University of Virginia Library

The PREFACE to the Play.

The Poet Æschylus was held in the same veneration by the Athenians of after Ages as Shakespear is by us; and Longinus has judg'd, in favour of him, that he had a noble boldnesse of expression, and that his imaginations were lofty and Heroick: but on the other side Quintilian affirms, that he was daring to extravagance. 'Tis certain, that he affected pompous words, and that his sence too often was obscur'd by Figures: Notwithstanding these imperfections, the value of his Writings after his decease was such, that his Countrymen ordain'd an equal reward to those Poets who could alter his Plays to be Acted on the Theater, with those whose productions were wholly new, and of their own. The case is not the same in England; though the difficulties of altering are greater, and our reverence for Shakespear much more just, then that of the Grecians for Æschylus. In the Age of that Poet, the Greek tongue was arriv'd to its full perfection; they had then amongst them an exact Standard of Writing, and of Speaking: The English Language is not capable of such a certainty; and we are at present so far from it, that we are wanting in the very Foundation of it, a perfect Grammar. Yet it must be allow'd to the present Age, that the tongue in general is so much refin'd since Shakespear's time, that many of his words, and more of his Phrases, are scarce intelligible. And of those which we understand some are ungrammatical, others course; and his whole stile is so pester'd with Figurative expressions, that it is as affected as it is obscure. 'Tis true, that in his later Plays he had worn off somewhat of the rust; but the Tragedy which I have undertaken to correct, was, in all probability, one of his first endeavours on the Stage.

The Original story was Written by one Lollius a Lombard, in Latin verse, and Translated by Chaucer into English: intended I suppose a Satyr on the Inconstancy of Women: I find nothing of it among the Ancients; not so much as the name once Cressida mention'd. Shakespear, (as I hinted) in the Aprenticeship of his Writing, model'd it into that Play, which is now call'd by the name of Troilus and Cressida; but so lamely is it left to us, that it is not divided into Acts: which fault I ascribe to the Actors, who Printed it after Shakespear's death; and that too, so carelesly, that a more uncorrect Copy I never saw. For the Play it self, the Author seems to have begun it with some fire; the Characters of Pandarus and Thersites, are promising enough; but as if he grew weary of his task, after an Entrance or two, he lets 'em fall: and the later part of the Tragedy is nothing but a confusion of Drums and Trumpets, Excursions and Alarms. The chief persons, who give name to the Tragedy, are left alive: Cressida is false, and is not punish'd. Yet after all, because the Play was Shakespear's, and that there appear'd in some places of it, the admirable Genius of the Author; I undertook to remove that heap of Rubbish, under which many excellent thoughts lay wholly bury'd. Accordingly, I new model'd the Plot; threw out many unnecessary persons; improv'd those Characters

which were begun, and left unfinish'd: as Hector, Troilus, Pandarus, and Thersites; and added that of Andromache. After this, I made with no small trouble, an Order and Connexion of all the Scenes; removing them from the places where they were inartificially set: and though it was impossible to keep 'em all unbroken, because the Scene must be sometimes in the City, and sometimes in the Camp, yet I have so order'd them that there is a coherence of 'em with one another, and a dependence on the main design: no leaping from Troy to the Grecian Tents, and thence back again in the same Act; but a due proportion of time allow'd for every motion. I need not say that I have refin'd his Language, which before was obsolete; but I am willing to acknowledg, that as I have often drawn his English nearer to our times so I have somtimes conform'd my own to his: & consequently, the Language is not altogether so pure, as it is significant. The Scenes of Pandarus and Cressida, of Troilus and Pandarus, of Andromache with Hector and the Trojans, in the second Act, are wholly New: together with that of Nestor and Ulysses with Thersites; and that of Thersites with Ajax and Achilles. I will not weary my Reader with the Scenes which are added of Pandarus and the Lovers, in the Third; and those of Thersites, which are wholly alter'd: but I cannot omit the last Scene in it, which is almost half the Act, betwixt Troilus and Hector. The occasion of raising it was hinted to me by Mr. Betterton: the contrivance and working of it was my own. They who think to do me an injury, by saying that it is an imitation of the Scene betwixt Brutus and Cassius, do me an honour, by supposing I could imitate the incomparable Shakespear: but let me add, that if Shakespears Scene, or that faulty Copy of it in Amintor and Melantius had never been, yet Euripides had furnish'd me with an excellent example in his Iphigenia, between Agamemnon and Menelaus: and from thence indeed, the last turn of it is borrow'd. The occasion which Shakespear, Euripides, and Fletcher, have all taken, as the same; grounded upon Friendship: and the quarrel of two virtuous men, rais'd by natural degrees, to the extremity of passion, is conducted in all three, to the declination of the same passion; and concludes with a warm renewing of their Friendship. But the particular groundwork which Shakespear has taken, is incomparably the best: Because he has not only chosen two the greatest Heroes of their Age; but has likewise interested the Liberty of Rome, and their own honors, who were the redeemers of it, in this debate. And if he has made Brutus who was naturally a patient man, to fly into excess at first; let it be remembred in his defence, that just before, he has receiv'd the news of Portia's death: whom the Poet on purpose neglecting a little Chronology, supposes to have dy'd before Brutus, only to give him an occasion of being more easily exasperated. Add to this, that the injury he had receiv'd from Cassius, had long been brooding in his mind; and that a melancholy man, upon consideration of an affront, especially from a Friend, would be more eager in his passion, than he who had given it, though naturally more cholerick, Euripides whom I have follow'd, has rais'd the quarrel betwixt two Brothers who were friends. The foundation of the Scene was this: The Grecians were wind-bound at the Port of Aulis, and the Oracle had said, that they could not Sail, unless Agamemnon deliver'd up his Daughter to be Sacrific'd: he refuses; his Brother Menelaus urges the publick safety, the Father defends himself, by arguments of natural affection, and hereupon they quarrel. Agamemnon is at last convinc'd, and promises to deliver up Iphigenia, but so passionately laments his loss, that Menelaus is griev'd to have been the occasion of it, and by a return of kindness, offers to intercede for him with the Grecians, that his Daughter might not be sacrific'd. But my friend Mr. Rymer has so largly, and with so much judgement describ'd this Scene, in comparing it with that of Melantius and Amintor, that it is superfluous to say more of it: I only nam'd the heads of it, that any reasonable man might judge it was from thence I model'd my Scene betwixt Troilus and Hector. I will conclude my reflexions on it, with a passage of Longinus, concerning Plato's imitation of Homer: ‘We ought not to regard a good imitation as a theft; but as a beautifull Idea of him who undertakes to imitate, by forming himself on the invention and the work of another man; for he enters into the lists like a new wrestler, to dispute the prize with the former Champion. This sort of emulation says Hesiod, is honourable Αγαθη δ' ερις εστι βροτοισιν—When we combat for Victory with a Hero, and are not without glory even in our overthrow. Those great men whom we propose to our selves as patterns of our imitation, serve us as a Torch, which is lifted up before us, to enlighten our passage; and often elevate our thoughts as high, as the conception we have of our Authors Genius.

I have been so tedious in three Acts, that I shall contract my self in the two last. The beginning Scenes of the fourth Act are either added, or chang'd wholly by me; the middle of it is Shakespear alter'd, and mingled with my own, three or four of the last Scenes are altogether new. And the whole Fifth Act, both the Plot and the Writing are my own Additions.

But having written so much for imitation of what is excellent, in that part of the Preface which related only to my self; methinks it would neither be unprofitable nor unpleasant to enquire how far we ought to imitate our own Poets, Shakespear and Fletcher in their Tragedies: And this will occasion another enquiry, how those two Writers differ between themselves: but since neither of these questions can be solv'd unless some measures be first taken, by which we may be enabled to judge truly of their Writings: I shall endeavour as briefly as I can, to discover the grounds and reason of all Criticism, applying them in this place only to Tragedy. Aristotle with his Interpreters, and Horace, and Longinus, are the Authors to whom I owe my lights; and what part soever of my own Plays, or of this, which no mending could make regular, shall fall under the condemnation of such Judges, it would be impudence in me to defend. I think it no shame to retract my errors, and am well pleas'd to suffer in the cause, if the Art may be improv'd at my expence: I therefore proceed to,

Tragedy is thus defin'd by Aristotle, (omiting what I thought unnecessary in his Definition.) 'Tis an imitation of one intire, great, and probable action; not told but represented, which by moving in us fear and pity, is

conducive to the purging of those two passions in our minds. More largly thus, Tragedy describes or paints an Action, which Action must have all the proprieties above nam'd. First, it must be one or single, that is, it must not be a History of one Mans life: Suppose of Alexander the Great, or Julius Cæsar, but one single action of theirs. This condemns all Shakespears Historical Plays, which are rather Chronicles represented, than Tragedies, and all double action of Plays. As to avoid a Satyr upon others, I will make bold with my own Marriage-A-la-Mode, where there are manifestly two Actions, not depending on one another: but in Oedipus there cannot properly be said to be two Actions, because the love of Adrastus and Euridice has a necessary dependance on the principal design, into which it is woven. The natural reason of this Rule is plain, for two different independant actions, distract the attention and concernment of the Audience, and consequently destroy the intention of the Poet: If his business be to move terror and pity, and one of his Actions be Comical, the other Tragical, the former will divert the people, and utterly make void his greater purpose. Therefore as in Perspective, so in Tragedy, there must be a point of sight in which all the lines terminate: Otherwise the eye wanders, and the work is false. This was the practice of the Grecian Stage. But Terence made an innovation in the Roman: all his Plays have double Actions; for it was his custome to Translate two Greek Comedies, and to weave them into one of his, yet so, that both the Actions were Comical; and one was principal, the other but secondary or subservient. And this has obtain'd on the English Stage, to give us the pleasure of variety.

As the Action ought to be one, it ought as such, to have Order in it, that is, to have a natural beginning, a middle, and an end: A natural beginning says Aristotle, is that which could not necessarily have been plac'd after another thing, and so of the rest. This consideration will arraign all Plays after the new model of Spanish Plots, where accident is heap'd upon accident, and that which is first might as reasonably be last: an inconvenience not to be remedyed, but by making one accident naturally produce another, otherwise 'tis a Farce, and not a Play. Of this nature, is the Slighted Maid; where there is no Scene in the first Act, which might not by as good reason be in the fifth. And if the Action ought to be one, the Tragedy ought likewise to conclude with the Action of it. Thus in Mustapha, the Play should naturally have ended with the death of Zanger, and not have given us the grace Cup after Dinner, of Solyman's divorce from Roxolana.

The following properties of the Action are so easy, that they need not my explaining. It ought to be great, and to consist of great Persons, to distinguish it from Comedy; where the Action is trivial, and the persons of inferior rank. The last quality of the action is, that it ought to be probable, as well as admirable and great. 'Tis not necessary that there should be Historical truth in it; but always necessary that there should be a likeness of truth, something that is more then barely possible, probable being that which succeeds or happens oftner than it misses. To invent therefore a probability, and to make it wonderfull, is the most difficult undertaking in the Art of Poetry: for that which is not wonderfull,

is not great, and that which is not probable, will not delight a reasonable Audience. This action thus describ'd, must be represented and not told, to distinguish Dramatic Poetry from Epic: but I hasten to the end, or scope of Tragedy; which is to rectify or purge our passions, fear and pity.

To instruct delightfully is the general end of all Poetry: Philosophy instructs, but it performs its work by precept: which is not delightfull, or not so delightfull as Example. To purge the passions by Example, is therefore the particular instruction which belongs to Tragedy. Rapin a judicious Critic, has observ'd from Aristotle, that pride and want of commiseration are the most predominant vices in Mankinde: therefore to cure us of these two, the inventors of Tragedy, have chosen to work upon two other passions, which are fear and pity. We are wrought to fear, by their seting before our eyes some terrible example of misfortune, which hapned to persons of the highest Quality; for such an action demonstrates to us, that no condition is privileg d from the turns of Fortune: this must of necessity cause terror in us, and consequently abate our pride. But when we see that the most virtuous, as well as the greatest, are not exempt from such misfortunes, that consideration moves pity in us: and insensibly works us to be helpfull to, and tender over the distress'd, which is the noblest and most God-like of moral virtues. Here 'tis observable, that it is absolutely necessary to make a man virtuous, if we desire he should be pity'd: We lament not, but detest a wicked man, we are glad when we behold his crimes are punish'd, and that Poetical justice is done upon him. Euripides was censur'd by the Critics of his time, for making his chief characters too wicked: for example, Phædra though she lov'd her Son-in-law with reluctancy, and that it was a curse upon her Family for offending Venus; yet was thought too ill a pattern for the Stage. Shall we therefore banish all characters of villany? I confess I am not of that opinion; but it is necessary that the Hero of the I lay be not a Villain: that is, the characters which should move our pity ought to have virtuous inclinations, and degrees of morall goodness in them. As for a perfect character of virtue, it never was in Nature; and therefore there can be no imitation of it: but there are allays of frailty to be allow'd for the chief Persons, yet so that the good which is in them, shall outweigh the bad; and consequently leave room for punishment on the one side, and pity on the other.

After all, if any one will ask me, whether a Tragedy cannot be made upon any other grounds, than those of exciting pity and terror in us? Bossu, the best of modern Critics, answers thus in general: That all excellent Arts, and particularly that of Poetry, have been invented and brought to perfection by men of a transcendent Genius; and that therefore they who practice afterwards the same Arts, are oblig'd to tread in their footsteps, and to search in their Writings the foundation of them: for it is not just that new Rules should destroy the authority of the old. But Rapin writes more particularly thus: That no passions in a story are so proper to move our concernment as Fear and Pity; and that it is from our concernment we receive our pleasure, is undoubted; when the Soul becomes agitated with fear for one character, or hope for another; then it is that we are pleas'd in Tragedy, by the interest which we take in their adventures.

Here therefore the general answer may be given to the first question, how far we ought to imitate Shakespear and Fletcher in their Plots; namely that we ought to follow them so far only, as they have Copy'd the excellencies of those who invented and brought to perfection Dramatic Poetry: those things only excepted which Religion, customs of Countries, Idioms of Languages, &c. have alter'd in the Superstructures, but not in the foundation of the design.

How defective Shakespear and Fletcher have been in all their Plots, Mr. Rymer has discover'd in his Criticisms: neither can we, who follow them, be excus'd from the same or greater errors; which are the more unpardonable in us, because we want their beauties to counterveil our faults. The best of their designs, the most approaching to Antiquity, and the most conducing to move pity, is the King and no King; which if the Farce of Bellus were thrown away, is of that inferior sort of Tragedies, which end with a prosp rous event. 'Tis probably deriv'd from the story of OEdipus, with the character of Alexander the Great, in his extravagancies, given to Arbaces. The taking of this Play, amongst many others, I cannot wholly ascribe to the excellency of the action; for I finde it moving when it is read: 'tis true, the faults of the Plot are so evidently prov'd, that they can no longer be deny'd. The beauties of it must therefore lie either in the lively touches of the passions: or we must conclude, as I think we may, that even in imperfect Plots, there are less degrees of Nature, by which some faint emotions of pity and terror are rais'd in us: as a less Engine will raise a less proportion of weight, though not so much as one of Archimedes making; for nothing can move our nature, but by some natural reason, which works upon passions. And since we acknowledge the effect, there must be something in the cause.

The difference between Shakespear and Fletcher in their Plotting seems to be this, that Shakespear generally moves more terror, and Fletcher more compassion: For the first had a more Masculine, a bold and more fiery Genius; the Second a more soft and Womanish. In the mechanic beauties of the Plot, which are the Observation of the three Unities, Time, Place, and Action, they are both deficient; but Shakespear most. Ben. Johnson reform'd those errors in his Comedies, yet one of Shakespear's was Regular before him: which is, The Merry Wives of Windsor. For what remains concerning the design, you are to be refer'd to our English Critic. That method which he has prescrib'd to raise it from mistake, or ignorance of the crime, is certainly the best though 'tis not the only: for amongst all the Tragedies of Sophocles, there is but one, OEdipus, which is wholly built after that model.

After the Plot, which is the foundation of the I lay, the next thing to which we ought to apply our Judgment is the manners, for now the Poet comes to work above ground: the ground-work indeed is that which is most necessary, as that upon which depends the firmness of the whole Fabric; yet it strikes not the eye so much, as the beauties or imperfections of the manners, the thoughts and the expressions.

The first Rule which Bossu, prescribes to the Writer of an Heroic Poem, and which holds too by the same reason in all Dramatic Poetry, is to make the

moral of the work; that is, to lay down to your self what that precept of morality shall be, which you would insinuate into the people: as namely, Homer's, (which I have Copy'd in my Conquest of Granada) was, that Union preserves a Common-wealth, and discord destroys it. Sophocles, in his OEdipus, that no man is to be accounted happy before his death. 'Tis the Moral that directs the whole action of the Play to one center; and that action or Fable, is the example built upon the moral, which confirms the truth of it to our experience: when the Fable is design'd, then and not before, the Persons are to be introduc'd with their manners, characters and passions.

The manners in a Poem, are understood to be those inclinations, whether natural or acquir'd, which move and carry us to actions, good, bad, or indifferent in a Play; or which incline the persons to such, or such actions: I have anticipated part of this discourse already, in declaring that a Poet ought not to make the manners perfectly good in his best persons, but neither are they to be more wicked in any of his characters, than necessity requires. To produce a Villain, without other reason than a natural inclination to villany, is in Poetry to produce an effect without a cause: and to make him more a Villain than be has just reason to be, is to make an effect which is stronger then the cause.

The manners arise from many causes: and are either distinguish'd by complexion, as choleric and phlegmatic, or by the differences of Age or Sex, of Climates, or Quality of the persons, or their present condition: they are likewise to be gather'd from the several Virtues, Vices, or Passions, and many other common-places which a Poet must be suppos'd to have learn'd from natural Philosophy, Ethics, and History; of all which whosoever is ignorant, does not deserve the Name of Poet.

But as the manners are usefull in this Art, they may be all compris'd under these general heads: First, they must be apparent, that is in every character of the Play, some inclinations of the Person must appear: and these are shown in the actions and discourse. Secondly the manners must be suitable or agreeing to the Persons; that is, to the Age, Sex, dignity, and the other general heads of Manners: thus when a Poet has given the Dignity of a King to one of his persons, in all his actions and speeches, that person must discover Majesty, Magnanimity, and jealousy of power; because these are sutable to the general manners of a King. The third property of manners is resemblance; and this is founded upon the particular characters of men, as we have them deliver'd to us by relation or History: that is, when a Poet has the known character of this or that man before him, he is bound to represent him such, at least not contrary to that which Fame has reported him to have been: thus it is not a Poets choice to make Ulysses choleric, or Achilles patient, because Homer has describ'd 'em quite otherwise. Yet this is a Rock, on which ignorant Writers daily split: and the absurdity is as monstrous, as if a Painter should draw a Coward running from a Battle, and tell us it was the Picture of Alexander the Great.

The last property of manners is, that they be constant, and equal, that is, maintain'd the same through the whole design: thus when Virgil had once given the name of Pious to Æneas, he was bound to show him such, in all his

words and actions through the whole Poem. All these properties Horace has hinted to a judicious observer. 1. Notandi sunt tibi mores, 2. aut famam sequere, 3. aut sibi convenientia finge. 4. Servetur ad imum, qualis ab incæpto processerat, & sibi constet.

From the manners, the Characters of persons are deriv'd, for indeed the characters are no other than the inclinations, as they appear in the several persons of the Poem. A character being thus defin'd, that which distinguishes one man from another. Not to repeat the same things over again which have been said of the manners, I will only add what is necessary here. A character, or that which distinguishes one man from all others, cannot be suppos'd to consist of one particular Virtue, or Vice, or passion only; but 'tis a composition of qualities which are not contrary to one another in the same person: thus the same man may be liberal and valiant, but not liberal and covetous; so in a Comical character, or humour, (which is an inclination to this, or that particular folly) Falstaff is a lyar, and a coward, a Glutton, and a Buffon, because all these qualities may agree in the same man; yet it is still to be observ'd, that one virtue, vice, and passion, ought to be shown in every man, as predominant over all the rest: as covetousness in Crassus love of his Country in Brutus; and the same in characters which are feign'd.

The chief character or Hero in a Tragedy, as I have already shown, ought in prudence to be such a man, who has so much more in him of Virtue than of Vice, that he may be left amiable to the Audience, which otherwise cannot have any concernment for his sufferings: and 'tis on this one character that the pity and terror must be principally, if not wholly founded. A Rule which is extreamly necessary, and which none of the Critics that I know, have fully enough discover'd to us. For terror and compassion work but weakly, when they are divided into many persons. If Creon had been the chief character in OEdipus, there had neither been terror nor compassion mov'd; but only detestation of the man and joy for his punishment; if Adrastus and Enridice had been made more appearing characters, then the pity had been divided, and lessen'd on the part of OEdipus: but making OEdipus the best and bravest person, and even Jocasta but an underpart to him; his virtues and the punishment of his fatall crime, drew both the pity, and the terror to himself.

By what had been said of the manners, it will be easy for a reasonable man to judge, whether the characters be truly or falsely drawn in a Tragedy; for if there be no manners appearing in the characters, no concernment for the persons can he rais'd: no pity or horror can be mov'd, but by vice or virtue, therefore without them, no person can have any business in the Play. If the inclinations be obscure, 'tis a sign the Poet is in the dark, and knows not what manner of man he presents to you; and consequently you can have no Idea, or very imperfect, of that man: nor can judge what resolutions he ought to take; or what words or actions are proper for him: Most Comedies made up of accidents, or adventures, are liable to fall into this error: and Tragedies with many turns are subject to it: for the manners never can be evident, where the surprises of Fortune take up all the business of the Stage; and where the Poet is

more in pain, to tell you what hapned to such a man, than what he was. 'Tis one of the excellencies of Shakespear, that the manners of his persons are generally apparent; and you see their bent and inclinations. Fletcher comes far short of him in this, as indeed he does almost in every thing: there are but glimmerings of manners in most of his Comedies, which run upon adventures: and in his Tragedies, Rollo, Otto, the King and No King, Melantius, and many others of his best, are but Pictures shown you in the twi-light; you know not whether they resemble vice, or virtue, and they are either good bad, or indifferent, as the present Scene requires it. But of all Poets, this commendation is to be given to Ben. Johnson, that the manners even of the most inconsiderable persons in his Plays are every where apparent.

By considering the Second quality of manners, which is that they be sutable to the Age, Quality, Country, Dignity, &c. of the character, we may likewise judge whether a Poet has follow'd Nature. In this kinde Sophocles and Euripides, have more excell'd among the Greeks than Æschylus: and Terence, more then Plautus among the Romans: Thus Sophocles gives to OEdipus the true qualities of a King, in both those Plays which bear his Name: but in the latter which is the OEdipus Colonœus, he lets fall on purpose his Tragic Stile, his Hero speaks not in the Arbitrary tone; but remembers in the softness of his complaints, that he is an unfortunate blind Old-man, that he is banish'd from his Country, and persecuted by his next Relations. The present French Poets are generally accus'd, that wheresoever they lay the Scene, or in whatsoever Age, the manners of their Heroes are wholly French: Racin's Bajazet is bred at Constantinople; but his civilities are convey'd to him by some secret passage, from Versailles into the Seraglio. But our Shakespear, having ascrib'd to Henry the Fourth the character of a King, and of a Father, gives him the perfect manners of each Relation, when either he transacts with his Son, or with his Subjects. Fletcher, on the other side gives neither to Arbaces, nor to his King in the Maids Tragedy, the qualities which are sutable to a Monarch: though he may be excus'd a little in the latter; for the King there is not uppermost in the character; 'tis the Lover of Evadne, who is King only, in a second consideration; and though he be unjust, and has other faults which shall be nameless, yet he is not the Hero of the Play: 'tis true we finde him a lawfull Prince, (though I never heard of any King that was in Rhodes) and therefore Mr. Rymers Criticism stands good; that he should not be shown in so vicious a character. Sophocles has been more judicious in his Antigona for though he represent in Creon a bloody Prince, yet he makes him not a lawful King, but an Usurper, and Antigona her self is the Heroin of the Tragedy: But when Philaster wounds Arethusa and the Boy; and Perigot his Mistress, in the faithfull Sheperdess, both these are contrary to the character of Manhood: Nor is Valentinian manag'd much better, for though Fletcher has taken his Picture truly, and shown him as he was, an effeminate voluptuous man, yet he has forgotten that he was an Emperor, and has given him none of those Royal marks, which ought to appear in a lawfull Successor of the Throne. If it be enquir'd, what Fletcher should have done on this occasion; ought he not to have

represented Valentinian as he was? Bossu shall answer this question for me, by an instance of the like nature: Mauritius the Greek Emperor, was a Prince far surpassing Valentinian, for he was indued with many Kingly virtues; he was Religious, Mercifull, and Valiant, but withall he was noted of extream covetousness, a vice which is contrary to the character of a Hero, or a Prince: therefore says the Critic, that Emperor was no fit person to be represented in a Tragedy, unless his good qualities were only to be shown, and his covetousness (which sullyed them all) were slur'd over by the artifice of the Poet. To return once more to Shakespear; no man ever drew so many characters, or general'y distinguished 'em better from one another, excepting only Johnson: I will instance but in one, to show the copiousness of his Invention; 'tis that of Calyban, or the Monster in the Tempest. He seems there to have created a person which was not in Nature, a boldness which at first sight would appear intolerable: for he makes him a Species of himself, begotten by an Incubus on a Witch; but this as I have elsewhere prov'd, is not wholly beyond the bounds of credibility, at least the vulgar stile believe it. We have the separated notions of a spirit, and of a Witch; (and Spirits according to Plato, are vested with a subtil body; according to some of his followers, have different Sexes) therefore as from the distinct apprehensions of a Horse, and of a Man, Imagination has form d a Centaur, so from those of an Incubus and a Sorceress, Shakespear has produc'd his Monster. Whether or no his Generation can be defended, I leave to Philosophy; but of this I am certain, that the Poet has most judiciously furnish'd him with a person, a Language, and a character, which will suit him, both by Fathers and Mothers side: he has all the discontents, and malice of a Witch, and of a Devil; besides a convenient proportion of the deadly sins; Gluttony, Sloth, and Lust, are manifest; the dejectedness of a slave is likewise given him, and the ignorance of one bred up in a Desart Island. His person is monstrous, as he is the product of unnatural Lust; and his language is as hobgoblin as his person: in all things he is distinguish'd from other mortals. The characters of Fletcher are poor & narrow, in comparison of Shakespears; I remember not one which is not borrow'd from him; unless you will except that strange mixture of a man in the King and no King; So that in this part Shakespear is generally worth our Imitation; and to imitate Fletcher is but to Copy after him who was a Copyer.

Under this general head of Manners, the passions are naturally included, as belonging to the Characters. I speak not of pity and of terror, which are to be mov'd in the Audience by the Plot; but of Anger, Hatred, Love, Ambition, Jealousy, Revenge, &c. as they are shown in this or that person of the Play. To describe these naturally, and to move then artfully, is one of the greatest commendations which can be given to a Poet: to write pathetically, says Longinus, cannot proceed but for a lofty Genius. A Poet must be born with this quality; yet, unless he help himself by an acquir'd knowledg of the Passions, what they are in their own nature, and by what springs they are to be mov'd, he will be subject either to raise them where they ought not to be rais'd, or not to raise them by the just degrees of Nature, or to amplify them beyond the natural

bounds, or not to observe the crisis and turns of them, in their cooling and decay: all which errors proceed from want of Judgment in the Poet, and from being unskill'd in the Principles of Moral Philosophy. Nothing is more frequent in a Fanciful Writer, than to foil himself by not managing his strength: therefore, as in a Wrestler, there is first requir'd some measure of force, a well-knit body, and active Limbs, without which all instruction would be vain; yet, these being granted, if he want the skill which is necessary to a Wrestler, he shall make but small advantage of his natural ro'ustuousness: So in a Poet, his inborn vehemence and force of spirit, will only run him out of breath the sooner, if it be not supported by the help of Art. The roar of passion indeed may please an Audience, three parts of which are ignorant enough to think all is moving which is noise, and it may stretch the lungs of an ambitious Actor, who will dye upon the spot for a thundring clap; but it will move no other passion than indignation and contempt from judicious men. Longinus, whom I have hitherto follow'd, continues thus: If the passions be Artfully employ'd, the discourse becomes vehement and lofty; if otherwise, there is nothing more ridiculous than a great passion out of season: And to this purpose he animadverts severely upon Æschylus, who writ nothing in cold bloud, but was always in a rapture, and in fury with his Audience: the Inspiration was still upon him, he was ever tearing it upon the Tripos; or (to run off as madly as he does, from one similitude to another) he was always at high floud of Passion, even in the dead Ebb, and lowest Watermark of the Scene. He who would raise the passion of a judicious Audience, says a Learned Critic, must be sure to take his hearers along with him; if they be in a Calm, 'tis in vain for him to be in a huff: he must move them by degrees, and kindle with 'em, otherwise he will be in danger of setting his own heap of Stubble on a fire, and of burning out by himself without warning the company that stand about him. They who would justify the madness of Poetry from the Authority of Aristotle, have mistaken the text, & consequently the Interpretation: I imagine it to be falsereal, where he says of Poetry, that it is Ευφυους ου μανικου, that it had always somewhat in it either of a genius, or of a madman. 'Tis more probable that the Original ran thus, that Poetry was Ευφυους ου μανικου, That it belongs to a Witty man, but not to a madman. Thus then the Passions, as they are consider'd simply and in themselves, suffer violence when they are perpetually maintain'd at the same height; for what melody can be made on that Instrument all whose strings are screw'd up at first to their utmost stretch, and to the same sound? But this is not the worst; for the Characters likewise bear a part in the general calamity, if you consider the Passions as embody'd in them: for it follows of necessity, that no man can be distinguish'd from another by his discourse, when every man is ranting, swaggering, and exclaiming with the same excess: as if it were the only business of all the Characters to contend with each other for the prize at Billingsgate; or that the Scene of the Tragedy lay in Bet'lem. Suppose the Poet should intend this man to be Cholerick, and that man to be patient; yet when they are confounded in the Writing, you cannot distinguish them from one another: for the man who was call'd patient and tame, is only so before he speaks; but let his clack be set a going, and he shall tongue it as impetuously, and as loudly as the errantest Hero in the Play. By this means, the characters are only distinct in name; but in reality, all the men and women in the Play are the same person. No man should pretend to write, who cannot temper his fancy with his Judgment: nothing is more dangerous to a raw horse-man, than a hot-mouth'd Jade without a curb.

'Tis necessary therefore for a Poet, who would concern an Audience by describing of a Passion, first to prepare it, and not to rush upon it all at once. Ovid has judiciously shown the difference of these two ways, in the speeches of Ajax and Ulysses: Ajax from the very beginning breaks out into his exclamations, and is swearing by his Maker.—Agimus proh Jupiter inquit. Ulysses on the contrary, prepares his Audience with all the submissiven ss he can practice, & all the calmness of a reasonable man; he found his Judges in a tranquillity of spirit, and therefore set out leasurely and softly with 'em, till he had warm'd 'em by degrees; and then he began to mend his pace, and to draw them along with his own impetuousness: yet so managing his breath, that it might not fail him at his need, and reserving his utmost proofs of ability even to the last. The success you see was answerable; for the croud only applauded the speech of Ajax;—

Vulgique secutum ultima murmur erat:—

But the Judges awarded the prize for which they contended to Ulysses.

Mota manus Procerum est, et quid facundia possit
Tum patuit, fortisque viri arma Disertus.

The next necessary rule is to put nothing into the discourse which may hinder your moving of the passions. Too many accidents as I have said, incomber the Poet, as much as the Arms of Saul did David; for the variety of passions which they produce, are ever crossing and justling each other out of the way. He who treats of joy and grief together, is in a fair way of causing neither of those effects. There is yet another obstacle to be remov'd, which is pointed Wit, and Sentences affected out of season; these are nothing of kin to the violence of passion: no man is at leisure to make sentences and similes, when his s ul is in an Agony. I the rather name this fault, that it may serve to mind me of my former errors; neither will I spare myself, but give an example of this kind from my Indian Emperor: Montezuma, pursu'd by his enemies, and seeking Sanctuary, stands parlying without the Fort, and describing his danger to Cydaria, in a simile of six lines;

As on the sands the frighted Traveller
Sees the high Seas come rowling from afar, &c.

My Indian Potentate was well skill'd in the Sea for an Inland Prince, and well improv'd since the first Act, when he sent his son to discover it. The Image had not been amiss from another man, at another time: Sed nunc non erat hisce locus: he destroy'd the concernment which the Audience might otherwise have had for him; for they could not think the danger near, when he had the leisure to invent a Simile.

If Shakespear be allow'd, as I think he must, to have made his Characters distinct, it will easily be infer'd that he understood the nature of the Passions: because it has been prov'd already, that confus'd passions make undistinguishable

Characters: yet I cannot deny that he has his failings; but they are not so much in the passions themselves, as in his manner of expression: he often obscures his meaning by his words, and sometimes makes it unintelligible. I will not say of so great a Poet, that he distinguish'd not the blown puffy stile, from true sublimity; but I may venture to maintain that the fury of his fancy often transported him, beyond the bounds of Judgment, either in coyning of new words and phrases, or racking words which were in use, into the violence of a Catachresis: 'Tis not that I would explode the use of Metaphors from passions, for Longinus thinks 'em necessary to raise it; but to use 'em at every word, to say nothing without a Metaphor, a Simile, an Image, or description, is I doubt to smell a little too strongly of the Buskin. I must be forc'd to give an example of expressing passion figuratively; but that I may do it with respect to Shakespear, it shall not be taken from any thing of h s 'tis an exclamation against Fortune, quoted in his Hamlet, but written by some other Poet.

Out, out, thou strumpet fortune; all you Gods,
In general Synod, take away her Power,
Break all the spokes and fallyes from her Wheel,
And bowl the round Nave down the hill of Heav'n
As low as to the Fiends.

And immediately after, speaking of Hecuba, when Priam was kill'd before her eyes;

The mobbled Queen ran up and down,
Threatning the flame with bisson rheum: a clout about that head,
Where late the Diadem stood; and for a Robe
About her lank and all o're teemed loyns,
A blanket in th' alarm of fear caught up.
Who this had seen, with tongue in venom steep'd
'Gainst Fortune's state would Treason have pronounc'd;
But if the Gods themselves did see her then,
When she saw Pyrrhus make malicious sport
In mincing with his sword her Husband's Limbs,
The instant burst of clamor that she made
(Unless things mortal meant them not all)
Would have made milch the burning eyes of Heav'n,
And passion in the Gods.

What a pudder is here kept in raising the expression of triffing thoughts. Would not a man have thought that the Poet had been bound Prentice to a Wheel-wright, for his first Rant? and had follow'd a Ragman, for the clout and blanket, in the second? Fortune is painted on a wheel; and therefore the writer in a rage, will have Poetical Justice done upon every member of

that Engin: after this execution, he bowls the Nave downhill, from Heaven, to the Fiends: (an unreasonable long mark a man would think;) 'tis well there are no solid Orbs to stop it in the way, or no Element of fire to consume it: but when it came to the earth, it must be monstrous heavy, to break ground as low as to the Center. His making milch the burning eyes of Heaven, was a pretty tollerable flight too; and I think no man ever drew milk out of eyes before him: yet to make the wonder greater, these eyes were burning. Such a sight indeed were enough to have rais'd passion in the Gods, but to excuse the effects of it, he tells you perhaps they did not see it. Wise men would be glad to find a little sence couch'd under all those pompous words; for Bombast is commonly the delight of that Audience, which loves Poetry, but understands it not: and as commonly has been the practice of those Writers, who not being able to infuse a natural passion into the mind, have made it their business to ply the ears, and to stun their judges by the noise. But Shakespear does not often thus; for the passions in his Scene between Brutus and Cassius are extreamly natural, the thoughts are such as arise from the matter, and the expression of 'em not viciously figurative. I cannot leave this Subject before I do justice to that Divine Poet, by giving you one of his passionate descriptions: 'tis of Richard the Second when he was depos'd, and led in Triumph through the Streets of London by Henry of Bullingbrook: the painting of it is so lively, and the words so moving, that I have scarce read any thing comparable to it, in any other language, Suppose you have seen already the fortunate Usurper passing through the croud, and follow'd by the shouts and acclamations of the people; and now behold King Richard entring upon the Scene: consider the wretchedness of his condition, and his carriage in it; and refrain from pitty if you can.

As in a Theatre, the eyes of men
After a well-grac'd Actor leaves the Stage,
Are idly bent on him that enters next,
Thinking his practice to be tedious:
Even so, or with much more contempt, mens eyes.
Did scowl on Richard: no man cry'd God save him:
No joyful tongue gave him his welcom home,
But dust was thrown upon his Sacred head,
Which with such gentle sorrow he shook off,
His face still combating with tears and smiles
(The badges of his grief and patience)
That had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'd
The hearts of men, they must perforce have melted,
And Barbarisin it self have pity'd him.

To speak justly of this whole matter; 'tis neither height of thought that is discommended, nor pathetic vehemence, nor any nobleness of expression in its proper place; but 'tis a false measure of all these, something which is like 'em, and is not them: 'tis the Bristol-stone, which appears like a Diamond; 'tis an extravagant thought, instead of a sublime one; 'tis roaring madness instead

of vehemence; and a sound of words, instead of sence. If Shakespear were stript of all the Bombast in his passions, and dress'd in the most vulgar words, we should find the beauties of his thoughts remaining; if his embroideries were burnt down, there would still be silver at the bottom of the melting-pot: but I fear (at least, let me fear it for my self) that we who Ape his sounding words, have nothing of his thought, but are all out-side; there is not so much as a dwarf within our Giants cloaths. Therefore, let not Shakespear suffer for our sakes; 'tis our faults, who succeed him in an Age which is more refin'd, if we imitate him so ill, that we coppy his failings only, and make a virtue of that in our Writings, which in his was an imperfection.

For what remains, the excellency of that Poet was, as I have said, in the more manly passions; Fletcher's in the softer: Shakespear writ better betwixt man and man; Fletcher, betwixt man and woman: consequently, the one describ'd friendship better; the other love: yet Shakespear taught Fletcher to write love; and Juliet, and Desdemona, are Originals. 'Tis true, the Scholar had the softer soul; but the Master had the kinder. Friendship is both a virtue, and a Passion essentially; love is a passion only in its nature, and is not a virtue but by Accident: good nature makes Friendship; but effeminacy Love. Shakespear had an Universal mind, which comprehended all Characters and Passions; Fletcher a more confin'd, and limited: for though he treated love in perfection, yet Honour, Ambition, Revenge, and generally all the stronger Passions, he either touch'd not, or not Masterly. To conclude all; he was a Limb of Shakespear.

I had intended to have proceeded to the last property of manners, which is, that they must be constant; and the characters maintain'd the same from the beginning to the end; and from thence to have proceeded to the thoughts and expressions sutable to a Tragedy: but I will first see how this will relish with the Age. 'Tis I confess but curs rily written; yet the Judgment which is given here, is generally founded upon Experience: But because many men are shock'd at the name of Rules, as if they were a kinde of Magisterial prescription upon Poets, I will conclude with the words of Rapin, in his reflections on Aristotles work of Poetry: If the Rules be well consider'd: we shall find them to be made only to reduce Nature into Method, to trace her step by step, and not to suffer the least mark of her to escape us: 'tis only by these, that probability in Fiction is maintain'd, which is the Soul of Poetry: they are founded upon good Sence, and Sound Reason, rather than on Authority; for, though Aristotle and Horace are produc'd, yet no man must argue, that what they write is true, because they writ it; but 'tis evident, by the ridiculous mistakes and gross absurdities, which have been made by those Poets who have taken their Fancy only for their guide, that if this Fancy be not regulated, 'tis a meer caprice, and utterly incapable to produce a reasonable and judicious Poem.