Nahum Tate [1681], The History of King Richard The Second. Acted at the Theatre Royal, Under the Name of the Sicilian Usurper. With a Prefatory Epistle in Vindication of the author. Occasion'd by the prohibition of this play on the Stage. By N. Tate (Printed for Richard Tonson, and Jacob Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S31300].
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The Persons Names, together with those under which the Play was Acted.
King Richard [King Richard the Second],
Gaunt [John of Gaunt],
York [Edmund of Langley],
Bullingbrook [Henry Bolingbroke],
Northumberland [Earl of Northumberland].
Piercie [Henry Percy].
Ross [Lord Ross].
Willoughby [Lord Willoughby].
Carlile [Bishop of Carlisle].
Aumarl [Duke of Aumerle].
Exton [Sir Pierce of Exton].
Oswald.
Alcidore.
Cleon.
Vortiger.
Hermogenes.
Queen,
Dutchess of York [Duchess of York].
Aribell.
Ladies, Gardiners, Souldiers, Messengers, Guards, Attendants.
[Thomas Moubray], [Duchess of Gloucester], [Lord Marshall], [Lady], [Gentleman], [Rabble 1], [Rabble 2], [Rabble 3], [Rabble 4],
[Rabble 5], [Rabble 6], [Rabble 7], [Gardener], [Servant], [Servant 2], [Earl of Salisbury], [Sir Stephen Scroop], [Messenger]
-- --
TO My Esteemed Friend George Raynsford, Esq;
SIR,
I wou'd not have you surpriz'd with this Address, though I
gave you no warning of it. The Buisiness of this Epistle is
more Vindication than Complement; and when we are to
tell our Grievances 'tis most natural to betake our selves to
a Friend. 'Twas thought perhaps that this unfortunate Offspring
having been stifled on the Stage, shou'd have been buried
in Oblivion; and so it might have happened had it drawn its
Being from me Alone, but it still retains the immortal Spirit of
its first-Father, and will survive in Print, though forbid to
tread the Stage. They that have not seen it Acted, by its being
silenc't, must suspect me to have Compil'd a Disloyal or Reflecting
Play. But how far distant this was from my Design and Conduct
in the Story will appear to him that reads with half an Eye. To
form any Resemblance between the Times here written of, and the
Present, had been unpardonable Presumption in Me. If the Prohibiters
conceive any such Notion I am not accountable for That.
I fell upon the new-modelling of this Tragedy, (as I had just before
done on the History of King Lear) charm'd with the many Beauties
I discover'd in it, which I knew wou'd become the Stage; with
as little design of Satyr on present Transactions, as Shakespear
himself that wrote this Story before this Age began. I am not ignorant
of the posture of Affairs in King Richard the Second's Reign,
how dissolute then the Age, and how corrupt the Court; a Season
that beheld Ignorance and Infamy preferr'd to Office and Pow'r,
exercis'd in Oppressing, Learning and Merit; but why a History
of those Times shou'd be supprest as a Libel upon Ours, is past my
-- --
Understanding. 'Tis sure the worst Complement that ever was
made to a Prince.
O Rem ridiculam, Cato, & jocasam,
Dignámque Auribus, & tuo Cachinno.
Ride, quicquid amas, Cato, Catullum
Res est Ridicula, &c.
Our Shakespear in this Tragedy, bated none of his Characters
an Ace of the Chronicle; he took care to shew 'em no worse Men
than They were, but represents them never a jot better. His
Duke of York after all his buisy pretended Loyalty, is found
false to his Kinsman and Sovereign, and joyn'd with the Conspirators.
His King Richard Himself is painted in the worst Colours
of History. Dissolute, Unadviseable, devoted to Ease and
Luxury. You find old Gaunt speaking of him in this Language
—Then there are found
Lascivious Meeters, to whose Venom sound
The open Ear of Youth do's always Listen.
Where doth the World thrust forth a Vanity,
(So it be New, there's no respect how Vile)
That is not quickly buzz'd into his Ear?
That all too late comes Counsel to be heard.
without the least palliating of his Miscarriages, which I have
done in the new Draft, with such words as These.
Your Sycophants bred from your Child-hood with you,
Have such Advantage had to work upon you,
That scarce your Failings can be call'd your Faults.
His Reply in Shakespear to the blunt honest Adviser runs thus.
And Thou a Lunatick Lean-witted-fool, &c.
Now by my Seat's right Royal Majesty,
Wer't Thou not Brother to great Edward's Son.
The Tongue that runs thus roundly in thy Head
Shou'd run thy Head from thy unreverent Shoulders.
On the contrary (though I have made him express some Resentment)
yet he is neither enrag'd with the good Advice, nor deaf
to it. He answers Thus—
—Gentle Unkle;
Excuse the Sally's of my Youthfull Blood.
We shall not be unmindfull to redress
(However difficult) our States Corruptions,
And purge the Vanities that crowd our Court.
-- --
I have everywhere given him the Language of an Active, Prudent
Prince. Preferring the Good of his Subjects to his own private
Pleasure. On his Irish Expedition, you find him thus be
speak his Queen—
Though never vacant Swain in silent Bow'rs
Cou'd boast a Passion so sincere as Mine,
Yet where the Int'rest of the Subject calls
We wave the dearest Transports of our Love,
Flying from Beauties Arms to rugged War, &c.
Nor cou'd it suffice me to make him speak like a King (who as
Mr. Rhymer says in his Tragedies of the last Age considered, are
always in Poëtry presum'd Heroes) but to Act so too, viz. with
Resolution and Justice. Resolute enough our Shakespear (copying
the History) has made him, for concerning his seizing old Gaunt's
Revennues, he tells the wise Diswaders,
Say what ye will, we seize into our Hands
His Plate, his Goods, his Money and his Lands.
But where was the Justice of this Action? This Passage I confess
was so material a Part of the Chronicle (being the very Basis of
Bullingbrook's Usurpation) that I cou'd not in this new Model so
far transgress Truth as to make no mention of it; yet for the honour
of my Heroe I suppose the foresaid Revennues to be Borrow'd
only for the present Exigence, not Extorted.
Be Heav'n our Judge, we mean him fair,
And shortly will with Interest restore
The Loan our suddain Streights make necessary.
My Design was to engage the pitty of the Audience for him in
his Distresses, which I cou'd never have compass'd had I not before
shewn him a Wise, Active and Just Prince. Detracting Language
(if any where) had been excusable in the Mouths of the Conspirators:
part of whose Dialogue runs thus in Shakespear;
North.
Now afore Heav'n 'tis shame such Wrongs are born
In him a Royal Prince and many more
Of noble Blood in this Declining Land:
The King is not Himself, but basely led
By Flatterers, &c.
Ross.
The Commons He has pil'd with grievous Taxes
And lost their Hearts, &c.
Will.
And daily new Exactions are devis'd
As Blanks, Benevolences, and I wot not what;
-- --
But what o' Gods Name doth become of This?
North.
War hath not wasted it, for warr'd he has not;
But basely yielded upon Comprimize.
That which his Ancestours atchiev'd with Blows
More has He spent in Peace than they in War, &c.
with much more villifying Talk; but I wou'd not allow even Traytors
and Conspirators thus to bespatter the Person whom I design'd
to place in the Love and Compassion of the Audience. Ev'n this
very Scene (as I have manag'd it) though it shew the Confederates
to be Villains, yet it stings no Aspersion on my Prince.
Further, to Vindicate ev'n his Magnanimity in Regard of his
Resigning the Crown, I have on purpose inserted an intirely new
Scene between him and his Queen, wherein his Conduct is sufficiently
excus'd by the Malignancy of his Fortune, which argues indeed
Extremity of Distress, but Nothing of Weakness.
After this account it will be askt why this Play shou'd be supprest,
first in its own Name, and after in Disguise? All that I can answer
to this, is, That it was Silenc'd on the Third Day. I confess, I expected
it wou'd have found Protection from whence it receiv'd Prohibition;
and so questionless it wou'd, cou'd I have obtain'd my
Petition to have it perus'd and dealt with according as the Contents
Deserv'd, but a positive Doom of Suppression without Examination
was all that I cou'd procure.
The Arbitrary Courtiers of the Reign here written, scarcely did
more Violence to the Subjects of their Time, then I have done to
Truth, in disguising their foul Practices. Take ev'n the Richard
of Shakespear and History, you will find him Dissolute, Careless,
and Unadvisable: peruse my Picture of him and you will say, as
Æneas did of Hector, (though the Figure there was alter'd for
the Worse and here for the Better) Quantum mutatus ab illo!
And likewise for his chief Ministers of State, I have laid Vertues
to their Charge of which they were not Guilty. Every Scene is
full of Respect to Majesty and the dignity of Courts, not one alter'd
Page but what breaths Loyalty, yet had this Play the hard fortune
to receive its Prohibition from Court.
For the two days in which it was Acted, the Change of the Scene,
Names of Persons, &c. was a great Disadvantage: many things
were by this means render'd obscure and incoherent that in their
native Dress had appear'd not only proper but gracefull. I call'd
my Persons Sicilians but might as well have made 'em Inhabitants
-- --
of the Isle of Pines, or, World in the Moon, for whom as Audience
are like to have small Concern. Yet I took care from the
Beginning to adorn my Prince with such heroick Vertues, as afterwards
made his distrest Scenes of force to draw Tears from the
Spectators; which, how much more touching they would have been
had the Scene been laid at Home, let the Reader judge. The additional
Comedy I judg'd necessary to help off the heaviness of the
Tale, which Design, Sir, you will not only Pardon, but Approve.
I have heard you commend this Method in Stage writing, though
less agreeable to stricktness of Rule; and I find your Choice confirm'd
by our Laureat's last Piece, who confesses himself to
have broken a Rule for the Pleasure of Variety. * noteThe
Audience (says he) are grown weary of melancholly
Scenes, and I dare prophesie that few Tragedies
(except those in Verse) shall succeed in this Age if they
are not lightned with a course of Mirth.
And now, Sir, I fear I have transgrest too far on your patience. Distress was always Talkative: he pleas'd to call to Mind your
beloved Virgil's Nightingall when rob'd of her young.
Qualis populeâ mœrens Philomela sub Umbrâ,
Amissos queritur Fœtus, quos durus Arator
Observans, Nido implumes detraxit; at Illa
Flet noctem, ramoque sedens, miserabile Carmen
Integrat, & mœstis late loca Questibus implet.
This Simile you know, Sir, is occasion'd by Orpheus his lamenting
the Loss of Euridice, which the Mythologists expound the Fruit of
his Labours. You find Virgil himself elsewhere condoling his Oppression
by Arrius. Such are the Complaints of our Spencer defrauded
by Cecill. With these, the melancholly Cowley joyns his
Note; and, as Mr. Flatman says, 'tis the Language of the whole
Tribe.
I heard 'em Curse their Stars in ponderous Rhymes,
And in grave Numbers grumble at the Times.
Poetry and Learning, ev'n in Petronius his time, was a barren
Province, when Villany of any sort was the thriving Trade.
Qui Pelago credit magno, se sœnore tollit,
Qui pugnat & Castra petit præcingitur Auro;
Vilis Adulator picto jacet Ebrius ostro;
Et qui sollicitat Nuptas, ad præmia peccat:
Sola pruinosis horret Facundia pannis.
-- --
Or to go a step higher in Antiquity—
Quid est, Catulle, quod moraris emori?
Sellâ in Curuli Struma Nonius sedet,
Quid est, Catulle, quod moraris emori?
Aristotle himself confesses Poetry a better School of Vertue than
Philosophy. Our own Sir Philip Sidney's learn'd Defence of it, is
Demonstration what rewards are due, and our late incomparable
Author of Hudibras, is no less Demonstration what returns are
made to the best Masters of it. Not Greece or Rome can boast a
Genius like His; yet after all, his Poverty was a greater Satyr
on the Age than his Writings.
Once more, Sir, I beg your Pardon for digressing, and dismiss
you to the following Poem, in which you will find some Master
Touches of our Shakespear, that will Vie with the best Roman
Poets, that have so deservedly your Veneration. If it yield you
any Diversion I have my Desire, who covet all Opportunities of
shewing my self gratefull for your Friendship to me, which I am
proud of, and amongst the many whom your ingenious and obliging
Temper had devoted to you, there is none that more prizes your
Conversation, than
Your obliged Friend
and humble Servant,
N. Tate.
-- --
PROLOGUE.
To what a wretched state are Poets born,
Split on the Rocks of Envy or of Scorn?
Ev'n to the best the promis'd Wreath's deny'd,
And just Contempt attends on all beside.
This one wou'd think shou'd lessen the Temptation,
But they are Poëts by Predestination.
The fatal Bait undaunted they persue;
And claim the Laurel as their Labour's Due.
But where's the Use of Merit, or of Laws,
When Ingnorance and Malice judge the Cause?
'Twixt these, like Æsop's Husband, Poëts fare,
This pulls the black and that the silver Hair,
Till they have left the Poëm bald and bare.
Behold the dreadfull spot they ought to fear,
Whole Loads of Poët-bane are scattered here.
Where e'er it lights the sad Effects we find,
Tho' on the tender Hearts of Woman-kind.
The Men (whose Talents they themselves mistake,
Or misapply, for Contradiction sake.)
Spight of their Stars must needs be Critiques still,
Nay, tho' prohibited by th' Irish Bill.
Blest Age! when all our Actions seem design'd
To prove a War 'twixt Reason and Mankind!
Here an affected Cocquet perks and prunes,
Tho' she's below the Level of Lampoons,
Venting her Fly-blown Charms till her Own Squire
Is grown too nice and dainty to Admire.
There a pretending Fop (a Man of Note
More for his thread-bare Jest than Gawdy Coat)
Sees every Coxcomb's Mirth, yet wants the Sense
To know 'tis caus'd by his Impertinence.
Nor rests the Mighty Grievance here alone;
For not content with Follys of our own,
We plunder the fair Sex of what we can,
Who seldom miss their dear Revenge on Man.
Their property of Falshood we invade,
Whilst they usurp our Mid-night Scouring Trade.
-- --
Nahum Tate [1681], The History of King Richard The Second. Acted at the Theatre Royal, Under the Name of the Sicilian Usurper. With a Prefatory Epistle in Vindication of the author. Occasion'd by the prohibition of this play on the Stage. By N. Tate (Printed for Richard Tonson, and Jacob Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S31300].
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