University of Virginia Library

Tragedy.

There's not a Monster bred beneath the Sky
But, well dispos'd by Art, may please the Eye:
A curious Workman, by his Skill Divine,
From an ill Object makes a good Deisgn.
Thus, to Delight, as Tragedy, in Tears
For * Oedipus, provokes our Hopes, and Fears :
For Parricide Orestes asks relief ;
And, to encrease our pleasure, causes grief.
You then, that in this noble Art would rise,
Come ; and in lofty Verse dispute the Prize.
Would you upon the Stage acquire renown,
And for your Judges summon all the Town ?
Would you your Works for ever should remain,
And, after Ages past, be fought again ?
In all you Write, observe with Care and Art
To move the Passions, and incline the Heart.
If, in a labour'd Act, the pleasing Rage
Cannot our Hopes and Fears by turns ingage,
Nor in our mind a feeling Pity raise ;
In vain with Learned Scenes you fill your Plays :
Your cold Discourse can never move the mind
Of a stern Critic, natu'rally unkind ;
Who, justly tir'd with your Pedantic flight,
Or falls asleep, or censures all you Write.
The Secret is, Attention first to gain ;
To move our minds, and then to entertain :
That, from the very op'ning of the Scenes,
The first may show us what the Author means
I'm tir'd to see an Actor on the Stage
That knows now whether he's to Laugh, or Rage ;
Who, an Intrigue unravelling in vain,
Instead of pleasing, keeps my mind in pain :
I'de rather much the nauseous Dunce should say
Downright, my name is Hector in the Play ;
Than with a Mass of Miracles, ill joyn'd,
Confound my Ears, and not instruct my Mind.
The Subject's never soon enough exprest ;
Your place of Action must be fix'd, and rest.
A Spanish Poet may, with good event,
In one day's space whole Ages represent ;
There oft the Hero of a wandring State
Begins a Child, and ends the Play of Age :
But we, that are by Reason's Rules confin'd,
Will, that with Art the Poem be design'd,
That unity of Action, Time, and Place
Keep the Stage full, and all our Labors grace.
Write not what cannot be with ease conceiv'd ;
Som Truths may be too strong to be believ'd.
A foolish Wonder cannot entertain :
My mind's not mov'd, if your Discourse be vain.
You may relate, what would offend the Eye :
Seeing, indeed, would better satisfy ;
But there are objects,, that a curious Art
Hides from the Eyes, yet offers to the Heart.
The mind is most agreably surpris'd,
When a well-woven Subject, long disguis'd,
You on a sudden artfully unfold,
And give the whole another face, and mould.
* At first the Tragedy was void of Art ;
A Song ; where each man Danc'd, and Sung his Part,
And of God Bacchus roaring out the praise
Sought a good Vintage for their Jolly dayes :
Then Wine, and Joy, were seen in each man's Eyes,
And a fat Goat was the best Singer's prize.
Thespis was first, who, all besmear'd with Lee,
Began this pleasure for Posterity :
And, with his Carted Actors, and a Song,
Amus'd the People as he pass'd along.
Next, AEschylus the diff'rent Persons plac'd,
And with a better Masque his Players grac'd :
Upon a Theater his Verse express'd,
And show'd his Hero with a Buskin dress'd.
Then Sophocles, the Genius of his Age,
Increas'd the Pomp, and Beauty of the Stage,
Ingag'd the Chorus Song in every part,
And polish'd rugged Verse by Rules of Art :
He, in the Greek, did those perfections gain
Which the weak Latin never could attain.
Our pious Fathers, in their Priest-rid Age,
As Impious, and Prophane, abhorr'd the Stage :
A Troop of silly Pilgrims, as 'tis said,
Foolishly zealous, scandalously Play'd
(Instead of Heroes, and of Love's complaints)
The Angels, God, the Virgin, and the Saints.
At last, right Reason did his Laws reveal,
And show'd the Folly of their ill-plac'd Zeal,
Slienc'd those Nonconformists of the Age,
And rais'd the lawful Heroes of the Stage :
Only th' Athenian Masque was lay'd aside,
And Chorus by the Musick was supply'd.
Ingenious Love, inventive in new Arts,
Mingled in Playes, and quickly touch'd our Hearts:
This Passion never could resistance find,
But knows the shortest passage to the mind.
Paint then, I'm pleas'd my Hero be in Love ;
But let him not like a tame Shepherd move :
Let not Achilles be like Thyrsis seen,
Or for a Cyrus show an * Artamen ;
That, strugling oft, his Passions we may find,
The Frailty, not the Virtue of his mind.
Of Romance Heroes shun the low Design ;
Yet to great Hearts some Human frailties joyn :
Achilles must with Homer's heat ingage ;
For an affront I'm pleas'd to see him rage.
Those little Failings in your Hero's heart
Show that of Man and Nature he has part :
To leave known Rules you cannot be allow'd ;
Make Agamemnon covetous, and proud,
Æneas in Religious Rites austere,
Keep to each man his proper Character.
Of Countryes and of Times the humors know;
From diff'rent Climates, diff'ring Customs grow :
And strive to shun their fault, who vainly dress
An Antique Hero like some modern Ass;
Who make old Romans like our English move,
Show Cato Sparkish, or make Brutus Love.
In a Romance those errors are excus'd :
There 'tis enough that, Reading, we're amus'd :
Rules too severe would then be useless found ;
But the strict Scene must have a juster bound :
Exact Decorum we must always find.
If then you form some Hero in your mind,
Be sure your Image with itself agree ;
For what he first appears, he still must be.
Affected Wits will nat'urally incline
To paint their Figures by their own design :
Your Bully Poets, Bully Heroes write ;
Chapman, in Buffy D'Ambois took delight,
And thought perfection was to Huff, and Fight.
Wise Nature by variety does please ;
Cloath diff'ring Passions in a diff'ring Dress :
Bold Anger, in rough haughty words appears ;
Sorrow is humble, and dissolves in Tears.
Make not your * Hecuba with fury rage,
And show a Ranting grief upon the Stage ;
Or tell in vain how the rough Tanais bore
His seven-fold Waters to the Euxine Shore :
These swoln expressions, this affected noise
Shows like some Pedant, that declaims to Boys.
In sorrow, you must softer methods keep ;
And, to excite our tears, your self must weep :
Those noisy words with which ill Plays abound,
Come not from hearts that are in sadness drown'd.
The Theatre for a young Poet's Rhymes
Is a bold venture in our knowing times :
An Author cannot eas'ly purchase Fame ;
Critics are always apt to hiss, and blame :
You may be Judg'd by every Ass in Town,
The Priviledge is bought for half a Crown.
To please, you must a hundred Changes try ;
Sometimes be humble, then must soar on high :
In noble thoughts must every where abound,
Be easy, pleasant, solid, and profound :
To these you must surprising Touches joyn,
And show us a new wonder in each Line ;
That all in a just method well design'd,
May leave a strong Impression in the mind,
These are the Arts that Tragedy maintain :