To the Honourable GEORGE GRANVILLE, Esq;.

SIR,

I Know that a great many Persons in the World would take it for an affront, to have a Play addressed to them, which had been unfortunate in the Representation. But you, Sir, have discernment enough to be of another opinion; for a Poet, who Dedicates a Play that has not been successful, will, if he takes care of his Reputation, choose a powerful Patron, who is every way qualified to defend it. One who is generous enough to support whatever he can justly excuse, and who with a piercing Eye can reach to his Beauties, while others stop at his Faults.

When I first communicated the design which I had of altering this Comedy of Shakespear, I found that I should have two sorts of People to deal with, who would equally endeavour to obstruct my success. The one believed it to be so admirable, that nothing ought to be added to it; the others fancied it to be so despicable, that any ones time would be lost upon it.

That this Comedy was not despicable, I guess'd for several Reasons: First, I knew very well, that it had pleas'd one of the greatest Queens that ever was in the World, great not only for her Wisdom in the Arts of Government, but for her knowledge of Polite Learning, and her nice taste of the Drama, for such a taste we may be sure she had, by the relish which she had of the Ancients. This Comedy was written at her Command, and by her direction, and she was so eager to see it Acted, that she commanded it to be finished in fourteen days; and was afterwards, as Tradition tells us, very well pleas'd at the Representation. In the second place, in the Reign of King Charles the Second, when People had an admirable taste of Comedy, all those men of extraordinary parts, who were the Ornaments of that Court; as the late Duke of Buckingham, my Lord Normandy, my Lord Dorset, my late Lord Rochester, Sir Charles Sidley, Dr Frazer, Mr Savil, Mr Buckley, were in Love with the Beauties of this Comedy. In the third place, I thought that after so long an acquaintance as I had with the best Comick Poets, among the Antients and Moderns, I might depend in some measure upon my own Judgment, and I thought I found here three or four extraordinary Characters, that were exactly drawn, and truly Comical; and that I saw besides in it some as happy touches as ever were in Comedy: Besides I had observed what success the Character of Falstaffe had had, in the first part of Harry the Fourth. And as the Falstaffe in the Merry Wives is certainly superiour to that of the second part of Harry the Fourth, so it can hardly be said to be inferior to that of the first.

For in the second part of Harry the Fourth, Falstaffe does nothing but talk, as indeed he does nothing else in the third and fourth Acts of the first part. Whereas in the Merry Wives, he every where Acts, and that action is more Regular, and more in compass than it

is in the first part of Harry the Fourth. 'Tis true, what he says in Harry the Fourth is admirable; but action at last is the business of the Stage. The Drama is action itself, and it is action alone that is able to excite in any extraordinary manner the curiosity of mankind. What News, is the Question now adays ev'ry moment, but people by that question demand what is done, and not what is said upon the Great Stage of the World. In short, I defie any man to name me a Play that has ever succeeded without some sort of action or another. But I could if I pleased mention more than one, that has succeeded barely by the force of Action, without almost any thing else.

It was for the above-named reasons, that I thought this by no means a despicable Comedy. And it was for the Reasons which follow, that I believed it not so admirable, but that it might receive improvement. First, I knew very well. that in so short a time as this Play was writ, nothing could be done that is perfect. Secondly, I knew very well, that this Comedy had never upon Revivals had any great success, and that particularly when it was Revived in King Charles the Seconds time, the only Character that pleased to a height was Slender acted by Wintershal. And that tho something like this may very well happen to a living Author without any just Cause, yet that there must be reason for it, when it happens to an Author has a long time been dead, and whose Reputation has been long established. And indeed the Merry Wives of Windsor, as it has great Beauties, so it has strange Defects, which tho they past at first for the sake of the Beauties, yet will come to be less endured as the Stage grows more Regular. For there are no less than three Actions in it that are independent one of another, which divide and distract the minds of an Audience, there is more than one insignificant Scene, which has nothing to do with any other part of the Play, which is enough to obstruct and stifle the Action. The Style in some places is stiff and forced and affected, whereas the Dialogue in Comedy ought to be as free as the air. This affectation is particularly remarkable in some part of the first Scene between the Wives, and in all Ford's part of the first Scene between him and Falstaffe. This is not said in the least with a design to derogate from Shakespear's merit, who performed more than any one else could have done in so short a time. In the alteration I have endeavoured to Correct the foresaid Errours.

I have made every thing Instrumental to Fenton's Marriage, and the whole to depend on one common Center, which I believe was hardly in the power of every Writer to perform. I have added to some of the parts in order to heighten the Characters, and make them show the better. I have above all things endeavoured to make the Dialogue as easie and free as I could. For in Comedy, which is an Image of common Life, every thing which is forc'd is abominable. In short, I have alter'd every thing which I dislik'd, and retain'd every thing which I or my Friends approved of, excepting something of Justice Shallow in the first Scene of the Play, which I omitted for two Reasons, the one was because I could not bring it into the same design with the rest, the second because I knew no body who would be capable of Acting that Character, unless those who would be otherwise employed.

Thus, Sir, I have endeavoured to convey two things by you to the General Reader, the one, that this Comedy is not so Despicable as to be Incapable of Improvement; the other, that it is not so admirable, as not to stand in need of any. Whether, Sir, I have improv'd it or no I leave it to you to determine, whether the Scene between the Wives in the first Act be altered for the better or the worse, whether that between Falstaffe and Ford in the second Act is aptly contriv'd to give occasion to an excellent Actor to shew himself; whether that between Falstaffe and the Wives in the third Act be wholly without art, and whether that between Falstaffe and Ford in the fourth Act, may be said to be truly Comical.

But before it comes to that, Sir, I who am resolved to have you fully informed before you come to give sentence, and who am ignorant whether you were in Town when this Play was Acted or no, think my self obliged to make you acquainted, that Falstaffe's part, which you know to be the principal one of the Play, and that on which all the rest depends, was by no means acted to the satisfaction of the Audience, upon which several fell from disliking the Action to disapproving the Play, which will be always very natural upon such occasions, tho sometimes not very reasonable, and divers objections were immediately made, which if the Play had succeeded, had perhaps never been thought of. I desire that you would give me leave to lay them and their answers before you, and so leave the whole to your impartial decision.

The first is, that the Characters in this Comedy are very low, and that there is neither much Wit, nor Love nor Gallantry in it. To which I answer first, that tho the Characters are low they are true and good, that there is as perfect a Plot as I was able to build upon another mans Foundation; and that the lowness of the Characters derogates not a jot from the perfection of the Fable; that in all Fables all Characters are Universal and Allegorical, and that it signifies nothing to the Beauty of the Fiction, or the importance of the Moral, whether we bring in Kings or Shepherds, so they are introduced aptly. In the next place, there is Humour every where in this Comedy. And Humour after the Plot is what is most valuable in Comedy. I desire then, Sir, that I may have leave to prove two things: First, that Humour is more the business of Comedy than Wit: And secondly, that Humour is more to be found in low Characters, than among Persons of a higher Rank, and consequently that low Characters are more proper for Comedy than high, and that low Comedy is to be preferred to the high. And when I have done this, I desire to speak a word of Love and Gallantry, of the want of which this Play is accus'd.

First then, Humour is the business in Comedy, and not Wit. The business of a Comick Poet is to shew his Characters and not himself, to make ev'ry one of them speak and act, as such a person in such circumstances would probably act and speak. Comedy, is an Image of common Life, and in Life, a Man, who has discerning Eyes, may find something ridiculous in most People, but something that is witty in very few. And a Comick Poet may be certain of this, that the grossest touches which are in nature, will please the men of sense, more than the most delicate strokes which are out of it. Now that which is truly ridiculous in any man is chiefly Humour, or the effect of Humour. It is plain too for the following Reasons, that Humour is more proper for Comedy than Wit. First, because it is harder to write, for the writing Wit is the effect of the Fancy, and the writing Humour the work of the Judgment. 'Tis observation alone that can qualify a man for it, and observation is the business of the Judgment. Now tho a fine Imagination is to be met with in few, Judgment is to be found in fewer. Humour then is harder to be Written than Wit, and that which in any kind of Writing is the hard'st to be attaind, makes the principal Beauty of that kind of Writing: But secondly Humour is more proper for Comedy than Wit; because it gives a necessary occasion for Action, which Wit does not, and Action after all is the very Life and Soul of the Theatre. Now that Humour gives a necessary occasion for Action is plain, because Humour is Passion, as I have shewn in another place, * ^note and nothing but Action is able to express Passion, as nothing but Passion can give an occasion for Action: But thirdly, Humour in Comedy is to be preferr'd to Wit, because is distinguishes the Characters better. For Wit very often destroys and confounds them, where as Humour if it be true and good must always maintain and preserve them, as we shall prove more evidently, when we come to shew that Humour is chiefly to be found in low Characters, and therefore since Humour distinguishes the Characters, it must be always agreeable to men of Sense, whereas Wit must be often shocking and nauseous to them, because it destroys and confounds the Characters, which

is a fourth reason for giving Humour the preference; because it is plain that what is always agreeable in any kind of Writing must be preferable to that which is sometimes shocking. But fifthly and lastly, if Comedy is Poetry, 'tis Humour chiefly which makes it so, for that which Characteristically distinguishes Poetry from Prose is Passion, as I have prov'd in another place, * ^note and Humour is subordinate Passion. You know very well, Sir, that what I have said here is exactly agreeable to the sentiments of a great † ^note Critick, who speaking of Comedy tells us.

How fine an observation is this, Sir? For the different Characters in Comedy, like the several parts in Musick, make up the consort of the Play, and as soon as one Character says any thing which does not belong to it, there is a string which is out of Tune, and the Harmony of the whole is destroy'd. But that Noble Critick goes on.

Thus, Sir, having shewn that Humour is more properly the business of Comedy than Wit, I come now to shew in the second place, that Humour is chiefly to be found in the lower sort of People. For Reason in one Man is the same with Reason in another man, excepting the differences of more or less. But Passion and Humour, which is a sort of Passion, are very different according to their different subjects in their kinds, as well as their degrees. For every man shews his Anger and his Joy, his Peevishness and his Jollity a different way from another. Reason is a calm and quiet thing, and has nothing to do with the Body, only Passion and Humour can reach the Body, and by the influence which they have upon the voice, and the Gestures, sensibly distinguish one Character from another. So that 'tis Passion and Humour which is subordinate Passion, which distinguish Man from Man. Now the more education a Man has, the more he is capable of subduing, or at least of hiding his Passions and his Humours. And that which we call good Breeding, is, or should be nothing else but a Habit and Custom of doing things, which reasn has dictated for the convenience, and ease, and good of Society. From which it follows, that among People of condition, there is more Resemblance, and a greater appearance of Reason. And 'tis among People of the lower sort, that by the means of Passion and Humour, Nature appears so admirably conspicuous in all her Charming diversities: Since therefore Humour is the chief business in comedy after the Fable, and Humour is more to be found among those of the lower sort, than among those of a higher Rank, it is very plain that low Characters are more proper for Comedy than high ones, and that low Comedy is to be preferred to the high.

Not but that high Characters are very good sometimes for the sake of variety, and consequently Wit is very good, when it is so writ, that it falls within the compass of the Characters which speak it. But by Wit here I by no means intend point, the excess of which is always despicable, but such fine Observation and fine Satyras my Lord Normanby means, and as is to be found in Mr Wycherley's Writings, who since he comes in my way, must have justice done him; and be allowed to be almost the only person, who has given the World a Master-piece, in which a great deal of Humour is shewn in high Characters. But that is not to be done every day; and we are treating here of such Comedy as is usually writ. But to return from whence we digress'd. As Wit in Comedy, where it is proper, is very good and diverting, so is Gallantry and Courtly Love, for it is now time to speak a word of them too; but Humour is to be preferr'd before either of them, and for most of the very same Reasons, for which it is to be preferred before Wit. For Humour is harder to write than Love; because every body has something of Love in him, and is help'd writing it, by the present influence which that Passion has upon him; whereas writing Humour must be chiefly the effect of his past observation. But secondly, Humour distinguishes the Characters better, and gives an occasion for a greater variety of Action. For tho the Love of one man must be allow'd to be very different from the Love of another man, yet Love is but a single Passion, and Humour comprehends them all. Forto every Passion there is a Humour which answers to it, which Humour is nothing but a less degree of that Passion. As for example, Anger is a Passion, Peevishness and Moroseness are Humours, Joy when it is great is a Passion, Jollity and Gayéty perhaps may be said to be Humours, so that if any man asks for a description of Humour, I answer that 'tis the expression of some subordinate Passion. But if he asks for a full definition of it, by which we may distinguish Humour in one man from Humour in another man; I answer that Humour is subordinate Passion expressed in a particular manner. Fear is a Passion, Timerousness is a Humour. Now since Humour comprehends all Passions, it must have infinitely more variety than a single Passion.

But further, without the Ridiculum Comedy cannot subsist, for the design of Comedy is to amend the follies of Mankind, by exposing them. But the Ridiculum is a great deal more to be found in Humour, than it is in Love. For Love is so agreeable in its own nature, that it can never be made to appear Ridiculous, unless it is joyned with an Humour. Besides, Humour, if it is well writ, is always both delightful and instructive, it entertains and does good at the same time; whereas Love is very often agreeable without being instructive; nay, it very often gives a pernicious pleasure. For after all, it is a very great error in some Persons at present, to be so shy of Bawdy, and so fond of Love. For Obscenity cannot be very dangerous, because it is rude and shocking; but Love is a Passion; which is so agreeable to the movements of corrupted Nature, that by seeing it livelily touched and often represented, an Amorous disposition insensibly insinuates itself into the chastest Breast. Now as the design of every Art is to instruct and delight, it must be the design of Comedy; and therefore Humour which always both instructs and delights, must be more proper for Comedy than Love, which sometimes only barely delights, and sometimes is so far from instructing, that it insensibly corrupts an Audience.

After all, I was so willing to comply with Custom, that this Play has more of Love in it than the Original Comedy. But I desire People to consider, that Moliere got a great deal of Reputation in France by Comedies, in which there is very little or no Love, and that by those Comedies be very agreeably entertain'd the finest Ladies of the Court of France; that Madam de Montausier highly approved of the Precieuses Ridicules, tho there was not one jot of Love in it, that those Ladies were too proud to be thought to have Souls that were incapable of being pleased

with an exact Imitation of Nature, tho that Imitation had nothing in it of the business to which they were bred; that those Persons who are for nothing but perpetual Love in our Plays, would do well to consider, whether they do not give others an occasion to think, that this error in them, proceeds either from the narrowness of their capacities, or the corruptness of their desires; that Humour, which was a diversion to Queen Elizabeth, and the Ladies of the Court of France, may not be thought a very improper one, for the most delicate Persons of the present Age; that Shakespear had little Love in the very best of his Plays, and Johnson less in his, and yet that this last was one of the best Comick Poets that ever was in the World; that he was so sensible, that the Ridiculum was the chief thing in Comedy, that he has always in his chief Comedies joyn'd his Love with Humour, and so made it ridiculous.

Another Objection is, that several Characters of this Comedy are obsolete and quite out of date. The matter of Fact indeed cannot be denied, and the Objection has some force. For if there is any thing resembling in Poetry and Painting, as the Sisters are certainly like, then Heroick and Tragick Poetry may be compar'd to History Painting; and Comedy, to Drawing after the Life. Now the Pictures which are done after the Life, if they are drawn by Masters, will certainly please Masters, and all who are able to judge of the boldness and the delicacy of the strokes; but the People who judge only of the resemblance, are most delighted with the Pictures of their acquaintance. Thus any Characters in Comedy, which are finely drawn, will please those who can judge; but a Poet to please the generality, must Copy the present Age. Thus, Sir, have I fairly stated the objection in its utmost force; and now I shall answer two things to it, first, that I never made it my chief aim to please the generality, and a little lower shall give my Reasons for it. Secondly, that supposing I had, tho several of the Characters of this Play are indeed obsolete, yet that of Falstaffe will always be new, and whenever it comes to be Acted to the satisfaction of an Audience, will infallibly fill the Stage better than a great many Characters.

These, Sir, are the two general Objections, but there are two particular ones. The first is, that I have introduc'd an unncessary Character in the Host of the Bull. But I believe, Sir, that I have consider'd of this matter with little more attention than they who made the Objection, and I know, that that Character is absolutely necessary for the carrying on the Action probably, which in the original Play is by no means probable. For it is not likely, that Falstaffe would suffer himself to be carried in the Basket, as far as Datchet Mead, which is half a Mile from Windsor; and it is plain, that they could not carry him, if he made any resistance. Nor is it likely, that he would defer his reflections upon his adventure, till he came back to Windsor. So that the Soliloquies which he makes in the fourth Act before Ford's entrance, are not design'd for himself, but apparently address'd to the Audience, which is the greatest fault that can possibly be in the Drama.

The last Objection is, that the forementioned Scene in the fourth Act, which is very long, is nothing but a discovery of what the Audience had been Eye-Witnesses of before. But this objection is unreasonable with Relation to the original Play, and more unreasonable with Relation to the altered one. For in the original Play, Falstaffe makes a Relation to Ford not so much of his being put into the Buck Basket, as of the circumstances which attended it; of what he suffer'd while he was in it, and upon his coming out of it. And in this lyes the excellency of that Scene, that it gives an occasion for a great Actor to shew himself. For all the while Falstaffe is making this Relation, Ford at the same time, that in dumb acting, he shows a concern, and a fellow-feeling to the Knight, shews a great deal of Joy and Satisfaction to the Audience.

Thus in the original Scene Falstaffe makes a relation of what had happened to him, since

he left the Stage last, and that Relation must be Comical, by Reason of the occasion that it gives for an excellent Actor to shew himself. But for the Alter'd Scene there is something more to be said. For after that Falstaffe has rais'd Ford's for the others disappointment, which yet he was forced to screen and shelter from the Knight with a dissembled sorrow, Falstaffe by making discovery of something which had not happened, and strangely altering the Adventure of Mrs Page, which he thought himself obliged to do for the sake of his Credit, gives his jealous Coxcomb a fresh alarm, and throws him into real Convulsions.

Thus, Sir, have I laid before you the objections and the answers to them, and leave it to you to judge, whether the last are satisfactory, and whether the first had ever been made, if the Play had succeeded on the Stage; for you know, Sir, that Plays are like Men, the successful are sure to find Friends enough, let them be never so worthless, while ev'ry Maggot will be censuring the conduct of the deserving unfortunate. For so fantastick a composition is Man, that tho of all the Creatures which the Sun illuminates, he is at once the vainest and most miserable, at the same time so vain and so miserable, that Nature seems to have given him Vanity as a support, and a counterballance for Misery; yet he is often so very unthinking, and so foolishly severe against himself, as to affirm that there can be no Merit, where there is no Success.

Thus Fortune enslaves ev'n the Souls of men to opinion; but she has never been able to reach yours. You have been so far from thinking the better of others for their enjoying her, that you have yourself refused her favours, and disdained the allurements of a Mistress, in whom you would have so many worthless persons your Rivals. You look upon things as you see them yourself, and not as the World mistakes them. You know that success can at the best but illustrate merit, and that it never gives it. That good Sence like Virtue is not always prosperous at first, while Folly like Vice triumphs. That it is unreasonable to believe that any thing that is writ, should be better for succeeding, any more than any thing that is done. That if an Action may succeed because it is base and villanous, a Play may well be supposed to take because it is very foolish.

But that as an action that pleases good men, must be in itself good, the Play must certainly be well writ, which pleases those who have taste. That as the action which pleases none but Villains, must in itself be horribly villainous, the Play which satisfies only those persons who are not able to judge, must in itself be extreamly ridiculous.

In short, Sir, that you might always pass a true judgment on the productions of the mind, you have Religiously observed the beautiful directions of a Modern Critick. ^note From hence it comes that you have neither shown an unjust aversion for the Living, nor a fantastick veneration for the Dead, that you reject what's trifling in the last, while you esteem what's valuable in the first. That as Novelty has no allurements for you, you have no aversion for that, but embrace or reject the works of an Author according to their real merit, and the Impression which they ought truly to make upon you; and that your decisions are as just and reasonable, and as free from whimsey as they are impartial.

To conclude that a Play is good because Mr Granville is pleased by it, is but a reasonable way of arguing. But to say, that it is good because it pleases the generality of an Audience is a very absurd one. For ev'ry man has, and will have his different pleasure. Wise men will be sure to be pleased with things that are wise, and Fools will be inclined to be pleased with things that are foolish. Montagn was pleased with playing with his Cat; but at the same time he does her and himself the Justice to believe she thought him an Ass for it. Would to Heaven that some part of our Audiences were but as just as the Frenchman, and some part of our Authors but as reasonable as the Beast. Before a Play can be concluded to be good it pleases, we ought to consider who are pleased by it, they who understand, or they who do not. They who understand? Alas, they are but few, and are seldom pleas'd

there of late. They who do not? That methinks is odd. Suppose a man should tell an Author he never so much as heard of his Play, and should the very moment following tell him he liked it. Would he be satisfied with this approbation? Would he not he really mortified at it? Now ev'ry one who talks like an Ass tells the World, tho against his will, that he does not understand one word of a Play; and is not he whose never heard a word of a Cause as justly qualified to determine it, as he who never understood a word of it.

'Tis for this Reason, Sir, that when-ever I write make it my business to please such men as you are. As very well knowing that whatever is writ has its immediate success from Fortune, but its lasting one from Art and Nature. That the People are always uncertain and fluctuating, and guided by Opinion, and not by Judgment, that the surest way to arrive at Reputation, is to please the knowing few, for that they at last must draw in the multitude, but are never to be drawn in by them.

I have been already tedious, or it would be an easie matter to shew, that they who in all Ages have appeared at once good Poets and good Criticks have writ to a few Persons, I mean to a few at present. For he who writes to the many at present writes only to them, and his works are sure never to survive their admirers; but he who writes to the knowing few at present, writes to the Race of mankind in all succeeding ages. But I am glad that this is addrest to a Gentleman, who needs only be put in mind of this, who is perfectly well acquainted with Horace and Boileau, and who has often read the Satyrs and the Epistles of both; and who consequently is able to inform others, that those two celebrated Poets directed their writings to the knowing few, and were neither exalted by the approbation, nor dejected by the censure of the rest, and that by such a proceeding they came to please universally: That some of the most agreeable parts of those Satyrs and those Epistles, are those in which they laugh at the taste of the Vulgar, and that among the vulgar they reckoned not only a great many who were distinguished by their Rank from others, but several whom the World called Wits and Poets; and that they had a greater Contempt for those Wits and Poets, than they had for any sort of People whatever, unless for those who admired them.