and CAPULETS; and seldom begin an acquaintance till the last Scene of the fifth Act, when they are all to meet on the Stage.

"There is no Theatre in the world has anything so absurd as the English Tragi-Comedy. 'Tis a Drama of our own invention; and the fashion of it is enough to proclaim it so. Here, a course of mirth; there, another of sadness and passion; a third of honour; and the fourth, a duel. Thus, in two hours and a half, we run through all the fits of Bedlam.

"The French afford you as much variety, on the same day; but they do it not so unseasonably, or mal apropos as we. Our Poets present you the Play and the Farce together; and our Stages still retain somewhat of the original civility of the 'Red Bull.'

"Atque ursum et pugiles media inter carmina poscunt.

"'The end of Tragedies or serious Plays,' says ARISTOTLE, 'is to beget Admiration [wonderment], Compassion, or Concernment.' But are not mirth and compassion things incompatible? and is it not evident, that the Poet must, of necessity, destroy the former, by intermingling the latter? that is, he must ruin the sole end and object of his Tragedy, to introduce somewhat that is forced in, and is not of the body of it! Would you not think that physician mad! who having prescribed a purge, should immediately order you to take restringents upon it?

"But to leave our Plays, and return to theirs. I have noted one great advantage they have had in the Plotting of their Tragedies, that is, they are always grounded upon some known History, according to that of HORACE, Ex noto fictum carm n sequar: and in that, they have so imitated the Ancients, that they have surpassed them. For the Ancients, as was observed before [p. 522], took for the foundation of their Plays some poetical fiction; such as, under that consideration, could move but little concernment in the audience, because they already knew the event of it. But the French[man] goes farther.

"Atque ita mentitur, sic veris falso remiscet, Primo ne medium, media ne discrepet imum.

"He so interweaves Truth with probable Fiction, that he puts a pleasing fallacy upon us; mends the intrigues of Fate; and dispenses with the severity of History, to reward that virtue, which has been rendered to us, there, unfortunate. Sometimes the Story has left the success so doubtful, that the writer is free, by the privilege of a Poet, to take that which, of two or more relations, will best suit his Design. As, for example, the death of CYRUS; whom JUSTIN and some others report to have perished in the Scythian War; but XENOPHON affirms to have died in his bed of extreme old age.

"Nay more, when the event is past dispute, even then, we are willing to be deceived: and the Poet, if he contrives it with appearance of truth, has all the audience of his party [on his side], at least, during the time his Play is acting. So naturally, we are kind to virtue (when our own interest is not in question) that we take It up, as the general concernment of mankind.

"On the other side, if you consider the Historical Plays of SHAKESPEARE; they are rather so many Chronicles of Kings, or the business, many times, of thirty or forty years crampt into a Representation of two hours and a half: which is not to imitate or paint Nature, but rather to draw her in miniature, to take her in little; to look upon her, through the wrong of a perspective [telescope], and receive her Images [pp. 528, 549], not only much less, but infinitely more imperfect than the Life. This, instead of making a Play delightful, renders it ridiculous.

"Quodeunque ostendis mihi sic, incredulus odi.

"For the Spirit of Man cannot be satisfied but with Truth, or, at least, Verisimilitude: and a Poem is to contain, if not [Greek ta hetuma], yet [Greek: hetmoisiu homia]; as one of the Greek poets has expressed it [See p. 589.].

"Another thing, in which the French differ from us and from the Spaniards, is that they do not embarrass or cumber themselves with too much Plot. They only represent so much of a Story as will constitute One whole and great Action sufficient for a Play. We, who undertake more, do but multiply _Adventures [pp. 541, 552]; which (not being produced from one another, as Effects from Causes, but, barely, following) constitute many Actions in the Drama, and consequently make it many Plays.

"But, by pursuing close[ly] one Argument, which is not cloyed with many Turns; the French have gained more liberty for Verse, in which they write. They have leisure to dwell upon a subject which deserves it; and to represent the passions [p. 542] (which we have acknowledged to be the Poet's work) without being hurried from one thing to another, as we are in the plays of CALDERON; which we have seen lately upon our theatres, under the name of Spanish Plots.

"I have taken notice but of one Tragedy of ours; whose Plot has that uniformity and unity of Design in it, which I have commended in the French; and that is, ROLLO, or rather under the name of ROLLO, the story of BASSANIUS and GOETA, in HERODIAN. There, indeed, the plot is neither large nor intricate; but just enough to fill the minds of the audience, not to cloy them. Besides, you see it founded on the truth of History; only the time of the Action is not reduceable to the strictness of the Rules. And you see, in some places, a little farce mingled, which is below the dignity of the other parts. And in this, all our Poets are extremely peccant; even BEN. JOHNSON himself, in SEFANUS and CATILINE, has given this Oleo [hodge-podge] of a Play, this unnatural mixture of Comedy and Tragedy; which, to me, sounds just as ridiculous as The History of DAVID, with the merry humours of GOLIAS. In SEFANUS, you may take notice of the Scene between LIVIA and the Physician; which is a pleasant satire upon the artificial helps of beauty. In CATILINE, you may see the Parliament of Women; the little envies of them to one another; and all that passes betwixt CURIO and FULVIA. Scenes, admirable in their kind, but of an ill mingle with the rest.

"But I return again to the French Writers: who, as I have said, do not burden themselves too much with Plot; which has been reproached to them by an Ingenious Person of our nation, as a fault. For he says, 'They commonly make but one person considerable in a Play. They dwell upon him and his concernments; while the rest of the persons are only subservient to set him off.' If he intends this by it, that there is one person in the Play who is of greater dignity than the rest; he must tax not only theirs, but those of the Ancients, and (which he would be loath to do) the best of ours. For it 'tis impossible but that one person must be more conspicuous in it than any other; and consequently the greatest share in the Action must devolve on him. We see it so in the management of all affairs. Even in the most equal aristocracy, the balance cannot be so justly poised, but some one will be superior to the rest, either in parts, fortune, interest, or the consideration of some glorious exploit; which will reduce [lead] the greatest part of business into his hands.

"But if he would have us to imagine, that in exalting of one character, the rest of them are neglected; and that all of them have not some share or other in the Action of the Play: I desire him to produce any of CORNEILLE's Tragedies, wherein every person, like so many servants in a well governed family, has not some employment; and who is not necessary to the carrying on of the Plot, or, at least, to your understanding it.

"There are, indeed, some protactic persons [precursors] in the Ancients; whom they make use of in their Plays, either to hear or give the Relation; but the French avoid this with great address; making their Narrations only to, or by such, who are some way interessed [interested] in the main Design.

"And now I am speaking of RELATIONS; I cannot take a fitter opportunity to add this, in favour of the French, that they often use them with better judgement, more apropos than the English do.

"Not that I commend NARRATIONS in general; but there are two sorts of them:

"One, of those things which are antecedent to the Play, and are related to make the Conduct of it more clear to us. But 'tis a fault to choose such subjects for the Stage, as will inforce us upon that rock: because we see that they are seldom listened to by the audience; and that it is, many times, the ruin of the play. For, being once let pass without attention, the audience can never recover themselves to understand the Plot; and, indeed, it is somewhat unreasonable that they should be put to so much trouble, as that, to comprehend what passes in their sight, they must have recourse to what was done, perhaps ten or twenty years ago.

"But there is another sort of RELATIONS, that is, of things happening in the Action of a Play, and supposed to be done behind the scenes: and this is, many times, both convenient and beautiful. For by it, the French avoid the tumult, which we are subject to in England, by representing duels, battles, and such like; which renders our Stage too like the theatres where they fight for prizes [i.e., theatres used as Fencing Schools, for Assaults of Arms, &c.]. For what is more ridiculous than to represent an army, with a drum and five men behind it? All which, the hero on the other side, is to drive in before him. Or to see a duel fought, and one slain with two or three thrusts of the foils? which we know are so blunted, that we might give a man an hour to kill another, in good earnest, with them.

"I have observed that in all our Tragedies, the audience cannot forbear laughing, when the Actors are to die. 'Tis the most comic part of the whole Play.

"All Passions may be lively Represented on the Stage, if, to the well writing of them, the Actor supplies a good commanded voice, and limbs that move easily, and without stiffness: but there are many Actions, which can never be Imitated to a just height.

"Dying, especially, is a thing, which none but a Roman gladiator could naturally perform upon the Stage, when he did not Imitate or Represent it, but naturally Do it. And, therefore, it is better to omit the Representation of it. The words of a good writer, which describe it lively, will make a deeper impression of belief in us, than all the Actor can persuade us to, when he seems to fall dead before us: as the Poet, in the description of a beautiful garden, or meadow, will please our Imagination more than the place itself will please our sight. When we see death Represented, we are convinced it is but fiction; but when we hear it Related, our eyes (the strongest witnesses) are wanting, which might have undeceived us: and we are all willing to favour the sleight, when the Poet does not too grossly impose upon us.

"They, therefore, who imagine these Relations would make no concernment in the audience, are deceived, by confounding them with the other; which are of things antecedent to the Play. Those are made often, in cold blood, as I may say, to the audience; but these are warmed with our concernments, which are, before, awakened in the Play.

"What the philosophers say of Motion, that 'when it is once begun, it continues of itself; and will do so, to Eternity, without some stop be put to it,' is clearly true, on this occasion. The Soul, being moved with the Characters and Fortunes of those Imaginary Persons, continues going of its own accord; and we are no more weary to hear what becomes of them, when they are not on the Stage, than we are to listen to the news of an absent mistress.

"But it is objected, 'That if one part of the Play may be related; then, why not all?'

"I answer. Some parts of the Action are more fit to be Represented; some, to be Related. CORNEILLE says judiciously, 'That the Poet is not obliged to expose to view all particular actions, which conduce to the principal. He ought to select such of them to be Seen, which will appear with the greatest beauty, either by the magnificence of the shew, or the vehemence of the passions which they produce, or some other charm which they have in them: and let the rest arrive to the audience, by Narration.'

"'Tis a great mistake in us, to believe the French present no part of the Action upon the Stage. Every alteration, or crossing of a Design; every new sprung passion, and turn of it, is a part of the Action, and much the noblest: except we conceive nothing to be Action, till they come to blows; as if the painting of the Hero's Mind were not more properly the Poet's work, than, the strength of his Body.

"Nor does this anything contradict the opinion of HORACE, where he tells us

"Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem Quam quae sunt occulis subjecta fidelibus.

"For he says, immediately after,

"Non tamen intus Digna, geri promes in scenam, Multaque tolles Ex occulis, quae mox narret facundia praesens.

"Among which 'many,' he recounts some,

"Nec pueros coram populo MEDEA trucidet, Aut in avem PROGNE mutetur, CADMUS in anguem, &c.

"that is, 'Those actions, which, by reason of their cruelty, will cause aversion in us; or (by reason of their impossibility) unbelief [pp. 496, 545], ought either wholly to be avoided by a Poet, or only delivered by Narration.' To which, we may have leave to add, such as 'to avoid tumult,' as was before hinted [pp. 535, 544]; or 'to reduce the Plot into a more reasonable compass of time,' or 'for defect of beauty in them,' are rather to be Related than presented to the eye.

"Examples of all these kinds, are frequent; not only among all the Ancients, but in the best received of our English poets.

"We find BEN. JOHNSON using them in his Magnetic Lady, where one comes out from dinner, and Relates the quarrels and disorders of it; to save the indecent appearing of them on the Stage, and to abbreviate the story: and this, in express imitation of TERENCE, who had done the same before him, in his Eunuch; where PYTHIAS makes the like Relation of what had happened within, at the soldiers' entertainment.

"The Relations, likewise, of SEFANUS's death and the prodigies before it, are remarkable. The one of which, was hid from sight, to avoid the horror and tumult of the Representation: the other, to shun the introducing of things impossible to be believed.

"In that excellent Play, the King and no King, FLETCHER goes yet farther. For the whole unravelling of the Plot is done by Narration in the Fifth Act, after the manner of the Ancients: and it moves great concernment in the audience; though it be only a Relation of what was done many years before the Play.

"I could multiply other instances; but these are sufficient to prove, that there is no error in chosing a subject which requires this sort of Narration. In the ill managing of them, they may.

"But I find, I have been too long in this discourse; since the French have many other excellencies, not common to us.

"As that, you never see any of their Plays end with a Conversion, or simple Change of Will: which is the ordinary way our Poets use [are accustomed] to end theirs.

"It shows little art in the conclusion of a Dramatic Poem, when they who have hindered the felicity during the Four Acts, desist from it in the Fifth, without some powerful cause to take them off: and though I deny not but such reasons may be found; yet it is a path that is cautiously to be trod, and the Poet is to be sure he convinces the audience, that the motive is strong enough.

"As, for example, the conversion of the Usurer in the Scornful Lady, seems to me, a little forced. For, being a Usurer, which implies a Lover of Money in the highest degree of covetousness (and such, the Poet has represented him); the account he gives for the sudden change, is, that he has been duped by the wild young fellow: which, in reason, might render him more wary another time, and make him punish himself with harder fare and coarser clothes, to get it up again. But that he should look upon it as a judgement, and so repent; we may expect to hear of in a Sermon, but I should never endure it in a Play.

"I pass by this. Neither will I insist upon the care they take, that no person, after his first entrance, shall ever appear; but the business which brings upon the Stage, shall be evident. Which, if observed, must needs render all the events of the Play more natural. For there, you see the probability of every accident, in the cause that produced it; and that which appears chance in the Play, will seem so reasonable to you, that you will there find it almost necessary: so that in the Exits of their Actors, you have a clear account of their purpose and design in the next Entrance; though, if the Scene be well wrought, the event will commonly deceive you. 'For there is nothing so absurd,' says CORNEILLE, 'as for an Actor to leave the Stage, only because he has no more to say!'

"I should now speak of the beauty of their Rhyme, and the just reason I have to prefer that way of writing, in Tragedies, before ours, in Blank Verse. But, because it is partly received by us, and therefore, not altogether peculiar to them; I will say no more of it, in relation to their Plays. For our own; I doubt not but it will exceedingly beautify them: and I can see but one reason why it should not generally obtain; that is, because our Poets write so ill in it [pp. 503, 578, 598]. This, indeed, may prove a more prevailing argument, than all others which are used to destroy it: and, therefore, I am only troubled when great and judicious Poets, and those who are acknowledged such, have writ or spoke against it. As for others, they are to be answered by that one sentence of an ancient author. Sed ut primo ad consequendos eos quos priores ducimus accendimur, ita ubi aut praeteriri, aut aequari eos posse desperavimus, studium cum spe senescit: quod, scilicet, assequi non potest, sequi desinit; praeteritoque eo in quo eminere non possumus, aliquid in quo nitamur conquirimus."

LISIDEIUS concluded, in this manner; and NEANDER, after a little pause, thus answered him.

"I shall grant LISIDEIUS, without much dispute, a great part of what he has urged against us.

"For I acknowledge the French contrive their Plots more regularly; observe the laws of Comedy, and decorum of the Stage, to speak generally, with more exactness than the English. Farther, I deny not but he has taxed us justly, in some irregularities of ours; which he has mentioned. Yet, after all, I am of opinion, that neither our faults, nor their virtues are considerable enough to place them above us.

"For the lively Imitation of Nature being the Definition of a Play [p. 513]; those which best fulfil that law, ought to be esteemed superior to the others, 'Tis true those beauties of the French Poesy are such as will raise perfection higher where it is; but are not sufficient to give it where it is not. They are, indeed, the beauties of a Statue, not of a Man; because not animated with the Soul of Poesy, which is Imitation of Humour and Passions.

"And this, LISIDEIUS himself, or any other, however biased to their party, cannot but acknowledge; if he will either compare the Humours of our Comedies, or the Characters of our serious Plays with theirs.

"He that will look upon theirs, which have been written till [within] these last ten years [i.e., 1655, when MOLIERE began to write], or thereabouts, will find it a hard matter to pick out two or three passable Humours amongst them. CORNEILLE himself, their Arch Poet; what has he produced, except the Liar? and you know how it was cried up in France. But when it came upon the English Stage, though well translated, and that part of DORANT acted to so much advantage by Mr. HART, as, I am confident, it never received in its own country; the most favourable to it, would not put it in competition with many of FLETCHER's or BEN. JOHNSON's. In the rest of CORNEILLE's Comedies you have little humour. He tells you, himself, his way is first to show two lovers in good intelligence with each other; in the working up of the Play, to embroil them by some mistake; and in the latter end, to clear it up.

"But, of late years, DE MOLIERE, the younger CORNEILLE, QUINAULT, and some others, have been imitating, afar off, the quick turns and graces of the English Stage. They have mixed their serious Plays with mirth, like our Tragi-Comedies, since the death of Cardinal RICHELIEU [in 1642]: which LISIDEIUS and many others not observing, have commended that in them for a virtue [p. 531], which they themselves no longer practise.

"Most of their new Plays are, like some of ours, derived from the Spanish novels. There is scarce one of them, without a veil; and a trusty DIEGO, who drolls, much after the rate of the Adventures [pp. 533, 553]. But their humours, if I may grace them with that name, are so thin sown; that never above One of them comes up in a Play. I dare take upon me, to find more variety of them, in one play of BEN. JOHNSON's, than in all theirs together: as he who has seen the Alchemist, the Silent Woman, or Bartholomew Fair, cannot but acknowledge with me. I grant the French have performed what was possible on the ground work of the Spanish plays. What was pleasant before, they have made regular. But there is not above one good play to be writ upon all those Plots. They are too much alike, to please often; which we need not [adduce] the experience of our own Stage to justify.

"As for their New Way of mingling Mirth with serious Plot, I do not, with LISIDEIUS, condemn the thing; though I cannot approve their manner of doing it. He tells us, we cannot so speedily re-collect ourselves, after a Scene of great Passion and Concernment, as to pass to another of Mirth and Humour, and to enjoy it with any relish. But why should he imagine the Soul of Man more heavy than his Senses? Does not the eye pass from an unpleasant object, to a pleasant, in a much shorter time than is required to this? and does not the unpleasantness of the first commend the beauty of the latter? The old rule of Logic might have convinced him, that 'Contraries when placed near, set off each other.' A continued gravity keeps the spirit too much bent. We must refresh it sometimes; as we bait [lunch] upon a journey, that we may go on with greater ease. A Scene of Mirth mixed with Tragedy, has the same effect upon us, which our music has betwixt the Acts; and that, we find a relief to us from the best Plots and Language of the Stage, if the discourses have been long.

"I must, therefore, have stronger arguments, ere I am convinced that Compassion and Mirth, in the same subject, destroy each other: and, in the meantime, cannot but conclude to the honour of our Nation, that we have invented, increased, and perfected a more pleasant way of writing for the Stage than was ever known to the Ancients or Moderns of any nation; which is, Tragi-Comedy.

"And this leads me to wonder why LISIDEIUS [p. 533], and many others, should cry up the barrenness of the French Plots above the variety and copiousness of the English?

"Their Plots are single. They carry on one Design, which is push forward by all the Actors; every scene in the Play contributing and moving towards it. Ours, besides the main Design, have Under Plots or By-Concernments of less considerable persons and intrigues; which are carried on, with the motion of the main Plot: just as they say the orb [?orbits] of the fixed stars, and those of the planets (though they have motions of their own), are whirled about, by the motion of the Primum Mobile in which they are contained. That similitude expresses much of the English Stage. For, if contrary motions may be found in Nature to agree, if a planet can go East and West at the same time; one way, by virtue of his own motion, the other, by the force of the First Mover: it will not be difficult to imagine how the Under Plot, which is only different [from], not contrary to the great Design, may naturally be conducted along with it.

"EUGENIUS [?LISIDEIUS] has already shown us [p. 534], from the confession of the French poets, that the Unity of Action is sufficiently preserved, if all the imperfect actions of the Play are conducing to the main Design: but when those petty intrigues of a Play are so ill ordered, that they have no coherence with the other; I must grant, that LISIDEIUS has reason to tax that Want of due Connection. For Co-ordination in a Play is as dangerous and unnatural as in a State. In the meantime, he must acknowledge, our Variety (if well ordered) will afford a greater pleasure to the audience.

"As for his other argument, that by pursuing one single Theme, they gain an advantage to express, and work up the passions [p. 533]; I wish any example he could bring from them, would make it good. For I confess their verses are, to me, the coldest I have ever read.

"Neither, indeed, is It possible for them, in the way they take, so to express Passion as that the effects of it should appear in the concernment of an audience; their speeches being so many declamations, which tire us with the length: so that, instead of persuading us to grieve for their imaginary heroes, we are concerned for our own trouble, as we are, in the tedious visits of bad [dull] company; we are in pain till they are gone.

"When the French Stage came to be reformed by Cardinal RICHELIEU, those long harangues were introduced, to comply with the gravity of a Churchman. Look upon the CINNA and POMPEY! They are not so properly to be called Plays, as long Discourses of Reason[s] of State: and POLIEUCTE, in matters of Religion, is as solemn as the long stops upon our organs. Since that time, it has grown into a custom; and their Actors speak by the hour glass, as our Parsons do. Nay, they account it the grace of their parts! and think themselves disparaged by the Poet, if they may not twice or thrice in a Play, entertain the audience, with a speech of a hundred or two hundred lines.

"I deny not but this may suit well enough with the French: for as we, who are a more sullen people, come to be diverted at our Plays; they, who are of an airy and gay temper, come thither to make themselves more serious. And this I conceive to be one reason why Comedy is more pleasing to us, and Tragedy to them.

"But, to speak generally, it cannot be denied that short Speeches and Replies are more apt to move the passions, and beget concernment in us; than the other. For it is unnatural for any one in a gust of passion, to speak long together; or for another, in the same condition, to suffer him without interruption.

"Grief and Passion are like floods raised in little brooks, by a sudden rain. They are quickly up; and if the Concernment be poured unexpectedly in upon us, it overflows us: but a long sober shower gives them leisure to run out as they came in, without troubling the ordinary current.

"As for Comedy, Repartee is one of its chiefest graces. The greatest pleasure of the audience is a Chase of Wit, kept up on both sides, and swiftly managed. And this, our forefathers (if not we) have had, in FLETCHER's Plays, to a much higher degree of perfection, than the French Poets can arrive at.

"There is another part of LISIDEIUS his discourse, in which he has rather excused our neighbours, than commended them; that is, for aiming only [simply] to make one person considerable in their Plays.

"'Tis very true what he has urged, that one Character in all Plays, even without the Poet's care, will have the advantage of all the others; and that the Design of the whole Drama will chiefly depend on it. But this hinders not, that there may be more shining Characters in the Play; many persons of a second magnitude, nay, some so very near, so almost equal to the first, that greatness may be opposed to greatness: and all the persons be made considerable, not only by their Quality, but their Action.

"'Tis evident that the more the persons are; the greater will be the variety of the Plot. If then, the parts are managed so regularly, that the beauty of the whole be kept entire; and that the variety become not a perplexed and confused mass of accidents: you will find it infinitely pleasing, to be led in a labyrinth of Design; where you see some of your way before you, yet discern not the end, till you arrive at it.

"And that all this is practicable; I can produce, for examples, many of our English plays, as the Maid's Tragedy, the Alchemist, the Silent Woman.

"I was going to have named the Fox; but that the Unity of Design seems not exactly observed in it. For there appear two Actions in the Play; the first naturally ending with the Fourth Act, the second forced from it, in the Fifth. Which yet, is the less to be condemned in him, because the disguise of VOLPONE (though, it suited not with his character as a crafty or covetous person) agreed well enough with that of a voluptuary: and, by it, the Poet gained the end he aimed at, the punishment of vice, and reward of virtue; which that disguise produced. So that, to judge equally of it, it was an excellent Fifth Act; but not so naturally proceeding from the former.

"But to leave this, and to pass to the latter part of LISIDEIUS his discourse; which concerns RELATIONS. I must acknowledge, with him, that the French have reason, when they hide that part of the Action, which would occasion too much tumult on the Stage; and choose rather to have it made known by Narration to the audience [p. 535]. Farther; I think it very convenient, for the reasons he has given, that all incredible Actions were removed [p. 537]: but, whether custom has so insinuated itself into our countrymen, or Nature has so formed them to fierceness, I know not; but they will scarcely suffer combats or other objects of horror to be taken from them. And indeed the indecency of tumults is all which can be objected against fighting. For why may not our imagination as well suffer itself to be deluded with the probability of it, as any other thing in the Play. For my part, I can, with as great ease, persuade myself that the blows, which are struck, are given in good earnest; as I can, that they who strike them, are Kings, or Princes, or those persons which they represent.

"For objects of incredibility [p. 537], I would be satisfied from LISIDEIUS, whether we have any so removed from all appearance of truth, as are those in CORNEILLE's ANDROMEDE? A Play that has been frequented [repeated] the most, of any he has writ. If the PERSEUS or the son of the heathen god, the Pegasus, and the Monster, were not capable to choke a strong belief? let him blame any representation of ours hereafter! Those, indeed, were objects of delight; yet the reason is the same as to the probability: for he makes it not a Ballette [Ballet] or Masque; but a Play, which is, to resemble truth.

"As for Death, that it ought not to be represented [p. 536]: I have, besides the arguments alleged by LISIDEIUS, the authority of BEN. JOHNSON, who has foreborne it in his Tragedies: for both the death of SEJANUS and CATILINE are Related. Though, in the latter, I cannot but observe one irregularity of that great poet. He has removed the Scene in the same Act, from Rome to CATILINE's army; and from thence, again to Rome: and, besides, has allowed a very inconsiderable time after CATILINE's speech, for the striking of the battle, and the return of PETREIUS, who is to relate the event of it to the Senate. Which I should not animadvert upon him, who was otherwise a painful observer of [Greek: to prepon] or the Decorum of the Stage: if he had not used extreme severity in his judgement [in his 'Discoveries'] upon the incomparable SHAKESPEARE, for the same fault.

"To conclude on this subject of Relations, if we are to be blamed for showing too much of the Action; the French are as faulty for discovering too little of it. A mean betwixt both, should be observed by every judicious writer, so as the audience may neither be left unsatisfied, by not seeing what is beautiful; or shocked, by beholding what is either incredible or indecent.

"I hope I have already proved in this discourse, that though we are not altogether so punctual as the French, in observing the laws of Comedy: yet our errors are so few, and [so] little; and those things wherein we excel them so considerable, that we ought, of right, to be preferred before them.

"But what will LISIDEIUS say? if they themselves acknowledge they are too strictly tied up by those laws: for the breaking which, he has blamed the English? I will allege CORNEILLE's words, as I find them in the end of this Discourse of The three Unities. Il est facile aux speculatifs d'etre severe, &c. ''Tis easy, for speculative people to judge severely: but if they would produce to public view, ten or twelve pieces of this nature; they would, perhaps, give more latitude to the Rules, than I have done: when, by experience, they had known how much we are bound up, and constrained by them, and how many beauties of the Stage they banished from it.'

"To illustrate, a little, what he has said. By their servile imitations of the UNITIES of TIME and PLACE, and INTEGRITY OF SCENES they have brought upon themselves the Dearth of Plot and Narrowness of Imagination which may be observed in all their Plays.

"How many beautiful accidents might naturally happen in two or three days; which cannot arrive, with any probability, in the compass of twenty-four hours? There is time to be allowed, also, for maturity of design: which, amongst great and prudent persons, such as are often represented in Tragedy, cannot, with any likelihood of truth, be brought to pass at so short a warning.

"Farther, by tying themselves strictly to the UNITY OF PLACE and UNBROKEN SCENES; they are forced, many times, to omit some beauties which cannot be shown where the Act began: but might, if the Scene were interrupted, and the Stage cleared, for the persons to enter in another place. And therefore, the French Poets are often forced upon absurdities. For if the Act begins in a Chamber, all the persons in the Play must have some business or other to come thither; or else they are not to be shown in that Act: and sometimes their characters are very unfitting to appear there. As, suppose it were the King's Bedchamber; yet the meanest man in the Tragedy, must come and despatch his business there, rather than in the Lobby or Courtyard (which is [were] fitter for him), for fear the Stage should be cleared, and the Scenes broken.

"Many times, they fall, by it, into a greater inconvenience: for they keep their Scenes Unbroken; and yet Change the Place. As, in one of their newest Plays [i.e., before 1665]. Where the Act begins in a Street: there, a gentleman is to meet his friend; he sees him, with his man, coming out from his father's house; they talk together, and the first goes out. The second, who is a lover, has made an appointment with his mistress: she appears at the Window; and then, we are to imagine the Scene lies under it. This gentleman is called away, and leaves his servant with his mistress. Presently, her father is heard from within. The young lady is afraid the servingman should be discovered; and thrusts him through a door, which is supposed to be her Closet [Boudoir]. After this, the father enters to the daughter; and now the Scene is in a House: for he is seeking, from one room to another, for his poor PHILIPIN or French DIEGO: who is heard from within, drolling, and breaking many a miserable conceit upon his sad condition. In this ridiculous manner, the Play goes on; the Stage being never empty all the while. So that the Street, the Window, the two Houses, and the Closet are made to walk about, and the Persons to stand still!

"Now, what, I beseech you! is more easy than to write a regular French Play? or more difficult than to write an irregular English one, like those of FLETCHER, or of SHAKESPEARE?

"If they content themselves, as CORNEILLE did, with some flat design, which (like an ill riddle) is found out ere it be half proposed; such Plots, we can make every way regular, as easily as they: but whene'er they endeavour to rise up to any quick Turns or Counter-turns of Plot, as some of them have attempted, since CORNEILLE's Plays have been less in vogue; you see they write as irregularly as we! though they cover it more speciously. Hence the reason is perspicuous, why no French plays, when translated, have, or ever can succeed upon the English Stage. For, if you consider the Plots, our own are fuller of variety; if the Writing, ours are more quick, and fuller of spirit: and therefore 'tis a strange mistake in those who decry the way of writing Plays in Verse; as if the English therein imitated the French.

"We have borrowed nothing from them. Our Plots are weaved in English looms. We endeavour, therein, to follow the variety and greatness of Characters, which are derived to us from SHAKESPEARE and FLETCHER, The copiousness and well knitting of the Intrigues, we have from JOHNSON. And for the Verse itself, we have English precedents, of elder date than any of CORNEILLE's plays. Not to name our old Comedies before SHAKESPEARE, which are all writ in verse of six feet or Alexandrines, such as the French now use: I can show in SHAKESPEARE, many Scenes of Rhyme together; and the like in BEN. JOHNSON's tragedies. In CATILINE and SEJANUS, sometimes, thirty or forty lines. I mean, besides the Chorus or the Monologues; which, by the way, showed BEN. no enemy to this way of writing: especially if you look upon his Sad Shepherd, which goes sometimes upon rhyme, sometimes upon blank verse; like a horse, who eases himself upon trot and amble. You find him, likewise, commending FLETCHER's pastoral of the Faithful Shepherdess: which is, for the most part, [in] Rhyme; though not refined to that purity, to which it hath since been brought. And these examples are enough to clear us from, a servile imitation of the French.

"But to return, from whence I have digressed. I dare boldly affirm these two things of the English Drama,

"First. That we have many Plays of ours as regular as any of theirs; and which, besides, have more variety of Plot and Characters. And

"Secondly. That in most of the irregular Plays of SHAKESPEARE or FLETCHER (for BEN. JOHNSON's are for the most part regular), there is a more masculine Fancy, and greater Spirit in all the Writing, than there is in any of the French.

"I could produce, even in SHAKESPEARE's and FLETCHER's Works, some Plays which are almost exactly formed; as the Merry Wives of Windsor and the Scornful Lady. But because, generally speaking, SHAKESPEARE, who writ first, did not perfectly observe the laws of Comedy; and FLETCHER, who came nearer to perfection [in this respect], yet, through carelessness, made many faults: I will take the pattern of a perfect Play from BEN. JOHNSON, who was a careful and learned observer of the Dramatic Laws; and, from all his Comedies, I shall select the Silent Woman [p. 597], of which I will make a short examen [examination], according to those Rules which the French observe."

As NEANDER was beginning to examine the Silent Woman: EUGENIUS, looking earnestly upon him, "I beseech you, NEANDER!" said he, "gratify the company, and me in particular, so far, as, before you speak of the Play, to give us a Character of the Author: and tell us, frankly, your opinion! whether you do not think all writers, both French and English, ought to give place to him?"

"I fear," replied NEANDER, "that in obeying your commands, I shall draw a little envy upon myself. Besides, in performing them, it will be first necessary to speak somewhat of SHAKESPEARE and FLETCHER his Rivals in Poesy; and one of them, in my opinion, at least his Equal, perhaps his Superior.

"To begin then with SHAKESPEARE. He was the man, who, of all Modern and perhaps Ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive Soul [p. 540]. All the Images of Nature [pp. 528, 533] were still present [apparent] to him [p. 489]: and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily [felicitously]. When he describes anything; you more than see it, you feel it too. Those who accuse him to have wanted learning; give him the greater commendation. He was naturally learned. He needed not the spectacles of books, to read Nature; he looked inwards, and found her there. I cannot say, he is everywhere alike. Were he so; I should do him injury to compare him [even] with the greatest of mankind. He is many times flat, insipid: his comic wit degenerating into clenches; his serious swelling, into bombast.

"But he is always great, when some great occasion is presented to him. No man can say, he ever had a fit subject for his wit, and did not then raise himself as high above the rest of poets,

"Quantum lenta solent, inter viberna cupressi.

"The consideration of this, made Mr. HALES, of Eton, say, 'That there was no subject of which any poet ever writ; but he would produce it much better treated of in SHAKESPEARE.' And however others are, now, generally preferred before him; yet the Age wherein he lived (which had contemporaries with him, FLETCHER and JOHNSON) never equalled them to him, in their esteem. And in the last King's [CHARLES I.] Court, when BEN.'s reputation was at [the] highest; Sir JOHN SUCKLING, and with him, the greater part of the Courtiers, set our SHAKESPEARE far above him.

"BEAUMONT and FLETCHER (of whom I am next to speak), had, with the advantage of SHAKESPEARE's wit, which was their precedent, great natural gifts improved by study. BEAUMONT, especially, being so accurate a judge of plays, that BEN. JOHNSON, while he [i.e., BEAUMONT] lived, submitted all his writings to his censure; and,'tis thought, used his judgement in correcting, if not contriving all his plots. What value he had for [i.e., attached to] him, appears by the verses he writ to him: and therefore I need speak no farther of it.

"The first Play which brought FLETCHER and him in esteem, was their PHILASTER. For, before that, they had written two or three very unsuccessfully: as the like is reported of BEN. JOHNSON, before he writ Every Man in his Humour [acted in 1598]. Their Plots were generally more regular than SHAKESPEARE's, especially those which were made before BEAUMONT's death: and they understood, and imitated the conversation of gentlemen [in the conventional sense in which it was understood in DRYDEN's time], much better [i.e., than SHAKESPEARE]; whose wild debaucheries, and quickness of wit in repartees, no Poet can ever paint as they have done.

"This Humour, which BEN. JOHNSON derived from particular persons; they made it not their business to describe. They represented all the passions very lively; but, above all, Love.

"I am apt to believe the English language, in them, arrived to its highest perfection. What words have since been taken in, are rather superfluous than necessary.

"Their Plays are now the most pleasant and frequent entertainments of the Stage; two of theirs being acted through the year, for one of SHAKESPEARE's or JOHNSON's. The reason is because there is a certain Gaiety in their Comedies, and Pathos in their more serious Plays, which suit generally with all men's humours, SHAKESPEARE's Language is likewise a little obsolete; and BEN. JOHNSON's Wit comes short of theirs.

"As for JOHNSON, to whose character I am now arrived; if we look upon him, while he was himself (for his last Plays were but his dotages) I think him the most learned and judicious Writer which any Theatre ever had. He was a most severe judge of himself, as well as others. One cannot say he wanted Wit; but rather, that he was frugal of it [p. 572]. In his works, you find little to retrench or alter.

"Wit and Language, and Humour also in some measure, we had before him; but something of Art was wanting to the Drama, till he came. He managed his strength to more advantage than any who preceded him. You seldom find him making love in any of his Scenes, or endeavouring to move the passions: his genius was too sullen and saturnine to do it gracefully; especially when he knew, he came after those who had performed both to such a height. Humour was his proper sphere; and in that, he delighted most to represent mechanic [uncultivated] people.

"He was deeply conversant in the Ancients, both Greek and Latin; and he borrowed boldly from them. There is scarce a Poet or Historian, among the Roman authors of those times, whom he has not translated in SEJANUS and CATILINE: but he has done his robberies so openly, that one may see he fears not to be taxed by any law. He invades authors, like a Monarch; and what would be Theft in other Poets, is only Victory in him. With the spoils of these Writers, he so represents old Rome to us, in its rites, ceremonies, and customs; that if one of their own poets had written either of his Tragedies, we had seen less of it than in him.

"If there was any fault in his Language, 'twas that he weaved it too closely and laboriously in his serious Plays. Perhaps, too, he did a little too much Romanize our tongue; leaving the words which he translated, almost as much Latin as he found them: wherein, though he learnedly followed the idiom of their language, he did not enough comply with ours.

"If I would compare him with SHAKESPEARE, I must acknowledge him, the more correct Poet; but SHAKESPEARE, the greater Wit. SHAKESPEARE was the HOMER, or Father of our Dramatic Poets; JOHNSON was the VIRGIL, the pattern of elaborate writing. I admire him; but I love SHAKESPEARE.

"To conclude of him. As he has given us the most correct Plays; so in the Precepts which he has laid down in his Discoveries, we have as many and profitable Rules as any wherewith the French can furnish us.

"Having thus spoken of this author; I proceed to the examination of his Comedy, the Silent Woman.

"Examen of the Silent Woman.

"To begin, first, with the Length of the Action. It is so far from exceeding the compass of a natural day, that it takes not up an artificial one. 'Tis all included in the limits of three hours and a half; which is no more than is required for the presentment [representation of it] on the Stage. A beauty, perhaps, not much observed. If it had [been]; we should not have looked upon the Spanish Translation [i.e., the adaptation from the Spanish] of Five Hours [pp. 533, 541], with so much wonder.

"The Scene of it is laid in London. The Latitude of Place is almost as little as you can imagine: for it lies all within the compass of two houses; and, after the First Act, in one.

"The Continuity of Scenes is observed more than in any of our Plays, excepting his own Fox and Alchemist, They are not broken above twice, or thrice at the most, in the whole Comedy: and in the two best of CORNEILLE's Plays, the CID and CINNA, they are interrupted once a piece.

"The Action of the Play is entirely One: the end or aim of which, is the settling MQROSE's estate on DAUPHINE.

"The Intrigue of it is the greatest and most noble of any pure unmixed Comedy in any language. You see in it, many persons of various Characters and Humours; and all delightful.

"As first, MOROSE, an old man, to whom all noise, but his own talking, is offensive. Some, who would be thought critics, say, 'This humour of his is forced.' But, to remove that objection, we may consider him, first, to be naturally of a delicate hearing, as many are, to whom all sharp sounds are unpleasant: and, secondly, we may attribute much of it to the peevishness of his age, or the wayward authority of an old man in his own house, where he may make himself obeyed; and this the Poet seems to allude to, in his name MOROSE. Besides this, I am assured from divers persons, that BEN. JOHNSON was actually acquainted with such a man, one altogether as ridiculous as he is here represented.

"Others say, 'It is not enough, to find one man of such an humour. It must he common to more; and the more common, the more natural.' To prove this, they instance in the best of comical characters, FALSTAFF. There are many men resembling him; Old, Fat, Merry, Cowardly, Drunken, Amorous, Vain, and Lying. But to convince these people; I need but [to] tell them, that Humour is the ridiculous extravagance of conversation, wherein one man differs from all others. If then it be common, or communicated to any; how differs it from other men's? or what indeed causes it to be ridiculous, so much as the singularity of it. As for FALSTAFF, he is not properly one Humour; but a Miscellany of Humours or Images drawn from so many several men. That wherein he is singular is his Wit, or those things he says, praeter expectatum, 'unexpected by the audience'; his quick evasions, when you imagine him surprised: which, as they are extremely diverting of themselves, so receive a great addition from his person; for the very sight of such an unwieldy old debauched fellow is a Comedy alone.

"And here, having a place so proper for it, I cannot but enlarge somewhat upon this subject of Humour, into which I am fallen.

"The Ancients had little of it in their Comedies: for the [Greek: no geloiou] [facetious absurdities] of the Old Comedy, of which ARISTOPHANES was chief, was not so much to imitate a man; as to make the people laugh at some odd conceit, which had commonly somewhat of unnatural or obscene in it. Thus, when you see SOCRATES brought upon the Stage, you are not to imagine him made ridiculous by the imitation of his actions: but rather, by making him perform something very unlike himself; something so childish and absurd, as, by comparing it with the gravity of the true SOCRATES, makes a ridiculous object for the spectators.

"In the New Comedy which succeeded, the Poets sought, indeed, to express the [Greek: aethos] [manners and habits]; as in their Tragedies, the [Greek: pathos] [sufferings] of mankind. But this [Greek: aethos] contained only the general characters of men and manners; as [of] Old Men, Lovers, Servingmen, Courtizans, Parasites, and such other persons as we see in their Comedies. All which, they made alike: that is, one Old Man or Father, one Lover, one Courtizan so like another, as if the first of them had begot the rest of every [each] sort. Ex homine hunc natum dicas. The same custom they observed likewise in their Tragedies.

"As for the French. Though they have the word humeur among them: yet they have small use of it in their Comedies or Farces: they being but ill imitations of the ridiculum or that which stirred up laughter in the Old Comedy. But among the English, 'tis otherwise. Where, by Humour is meant some extravagant habit, passion, or affection, particular, as I said before, to some one person, by the oddness of which, he is immediately distinguished from the rest of men: which, being lively and naturally represented, most frequently begets that malicious pleasure in the audience, which is testified by laughter: as all things which are deviations from common customs, are ever the aptest to produce it. Though, by the way, this Laughter is only accidental, as the person represented is fantastic or bizarre; but Pleasure is essential to it, as the Imitation of what is natural. This description of these Humours[9], drawn from the knowledge and observation of particular persons, was the peculiar genius and talent of BEN. JOHNSON. To whose Play, I now return.

"Besides MOROSE, there are, at least, nine or ten different Characters and Humours in the Silent Woman: all which persons have several concernments of their own; yet are all used by the Poet to the conducting of the main Design to perfection.

"I shall not waste time in commending the Writing of this Play: but I will give you my opinion, that there is more Wit and Acuteness of Fancy in it, than in any of BEN. JOHNSON's. Besides that, he has here described the conversation of gentlemen, in the persons of TRUE WIT and his friends, with more gaiety, air, and freedom than in the rest of his Comedies.

"For the Contrivance of the Plot: tis extreme[ly] elaborate; and yet, withal, easy. For the [Greek: desis], or Untying of it: 'tis so admirable, that, when it is done, no one of the audience would think the Poet could have missed it; and yet, it was concealed so much before the last Scene, that any other way would sooner have entered into your thoughts.

"But I dare not take upon me, to commend the Fabric of it; because it is altogether so full of Art, that I must unravel every Scene in it, to commend it as I ought. And this excellent contrivance is still the more to be admired; because 'tis [a] Comedy where the persons are only of common rank; and their business, private; not elevated by passions or high concernments as in serious Plays. Here, every one is a proper judge of what he sees. Nothing is represented but that with which he daily converses: so that, by consequence, all faults lie open to discovery; and few are pardonable. 'Tis this, which HORACE has judiciously observed—

"Creditur ex medio quia res arcessit habere Sudoris minimum, sed habet Comedia tanto Plus oneris, quanto venice minus.

"But our Poet, who was not ignorant of these difficulties, had prevailed [? availed] himself of all advantages; as he who designs a large leap, takes his rise from the highest ground.

"One of these Advantages is that, which CORNEILLE has laid down as the greatest which can arrive [happen] to any Poem; and which he, himself, could never compass, above thrice, in all his plays, viz., the making choice of some signal and long expected day; whereon the action of the Play is to depend. This day was that designed by DAUPHINE, for the settling of his uncle's estate upon him: which to compass, he contrives to marry him. That the marriage had been plotted by him, long beforehand, is made evident, by what he tells TRUE WIT, in the Second Act, that 'in one moment, he [TRUE WIT] had destroyed what he had been raising many months.'

"There is another artifice of the Poet, which I cannot here omit; because, by the frequent practice of it in his Comedies, he has left it to us, almost as a Rule: that is, when he has any Character or Humour, wherein he would show a coup de maitre or his highest skill; he recommends it to your observation by a pleasant description of it, before the person first appears. Thus, in Bartholomew Fair, he gives you the picture of NUMPS and COKES; and in this, those of DAW, LAFOOLE, MOROSE, and the Collegiate Ladies: all which you hear described, before you, see them. So that, before they come upon the Stage, you have a longing expectation of them; which prepares you to receive them favourably: and when they are there, even from their first appearance, you are so far acquainted with them, that nothing of their humour is lost to you.

"I will observe yet one thing further of this admirable Plot. The business of it rises in every Act. The Second is greater than the First; the Third, than the Second: and so forward, to the Fifth. There, too, you see, till the very last Scene, new difficulties arising to obstruct the Action of the Play: and when the audience is brought into despair that the business can naturally be effected; then, and not before, the Discovery is made.

"But that the Poet might entertain you with more variety, all this while; he reserves some new Characters to show you, which he opens not till the Second and Third Acts, In the Second, MOROSE, DAW, the Barber, and OTTER; in the Third, the Collegiate Ladies, All which, he moves, afterwards, in by-walks or under-plots, as diversions to the main Design, least it grow tedious: though they are still naturally joined with it; and, somewhere or other, subservient to it. Thus, like a skilful chess player, by little and little, he draws out his men; and makes his pawns of use to his greater persons.

"If this Comedy and some others of his, were translated into French prose (which would now be no wonder to them, since MOLIERE has lately given them Plays out of Verse; which have not displeased them), I believe the controversy would soon be decided betwixt the two nations: even making them, the judges.

"But we need not call our heroes to our aid. Be it spoken to the honour of the English! our nation can never want, in any age, such, who are able to dispute the Empire of Wit with any people in the universe. And though the fury of a Civil War, and power (for twenty years together [1640-1660 A.D.]) abandoned to a barbarous race of men, enemies of all good learning[10], had buried the Muses under the ruins of Monarchy: yet, with the Restoration of our happiness [1660], we see revived Poesy lifting up its head, and already shaking off the rubbish, which lay so heavy upon it.

"We have seen, since His Majesty's return, many Dramatic Poems which yield not to those of any foreign nation, and which deserve all laurels but the English. I will set aside flattery and envy. It cannot be denied but we have had some little blemish, either in the Plot or Writing of all those plays which have been made within these seven years; and, perhaps, there is no nation in the world so quick to discern them, or so difficult to pardon them, as ours: yet, if we can persuade ourselves to use the candour of that Poet [HORACE], who, though the most severe of critics, has left us this caution, by which to moderate our censures.

"Ubi plum nitent in carmine non ego paucis offendar maculis.

"If, in consideration of their many and great beauties, we can wink at some slight and little imperfections; if we, I say, can be thus equal to ourselves: I ask no favour from the French.

"And if I do not venture upon any particular judgement of our late Plays: 'tis out of the consideration which an ancient writer gives me. Vivorum, ut magna admiratio ita censura difficilis; 'betwixt the extremes of admiration and malice, 'tis hard to judge uprightly of the living.' Only, I think it may be permitted me to say, that as it is no lessening to us, to yield to some Plays (and those not many) of our nation, in the last Age: so can it be no addition, to pronounce of our present Poets, that they have far surpassed all the Ancients, and the Modern Writers of other countries."

This, my Lord! [_i.e., the Dedicatee, the Lord BUCKHURST, p. 503] was the substance of what was then spoke, on that occasion: and LISIDEIUS, I think, was going to reply; when he was prevented thus by CRITES.

"I am confident," said he, "the most material things that can be said, have been already urged, on either side. If they have not; I must beg of LISIDEIUS, that he will defer his answer till another time. For I confess I have a joint quarrel to you both: because you have concluded [pp. 539, 548], without any reason given for it, that Rhyme is proper for the Stage.

"I will not dispute how ancient it hath been among us to write this way. Perhaps our ancestors knew no better, till SHAKESPEARE's time, I will grant, it was not altogether left by him; and that PLETCHER and BEN JOHNSON used it frequently in their Pastorals, and sometimes in other Plays.

"Farther; I will not argue, whether we received it originally from our own countrymen, or from the French. For that is an inquiry of as little benefit as theirs, who, in the midst of the Great Plague [1665], were not so solicitous to provide against it; as to know whether we had it from the malignity of our own air, or by transportation from Holland.

"I have therefore only to affirm that it is not allowable in serious Plays. For Comedies, I find you are already concluding with me.

"To prove this, I might satisfy myself to tell you, how much in vain it is, for you, to strive against the stream of the People's inclination! the greatest part of whom, are prepossessed so much with those excellent plays of SHAKESPEARE, FLETCHER, and BEN. JOHNSON, which have been written out of Rhyme, that (except you could bring them such as were written better in it; and those, too, by persons of equal reputation with them) it will be impossible for you to gain your cause with them: who will (still) be judges. This it is to which, in fine, all your reasons must submit. The unanimous consent of an audience is so powerful, that even JULIUS CAESAR (as MACROBIOS reports of him), when he, was Perpetual Dictator, was not able to balance it, on the other side: but when LABERIUS, a Roman knight, at his request, contended in the Mime with another poet; he was forced to cry out, Etiam favente me victus es Liberi.

"But I will not, on this occasion, take the advantage of the greater number; but only urge such reasons against Rhyme, as I find in the writings of those who have argued for the other way.

"First, then, I am of opinion, that Rhyme is unnatural in a Play, because Dialogue, there, is presented as the effect of sudden thought. For a Play is the Imitation of Nature: and since no man, without premeditation, speaks in rhyme; neither ought he to do it on the Stage. This hinders not but the Fancy may be, there, elevated to a higher pitch of thought than it is in ordinary discourse; for there is a probability that men of excellent and quick parts, may speak noble things ex tempore: but those thoughts are never fettered with the numbers and sound of Verse, without study; and therefore it cannot be but unnatural, to present the most free way of speaking, in that which is the most constrained.

"'For this reason,' says ARISTOTLE, ''tis best, to write Tragedy in that kind of Verse, which is the least such, or which is nearest Prose': and this, among the Ancients, was the Iambic; and with us, is Blank Verse, or the Measure of Verse kept exactly, without rhyme. These numbers, therefore, are fittest for a Play: the others [i.e., Rhymed Verse] for a paper of Verses, or a Poem [p. 566]. Blank Verse being as much below them, as Rhyme is improper for the Drama: and, if it be objected that neither are Blank Verses made ex tempore; yet, as nearest Nature, they are still to be preferred.

"But there are two particular exceptions [objections], which many, beside myself, have had to Verse [i.e., in rhyme]; by which it will appear yet more plainly, how improper it is in Plays. And the first of them is grounded upon that very reason, for which some have commended Rhyme. They say, 'The quickness of Repartees in argumentative scenes, receives an ornament from Verse [pp. 492, 498].' Now, what is more unreasonable than to imagine that a man should not only light upon the Wit, but the Rhyme too; upon the sudden? This nicking of him, who spoke before, both in Sound and Measure, is so great a happiness [felicity], that you must, at least, suppose the persons of your Play to be poets, Arcades omnes et cantare pares et respondere parati. They must have arrived to the degree of quicquid conabar dicere, to make verses, almost whether they will or not.

"If they are anything below this, it will look rather like the design of two, than the answer of one. It will appear that your Actors hold intelligence together; that they perform their tricks, like fortune tellers, by confederacy. The hand of Art will be too visible in it, against that maxim of all professions, Ars est celare artem; 'that it is the greatest perfection of Art, to keep itself undiscovered.'

"Nor will it serve you to object, that however you manage it, 'tis still known to be a Play; and consequently the dialogue of two persons, understood to be the labour of one Poet. For a Play is still an Imitation of Nature. We know we are to be deceived, and we desire to be so; but no man ever was deceived, but with a probability of Truth; for who will suffer a gross lie to be fastened upon him? Thus, we sufficiently understand that the scenes [i.e., the scenery which was just now coming into use on the English Stage], which represent cities and countries to us, are not really such, but only painted on boards and canvas. But shall that excuse the ill painture [painting] or designment of them? Nay rather, ought they not to be laboured with so much the more diligence and exactness, to help the Imagination? since the Mind of Man doth naturally bend to, and seek after Truth; and therefore the nearer anything comes to the Imitation of it, the more it pleases.

"Thus, you see! your Rhyme is incapable of expressing the greatest thoughts, naturally; and the lowest, it cannot, with any grace. For what is more unbefitting the majesty of Verse, than 'to call a servant,' or 'bid a door be shut' in Rhyme? And yet, this miserable necessity you are forced upon!

"'But Verse,' you say, 'circumscribes a quick and luxuriant Fancy, which would extend itself too far, on every subject; did not the labour which is required to well-turned and polished Rhyme, set bounds to it [pp. 492-493]. Yet this argument, if granted, would only prove, that we may write better in Verse, but not more naturally.

"Neither is it able to evince that. For he who wants judgement to confine his Fancy, in Blank Verse; may want it as well, in Rhyme: and he who has it, will avoid errors in both kinds [pp. 498, 571], Latin Verse was as great a confinement to the imagination of those poets, as Rhyme to ours: and yet, you find OVID saying too much on every subject.

"Nescivit, says SENECA, quod bene cessit relinquere: of which he [OVID] gives you one famous instance in his description of the Deluge.

"Omnia pontus erat, deerant quoque litora ponto. Now all was sea; nor had that sea a shore.

"Thus OVID's Fancy was not limited by Verse; and VIRGIL needed not Verse to have bounded his.

"In our own language, we see BEN. JOHNSON confining himself to what ought to be said, even in the liberty of Blank Verse; and yet CORNEILLE, the most judicious of the French poets, is still varying the same Sense a hundred ways, and dwelling eternally upon the same subject, though confined by Rhyme.

"Some other exceptions, I have to Verse; but these I have named, being, for the most part, already public: I conceive it reasonable they should, first, be answered."

"It concerns me less than any," said NEANDER, seeing he had ended, "to reply to this discourse, because when I should have proved that Verse may be natural in Plays; yet I should always be ready to confess that those which I [i.e., DRYDEN, see pp. 503, 566] have written in this kind, come short of that perfection which is required. Yet since you are pleased I should undertake this province, I will do it: though, with all imaginable respect and deference both to that Person [i.e., SIR ROBERT HOWARD, see p. 494] from whom you have borrowed your strongest arguments; and to whose judgement, when I have said all, I finally submit.

"But before I proceed to answer your objections; I must first remember you, that I exclude all Comedy from my defence; and next, that I deny not but Blank Verse may be also used: and content myself only to assert that in serious Plays, where the Subject and Characters are great, and the Plot unmixed with mirth (which might allay or divert these concernments which are produced), Rhyme is there, as natural, and more effectual than Blank Verse.

"And now having laid down this as a foundation: to begin with CRITES, I must crave leave to tell him, that some of his arguments against Rhyme, reach no farther that from the faults or defects of ill Rhyme to conclude against the use of it in general [p. 598]. May not I conclude against Blank Verse, by the same reason? If the words of some Poets, who write in it, are either ill-chosen or ill-placed; which makes not only Rhyme, but all kinds of Verse, in any language, unnatural: shall I, for their virtuous affectation, condemn those excellent lines of FLETCHER, which are written in that kind? Is there anything in Rhyme more constrained, than this line in Blank Verse?

"I, heaven invoke! and strong resistance make.

"Where you see both the clauses are placed unnaturally; that is, contrary to the common way of speaking, and that, without the excuse of a rhyme to cause it: yet you would think me very ridiculous, if I should accuse the stubbornness of Blank Verse for this; and not rather, the stiffness of the Poet. Therefore, CRITES! you must either prove that words, though well chosen and duly placed, yet render not Rhyme natural in itself; or that, however natural and easy the Rhyme may be, yet it is not proper for a Play.

"If you insist on the former part; I would ask you what other conditions are required to make Rhyme natural in itself, besides an election of apt words, and a right disposing of them? For the due choice of your words expresses your Sense naturally, and the due placing them adapts the Rhyme to it.

"If you object that one verse may be made for the sake of another, though both the words and rhyme be apt, I answer it cannot possibly so fall out. For either there is a dependence of sense betwixt the first line and the second; or there is none. If there be that connection, then, in the natural position of the words, the latter line must, of necessity, flow from the former: if there be no dependence, yet, still, the due ordering of words makes the last line as natural in itself as the other. So that the necessity of a rhyme never forces any but bad or lazy writers, to say what they would not otherwise.

"'Tis true, there is both care and art required to write in Verse. A good Poet never concludes upon the first line, till he has sought out such a rhyme as may fit the Sense already prepared, to heighten the second. Many times, the Close of the Sense falls into the middle of the next verse, or farther off; and he may often prevail [avail] himself of the same advantages in English, which VIRGIL had in Latin; he may break off in the hemistich, and begin another line.

"Indeed, the not observing these two last things, makes Plays that are writ in Verse so tedious: for though, most commonly, the Sense is to be confined to the Couplet; yet, nothing that does perpetuo tenore fluere, 'run in the same channel,' can please always. 'Tis like the murmuring of a stream: which, not varying in the fall, causes at first attention; at last, drowsiness. VARIETY OF CADENCES is the best Rule; the greatest help to the Actors, and refreshment to the Audience.

"If, then, Verse may be made natural in itself; how becomes it improper to a Play? You say, 'The Stage is the Representation of Nature, and no man, in ordinary conversation, speaks in Rhyme': but you foresaw, when you said this, that it might be answered, 'Neither does any man speak in Blank Verse, or in measure without Rhyme!' therefore you concluded, 'That which is nearest Nature is still to be preferred.' But you took no notice that Rhyme might be made as natural as Blank Verse, by the well placing of the words, &c. All the difference between them, when they are both correct, is the sound in one, which the other wants: and if so, the sweetness of it, and all the advantages resulting from it which are handled in the Preface to the Rival Ladies [pp. 487-493], will yet stand good.

"As for that place of ARISTOTLE, where he says, 'Plays should be writ in that kind of Verse which is nearest Prose': it makes little for you, Blank Verse being, properly, but Measured Prose.

"Now Measure, alone, in any modern language, does not constitute Verse. Those of the Ancients, in Greek and Latin, consisted in Quantity of Words, and a determinate number of Feet. But when, by the inundations of the Goths and Vandals, into Italy, new languages were brought in, and barbarously mingled with the Latin, of which, the Italian, Spanish, French, and ours (made out of them, and the Teutonic) are dialects: a New Way of Poesy was practised, new, I say, in those countries; for, in all probability, it was that of the conquerors in their own nations. The New Way consisted of Measure or Number of Feet, and Rhyme. The sweetness of Rhyme and observation of Accent, supplying the place of Quantity in Words: which could neither exactly be observed by those Barbarians who knew not the Rules of it; neither was it suitable to their tongues, as it had been to the Greek and Latin.

"No man is tied in Modern Poesy, to observe any farther Rules in the Feet of his Verse, but that they be dissyllables (whether Spondee, Trochee, or Iambic, it matters not); only he is obliged to Rhyme. Neither do the Spanish, French, Italians, or Germans acknowledge at all, or very rarely, any such kind of Poesy as Blank Verse among them. Therefore, at most, 'tis but a Poetic Prose, a sermo pedestris; and, as such, most fit for Comedies: where I acknowledge Rhyme to be improper.

"Farther, as to that quotation of ARISTOTLE, our Couplet Verses may be rendered as near Prose, as Blank Verse itself; by using those advantages I lately named, as Breaks in the Hemistich, or Running the Sense into another line: thereby, making Art and Order appear as loose and free as Nature. Or, not tying ourselves to Couplets strictly, we may use the benefit of the Pindaric way, practised in the Siege of Rhodes; where the numbers vary, and the rhyme is disposed carelessly, and far from often chiming.

"Neither is that other advantage of the Ancients to be despised, of changing the Kind of Verse, when they please, with the change of the Scene, or some new Entrance. For they confine not themselves always to Iambics; but extend their liberty to all Lyric Numbers; and sometimes, even, to Hexameter.

"But I need not go so far, to prove that Rhyme, as it succeeds to all other offices of Greek and Latin Verse, so especially to this of Plays; since the custom of all nations, at this day, confirms it. All the French, Italian, and Spanish Tragedies are generally writ in it; and, sure[ly], the Universal Consent of the most civilised parts of the world ought in this, as it doth in other customs, [to] include the rest.

"But perhaps, you may tell me, I have proposed such a way to make Rhyme natural; and, consequently, proper to Plays, as is impracticable; and that I shall scarce find six or eight lines together in a Play, where the words are so placed and chosen, as is required to make it natural.

"I answer, no Poet need constrain himself, at all times, to it. It is enough, he makes it his general rule. For I deny not but sometimes there may be a greatness in placing the words otherwise; and sometimes they may sound better. Sometimes also, the variety itself is excuse enough. But if, for the most part, the words be placed, as they are in the negligence of Prose; it is sufficient to denominate the way practicable: for we esteem that to be such, which, in the trial, oftener succeeds than misses. And thus far, you may find the practice made good in many Plays: where, you do not remember still! that if you cannot find six natural Rhymes together; it will be as hard for you to produce as many lines in Blank Verse, even among the greatest of our poets, against which I cannot make some reasonable exception.

"And this, Sir, calls to my remembrance the beginning of your discourse, where you told us we should never find the audience favourable to this kind of writing, till we could produce as good plays in Rhyme, as BEN. JOHNSON, FLETCHER, and SHAKESPEARE had writ out of it [p. 558]. But it is to raise envy to the Living, to compare them with the Dead. They are honoured, and almost adored by us, as they deserve; neither do I know any so presumptuous of themselves, as to contend with them. Yet give me leave to say thus much, without injury to their ashes, that not only we shall never equal them; but they could never equal themselves, were they to rise, and write again. We acknowledge them our Fathers in Wit: but they have ruined their estates themselves before they came to their children's hands. There is scarce a Humour, a Character, or any kind of Plot; which they have not blown upon. All comes sullied or wasted to us: and were they to entertain this Age, they could not make so plenteous treatments out of such decayed fortunes. This, therefore, will be a good argument to us, either not to write at all; or to attempt some other way. There are no Bays to be expected in their walks, Tentanda via est qua me quoque possum tollere humo.

"This way of Writing in Verse, they have only left free to us. Our Age is arrived to a perfection in it, which they never knew: and which (if we may guess by what of theirs we have seen in Verse, as the Faithful Shepherdess and Sad Shepherd) 'tis probable they never could have reached. For the Genius of every Age is different: and though ours excel in this; I deny not but that to imitate Nature in that perfection which they did in Prose [i.e., Blank Verse] is a greater commendation than to write in Verse exactly.

"As for what you have added, that the people are not generally inclined to like this way: if it were true, it would be no wonder but betwixt the shaking off of an old habit, and the introducing of a new, there should be difficulty. Do we not see them stick to HOPKINS and STERNHOLD's Psalms; and forsake those of DAVID, I mean SANDYS his Translation of them? If, by the people, you understand the Multitude, the [Greek: oi polloi]; 'tis no matter, what they think! They are sometimes in the right, sometimes in the wrong. Their judgement is a mere lottery. Est ubi plebs recte putat, est ubi peccat. HORACE says it of the Vulgar, judging Poesy. But if you mean, the mixed Audience of the Populace and the Noblesse: I dare confidently affirm, that a great part of the latter sort are already favourable to Verse; and that no serious Plays, written since the King's return [May 1660], have been more kindly received by them, than the Siege of Rhodes, the MUSTAPHA, the Indian Queen and Indian Emperor. [See p. 503.]

"But I come now to the Inference of your first argument. You said, 'The dialogue of Plays is presented as the effect of sudden thought; but no one speaks suddenly or, ex tempore, in Rhyme' [p. 498]: and you inferred from thence, that Rhyme, which you acknowledge to be proper to Epic Poesy [p. 559], cannot equally be proper to Dramatic; unless we could suppose all men born so much more than poets, that verses should be made in them, not by them.

"It has been formerly urged by you [p. 499] and confessed by me [p. 563] that 'since no man spoke any kind of verse ex tempore; that which was nearest Nature was to be preferred.' I answer you, therefore, by distinguishing betwixt what is nearest to the nature of Comedy: which is the Imitation of common persons and Ordinary Speaking: and, what is nearest the nature of a serious Play. This last is, indeed, the Representation of Nature; but 'tis Nature wrought up to an higher pitch. The Plot, the Characters, the Wit, the Passions, the Descriptions are all exalted above the level of common converse [conversation], as high as the Imagination of the Poet can carry them, with proportion to verisimility [verisimilitude].

"Tragedy, we know, is wont to Image to us the minds and fortunes of noble persons: and to pourtray these exactly, Heroic Rhyme is nearest Nature; as being the noblest kind of Modern Verse.

"Indignatur enim privatis, et prope socco, Dignis carminibus narrari coena THYESTOE.

"says HORACE. And in another place,

"Effutire leveis indigna tragoedia versus.

"Blank Verse is acknowledged to be too low for a Poem, nay more, for a paper of Verses [pp. 473, 498, 559]; but if too low for an ordinary Sonnet, how much more for Tragedy! which is, by ARISTOTLE, in the dispute between the Epic Poesy and the Dramatic, (for many reasons he there alleges) ranked above it.

"But setting this defence aside, your argument is almost as strong against the use of Rhyme in Poems, as in Plays. For the Epic way is everywhere interlaced with Dialogue or Discoursive Scenes: and, therefore, you must either grant Rhyme to be improper there, which is contrary to your assertion; or admit it into Plays, by the same title which you have given it to Poems.

"For though Tragedy be justly preferred above the other, yet there is a great affinity between them; as may easily be discovered in that Definition of a Play, which LISIDEIUS gave us [p. 513]. The genus of them is the same, A JUST AND LIVELY IMAGE OF HUMAN NATURE, IN ITS ACTIONS, PASSIONS, AND TRAVERSES OF FORTUNE: so is the End, namely, FOR THE DELIGHT AND BENEFIT OF MANKIND. The Characters and Persons are still the same, viz., the greatest of both sorts: only the manner of acquainting us with those actions, passions, and fortunes is different. Tragedy performs it, viva voce, or by Action in Dialogue: wherein it excels the Epic Poem; which does it, chiefly, by Narration, and therefore is not so lively an Image of Human Nature. However, the agreement betwixt them is such, that if Rhyme be proper for one, it must be for the other.