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Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401]. To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.
Mr. Rowe has very well observ'd, that the Fable is not the Province of the Dramma, in which the Strength and Mastery of Shakespear lies; yet I shall give a Scheme of all his Plots, that so we may the more easily see how far he has succeeded by the Force of Nature, and where he has fail'd. I begin in the Order in which they are printed in this new Edition. And in the First we find his Tempest. ‘Prospero Duke of Millan being entirely given up to his Study, reposes the Trust of the Government in his Brother Antonio, who having all the Soveraignty but the Name is unsatisfy'd till he obtain that by Treason. Wherefore having made a secret Compact with the King of Naples, he lets him into Milan in the Night; and siezing his Brother and his Infant Daughter, sends them them out to Sea in a tatter'd, unrigg'd Boat, Gonzalo, who by the Tyrant was commanded to put this in Execution, out of his own Compassion furnishes him with some Provision, and some of his own Books. Being thus defenceless left to the Mercy of the Ocean, Providence drove him a on barren Island, where he found no Body but a sort of Incubus, Son to a notorious Witch of Algiers. And here he liv'd twelve Years in Solitude, and in the Study and Exercise of the Art of Natural Magic. 'Till now the same King of Naples, his only Son, and Antonio Prospero's treacherous Brother and others, returning from marrying the Daughter of Naples to the King of Tunis, fall into his Spells, for Prospero raising a Storm, has them all cast away on this barren enchanted Island, tho' none of them perish in the Wreck—Here the Play begins—These Princes being all cast ashoar and dispers'd in the Island, the Pangs of their Evil Deeds and the suppos'd Loss of the King's Son torment the guilty King and some of his Train; while his Son indeed is by Prospero's Spirits brought to the Sight of Miranda Prospero's Daughter, who before had seen none of Mankind but her Father. The young Pair fall mutually in Love with each other. The King likewise and his Train having undergone great Pains, Agonies, and Terrors, are brought to Prospero's Cave by his Spirit Ariel; where having been upbraided by Prospero, who owns himself to them, they all are reconcil'd, Prospero's Daughter being to be marry'd to Ferdinand the King's Son; so with the Promise of a prosperous Voyage the Play ends.’ I can't find that this Plot was taken from any Novel, at least not from any, that Mr. Langbain had seen, who was very conversant with Books of that Nature. But it does not at all follow, that there was no such Story in any of the Books of his Time, which might never reach our Age; nor is it of much Importance. Tho' the Fable of this Play may come short of
Perfection in some Particulars, yet I must say
this, that we have few on the English Stage that
can compare with it for Excellence. For first it
is the Imitation of one Action, i. e. The Restoration
of Tho' this Play be plac'd after the Tempest, 'tis evident from the Writing, and the Faults and even Absurdities, that it was writ long before it, for I can by no means think that Shakespear wrote worse and worse; for if his Fire may be suppos'd to abate in his Age, yet certainly his Judgment increas'd, but most of the Faults of this Play are Faults of Judgment more than Fancy. Valentine and Protheus are two intimate, Bosome, nay sworn Friends, Natives of Verona, and give the Name to the Play. Valentine is for travelling (tho' indeed the Journey is not long) and Protheus is in love with a beautiful Lady nam'd Julia, of the same Town. Valentine being arriv'd at Millan succeeds in his Amour with Silvia the Duke's Daughter; whose Lover Sir Thurio is favour'd by the Father as a Man of large Demesns, but he is silly, insolent, and cowardly. Valentine is not long gone from home, but Antonio Sir Protheus's Father will send him to travel too, especially to Millan where his Friend had acquir'd so good a Reputation. He takes Leave of his Mistress privately, and gives her his Oaths and Vows that he will love only her till Death. But coming to Millan he falls in Love with Silvia his Friend's Mistress; and to compass his own Ends discovers the Amour betwixt her and Valentine to the Duke, tho' trusted as a Friend by the Lovers. This causes the Banishment of Valentine, and the Misery of the Lady who lov'd him extreamly. Protheus on the Credit of his having a Mistress in his own City, with whom he was mightily in Love, gets the Management of Sir Thurios Passion; and under that Pretence, makes it his Endeavocrs to promote his own, which Julia being come to Millan in Man's Cloaths discovers, and is taken by him for a Page. Silvia being weary of Sir Thurios Suit, and eager to be with her Lover Valentine, engages Sir Eglamour to assist her in making her Escape to Mantua, where she heard, that he was, tho' he indeed was taken by the Out-laws about three Leagues out of Millan, and made their Captain. These same Out-laws seize Silvia, who is rescu'd from the Force of one of them by Sir Protheus, got thither in Pursuit of her who pressing his Amour here in vain Attempts to ravish her but is prevented by Valentine, who had o'er-heard all his Treachery; but on Sir Protheus's Repentance all Animosities are forgot, and Sir Protheus returns to his old Mistress Julia here discover'd, and Silvia is by the Duke given to Valentine, Sir Thurio not daring to claim her, nay out of Fear of Valentine gave her up in Disdain. Besides the Defect of the Plot which is too visible to criticise upon the Manners are no where agreeable, or convenient. Silvia and the rest not behaving themselves like Princes, Noblemen or the Sons and Daughters of such. The Place where the Scene is, by the original Error of the Press not yet corrected, for to be sure the Author cou'd not make the Blunder sometimes the Emperour's Court, sometimes Millan, and sometimes Padua, as is plain, is from the running the Eye over it. But how defective soever this Interlude may be in the Plot, Conduct, Manners and Sentiments, we we yet shall see, that it is not destitute of Lines, that discover the Author to be Shakespear. To be in Love where Scorn is bought with Groans Coy Looks, with Heart-sore Sighs: One fading Moments Mirth With twenty watchful, weary tedious Nights. If haply won, perhaps a hapless Gain; If lost why then a griveous Labour won! However but a Folly bought with Wit Or else a Wit by Folly vanquished. Pag. 66. and p. 75. on Love.Oh! how this Spring of Love resembleth The uncertain Glory of an April Day. Which now shows all the Beauty of the Sun And by and by a Cloud takes all away. I must here let the Reader know, that because in going through Shakespear, the same Topics will occur in several Places, I shall put my References to the Latin Poets on those Topics to the alphabetical Table of them, which will be at the End of this Volume.
Speed—First, you have learned, by Sr. Protheus to wreath your Arms like a Malecontent; to relish a Love Song like a Robin-red-breast; to walk alone like one that had the Pastilence; to sigh like a School-boy, that had lost his A. B. C. to weep like a young Wench, that had lost her Grandam; to fast like one that takes Diet; to watch like one, that fears robbing; to speak puling like a Beggar at Hollow-Mass. You were wont when you laught to crow like a Cock; when you walk'd to walk like one of the Lions; when you fasted 'twas presently after Dinner; when you look'd sadly it was for Want of Money. And now you are so metamorphosed with a Mistress, that when I look on you I can hardly think you my Master. You must observe, that this is the Speech of a pert Page to his Love-sick Master, and that will attone for some of the Smiles, while the Humour is pleasant. And why not Death, rather, than living Torment? To die is to be banished from my self! And Silvia is my Self. Banish'd from her Is self from self! a deadly Banishment! What Light, is Light, if Silvia be not seen? What Joy is Joy, if Silvia be not by? Unless it be to think, that she is by And feed upon the Shadow of Perfection? Except I be by Silvia in the Night, There is no Music in the Nightingale.
This is extremely pathetique, as indeed all the following Scene is betwixt him and his false Friend Sir Protheus. Hope is a Lovers Staff—walk hence with that, And manage it against despairing Thoughts. Sir Protheus Advice to Sr. Thurio in the managing his Addresses to Silvia is pretty and sprightly, see p. 103. I can't omit the Words of Julia expressing her Condition when slighted by her Lover p. 114. &lblank; But since she did neglect her Looking-Glass And threw her Sun-expelling Mask away, The Air has starved the Roses in her Cheeks, And pinch'd the Lilly Tincture of her Face, &c. The fifth Act of this Play is much the best, but Valentine is too easily reconciled to a Man, whose Treachery and Villany deserv'd the Stab especially when it is discovered at the very Time, that he goes to ravish his Friend's Betrohed. I cannot pass this Play without a Word or two of Comedy in general, tho' I shall be far from laying down all the Rules of that Poem, which tho' not so excellent as Tragedy, yet valuable enough to merit our Esteem above all others except the Tragic. This Poem tho' the last and least encourag'd in the polite Times of Athens, yet was first and most advanc'd in Rome, and in England; for Politeness did not prevail very early in either of those Warlike Nations. As we have none of the Greek Comedies Extent, but those of Aristophanes, who was Master of the old Comedy, except what we have in Terrence, who is said to have translated two of Menander's into one of his; so that we cannot make a fair Judgment of who excell'd in this Poem the Greek, the Latin, or the English; yet having those of Plautus and Terence, we may justly with Mr. Dryden in his Essay give the Victory to our own Nation over the Romans. We can indeed, discover nothing of the Remains of Antiquity in this kind compareable to Ben. Johnson; and to this Play of Shakespear's. This and our Advantage in Comedy of all the Moderns is justly proved by Mr. Dryden in his Essay in Dramatic Poesie; but I confess I am surpriz'd at the Weakness of his Arguments in his prefering our Tragedies and Trage-comedies to those of the Greeks; in which Parallel, he has betray'd so great Ignorance both of the Greek Plays and of the very Design and Art of Tragedy, that I wonder he corrected not those gross Mistakes before he dy'd; but suffer'd them to pass to Posterity with such Defects of which he himself was so sensible, as to own that when he wrote that, he knew little of the Art. Among these is his Assertion in the Beginning
of the Discourse, p. 3. that Aristotle had given
us no Definition of a Play, his Words are these—
He had no sooner said thus but all desir'd the Favour
of him to give the Definition of a Play; and they
were the more importunate with him, because neither
First Aristotle has defin'd Tragedy and Comedy
too, but did not like Mr. Dryden, blend things
so contrary in their Nature in one Definition,
as Tragedy and Comedy. He might indeed, well
say, that it was a Description, rather than a Definition;
for what is applicable to all sorts of
Dramatic Poetry, to the Epopee, and Satire, is
no Definition at all. That of Aristotle is more close,
and to the Purpose; for what he has said will not
agree in all its Parts with any thing but Tragedy;
nor will his Definition of Comedy agree with the
former. I think it so material to maintain the Distinction
which Nature has made between these
two Poems, that I shall set down the Definitions
of both from Aristotle, First of Tragedy. I have already said enough of this Definition, and shall only observe here, that the Action which Tragedy imitates must be Grave, which shews the Defect of Mr. Dryden's Description, for the imitation of any Part of Human Life will not come up to that. But all that is not Great, Solemn and Grave is left to the Imitation of Comedy, which he thus defines—Comedy is an Imitation of the worst Men, I mean not in all sorts of Vices but only in Ridicule. For Ridicule is properly a Defect, and Deformity without Pain, and which never contributes to the distruction of the Subject in which it is—This is Aristotle's Definition and Explanation of it. He has told the Subject of the Comic Imitation, which is only what is ridiculous, all other sorts of Wickedness, and Vice can have no place here, because they raise Indignation, or Pity, which are Passions, that ought by no means to reign in Comedy. Princes, Kings, and great Men ought therefore naturally to be excluded the Sock; because Ridicule ought always to be the Subject of this Poem, and those Solemn Characters ought never to be made ridiculous. In all these Particulars Shakespear has come up to the Rules, and Definition of Aristotle; for he has in his Characters chosen the Defects and Deformities, which are without Pain, and which never Contribute to the Destruction of the Subject in which it is. 'Tis Pity, that what Aristotle wrote of Comedy is lost except this very Definition, but the Loss is the less because we may very well draw sufficient Rules to walk by in Comedy from those which remain of Tragedy, observing this Difference, that as nothing ridiculous, can come into Tragedy so nothing grave or serious can come into Comedy justly, except it be so artfully join'd to the Ridiculous that it seems Natural and no Patch, as the Character of Mr. Fenton in the Play under our Consideration; his Character is the only serious one in the Play. But as Tragedy has Parts of Quality and Parts of Quantity, so has Comedy. The Parts of Quality, as in the other are the Fable, the Manners, the Sentiments, and the Diction, without which no Comedy can be truly entitled to that Name. The Comick Poet must first invent his Plot, or Fable; and when he has fixt that, he must take Care, that the Manners of the divers Persons be plainly express'd in his Characters, that is that they be perfectly distinguish'd, as every one of these of the Merry Wives of Windsor are. The Sentiments are added because without them there is no knowing the Thoughts, Designs, and Inclinations of the Dramatic Persons, and these being not to be express'd but by Discourse, the Diction is added. The Fable of Comedy, that is the comic Fiction or Imitation must be entirely free from the Marvelous, and the Prodigious, which are frequent in Tragedy and the Epopee; for it has no Manner of Regard to Great, Illustrious, Grave, Mournful, Terrible, or in one Word Tragical Things, but only domestic and civil Incidents and Persons. There is a natural Difference in Persons and Quality, or Manners, for that, which is Praise worthy in one Degree is not so in another, nay it may be a Disgrace, for Example in some Arts, For one of the Vulgar to play well on the Fidle, or Heautbois merits Praise, but the same Art in a King, is look'd on as trifling if not despicable. A Woman ought to be a good Sower, Knitter or the like, at least these Qualities are commendable in a Woman, but ridiculous in a Man. Thus 'tis a Praise in a Servant, that he's no Thief, but it is no Praise to a Nobleman or a Man of any Figure and Quality. This is sufficient to show that different Manners are agreeable to different Degrees. To know perfectly therefore what Manners we ought to give to our several Dramatic Persons we ought to study these following Precepts of Horace. Ætatis cujusq; notandi sunt tibi Mores Mobilibusq; Decor naturis dandus & Annis. Reddere qui Voces jam scit Puer, & pede certo Signat humum, gestit paribus colludere, & Iram Colligit, ac ponit temere; & mutatur in Horas. Imberbis Juvenis, tandem Custode remoto,
Gaudet Equis Canibusq; & aprici Gramine campi; Cereus in vitium flecti Monitoribus asper, Utilium tardus Provisor; prodigus Æris; Sublimis, cupidusq; & amata relinquere Pernix. Conversis studijs Ætas, animusq; virilis
Quærit Opes, & Amicitias; inservit Honori. Comisisse cavet, quod mox mutare laboret. Multa Senem circumveniunt Incommoda, vel quod
Quærit, & inventis miser abstinet, ac timet uti; Vel quod res omnes timide, gilideq; ministrat; Dilator, spe longus, iners, avidusq; futuri, Difficilis, querulus, Laudator Temporis acti Se puero; Censor, Castigatorq; Minorum. And to the just observing the Characters, he just before gives this Advice. Intererit multum Davus loquatur, an Heros, Maturusne Senex, an adhuc florente Juventa, Fervidus; An Matrona potens, an Sedula Nutrix, Mercatorne vagus, Cultorne virentis Agelli, Colchus an Assymis, Thebis nutritus an Argis Aut famam sequere aut sibi convenientia finge. And again Qui didicit Patriæ quid debeat, & quid Amicis Quo sit amore Parens, quo Fratre amandus, & Hospes, &c.
That is he who knows the Duties of every Order and Degree of Men both in Regard of themselves, and others is fit to meddle with the Drama. The Excellence of the Sentiments is justly to express the Manners, and of the Diction to give us the Sentiments in a Language agreeable to the Subject, for if it be otherwise it is abominable. But the Stile of Comedy ought not to be so sublime as Tragedy, nor so low as Farce; but still diversify'd according to the Character and Humour of the Person that speaks. I should say something here of Humour but that Mr. Congreve has already handled that Point so nicely, that I refer the Reader to his Letter to Mr. Dennis on that Subject, and I shall only add Mr. Dryden's Definition of it in his Essay on Dramatic Poesie, which is this. Humour is the ridiculous Extravagance of Conversation, wherein one Man differs from others. Whether this be expressive enough I leave to the Reader. But in my Mind Humour is what the Ancients and Aristotle meant by the Ridiculous, and that according to Aristotle it consists in those Vices, and Follies of Mind as well as Conversation, which carry with them a ridiculous Appearance. The Passions and Vices of Mankind have two different Faces, one serious and the other ridiculous; the one supplies Tragedy, the other Comedy. The manner how this is done may perhaps be better taught by Example than Precept, I wou'd therefore advise a' Comic Writer to study Randolph's Muses Looking Glass throughly; for there I am apt to believe, that he will find the Source of all Humours, that are in Nature; from which Originals he may be able to make such agreeable Compounds as may divert the People justly to an equal Profit of his Purse and Reputation. At least so much I am very sure of, that no Man can show me any Humour on the Stage, that is worth taking notice of, but I will show it in the Muses Looking Glass, which proves that he has gone to the Source of Things for the Draughts he has made since those, who never read him, have fal'n into the Humours he has drawn. He was one of the Sons of the famous Ben. Johnson, and of Cambridge. As for the Parts of Comedy which relate to the Quantity they are the same with those of Tragedy. That is the Protasis or Prologue, which gives an Insight into the Characters and Design or State of the Action of the Play, and this is generally the first Act; the Episode, is all that is contain'd in the second, third or fourth Acts, that is the Intrigue, and Strugles, and Obstacles of the the Plot; and the Exode or Catastrophe is the Unravelling or Discovery where all things settle in Peace and Tranquility, With Probability, and to the Satisfaction to the Audience. Having thus premis'd a general View of Comedy, I shall come more close to this under our present Consideration, and first to the Argument— There are two Walks in this Play but much better join'd, connected and incorporated, than in any Play, that I remember, either in Latin or English. The chief Plot or Walk, is that of exposing the Character of Sir John Falstaff for his ridiculous Amours, or Attempt of two Women at once, when by Years and other Defects he
cou'd be agreeable to neither, as Mrs. Page
and the rest tell him on the Discovery in the
fifth Act—Why Sir Sir John sends two Letters of the same Contents to both the Women, that he lov'd them. But they being intimate Friends and both past their Prime, communicate their Letters to each other, consult on his Punishment; and employ to that End Mrs. Quickly, who in Mrs. Fords Name makes the Appointment of Rendezvous. Ford the Husband, being of a jealous Temper, has his Suspicion so heighten'd by the Information of two of Sir John's Sharpers, who had refus'd to carry the Letters and were for that refusal Cashier'd; that he resolves to go to Sir John and under the Name of Mr. Broom try what discovery, he cou'd make of the Truth of the Information. He finds the false unwieldy Knight just full of his Success; and gives him Wine and Money to pursue Mrs. Ford, so as to make her Frailties known to him, that so he might beat her out of her Retrenchments of pretended Modesty and Vertue to his Wishes. Falstaff blinded with this Pretence, and the Money, tells him of the Appointment, and assures him of Success in his Amours with Fords Wife. Ford being gone, the Knight moves to the Damsel; who having by Concert Mrs. Page with her, makes her retire into another Room till her proper Que of appearing. Mrs. Ford having already ordered her Servants to get the Buck-basket ready, and on Notice to carry and empty it into a Ditch in Dutchet Mead, admits the Knight; who having past his first Complement, and made his aukward Professions, News is brought, that Mrs. Page is coming in, which makes the Knight retire. Mrs. Page tells her, that her Husband and half the Town, were coming to search for some Gallant of hers in the House. The Knight is terribly alarm'd, and as Mrs. Page had propos'd gets into the Buck-Basket, and as he is carrying away the Husband comes in, but after a little stop suffers it to be carry'd away. Thus Sir John is thrown into the Ditch after he had been stew'd up in dirty Linen all the way; and the Husband exposes his ridiculous Jealousie to no Purpose, being not able to find any Body in the House. The Knight is appeas'd by Mrs. Quickly and agrees on another Meeting the next Morning by Eight or Nine, is again trapan'd by the Husband, to whom, as Mr. Broom he had told all his past Adventure and his new Assignation. So being disguis'd on the Husband's Approach, like the old Witch of Brentford, he is sufficiently beaten by the Husband and yet gets off, leaving Ford as much confounded, and expos'd to the Company for his causeless Jealousy as before, being yet not able to find any Body with his Wife. Upon this Mrs. Page and Mrs. Ford agree to let their Husbands into the Secret, and by their Consent to proceed to a third Punishment. This Discovery Cures Ford of his Jealousie, and 'tis by all agreed that the Knight shou'd as he ought, be expos'd. He is prevail'd on by Mrs. Quickly at last to meet at Mid-night in Windsor Park, dress'd up as the vulgar suppos'd Herne the Hunter to appear, &c. Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page meet him first, and just as he is rejoycing on his good Luck, and dividing himself and Favours betwixt them; Sir Hugh with his Fairies start out of the Saw-pit where they were hid for that Purpose, and pinch and burn him with their Lights; from whom endeavouring to run away they all come in, and the Discovery is made, and the Knight expos'd to publick Shame as he ought to be. Here the under-Plot or second Walk is join'd in the Conclusion; for Mrs. Ann Page, Mr. Page's handsome Daughter is in Love with Mr. Fenton, a well-bred Gentleman, and of Quality superior to Page, tho' he had been a little wild, and a Companion of the Prince, by which he had something run his Estate aground, and for that Reason rejected by Page and his Wife. The Father is for Slender a very silly Country Gent. of 300 l. a Year; the Mother was for Dr. Caius an impertinent old French Physician, because he was rich, and had Friends at Court. So that the Wife taking this Opportunity of the nocturnal Mask to abuse Sir John Falstaff, orders the Doctor to take her Daughter who should be dress'd in white, and so go off with her and marry her immediately before the Father cou'd hinder it. The Father had order'd Slender to take his Daughter dress'd in Green and lead her away to Eaton and there marry her without her Mother's Knowledge; but the young Lady loving Fenton deceives both Father and Mother, to obey both which she had promis'd, goes and is marry'd to her Beloved, which Discovery coming on that of Sir John's concludes the Play. All the other Persons of the Drama are plainly join'd to and depending on those two Walks, and their incorporating them into the Plot seems very well contriv'd. The Quarrel betwixt Sir John and Justice Shallow occasions Sir Hugh's Proposal of a Mediation, and the Match betwixt Mr. Slender and Mrs. Anne Page. This brings Mr. Page and Sir John out of Mr. Page's House, where the Motion is made, and approv'd, and all invited in to Dinner, where all the Principal Characters of both Walks are brought acquainted with each other. The Comical Duel, is likewise to Effect the Plot; for Sir Hugh sends to the Doctor's House-keeper to assist his Friend Slender in his Amour she being intimately acquainted with Mother and Daughter. This Messenger is intercepted by the Doctor, on which he sends the Priest a Challenge; which produces the Comical Scene of both their Passions, and Preparations for Fighting. In short the least Incident of the Play, except Mrs. Pages and her Son's Confabulation with Sir Hugh his Master, cannot well be left out without leaving a Gap in the Plot and Connection of the Play. I Confess, that the Unities of Time, Place, and Action are not exactly observ'd according to the Rule and Practice of the Antients, yet as they are now manag'd among us; they may well pass. The Time is not above two Days and a half at most; the Place Windsor, and the Adjacent Fields and Places. The Action is visibly double, but that it is in all the Comedies of Terence. The first Act shows all the principal Characters except the two Fords; prepares all the Business of the Play, and enters a little into the Action, in the two Letters sent by Sir John, and the Match Propos'd by Sir Hugh, and the Doctors Challenge to the Welsh Levite. So that it is an exact Protasis or Prologue. The Episode begins with the second Act, and carries all on to the fifth; where the Exode is in the Discovery and punishment of the Old Letcher; and the disappointment of a forc'd Match in Fenton's Marrying Mrs. Anne Page. Mrs. Fords Resentment of Sir Johns Letter puts her and Mrs. Page on the Revenge of the Affront, and that Revenge furnishes the Intrigue or Episodical Turns of the Play. The Information of Pistol and Nim prepares, and rouses Ford's Jealousie, admirably and with a great deal of Art and Nature. Nor can any thing be more ridiculous, and entertaining, than the Scenes betwixt Ford under the Name of Broom and Sir John. Upon the whole I think it is pretty plain, that nothing can be more agreeable to Aristotles definition of Comedy; for he says 'tis an Imitation of the Worst Sort, and that in Ridicule; it having thus all the Parts both of Quality and Quantity. But to make the Parts of Quality more plain it wou'd be necessary to speak of the Humours; yet that wou'd be too tedious, as well, as unnecessary, being so many and yet so various, and so plainly distinguish'd from each other, that there is no need to point out Particulars. I shall only give you what Mr. Dryden says of the Character of Falstaff in his Essay on Dramatic Poetry. —Falstaff is the best of Comic Characters—there are (says he) many Men resembling him—old, fat, merry, cowardly, drunken, amorus, vain and lying: and the Duke of Buckingham confirm it in this Verse Falstaff seems inimitable yet.Fords, is an excellent Character of a Politic, cautious, jealous Coxcomb; and all his Endeavours at the cautious and cunning Management of the Discovery of his Doubts and Fears, involves him the more, and makes him the more ridiculous; for the Conferences he has with Sir John, confirm him in his Suspicions, and his Disappointments expose his Folly. The Fairys in the fifth Act makes a Handsome Complement to the Qneen, in her Palace of Windsor, who had oblig'd him to write a Play of Sir John Falstaff in Love, and which I am very well assured he perform'd in a Fortnight; a prodigious Thing, when all is so well contriv'd, and carry'd on without the least Confusion. Vincentio Duke of Vienna pretending to go a private Journey leaves a severe Lord of his Court call'd Angelo, his Deputy to govern in his Absence, that he might not have the Odium of reviving some Sanguinary Laws, which had for some time lain dormant and for other Reasons. Æscalus is left with him as a Counsellour and next under Angelo in Authority. The Duke being gone, Angelo begins to revive those Laws, and Claudio a young Gentleman is taken up to make the first Example of one of them; which made it Death for any Man to lie with a Woman out of Marriage. Claudio got Juliet with Child, whom he lov'd and design'd to Marry. Angelo being inexorable Isabella Claudio's Sister just going to be profess'd a Nun, goes to beg her Brother's Life; and wins the Heart of Angelo so far, that he tempts her to redeem her, Brother's Life by yielding to his Embraces, Vowing that no other Terms shou'd save him, which she telling her Brother, the Duke (who goes not to Travel as he pretended, but is disguis'd in a Fryar's Habit and observes all things unknown) over hears it, and perswades her to pretend to yield to him, and Appoint such a Time in the Night, that Mariana his Contracted Wife, whom he had rejected on the loss of her Fortune, might go in her Place. This being done, Angelo sends Orders to have Claudio's Head brought to him by Four in the Morning. The Duke manages it so with the Provost, that the Head of one dying that Night in the Prison, and who was not unlike Claudio shou'd be carry'd to him, and then ordering Mariana and and Isabella to Complain to the Duke on his Return, which wou'd be that Morning; he sends the Deputies Word of his Return, and Orders them to meet him at the City Gates there to give up his Authority. The Ladies make their Complaints, and after some Difficulties the Duke discovers his Knowledge of the whole Matter; Commands Angelo to Marry Mariana immediately, and then to be beheaded as Claudio was, but upon the Intercession of the new Wife and Isabella, and the discovery that Claudio was preserv'd alive, Angelo is Pardon'd, and has no other Punishment, than a Wife and the Publick Disgrace. There are some little under Characters in this Play, which are produced naturally enough by the Severity of the new Law, as that of the Bawd and the Pimp; as well as of Lucio, which Character is admirably maintain'd, as Shakespear does every where his Comic Characters, whatever he does his Tragic. The Unities of Action and Place are pretty well observed in this Play, especially as they are in the Modern Acceptation. The Design of the Play carries an excellent Moral, and a just Satire against our present Reformers; who wou'd alter their Course of Nature and bring us to a Perfection, Mankind never knew since the World was half Peopled. But while they are so very severe against the Frailties of Men, they never think of their Villanies, Oppression, Extorsion, Cheating, Hypocrisie and the like, which are the Vices of Devils, not of Men; nay, which is extreamly merry, many of the foresaid Character, are zealous Reformers; which proves thus much at least that the Kingdom of Hell cannot stand long when it is so divided in it self. But to return to this Play. The Scene betwixt Isabella and Angelo in the second Act is very fine; and the not bringing the Yielding of Isabella to Angelo on the Stage, is Artfully manag'd, for it wou'd have been a Difficult Matter to have contriv'd it so, that it shou'd not have given a slur to her Modesty to the Audience tho' they knew it Dissembled. Allowing for some Peccadillos the last Act is wonderful, and moving to such a Degree, that he must have very little Sense of Things, and Nature, who finds himself Calm in the reading it. The Main Story or Fable of the Play is truly Tragical for it is Adapted to move Terror, and Compassion, and the Action is one. Its having a Fortunate Catastrophe, is nothing to the purpose for that is in many of the Greek Tragedies; tho' Aristotle indeed makes the Unfortunate Ending the most beautiful and perfect. Leaving therefore a farther Examen of the Fable, Conduct, &c. to the Reader, and the Rules, which I have laid down I shall proceed to the fine Moral Reflections and Topics of it. But it contains so many Beauties of this Kind, that to transcribe them all I should leave very little untouch'd; I shall therefore content my self to give a Sample of them. &lblank; Well believe this, No Ceremony, that to great Ones longs, Not the Kings Court, nor the deputed Sword, The Marshals Trunchion, or the Judges Robe, Become them with half so good a Grace As Mercy does. &lblank; &lblank; Cou'd great Men Thunder As Jove himself does, Jove wou'd ne'er be quiet: For every pelting petty Officer Wou'd use his Heav'n for Thunder; Nothing but Thunder. Merciful Heav'n Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous Bolts Split'st the unwedgable, gnarled Oak, Than the soft Myrtle. Oh! but Man! proud Man. Drest in a little brief Authority; Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd, His glassy Essence; like an angry Ape, Plays such fantastick Tricks before high Heav'n, As makes the Angels weep &lblank; Great Men may jest with Saints; 'tis Wit in them But in the less foul Prophanation &lblank; &lblank; That in the Captain's but a Choleric Word, Which in the Soldiers is flat Blasphemy. Ang. Why do you put these Sayings upon me? Isa. Because Authority tho' it err like others, Hath yet a kind of Medicine in it self That skins the Vice o'th Top &lblank;
Angelo's last Speech of the second Scene of the second Act, is very beautiful in the Agitations of Angelo's Soul on his falling in Love with Isabella the Simile very fine which only I shall transcribe. What's this? what's this? Is this her Fault, or mine? The Tempter, or the tempted who sins most? ha! Not she nor doth she tempt, but it is I, That lying by the Violet in the Sun, Do as the Carrion does not as the Flower Corrupt with virtuous Season. &lblank; The rest of the Speech is well worth noting, nor is Angelo's Speech in the fourth Scene of the same Act less agreeable, or the following Simile in it less beautiful— &lblank; The State, whereon I study'd Is like a good Thing being often read, Grown sear'd and tedious. &lblank; &lblank; Oh! Place! Oh! Form! How often dost thou with thy Case, thy Habit Wrench Aw from Fools? and tie the wiser Souls To this false seeming! I cannot omit the charmin Simile in the same Scene. So play the foolish Throngs with one, that swoons; All came to help him, and so stop the Air, By which he shou'd revive; and even so The govern'd Subjects to a well wish'd King, Quit their own Part, and in obsequious Fondness Crowd to his Presence where their untaught Love Must needs appear Offence.
&lblank; Reason what Life is &lblank; If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing, That none but Fools wou'd keep. A Breath thou art Servile to all the Skiey Influences; That dost this Habitation where thou keep'st Hourly afflict. Meerly thou art Death's Fool; For him thou labour'st by thy Flight to shun, And yet run'st towards him still. Thou art not noble; For all th' Accommodations, that thou bear'st Are nurs'd in Baseness. Thou art no way Valiant; For thou dost fear the soft and tender Fork Of a poor Worm. Thy best of Rest is Sleep, And that thou oft provok'st; yet grosly fear'st Thy Death, which is no more. Thou art not thy self; For thou exists on many thousand Grains, That issue out of Dust. Happy thou art not; For what thou hast not still thou striv'st to get, And what thou hast forget'st. Thou art not certain; For thy Complexion shifts to strange Effects After the Moon. If thou'rt rich, thou'rt poor; For like an Ass, whose Back with Ingots bows Thou bear'st thy heavy Riches but a Journey, And Death unloads thee. Friend hast thou none; For thy own Bowels, which do call thee Sire, The meer Effusion of thy proper Loins, Do curse the Gout, Sarpigo and the Rheum For ending thee no sooner. Thou hast nor Youth nor Age But as it were an after Dinner's Nap Dreaming on both. For all thy blessed Youth Becomes as Aged, and doth beg the Alms Of Palsied-Eld! and when thou'rt old and rich Thou hast neither Heat, Affection, Limb, nor Beauty To make thy Riches pleasant. What yet is this, That bears the Name of Life? Yet in this Life
It were to be wish'd, that the Pulpit cou'd declaim in this pathetick Manner, we might perhaps have fewer Hypocrites and Usurers. Death is a fearful thing Isa. And shamed Life as Hateful. Claud. Ay but to die, and go we know not where, To lie in cold Obstruction, and to rot; This sensible, warm Motion to become A kneaded Clod; and the delighted Spirit To bath in fiery Floods, or to reside In thrilling Regions of thick ribbed Ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless Winds; And blown with restless Violence round about The Pendant World! Or to be worse, than worst Of those, that lawless, and uncertain Thought Imagine howling! 'Tis too horrible! The weariest and most loathed worldly Life, That Age, Ach, Penury, and Imprisonment Can lay on Nature, is a Paradice To what we fear of Death. No Might nor Greatness in Mortality Can Censure 'scape. Back-wounding Calumny The whitest Virtue shakes, what thing so strong Can tye the Gall up in the slanderous Tongue? Oh! Place and Greatness! Millions of false Eyes Are stuck upon thee! Volumes of Report
The Plot of this Play is taken from Cynthio Giraldi, Dec. 8. Nov. 5. you may also look into Lipsii Monita, p. 125. Histoires admirables de Nostre Temps, p. 216. A Merchant of Syracuse going to Epidamnum to take care of his Affairs left in disorder by his Factor's Death. His Wife big with Child comes after him, and is brought to Bed of Twins so like, that they cou'd not be known from one another. And in the same Inn was at the same time two Boys born to a poor Woman, as much a-like as the Merchant's Sons; who therefore buys them of the Mother to be brought up with and to wait upon his Sons. When returning home from Epidamnum, a Storm arose, and the Sailors having left the Ship he and his Wife and Children were left there, and cast away the Wife and one Son and his Slave were taken up by the Fishermen of Corinth, and he and his younger Son and his Slave by another Vessel. And when his Son was grown up to eighteen, he got his Consent to go seek his Brother, and with him went his Slave, and in their Travel came to Ephesus, whether after five Years Search the Father likewise is arriv'd, and seiz'd, and to be put to Death for entring that Port contrary to a Law, that made it Death for any Syracusian to come to Ephesus. They being thus all come to the same Town the Play begins with Ægeon's Account of all that is gone before, on which the Duke of Ephesus gives him that Day to raise a thousand Duckets to redeem his Life. The two Sons nam'd both Antipholis, and their two Slaves, both call'd Dromio, by their Likeness cause various Errors, being taken by the very Wife and Mistress and Acquaintance of that Antipholis who liv'd at Ephesus for one another. Till the Wife taking his Man and him to be mad has them seiz'd and bound by a Doctor to cure them. But while they think them secure, the other Brother and his Man come in with their Swords drawn, and they all flie away, wondring how he got lose, taking him for her Husband. But rallying the other Brother and his Man fly for't into an Abbey, and is there protected by the Abbess. The Duke coming to see Ægeon beheaded by the Abbey Adriama the Wife of one of the Brothers, applies to him and complains of the Abbess, in the mean while the Husband Antipholis getting loose, and his Man, comes in and complains to the Duke of his Wive's Treatment of him, this produces the Abbess and with her the other Antipholis, the whole Company being surpris'd the Discovery is made, and these found to be Brothers, and Ægeon their Father, and the Abbess Æmilia their Mother, which ends the Play. This Play is exactly regular, as any one may see who will examine it by the Rules. The Place is part of one Town, the Time within the Artificial Day; and the Action the finding the lost Brother, &c. Allowing for the Puns which were the Vice of the Age he liv'd in, it is extreamly diverting; the Incidents are wonderfully pleasant, and the Catastrophe very happy and strongly moving. I have wondred that Mr. Dryden chose rather Amphittri than this, because the Probability of that depending entirely on the Pagan System, strains even Credulity to render it agreeable. But this Likeness between the Twins is what has happen'd many Times; and there is or was lately a living Instance of it in two Brothers Twins too, so very like, that they were perpetually mistaken for each other, and such a Sympathy between them, that when one was ill the other sicken'd. One was of the Band of the Music, that belong'd to Drury-Lane Play-House; the other if I mistake not a Dancing Master in the Country. This Comedy is an undeniable Proof, that
Shakespear was not so ignorant of the Latin Tongue
as some wou'd fain make him. There is, (says the
Writer of his Life) one Play of his indeed, The
Comedy of Errors, in great Measure taken from
the Menœchmi of Plautus. How that happen'd I
cannot easily divine, since as I hinted before, I do
not take him to have been Master of I confess with submission to the Writer of his Life, that I can find no such need of Divination on this Head, for as it is beyond Contradiction plain, that this Comedy is taken from that of Plautus; so I think it as obvious to conclude from that, that Shakespear did understand Latin enough to read him, and knew so much of him as to be able to form a Design out of that of the Roman Poet; and wich he has improv'd very much in my Opinion. He has made two Servants, as like, as their Master's, who are not in Plautus. And the very Character of Adriana is copy'd from the Wife of Menœchmus Surreptus as is visible from his first Entrance on the Stage in the second Scene of the first Act. For this is the Character he gives of her. Ni mala, ni stulta, ni indomita imposq; Animi, Quod viro esse odio videas, tute tibi odio habeas. Præterhac si mihi tale post hunc Diem Faxis, faxo foris Vidua visas Patrem. Nam quoties foras ire volo, me retines, revocas, Rogitas quo ego eam? Quam rem agam? Quid Nigotij geram? Quid petam? Quid feram? Quid foris egerim? &c. How far Shakespear was beholding to Plautus may in some Measure be seen by the Argument of the Menœchmi. ‘A Sicilian Merchant had Twin Boys so like, that they cou'd not be distinguish'd; but one of them being stol'n away the Father dy'd with Grief; and his Uncle gives the Boy, that remain'd the Name of his Brother Menœchmus, his before being Sosicles; who being grown up to be a Man goes in search of his Brother all round the Coasts of the Mediteranean, Archipelago, &c. and comes at last to Epidamnum; where his stol'n Brother was settled and marry'd to a termagant sort of a Lady before describ'd. When Sosicles arriv'd every one took him for his Brother; his Mistress, Friends, his Wife, and his Father in-Law, till at last meeting together they discover themselves to be Brothers; which ends the Play.’ But this Controversy as Shakespear's total Ignorance of the Latin will be no longer on Foot when we come to his Poems where there are several Translations of Ovid's Metamorphosis, and his Epistles. This Play tho' so full of Action is not without beautiful Reflections, and Speeches, as p. 285. Adr.Ay, ay, Antipholis look strange and frown, Some other Mistress has some sweet Aspects. I am not Adriana, nor thy Wife? The Time was once, when thou unurg'd wou'dst vow That never Words were Musick to thine Ear; That never Object pleasing to thine Eye; That never Touch was welcome to thy Hand; That never Meet sweet savour'd to thy Taste; Unless I spake, or look'd, or touch'd, or carv'd thee. There's nothing situate under Heaven's Eye, But has its Bounds in Earth, in Sea, or Sky. The Beasts, the Fishes, and the winged Fowls, Are their Male's Subjects, and at their Controuls. Men, more Divine, the Master of all these, Lord of the wide World, and wide watry Seas, Indu'd with intellectual Sense and Soul Of more Pre-heminence, than Fish or Fowl, Are Master's of their Females and their Lords. Then at your Will attend on their Accords. For Slander lives upon Succession, For ever hous'd where once it gets Possession.
The Scene lies at Messina in Sicily and in and
near the House of Leonato. Don Pedro of Aragon
with his Favourite Claudio, and Benedict a gay young
Cavalier of Padua, and Don John the Bastard Brother
of Don Pedro come to Leonato's the Governour
of Messina. Claudio is in Love with Hero Leonato's
Daughter, whom Don Pedro obtains for him, and
while they wait the Wedding Day, they consult
how to make Benedict and Beatrice the Neice of
Leonato in Love with each other, both being Gay
and Easy and averse to Love, and like great
Talkers railing always at each other. However
by letting them over-hear their Discourse they persuade
them, that they are in Love with each other.
In the mean time Don John the very Soul of Envy
and Mischief contrives how to break the Match
betwixt Claudio and Hero, and to this purpose, by
his Engines Conrade and Borachio they make Claudio
and the Prince believe that Hero is a Wanton,
and put a plausible Cheat on them to confirm the
Suspicion, by having Borachio Talk to Hero's Maid
Margaret at the Chamber Window at Mid-night,
as if she were Hero. Convinc'd by this Falacy Claudio
and Don Pedro Disgrace her in the Church
where he went to Marry her, rejecting her, and
accusing her of Wantonness with another. Hero
Swoons away, and the Priest interposing and joining
in the Attestation she makes of her Virtue,
she is privately convey'd away and reported Dead.
The Rogue Borachio being taken by the Watch,
as he was telling the Adventure to his Comrade,
discovers the Villany and clears Hero; but Don
John is fled. Her Innocence being known; her Father
is satisfy'd with Claudio, that he hang Verses
on her Tomb that Night, and Marry a Neice of
his the next Morning without seeing her Face
which he agrees to and performs, and then it is
discover'd, that it is Hero, whom he Marry'd
and so the Play Ends, with an Account of Don John's being taken, This Fable is as full of Absurdities, as the Writing
is full of Beauties, the first I leave to the
Reader to find out by the Rules I have laid down,
the second, I shall endeavour to shew, and point
out some few of the many, that are contain'd in
the Play. Shakespear indeed had the Misfortune
which other of our Poets have since had of laying
his Scene in a Warm Climate where the Manners
of the People are very different from ours,
and yet he has made them talk and act generally
like Men of a colder Country, Marriage Alamode
has the same Fault. This Play we must call a Comedy, tho' some of
the Incidents and Discourses too are more in a
Tragic Strain; and that of the Accusation of
Hero is too shocking for either Tragedy or Comedy;
nor cou'd it have come off in Nature, if we regard
the Country without the Death of more, than
Hero. The Imposition on the Prince and Claudio
seems very lame, and Claudio's Conduct to the
Woman, he lov'd, highly contrary to the very
Nature of Love, to expose her in so barbarous a
Manner and with so little Concern, and struggle,
and on such weak Grounds without a farther Examination
into the Matter, yet the Passions this
produces in the old Father make a wonderful
amends for the Fault. Besides which there is
such a pleasing Variety of Characters in the Play,
and those perfectly maintain'd, as well as distinguish'd,
that you lose the Absurdities of the Conduct
in the Excellence of the Manners, Sentiments,
Diction and Topics. Benedict, and Beatrice are two
sprightly, witty, talkative Characters, and, tho' of
the same Nature, yet perfectly distinguish'd, and
you have no need to read the Names, to know
who speaks. As they differ from each other, tho'
so near a Kin, so do they from that of Lucio in
Measure for Measure, who is likewise a very talkative
Person; but there is a gross Abusiveness, Calumny
Lying, and Lewdness in Lucio, which Benedict
is free from. One is a Rake's Mirth and
Tattle; the other that of a Gentleman, and a Man
of Spirit and Wit. The Stratagem of the Prince on Benedict, and
Beatrice is manag'd with that Nicity and Address,
that we are very well pleas'd with the Success,
and think it very resonable and just. The Character of Don John the Bastard is admirably
distinguish'd, his Manners are well mark'd,
and every where convenient, or agreeable. Being
a sour melancholly, saturnine, envious, selfish, malicious
Temper, Manners Necessary to produce these
villanous Events, they did; these were productive
of the Catastrophe, for he was not a Person brought
in to fill up the Number only, because without
him the Fable could not have gone on. To quote all the comic Excellencies of this Play
would be to transcribe three Parts of it. For all
that passes betwixt Benedict and Beatrice is admirable.
His Discourse against Love and Marriage
in the later End of the second Act, p. 343. is very
pleasant and witty, and that which Beatrice says
of Wooing, Wedding and repenting, p. 334. And
the Aversion that the Poet gives Benedict and Beatrix
for each other in their Discourse, heightens
the Jest of making them in Love with one another.
Nay the Variety and natural Distinction of the
vulgar Humours of this Play are remarkable. The Scenes of this Play are something obscure,
for you can scarce tell where the Place is in the
two first Acts, tho' the Scenes in them seem pretty
entire, and unbroken. But those are things we
ought not to look much for in Shakespear. But
whilst he is out in the dramatic Imitation of
the Fable, he always draws Men and Women so
perfectly, that when we read, we can scarce perswade
our selves, but that the Discourse is real
and no Fiction.
I have given more, than the bare Topic, because
the Speech is Pathetique, and extremely Natural
Nor can I omit another Speech, tho' it contain.
neither Topic nor Description and that is
p. 367.
Of this I shall speak in my Remarks on his
Verses, where he has more than once made. Use of
the same Figure. For the Plot of this Play consult
Ariosto's Oralando furioso. Book v. and Spencer's Fairy
Queen, Book ii. The King of Navarre and some of his Nobles
make a Vow of retiring from the World to their
Books for three Years, and forswear the Conversation
of all Women. But the King of France's
Daughter and some Ladies her Attendants come
in an Embassy from her Father to the King of
Navarre, which obliges them to a Conversation
with the Ladies, and that makes them all in Love;
and endeavour after they have found out each others
Frailty and Breach of Oath to win the Ladies
to yield to love them. But they admit them to
hope, on Condition they remain in the same Mind
a Year, and perform certain Penances. This and
the News of the French King's Death ends the Play. Tho' I can't well see why the Author gave
this Play this Name, yet since it has past thus
long I shall say no more to it, but this, that since
it is one of the worst of Shakespear's Plays, nay I
think I may say the very worst, I cannot but think
that it is his first, notwithstanding those Arguments,
or that Opinion, that has been brought to the
contrary. Perhaps (says this Author) we are not to
look for his Beginnings like those of other Authors among
their least perfect Writings. Art had so little,
and Nature so large a Share in what he did, that for
ought I know, the Performances of his Youth, as they
were the most vigorous, and had the most Fire of Imagination
in them, were the best. I wou'd not be thought
by this to mean, that his Fancy was so loose, and extravagant,
as to be independant of the Rule and Government
of Judgment; but that what he thought was commonly
so great, so justly and rightly concerted in it self,
that it wanted little or no Correction; and was immediatly
approv'd by an impartial Judgment at first
Sight But since this Gentleman has only given us a
Supposition of his own, without confirming it with
any convincing, or indeed probable Reason; I
hope I may be permitted to throw in another Perhaps
for the Opinion of Mr. Dryden, and others
without offending him by the Opposition, I agree
with him, that we have indeed in our Days seen
a young Man start up like a Mushroom in a Night,
and surprize the Whim of the Town into a momentary
Reputation, or at least by a surprizing
first Play (as Plays go at this Time) and in all his
after Tryals give us not one Line, that might supply
our Credulity with the least Reason to believe that
he wrote the first himself. Thus Love's last Shift
was an excellent first Play, and yet that Author
after so many Tryals has not only never come up
to his first Essay, but scarce to any thing tolerable,
except in one, that like a Cheder Cheese was
made by the Milk of a Parish. But in Shakespear we are not considering those
Masters of the Stage, that glare a little in the
Night, but disappear in the Day; but fix'd Stars
that always show their unborrow'd Light. And
here the common Experience is directly against
our Author; for all the Poets, that have without
Controversy been Masters of a great Genius have
rose to Excellence by Degrees. The Wild Gallant
was the worst of Dryden's Plays and the first, and
the Plain Dealer was the last of Mr. Wycherly's; Otway,
the brightest and most Tragic Genius of our
World, gave us three moderate Plays before the
Orphan and Venice Preserv'd. And why we shou'd
think, that Shakespear shou'd grow worse by Practice,
I can find no shadow of a Reason from what
is advanc'd. But—the Performances of his Youth,
as they were the most Vigorous, and had the most Fire,
and Strength of Imagination in 'em were the best.—
But still this is begging the Question, and taking
that for granted, which wants to be prov'd, viz.
that the Productions of his Youth had the most
Fire and Strength of Imagination. The last Works
of Mr. Dryden, tho' past Seventy had much the
most Fire and Strength of Imagination, his Fables
excelling all, that he ever wrote before. Nor can
we think but that Shakespear was far from his
Dotage when he Died at fifty three, and had retir'd
some Years from the Stage, and writing of
Plays. But shou'd we allow what our Author
contends for, his Supposition wou'd not hold; for
the Play before us and all his most imperfect Plays
have the least Fire and Strength of Imagination;
and that Fancy, that is in them is almost every
where independent of that Rule of Judgment, which
our Author supposes him Master of. I am sure
Judgment encreases with Years and Observation;
and where Shakespear shews, that he is least Extravagant,
'tis plain he depends most on that Rule
of Judgment. I confess the Terms are something
Obscure and Equivocal; But I pretend not to enter
into a Debate with him on this Head; all I
have said being to justify Mr. Dryden and some
others, who yet think, that we ought to look into
Shakespear's most imperfect Plays for his first. And
this of Loves Labour's Lost being perhaps the most
defective, I can see no Reason why we shou'd not
conclude, that it is one of his first. For neither the
Manners, Sentiments, Diction, Versification, &c.
(except in some few places) discover the Genius
that shines in his other Plays. But tho' this Play be so bad yet there is here
and there a Stroak, that persuades us, that Shakespear
wrote it. The Proclamation, that Women
shou'd lose their Tongues if they approach'd within
a Mile of the Court, is a pleasant Penalty.
There are but few Words spoken by Jaquenetta in
the later End of the first Act, and yet the very
Soul of a pert Country Lass is perfectly express'd.
The several Characters of the King's Companions
in the Retreat, is very pretty, and the Remarks
of the Princess very just and fine, p. 404. and p. 425.
Longaviles good Epigram furnishes a Proof, that
these publish'd in this Volume are Genuine, and
for that Reason I will transcribe it.
The Discovery of the Kings, Longaviles, and
Dumain's Love is very prettily manag'd, and that
of Biron by Costards mistake, is a well contriv'd
Incident. The whole indeed is a tolerable Proof
how much in vain we resolve against Nature, nor
is Biron's Casuistry amiss when he strives to salve
their common Breach of Oath.
There is a pretty Account of Love p. 432. beginning And on Womens Eyes there are some pretty Reflections,
p. 433. beginning thus, And Pag. 460. is a good Reflection on a satyric biting Wit.
Antonio a wealthy and a generous Merchant of Venice having a perfect Friendship for Bassanio a young Gentleman of fine Accomplishments of the same City, is bound for him to one Shylock a Jew for three thousand Ducats for three Months, to forfeit on missing his Day of Payment, a Pound of Flesh, where the Jew wou'd take it. Bassanio having the Money goes to Belmont to obtain Portia, a rich and beautiful Lady, who was to be won by ghessing at the Casket of three which held her Picture; to which End divers Princes came from several Parts of the World taking an Oath not to reveal which Casket they chose, if they miss'd, and to go immediatly away on their Miscarriage one Casket was of Gold, and another of Silver and a third of Lead. The rest mislead by Show chose all Wrong; but Bassanio choosing the Lead won the Lady to both their Satisfaction. But then Salanio with Lorenzo, who had run away with Shylock's Daughter and marry'd her and made her a Christian, brings the News of Antonio's Misfortune; that his Ships are all cast away, and his Bond forfeited to the Jew. Bassanio having inform'd Portia of the Distress of his Friend, is married to her, and his Attendant Gratiano to her Maid Nerissa, and he with Salanio speedsaway to Venice, to help Antonio. The Husbands are no sooner gone, but the Wives leaving the Care of the House to Lorenzo and Jessica haste to Venice after them; where Portia in the Habit of an Advocate, or Doctor of the civil Law, hears Antonio's Case, and having a little held the Jew in Suspence and hope of Success to his cruel Revenge, and he having refus'd all Considerations in Money, gives the Cause to Antonio, and will not only not let the Jew have his Principal, but proves, that he has forfeited his Life and Goods, which he is oblig'd to give his Daughter on his Death and to turn Christian. The Ignorance that Shakespear had of the Greek Drama threw him on such odd Stories, as the Novels and Romances of his time cou'd afford, and which were so far from being natural, that they wanted that Probability and Verisimilitude, which is absolutely necessary to all the Representations of the Stage. The Plot of this Play is of that Number. But the Errors of the Fable and the Conduct are too visible to need Discovery. This Play has receiv'd considerable Advantages from the Pen of the honorable George Granville, Esq; The Character of the Jew is very well distinguish'd by Avarice, Malice, implacable Revenge, &c. But the Incidents that necessarily shew these Qualitys are so very Romantic, so vastly out of Nature, that our Reason, our Understanding is every where shock'd; which abates extremely of the Pleasure the Pen of Shakespear might give us. This is visible in his Speech to the Doge, p. 573, and 574. for all the while that Dictinction of Character, which is beautiful and otherwise pleases you, the Incredibility of such a Discourse to such a Prince and before such a Court of Judicature, has so little of Nature in it, that it is impossible to escape the Censure of a Man of common Sense. The Character of Portia is not every where very well kept, that is, the Manners are not alwas agreeable or convenient to her Sex and Quality; particularly p. 570. where she scarce preserves her Modesty in the Expression. The Scene betwixt Shylock and Tubal in the third Act, p. 557, and 558. is artfully managed; and the Temper of the Jew excellently discover'd in its various Turns upon the different News, of which Tubal gives him an Account. This Play, as well as most of the rest, gives Instances, that Shakespear was perfectly acquainted with the fabulous Stories of the old Poets, which is to me a Confirmation, that he was well acquainted with the Authors of the Latin Antiquity, whence only he cou'd learn them. Tho' there are a great many Beauties in what our modern Gentlemen call the Writing in this Play, yet it is almost every where calm, and touches not the Soul, there are no sinewy Passions, which ought every where to shine in a serious Dramatic Performance, such as most of this is.
And yet for ought I see they are as sick, that surfeit on too much, as they that starve with nothing; therefore it is no small Happiness to be seated in the Mean; Superfluity comes sooner to white Hairs, but Competency lives longer. advise than do.If to do were as easie, as to know what were good to do, Chappels had been Churches, and poor Mens Cottages Princes Palaces. 'Tis a a good Divine, that follows his own Instructions. I can easier teach twenty what is good to be done, than to be one of the twenty to follow my own teaching. The Brain may devise Laws for the Blood; but a hot Temper leaps o'er a cold Decree. Such a Hare is Madness the Youth, to Skip over the Meshes of good Counsel the Cripple. That we are more eager in the Pursuit of what
we have not; than the Preservation of what we
have possess'd, see p. 547. Oh! ten times faster Against Appearance p. 564. for near forty Lines together. He is generally excellent in his Choice of Epithets of a strong, proper, and natural Signification, and such as denote the Quality of the thing wonderfully, as here—
Por.
Bassanio's Description of Portia's Picture when he chooses the Leaden Casket is very fine, p. 562. There are likewise in that or the next Page two fine Similes, the first he begins thus— Like one of two contending in a Prize, And the other in the next Page thus—As after some Oration fairly spoke, &c. An Affectation in Words, see p. 572. beginning thus—O! dear Discretion, how his Words are suted, &c. The Quality of Mercy is not strain'd; It droppeth as the gentle Rain from Heaven Upon the Place beneath. It is twice bless'd. It blesses him, that gives, and him that takes, &c. Pag. 577. Musick.The Reason is your Spirits are attentive For do but note a wild and wanton Herd, &c. p. 587. Read likewise the last nine Verses of this Page. The Expression is very fine in this on the Moonshine Night,—This Night methinks is but the Day-light sick, &c.
Frederick the Duke of some part of France is Depos'd,
and Banish'd by his younger Brother, and
retir'd to the Forrest of Arden; many People of
Fashion following him thither out of Love to him
and Hatred of the Usurper; who retains Rosalinda
his Brother's Daughter to gratify his own Daughter
Cælia, who Doated on her with a very peculiar
Love and Affection. But being afterwards
Jealous of her Popularity banishes her likewise.
But his own Daughter flies with her, Rosalinda
being in Mens Cloaths under the Name of Ganymede,
and Celia in Womans under the Name of
Aliena. Hither likewise comes Orlando the youngest
Son of Sir Rowland Du-Bois, fled from his elder
Brother's Cruelty and the Usurper's Hate. He
wrestling before the Duke kills his Wrestler Charles,
and wounds the Heart of Rosalinda as she did his.
But meeting in the Forest he makes Love to her
as Rosalinda, tho' in appearance a Lad, which Habit
betray'd Phabe, a Shepherdess to fall likewise
in Love with her as a Man, whom she uses scurvily
to make her pity Silvins the Swain, that is
in Love with her. Orlando's Brother Oliver being
forc'd io flie from the Rage of the Usurper, because
his Brother had made his Escape, is deliver'd
from a Lioness by the Valour of Orlando
whose Life he had before so basely sought, but being
thus reconcil'd falls in Love with Cælia and
she with him, so the Marriage being resolv'd on
Rosalinda or rather then Ganymede promises Orlando
that he shall have his true Rosalinda the next Day,
and Phæbe, that she will have her, on condition
that if she refuse him she shall marry Silvius. Having
perform'd all this, and the banish'd Duke
having given her to Orlando, Jaques Orlandos
and Oliver's Brother brings News that the Usurper
coming with Forces against them, was on the
Way converted and gone into a Monastry leaving
the Dukedom again to his Brother. This Story has nothing Dramatic in it, yet
Shakespear has made as good use of it as possible. The Scene betwixt Orlando and his Brother Oliver
in the opening of the Play is well manag'd
discovering something, that goes before in the Quarrel
between them; and Oliver's Management of
the provoking Charles the Wrestler against Orlando is artful and natural. I will not say that Shakespear took the following
Thought from this, but it is plainly the same. Orlando
says to Jaques's—I pray thee mar no more
of my Verses by reading them ill favour'dly. p. 633.
The old Dukes Speech preferring that Solitude
to the World is full of moral Reflections. p. 612.
Now my Co-mates, and Brothers in Exile, &c. The
third Scene of the second Act betwixt Orlando and
Adam moving by the Gratitude of the old Servant.
p. 614, 615, 616. and page 625. is that
fine Speech of Jaques taken notice of by Mr. Rowe
in Shakespear's Life. That Pleasantry of the different
Motion of Time. p. 634. is worth remarking.
And Rosalinda's Character of a Man in
Love. 636. is very pretty.
I have neither the Scholars Melancholy,
which is Emulation; nor the Musicians, which is
Fantastical; nor the Courtiers, which is Proud:
nor the Soldiers, which is Ambitious: nor the
Lawyers which is Political: nor the Ladies, which
is Nice: nor the Lovers, which is all these, &c. p. 645. No, that same wicked Bastard of Venus,
that was begot of Thought, conceiv'd of Spleen,
and born of Madness, that blind rascally Boy,
that abuses every ones Eyes, because his own are
out—&c. p. 650. and 659. is shown what it is
to be in Love,—Good Shepherd (says If any Man doubt that let him put me
to the Purgation,—I have trod a Measure; I
have flater'd a Lady; I have been Politic with
my Friend, Smooth with my Enemy; I have undone
three Taylors; I have had four Quarrels,
and had like to have fought one. A Gentleman of Padua has two Daughters, Catharine
the Elder, and Biancha the Younger. The
Elder is so known a Shrew, that no Body wou'd
make Love to her in order to Matrimony, while
Biancha had many, that address'd to her for that
End: But the Father declar'd he wou'd not dispose
of the Youngest till the Eldest was marry'd,
which making all the Pretenders despair till Petrucio
of Verona ventur'd upon the Match; Woos
her madly, Marries her quickly, and treats her
intolerably, till he broke her Stubborness so, that
she was the most obedient of the three Wives then
there, viz. her Sister, who was marry'd to Lucentio
and a Widow who just marry'd Hortensio a Suiter of
of Biancha's till his Disgust at her listning to Lucentio,
who appear'd only to be a School-master. This Play is indeed Dramatic for it is all Action,
and there is little Room left for Reflections and
fine Topics. Tho' it be far from Regular as to
Time and Place, yet it is perfectly so in the Action;
and some of the Irregularities of Time might
easily have been prevented in p. 705. in a Matter
of twelve Lines there is plainly suppos'd at least
twelve if not twenty four Hours to have pass'd;
there is scarce indeed a Line for an Hour. The
Distick of Ovid which Lucentio construes in a pleasant Way is a fresh Proof that Shakespear was well
acquainted with Ovid; and that he had a peculiar
Value for that Poet is plain from what Tranio
says in the first Scene. p. 679.—Lets be no
Stoicks nor no Stocks I pray, or so Devote to Grumios's Account of Petrucio's Journey with his
Bride is very Entertaining, 713.
Catharines Harangue to her Sister and the Widow
on the Duty of Wives to their Husbands, if
the Ladies wou'd read it with a little Regard,
might be of mighty use in this Age. p. 738. The Story of the Tinker by which this Comedy
is introduc'd, may be found in Goulart's Histoires
Admirables: And Pontus Heuterus Rerum Burdicarum.
The Comedy it self is his own Invention, as far as we
can discover, and so good, that tho' it has been
alter'd by Mr. Lacy, yet I do not think it much
improv'd; that Comedian committed an odd Blunder
in laying the Scene in England, and adding
Sawny the Scot, and yet retaining all the other Names
that were purely Italian. The additional Tryal
of Skill on their Return to her Father is well
contriv'd. Helena, Daughter of Gerard de Narborne a famous
Physician in France is bred up by the Countess
Dowager of Rossilion, as her own; she falls in Love
with Bertram the young Count, who being, sent to
Court, her Passion for him is discovered by the Dutchess
and she encourag'd in her Attempt to cure the King
of a Fistula, when all the Doctors had given him over.
She therefore arrives at Court, and after much
Importunity cures the King, and in Right of
his Promise chooses Count Bertram for her Husband,
but he disdaining her for a Wife, is compell'd
for fear of the King to marry her; but
then he orders her immediately, to return
to his Mother, assuring her, that he wou'd follow
her. But on the contrary he steals away privately
with Perolles a Braggadocio that misled his Youth,
and goes to the Wars in Tuscany, sending a Letter
to his Wife by a Friend, of this Import that
she shou'd never call him Husband, till she cou'd
get the Ring from his Finger, and show him a
Child begotten by him on her Body, and that till
he had no Wife he cou'd have nothing in France.
Upon this Helena goes away privately in a Pilgrim's
Habit, and comes to Florence, meets with a
Widow, whose Daughter Diana Count Bertram endeavours
to debauch. Helena discovering her self
to them prevails with the Daughter to get the
Ring on his Finger, in Consideration of her surrendring
her Maiden Head to him, and that she
shou'd supply her Place in Bed at Night; after
this Piece of Cunning and News that Helena was
dead, Count Bertram returns to France, Helena,
the Widow and the Daughter follow him, and
having prov'd all this before the King, the Count
receives his Wife into his Favour, and the King
forgives all that is past. The Irregularity of the Plot is visible enough
when we are in one Part of a Scene in France,
in another in Italy, &c. The Story it self is out
of a Possibility almost, at least so far out of the
Way of Custom and Experience, that it can't be
call'd natural. The Character of Perolles is taken
Notice of by Mr. Rowe very justly for its Excellence,
being I think, preferable to all in that Kind,
except his own Falstaff. He has indeed drawn Variety
of Cowards, Nym; Bardolph; Pistol, Sir Andrew
Ague Cheeck, &c. This Play is not destitute however of fine Reflections,
and instructive Sentences; the Speech of
the Countess to her Son on his leaving her to go
to Court, 744. is very good—Be thou blest
Bertram and succeed thy Father; in Manners as in
Shape, thy Blood and Vertue, &c. Against Virginity see 746. To speak on the Part of Virginity
you accuse your Mother. And Hellena's Speech
p. 780 is very pathetic on her being the Occasion
of Bertram's going to the Wars—Poor Lord,
is't I, that chase thee from thy Country? and expose
those tender Limbs, &c. Nor can I omit Mariana's
Advice to the Widow's Daughter, 782— And a little after, thus—Beware of them
Diana, their Promises, Enticements, Oaths, &c. see p. 782, and 3. The Web of our Life is of mingled Yarn,
good and ill together; our Virtues wou'd be
proud if our Faults whipt them not, and our
Crimes wou'd despair if they were not cherish'd by
our Virtues. p. 796.
The Plot of this Play is taken from Boccace's
Novels. Day. 3. Nov. 9. Orsino Duke of Illyria is in Love with Olivia
a Lady of great Beauty, Quality and Fortune,
but in vain, Viola and Sebastian Twins are cast away
at Sea, but each by the other thought to
be Drown'd; Viola being Cloath'd in one of her
Brothers Suits under the Name of Cæsario is admitted
to be Page to the Duke with whom she
is secretly in Love, but by him oblig'd to go between
him and his Mistress; by which Olivia, that
cou'd not hear of any such Motion from the
Duke, falls in Love with the Page. Sebastian in
the mean while coming to the same City, and
being taken for Cæsario beats Sir Toby Belch and Sir
Andrew Ague Cheeck, and by the same Mistake is
marry'd to Olivia; the Duke and Cæsario coming
to Olivia to press his Fortune the last time, he
threatens Cæsario's Life, she owns her Marriage,
and calls him Husband, which being resented by
the Duke is deny'd by the Page, till Sir Andrew
Ague Cheeck comes in to complain of Sebastian who
following proves so like, that they cou'd not be
distinguish'd, so they being discover'd to be Brother
and Sister, the Duke marries Viola and that Ends the Play.
There is a sort of under-Plot of Sir Toby's
bubling Sir Andrew in hopes of his having Olivia,
of their imposing on Olivia's Steward Melvolio
as if his Lady was in Love with him, and the
Quarrel promoted betwixt Cæsario and Sir Andrew,
which yet are so interwove, that there is nothing
that is not necessary to the main Plot, but that
Episode of the Steward. This as well as some other
of his Comedies has some Confusion about the
chief Person for sometimes Orsino is Duke or Soveraign
of the Country, at other times he is Count
Orsino, and Olivia speaks of him as of an Equal,
a private Man not a Prince—thus she says to
Cæsario toward near the End of the Play. p. 879.
Take thy Fortunes up, and that thou know'st thou art,
and then thou art, as great as that thou fear'st. Malvolio, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew are three
Characters truly Comical, that is Ridiculous. What the Duke says in the next page is very
fine and the naural Effect of Love and Desire.
The Thought is extreamly Pathetic.
The Captain's Description of Sebastian's coming
ashoar is fine and if compar'd with that before of
Ferdinand's Escape describ'd in the Tempest wou'd
show the Fertility of the Author in his Variety on
the same Subject. p. 823.—I know your Brother,
most provident in Peril, &c. there are several fine
Lines, and Thoughts in the Scene betwixt Olivia
and Viola. p. 834, 835, and 836. Nor must we
omit the Dukes Advice to Viola, that a Man shou'd
marry one younger than himself. p. 844, 845. Olivia's Declaration of Love to Viola is very fine
and pathetick Cæsario, by the Roses of the Spring, &c.
p. 856. There is in the Likeness of the Brother and
Sister a Hint taken from the Menæchimi and
Amphitryo of Plautus, as well as the Comedy of Errors. Polyxenes King of Bohemia having made a Visit
to Leontes King of Sicily; Leontes being jealous that
he had corrupted his Wife, employs Camillo to
Poison him, but he honestly informs Polyxenes of
the Matter, and flies away with him and his
Train. On which Leontes confines her to Prison,
and Causes her Daughter of which she is deliver'd
in the Goal to be carry'd and expos'd by Antigonus,
and she try'd for her Life, but she is clear'd by
the Oracle of Apollo, and the King not giving Ear
to the Oracle his Son and Heir immediatly Dies,
and his Queen is likewise left for Dead of Grief;
he being strook with this is extreamly Penitent.
Antigonus is cast on the Coast of Bohemia, and there
exposing the Child with a Fardel full of Proof for
her after Discovery, and Gold, he is devour'd by
a Bear, the Ship cast away, and the Child taken up
by a Shepherd and bred up as his own. But at about
sixteen Year old Florizel the King's Son flying
his Hawk o'er her Father's Ground, sees and
falls in Love with her, Vows Marriage, but
being by his Father discover'd, he flies with his
Wife to Sicily, by the Advice of Camillo and in
the Ship the Shepherd and his Son; Polixenes goes
after him with Camillo, and comes so near him,
that he has no Time to marry; but the Shepherd
being taken, she is found to be the Daughter of
Leontes, expos'd by Antigonus, and is so marryed to
Florizel; and her Mother being found to be alive,
the Play or History ends happily. This Story needs no Critick, its Errors are visible
enough, Shakespear himself was sensible of this Grossness
of making the Play above sixteen Years, and
therefore brings in Time as a Chorus to the fourth
Act, to excuse the Absurdity to which I refer you,
p. 929. Polixenes on Art and Nature I must transcribe
because it shews Shakespear's Notion, contrary
to that of our Anti-Artists, suppos'd Art
and Nature consistent p. 987.
Which last Line holds perfectly true of th
Art of Poety. The Narration of the Discovery in the last
Act p. 967, is not only entertaining but moving,
and he seems accidentally to have hit on something
like the Ancients whose Catastrophes were generally
in Narration. And is a Proof that if our Poets
had the Genius of Shakespear, the shocking Representations
of the Stage might easily and with Beauty
be thrown into Narration, and so leave Room
for the Poet to shew his Eloquence and his Imagery. This Tale is taken from an old story Book of
Dorastus and Faunia; whence I suppose the Absurdities
are copyed, and the making Bohemia of an Inland,
a maritime Country. Thus we have pass'd thro' the two first Volumes
which were better distinguish'd in the old
Folio Edition, the Plays of Shakespear being there
divided into his Comedies, as all these ought rather
to be call'd, than any thing else; his Histories
and his Tragedies.
I Come now to the historical Plays of Shakespear
which with Submission to the Writer of his
Life cannot be placed under Tragedy, because
they contain no Tragic Imitation, they are
Draughts of the Lives of Princes brought into
Dialogue. and in Regard of their Mixture of serious
and comical Characters may be compared to the
Greek Pieces, that were wrote before Æschylus and
Sophocles had reformed the Stage
of Athens. Or the
rambling unartful Pieces first represented in Rome
after the calling in of the Etrurian Players, nay
after the Time of Livius Andronicus. In their Extent
they may be compar'd to the Theseids, the
Heracleids, written by some Greek Poets, and reflected
on by Aristotle in his Art of Poetry for imagining,
that the Unity of the Hero made the
Unity of the Action. These Instances from this polite Nation will be
a very good Plea for this Error of Shakespear, who
liv'd when the Stage was not regarded by the
State as it was in Athens. For had a Reformation
then begun, he wou'd doubtless have done as
Mr. Corneilla did upon the studying the Art of the
Stage, by which the Plays which he wrote afterwards
wards excell'd those, he wrote without any Knowledge
of that Art. I shall only add here, that since these Plays are
Histories, there can be no Manner of Fable or
Design in them. I shall not therefore give the Plot
but refer the Reader to those Historians where he
may find the Stories at large, and by them judge how
near Shakespear has kept to the Character, History
has given us of them. He begins with King John,
whose History you will find not only in the common
English Chronicles, but also in Mr. Daniel;
in Mr. Tyrel, Mr. Echard; especially in Mr. Tyrel
in all its Extent and Particularities. But it must
be remark'd, that he begins not the History with
the Birth of King John, or the Manner of his obtaining
the Crown, but of the Breach betwixt
him and France on the Behalf of Arthur the Son of
Geffry Plantaginet the true Heir. I had some Thoughts of placing an Abstract of
the Reigns of the Kings before each of his history
Plays, but considering farther I found, that to
make of it any Use, they wou'd take up much
more Room, than I cou'd by any Means allow;
and the Princes being all English, I find it might
seem a little superfluous; since that is what every
Gentleman that is capable of reading this Poet
is very well acquainted with. As for the Characters of this History, I think
there are none of any Figure but the Bastard and
Constance; they indeed engage your Attention
when ever they enter. There is Boldness, Courage,
self-Assurance, Haughtiness and Fidelity,
in what ever he says or does. But here is the
Misfortune of all the Characters of Plays of this
Nature, that they are directed to no End, and
therefore are of little Use, for the Manners cannot
be necessary, and by Consequence must lose
more, than half their Beauty. The Violence,
Grief, Rage, and Motherly Love and Despair of
Constance produce not one Incident, and are of no
Manner of Use, whereas if there had been a just Design,
a tragic Imitation of some one grave Action of
just Extent, both these Characters being form'd
by the Poet, must have had their Manners
directed to that certain End, and the production
of these Incidents, which must beget that
End. There are too many good Lines in this Play
for me to take Notice or point to them all. The Description which Chastillion makes of the
English Army, that comes with King John, is very
good and a handsome Complement of a Patriot
to his Country. You will find it 988 beginning
thus—His Marches are expedient to this
Town, &c.—But I must not omit King
John's first Speech to the French King, since it
was so lately and so happily apply'd to the present
Lewis on the breaking off the Treaty of the
Hague. Shakespear has drawn Richard's Character according
to the best Accounts of History, that is Insolent,
Proud, and Thoughtless in Prosperity, and
full of the Notion, that he cou'd not any Way
forfeit his Crown being the Lord's Anointed, the
common Flattery by which King's are perverted
into Tyrants. But then Poor, Low, Dejected
Despairing on the Appearance of Danger. In
Distress always desembling Complyance in all
things, but never sincere in Performance when the
Danger is over. There are indeed, several things,
that look something Whimsical and Extravagant
which yet are agreeable to what History has said
of his Actions and Temper, in which our Poet
has ever observ'd the Likeness. The Topics are not many in this Piece, but
there are several Speeches, which are worth remarking
as p. 1060. that part of Bullinbrook's Speech
which addresses to his Father, and 1062. Mowbrays on his Banishment. The Impotence of mortal Power, 1064.
Gaunt.
His Speech in the same page—Things sweet to
taste, &c, is pathetic. Richard's Account of Bullinbrook's
cajoling the Mob. 1066.—How he did
seem to dive into their Hearts, &c. Gaunt's Speeches
to York and the King before he dies are very
Moral and Good, from p. 1067 to p. 1071. And
from York's Speech. 1068, we find that Italy was
then, or at least in the Poets Time, as much in
Vogue with our English Gallants as France has
been since for Fashions, &c. And indeed Harry
Stevens a French Man, who liv'd much about Shakespear's
Time, by this Complaint, that the more a
the King on his seizing Gaunt's Estate p. 1071,
1072. Dramatic enough. On Grief see p. 1075.
On Hope 1077. Richard's Speeches Act 3. Scene 2. p. 1085 and
1086. have in them some few Lines very good:
And in many of his Speeches you will find something
of Passion, that is not amiss. What the
Gardner says p. 1096. 97. 98. is not only very
Poetical, but shows that Shakespear was well acquainted
with that Art and perfect in the Terms.
But the finest thing in this Play is the Description,
that the Duke of York makes of Bullinbrook's
and Richard's Entry into London,—Then as I
said, The Duke great Bullinbrook, mounted upon a
hot and fiery Steed, &c. This is worthy our Poets
Study, that they may learn how to make beautiful
Descriptions of what is fitter to employ their
Eloquence in Narrations, than to be expos'd to
the Eye. The Scene between Bullingbrook, York,
Aumerle, and the Dutchess is well; but it seems
a little too forc'd in York to be so earnest to have
his only Son and Heir Hang'd when the King
himself seems willing to pardon him. The Speech
of the Dutchess is very well beginning thus—
Pleads he in Earnest look upon his Face, &c. p. 1116 The want of a regular Design brings in abundance
of unnecessary Characters, of no manner of
Use or Beauty, as the Groom in the fifth Act of
this Play. p. 1119. 1120. There are some moral Reflections in Richard's
Speech in Prison p. 1118. The same Chronicles
and Histories quoted to the former will furnish this
King's Life. Tho' the Humour of Falstaff be what is most
valuable in both these Parts, yet that is far more
excellent in the first, for Sir John is not near so
Diverting in the second Part. Hotspur is the
next in Goodness, but what wou'd have
shew'd much more had it been in a regular Tragedy,
where the Manners had not only been necessary,
but productive of Incidents Noble, and
Charming. Glendour is fine for Comedy. As for
the Speeches Reflections, &c. I shall point out the
best. Hotspur's Description of the sinical Courtier
is very good p. 1134, &c. And most of the Passionate
Speeches of Hotspur to p. 1139. except
that ridiculous Rant of leaping up to the
Moon, and diving to the bottom of the Sea, &c.
which is absolute Madness. Falstaff's Speeches
when he Personates the King are very pleasant p.
1159. Worster to Hotspur p. 1167 contains some very
judicious Reflections, and so there are some very
Politic in the Speech of King Henry to his Sons
1171. and in all the Scene betwixt them. Sir R.
Vernon's Speech the lower End of p. 1182. is very
pretty. Falstaff's Account of his Men is very pleasant
p. 1184. What I have to add on this first
Part is only as to the Character of Falstaff, in
which I think my self oblig'd to justify him in
his Choice. Speaking of this Character the Author
of his Life tells us, that he once call'd him
Sir John Old-castle, but was oblig'd to alter that
Name some of the Family being then alive—
But I don't know (says our Author) whether the Author
may not have been somewhat to blame in his
second Choice; since it is certain, that Sir The second Part begins with a Speech of Rumour,
describing his own Nature from Experience and
Fact. Virgil in the fourth Book of his Æneis, and
Ovid in his Metamorphosis have describ'd the same
under the Name of Fame. The Reader therefore
may compare the two Latin Bards with our English.
You will find it in our Poet. p 1207, and 8. The
Rage of Northumberland on the Death of Hotspur
in some of the last Lines is very well. 1213.
Westmorland's Speech to the Arch-Bishop of York
and the Rebels on Rebellion is very good—
If that Rebellion came like it self, &c. p. 1254. Falstaff's
Defence of drinking is pleasant, p. 1265. King
Henry's Advice to Clarence is worth observing. pag.
1266, &c. On Fortune, p. 1268.
On a Crown p. 1270.
The Scene betwixt King Henry and his Son the
Prince from p. 1271. To the End of the fourth
Act is worthy reading: As is the Chief Justices
Speech. p. 1280. For these two Plays consult the same English
Histories, which are already quoted. The Prologue to this Play is as remarkable as
any thing in Shakespear, and is a Proof, that he
was extremely sensible of the Absurdity, which
then possess'd the Stage in bringing in whole
Kingdoms, and Lives, and various Actions in one
Piece; for he appologizes for it, and desires the
Audience to perswade their Imaginations to help
him out and promises a Chorus to help their Imagination. He here and in the foregoing Lines expresses
how preposterous it seem'd to him and unnatural to
huddle so many Actions, so many Places, and so
many Years into one Play, one Stage and two Hours.
So that it is not to be doubted but that he wou'd
have given us far more noble Plays if he had
had the good Fortune to have seen but any one
regular Performance of this Nature. The Beauty
of Order wou'd have struck him immediately,
and at once have made him more correct, and
more excellent; and I do not at all doubt but
that he wou'd have been the Sophocles of England, as he is now but little more, than the Thespis or at
most the Æschylus. Tho' Tragedy in Greece was
founded on Religion and came early under the Care
of the Magistrate; yet by what I can discover,
the Stage was as rude as ours till Æschylus gave
it Majesty. But in England it had no such advantagious
Foundation, nor any such nourishing Influence;
yet Shakespear by his own Genius brought
it so far as to leave it some Beauties which have
never since been equal'd. The Character of Hen. V. given by the Bishop of
Canterbury p. 1296. is very noble. His Discourse of
the Salique Law is a Proof, that Shakespear was well
acquainted with the History of modern Times, and
that very Controversy, which was an Argument of
his Application to reading, and will not let me
think, that having some Foundation of Latin, he
shou'd totally neglect that. see p. 1299. Obedience and Order p. 1302, 1203.
The fine Description of the State of the Bees is
worth a careful Observations in this same Speech.
The King's Answer to the French Ambassadours
on the Dauphine's Present is not only fine, but
shews, that Shakespear understood Tennis very well,
and is perfect in the Terms of the Art, p. 1304,
and 5. The Chorus is found to come in p. 1306. to
fill up the Gap of Time and help the Imagination
of the Audience with a Narration of what is not
represented. In this Chorus are a few Lines of good
Moral to the English and therefore I transcribe
them. King Henry Vth's Speech to Scroop, &c. p. 1313.
from this Line—Oh! how hast thou with Jealousy
infected the Sweetness of Affiance—is very fine. The
latter end of the Constable of France's Speech; and
Part of the French King's p. 1317. worth perusing
as giving a noble Character of two English Kings,
and Exeter's Answer to the French in the next
Page, 1318. shews the Spirit of an English Nobleman,
p. 1320. The Chorus is necessitated to come
in again to tell all that must be suppos'd to connect
the Representation before to that, which follows.
King Henry's Encouragment of his Men, p.
1321. contains a great many fine Lines. Another
Chorus begins the third Act to help out the Lameness
of the Representation, and I wonder when
Shakespear was sensible of the Absurdity of the
bringing a Battle on the Stage he shou'd in some
Measure do it notwithstanding. A King but a Man, p. 1341.
Of Ceremony. p. 1345.
See Grandprees Description of the low Condition
of the English Army, p. 1347, and 8. What I have already said of Shakespear's being
sensible of the Defect of these Historical Representations
is confirm'd plainly in the Chorus of the
fifth Act. p. 1363. He shows how sensible he is of this in the short
Chorus that Ends this Play, saying, And indeed all that can be done in these Cases,
is only a Collection of so many Themes of different
Subjects. As in Burgundy's Speech p. 1367.
The Description of Peace and its Advantages. The Character of Fluellen is extreamly comical,
and yet so very happily touch'd, that at the same
time when he makes us laugh he makes us value
his Character. The Scene of Love betwixt Henry
V. and Catharine is extravagantly silly and unnatural;
for why he shou'd not allow her to speak in
English as well as all the other French I cannot imagine
since it adds no Beauty but gives a patch'd
and pye-bald Dialogue of no Beauty or Force.
The Scene betwixt Talbot and the Countess of
Auvergne contains something pretty enough p. 1399
&c. In the Bishop of Winchester he has perfectly
drawn a haughty proud Church Man, that prefers
his own Ambition to all things Divine and Humane.
And in the King a weak tho' pious Prince;
and indeed all the Parts shew the Confusion of
a Government under such a Prince. The Speech
of the Pucelle to the Duke of Burgundy is very
fine and Artful. Talbot's Persuasion of his Son
to leave the Field, and secure in himself the Hopes
of the Family, and his Refusal to leave his Father
is very pathetic p. 1430. The Scene between
Suffolk, and Queen Margaret is full of natural
Passion, and contains many fine Lines p. 1501.
2, 3, and 4. The Praise of England in the Lord
Says Speech to Jack Cade is good, p. 1518. The frequent and calm Debates in Council, in
many of these Historical Pieces have nothing Dramatic
in them, as in the first Part of Hen. vi. All that Scene from 1550 to 1554 is shocking
and unworthy the Character of Noblemen and
Soldiery to insult a Prince when in their Power;
and tho' we allow such a thing might have been
done in Fact, yet that is not sufficient to bring
it on the Stage, where Verisimilitute prevails,
whereas Truth, that is Matter of Fact is sometimes
so far from Probality, that a Man wou'd scarce
think it possible. York's Passion is just. Richard's Simile,
where he compares his Father's fighting to a Lion
in a Herd of Neat, &c. p. 1555. is very good.
There are several Lines of Clifford's Speech p. 1560.
very good. All these Skirmishes, and Battles are
ridiculous on the Stage, as Shakespear himself has
said in his Chorus before quoted, and yet he has
scarce a Play without a great deal of Drums, and
Trumpets, &c. Howe'er I think four or five
Battles in this Play. In that 1566. he has taken
Occasion to introduce King Henry VI. bemoaning
the Misery of Civil War, and what he says on this
Head is very well; and the Son bringing in his
Father, whom he had kill'd in the Battle not
knowing him, and the Father his Son gives him
greater Occasion of moralizing to p. 1569. The
same Faults of insulting the Vanquish'd and ev'n
the Slain in page, 1571. The long Soliloquy of Richard from p 1578
to 1580. is highly unnatural; for as the Duke of
Buckingham justly has observ'd they ought to be
few, and short. Nor wou'd this, which is so frequent
in our Poet be born from the best Hand, that
cou'd now arise; but there is always by the Many
biggotted Deference paid to our Predessors; and
Years add Authority to a Name. Our young Poets,
shou'd never imitate our Shakespear in this; for
tho' a Man may be suppos'd to speak a few Words
to himself in the Vehemence of a Passion, as it do's
happen in Nature, of which the Drama is in all
its Parts an Imitation; yet to have near fourscore
Lines of calm Reflections, nay Narrations to my
self, by which the Hearer shou'd discover my
Thoughts and my Person, as here, and before when
Henry VI. is discover'd and taken, is unpardonable,
because against Nature, and by Consequence not
at all according to Art. There are several good
Lines in this Speech of Richard but ill brought in.
The Instances which Shakespear makes him give of
Nestor, Ulysses, and Sinon are a Proof still of
his Knowledge at least in Ovid, and some other
of the Latin Classics, the ill Omens given by Henry
VI. of Richard's Death are Poetical enough p. 1614. The first of these Plays begins with a long Soliloquy
of Richard's of forty or fifty Lines to let
the Audience know what Contrivances he had
made for the Destruction of Clarence, and what a
Villain he intended to be. But Richard as he is here
drawn is not a fit Character for the Stage, being
shocking in all he does; and we think (notwithstanding
the hudling so much time into two Hours)
that Providence is too slow and too mild in his
Punishment. The Antients have indeed introduc'd,
an Atreus and Thyests, a Medea, &c. but the Cruelties
committed by them have been the suddain
Effect of Anger and Revenge, but Richard is a calm
Villain; and does his Murders deliberately, wading
through a Sea of his nearest Relations Blood to
the Crown. The second Scene, betwixt the Lady Anne, and
Richard is admirably written; and tho' we cannot
entirely agree with her in her yielding to the
Murderer of her Husband, and Father in-Law, yet
we allow that the Poet has made her speak all
that the Subject and Occasion wou'd allow. See
from p. 1624 to 1630. Clarences Dream p. 1640
and 41 is poetical and natural. 2 Vil. I will not meddle with it it makes a
Man a Coward, &c. p. 1693. Edward's Speech p.
1650 is pathetick enough. And the Queen's Passion
on King Edward's Death is just and natural.
p. 1652. 3. &c. Buckingham's Account of his Negotiating with
the Citizens is well enough, p. 1674. 5.
The Prologue to Hen. VIII. shows that Shakespear
thought more justly of the Stage, than he perform'd;
perhaps in meer Compliance with what then pleas'd
the Audience never considering, that his Authority
wou'd have refin'd their Tastes. After having
told us, that this Play wou'd move Pity, contain'd
Truth, and was not destitute of Show; he goes on. Troy having been long besieg'd, Achilles is by
Polyxena kept from the Field, for he was in Love
with her. Anthenor is taken Prisoner, and in Exchange
for him Cressida Daughter to Colchas is
given to Diomede by the Trojans. Troilus, that is
in Love with her, and first possess'd of her by the
Care of Pandarus her Uncle parts with her not
without the utmost Reluctance having vow'd Constancy
to each other. Hector being to fight Ajax
during the Truce Troilus goes with him, and after
the Fight gets Ulysses to go privately with him
to the Tent of Calchas, where he discovers her
Falshood to him and Love to Diomede. The
Truce Ending, the Battle is renew'd, and Patroclus
being kill'd Achilles comes out and kills Hector, and
Troilus and Diomede both fighting after in vain, the
play Ends with the Death of Hector by Achilles
and his Myrmidons. This Play is alter'd by Mr. Dryden and, tho'
clear'd of some Errors, is far from a Play even according
to the Rules laid down by Mr. Dryden
before this very Play, as he indeed Confesses; but
to alter a play and leave the fundamental Error's
of Plot and Manners is a very Whimsical undertaking.
Shakespear is to be Excus'd in his falsifying
the Character of Achilles, making him and
Ajax perfect Idiots, tho' sometimes Achilles talks
like a nice Reasoner, as with Ulysses p. 1861. so
making the Manners unequal as well as unlike; I say
Shakespear is excusable in this because he follow'd
Lollius, or rather Chaucers Translation of him.
But Mr Dryden who had Homer to guide him
right in this particular, is unpardonable. Thus
Achilles is made to absent himself from the Field
for the sake of Polyxena whereas the receiv'd Story
is, that it was upon the Quarrel betwixt Agamemnon
and him for taking away Briseis. But I know not
on what Account both the Poets seem fonder of
the Barbarians, than the Greeks, Arbitrary Power,
than Liberty, Ignorance than Learning. I know
not but it may be that the Reason that gave
Virgil the Trojan for his Hero, is that which has
made our Bards so indulgent to the same Side,
viz, a Notion, that the Trojans were the Source of
our two Nations, tho' with much less Reason and
probability on our side, than in that of the Romans.
I wonder Mr. Dryden continued the Error
of Shakespear in making Cressida a Whore. Her
Character is too scandalous to draw our Pity; and
therefore he shou'd have made her virtuous, and
not of blasted Honour. Yet it must be acknowledg'd,
that Mr. Dryden has corrected the Diction,
and added a considerable Beauty in that Scene,
betwixt Hector and Troilus upon the Surrender of
Cressida, with whom he seems to part in the Original
with too small Reluctance. Mr. Dryden himself
tells us, that he took the Hint of that Scene
from that in Euripides between Agamemnon and
Menelaus, which I shall give the Reader in my
Remarks on Julius Cæsar, that he may compare it
with that of Shakespear, and this of Mr. Dryden,
from whom I must a little dissent in the Occasion;
for the Ground of the Quarrel in the Greek is
stronger, than either Mr Dryden's or Shakespear's.
For the Glory and Honour of Greece depends on
that of Euripides, but I can't find the Liberty of
Rome much interested on that of Brutus and Cassius.
But more of this when I come to that Play. I am something of Mr. Dryden's Mind, that this
was one of his earliest Plays, both for the Manners
and Diction, which are both more faulty
than usually in any of his later Tragedies. There
are, notwithstanding what I have said, a great many
fine Lines in this Peice worth the Remarking
as the very first Lines. Call here my Varlet, I'll
unmar again.
The several Pauses, &c. in the following Lines. That Women are best when they are courted
and not won. see p. 1823. The Effect of Grumblers,
or Contemners of the supream Rule or Governour.
p. 1826. 7. Two short but passionate
Speeches of Troilus p. 1853, and 54. The first begins
O!
The Discovery of her Departure to her by
Troilus is as finely express'd, I love thee with so
strange a Purity, &c. p. 1875 The Cautions he
gives her against the Grecian Youth are not amiss. The Grecian Youths are full of subtle Qualities,
&c. Ulysses gives a very good Description of
a lacivious Woman. p. 1878. And his Character of Troilus p. 1879. is not less
lively and beautiful.—Not yet mature yet matchless,
&c. Caius Martins going to the Wars against the
Volscians takes Coriolus, and beats Tullus Aufidius,
and has the Glory of the War attributed to him
by the Consul. On this he is to sue for the
Consulship, which he disdains a great while, but
at last submitting he does it aukerdly, and almost
bursting with Disdain and Pride. This makes
him lose the Consulship, and, on the Tribunes of
the Peoples Words with him, rails so at the Commons
and the Tribunes that he is accus'd as a
Traytor, and at last Banish'd. He goes over to
the Volscians and heads their Forces against Rome
not yet prepar'd to receive him; Cominius first and
Menenius next go to intreat him, but he proves
inexorable till his Mother, Wife Son, Valeria, &c.
prevail, and he makes Peace betwixt the Romans,
and Volscians. Aufidius on his return to Antium
accuses him of Treason, and with the Conspirators
stabs and kills him.
The Character of Martius is truely Dramatic
for his Manners are not only equal but necessary
to his Misfortunes. His Pride and Rashness are
what History gives him but his Modesty, and
Aversion to Praise I cannot find in Plutarch, who
makes him very well satisfy'd with the Praise given
by Cominius. And indeed it seems something
opposite to his Pride, which both in the Play and
History was so signal in him. Our Poet seems
fond to lay the Blame on the People, and every
where is representing the Inconstancy of the People,
but this is contrary to Truth; for the People
have never discover'd that Changeableness which
Princes have done. And Plutarch in the Life of
Pyrrhus seems sensible of this when he says—
Thus Kings have no Reason to Condemn the On the Death of some Emperor his Sons Saturninus
and Bassianus stand Canditates for the Empire.
But Titus Andronicus, returning from the
Wars against the Goths in Triumph brings
Tamora Queen of the Goths, Chiron, Demetrius,
and Alarbus her Sons, &c. He gives the
Empire to Saturnine the Eldest, and Lavinia
for his Wife, as well as all his Prisoners for
a Gift Bassianus seizes Lavinia as his Spouse,
and bears her off. Titus kills his Son Mutius
for stopping him in the Pursuit of her. The
Emperour falling in love with Tamora marries her,
and Bassianus Lavinia. But Chiron and Demetrius
being both in Love with her quarrel who shall
have her, till Aaron a Negro Favourite of the
Empress, reconciles them, advises them to murder
her Husband in the Chase, and ravish her
by Turns, cutting off her Hands and Tongue;
to which the Mother agrees, resolv'd to ruin
the whole Family in Revenge of her Son Alarbus's
Death by the Andronici at their Brother's
Tomb. They execute their Design, and having
thrown the Body of Bassianus into a Pit Aaron
trains two of Titus's Sons to the Place, where
they falling in the Emperour is brought to find
them, and so the Murther by a Letter, &c. being
put on them they are order'd to be try'd
are condemn'd and put to Death for the Murther.
Lavinia in the mean while is found in that
Condition by her Uncle Marcus, carry'd home and
by the help of Ovid's Metamorphosis and an Arrow
writing in Sand discovers her Husbands Murtherers
and her Ravishers. Aaron before the Death of
the Brothers comes to Titus and gets his Hand to
redeem his Sons Life, and has their Heads brought
to him soon after. Lucius the only surviving Son
is Banish'd for endeavouring to rescue his Brothers,
he goes to the Goths and brings them against Rome
to revenge the Wrongs of his House, having taken
the Moor in his March with his black Bastard
which he had by the Empress, to save whose Life
he discovers all the Villanies done by them. The
News of the Approach of the Goths with Lucius
at their Head, Tamora undertakes to wheedle old
Titus to pacify his Son, &c. so diguising her self
like Revenge, and her two Sons like Murder and
Rape she goes to him; he knows them, and complies
so far, that he will send for Lucius provided she
and the Emperor meet him at his House, and he
stops Chiron and Demetrius, kills them and bakes
them in a Pye of which the Mother Eats, then
Titus kills his Daughter Lavinia, upon the Emperors
saying, that Virginius did well in doing so, then
he stabs the Empress, and the Emperor him, and
Lucius the Emperor; and having declar'd all the
Matter to the People he is chosen Emperor the
Moor condemn'd to be Bury'd alive, and so the
bloody Butchering Play concludes. As this Play is not founded in any one Particular,
on the Roman History tho' palm'd upon Rome, so the
whole is so very shocking, that if there be any Beauties
in the Diction I cou'd not find them, or at least
they are very faint and very few. I can easily believe
what has been said, that this is none of Shakespear's
Play that he only introduc'd it and gave it some few
Touches. Such Devils incarnate are not fit for
the Drama the Moor describes himself a Degree
more abandon'd than the Devil himself, and Tamora
when Lavinia is seiz'd, and Bassianus kill'd shows
her self not much better. This is so contrary to
Nature and Art, that all the Crimes are monstrously
beyond the very Name of Scandalous. Well
might Rapine throw the Infamy of Barbarity upon
us, as a People divided from the rest of the World
and wanting that Politeness and Civility, because
we lov'd Blood in our Recreations. But I think
this only the Fault of the Poets, who have been
too ignorant or to cowardly to venture on a
Reformation of an Abuse, which prevail'd thro'
the Mistake of the first Attempts this Way, supposing
that Tragedy must be something very
barbarous and cruel; and this false Notion has
ever since fill'd the Scene with inhuman Villanies
that ought to be seen no where but at Tyburn,
nay worse, than ever suffer'd in this Climate, which
brings forth Men too brave to be guilty of such
Inhumanities, and cannot therefore be pleas'd
with them in the Representation; at least wou'd
be much better pleas'd with the contrary Practice
according to the Ancients. The Montagues and Capulets two eminent Families
of Verona being at mortal Odds, Romeo the
Son and Heir of Montagues falls in Love with
Juliet the Heiress of the Capulet's, at a Mask,
and she with him. They agree, and are marry'd
privately at Fryar Laurence's Cell. After which
Tybalt, a hot fiery Capulet meets Romeo in the
Street and wou'd needs quarrel with him, but
Romeo in Regard of his having just marry'd his
Cousin took all so patiently, that Mercutio the
Prince of Verona's Relation cou'd not bear Tybalt's
Insolence, so fighting him is kill'd, and Romeo on
this, Tybalt returning, fights and kills him, and makes
his Escape to the Fryar's Cell. The Prince hearing
the Case from Benvolio, condems Romeo to
Banishment on Pain of Death; so having past the
Night with his Wife, by the Help of a Ladder of
Cords, he goes to Mantua, the Fryar having agreed
to send him News perpetually of his Wife.
But Count Paris having been in Love with Juliet,
presses her Father to marry her out of
Hand, and obtains his Suit. She to prevent it
takes a Potion, that shou'd make her seem dead,
and so she was bury'd in the Monument of the
Family. Romeo hearing of her Death buys Poison,
and comes by Night to Verona, and going to her
Monument to take it and die there with her,
finds Count Paris who forces him to fight, and
is kill'd by him, but then Romeo enters the Monument,
takes his Poison and dies; the Fryar
comes and Juliet awakes, finds Romeo dead and
so stabs her self and dies. The Prince and both
the Fathers being come the Fryar and Romeo's
Man and Paris's Page make a full Discovery of the
whole, so the two Fathers are reconcil'd and resolve
to set up Statues to them both. Tho' this Play have no less, than five or six Murthers,
yet they are nothing akin to those of the
foregoing Piece, these, for the most Part, are the
Effect of Heat and Passion, and by Way of Duels,
which Custom has given a sort of Reputation to, as
being upon the Square. If therefore they are faulty,
they yet are of that Nature, that we pity, because every
Gentleman is liable to fall into that by the Necessity
of Custom. Tho' this Fable is far from Dramatic
Perfection, yet it undeniably raises Compassion
in the later Scenes. There are in it many Beauties of the Manners
and Sentiments, and Diction. The Character of
Mercutio is pleasant and uniform; that of Tybalt
always equal; as indeed they all are; the Nurse is
a true Comic Character, tho' some of our Chit-chat
Poets wou'd look on it as Farce or low Comedy.
In Benvolio's Account of Romeo to his Father
and Mother, are many fine, numerous and sounding
Lines. p. 2078, &c. To point to particular Lines wou'd be endless
—as this p. 2084. When the devout Religion of
my Eye, &c. for there often comes a fine sounding
Verse well express'd in the mid'st of others
of little or no Beauty. Mercutio's Harangue on
Dreams, p. 2088. is extreamly pleasant, and
whimsical, the later End very good Satire.
What Romeo says on his first seeing Juliet is
very pretty, p. 2090. Whether Passion be so pregnant of Similes as
Romeo and Juliet every where give us, I dare not
determine, since to say that all they speak is not
natural, wou'd be to provoke too many, that admire
it as the Soul of Love. Mercutio's conjuring for Romeo, p. 2094. is pleasant,
tho' it ends a little too smutty for an Audience.
It begins Romeo, Humour, Passion, Madman,
Lover, &c. The Scene betwixt Romeo and Juliet
when he is in the Garden, and she at her Window,
tho' it contain many things, that will not
join with Probability, and tho' perhaps Shakespear
like Cowly was a little corrupted by reading
Petrarch, that modern Debaucher of Poetry into
Conceits, and Conundrums; yet the Fancy is
is every where so fine, and Nature so agreeably
painted, that we are pleas'd with the very Fucus,
and perswade our selves that it is pure unsophisticated
Nature, from p. 2095, to p. 2100. And on
the Earth and its Products the Fryar speaks well.
ibid. and p. 2101. And what he says to Romeo on
early Rising is pretty enough. ibid. The Soliloquy of
Juliet, p. 2108. contains several good Lines, as—
Love's Heralds shou'd be Thoughts, which ten-times
faster glide, &c.
There are likewise a great many fine Lines in
Juliet's Soliloquy, p. 2116, and 17. but her Thought
of cutting him out into little Stars, &c. is ridiculous.
The Parting of Romeo and Juliet, p. 2126,
&c. is very pretty. The Fryar's Comfort to the
Father and Lover in their clamorous Sorrow for
the suppos'd Death of Juliet, is not amiss. Romeo's Description of the poor Apothecary, and
his Shop is very good, p. 2145. This Story is taken
out of Bandello's Novels. Timon a Nobleman of Athens of a vast Estate and
Riches, by his Bounty brings himself to want,
tries his Friends, who forsake him in his Distress,
and deny him the Money he desires to borrow
of them. This makes him so wild, that he leaves
Athens and retires to a Wood where he turns Manhater,
but digging accidentily for Roots finds a
hidden Treasure, of which he gives Alcibiades, and
his Whores great Store; this brings several to
him to make their Court in hopes of his shining
again; but he despising all, gives only Money
to his faithful Steward who came to do him service
in his Distress. The Senators come to make
him Offers and Places to appease Alcibiades, but he
refuses all with, Curses on all Mankind. And
dying leaves his Epitaph in these Words—
This Play is plainly taken from Lucian's Timon,
and I wonder that Shakespear rather chose to give
Roman Names to his Persons as Lucius, Lucullus,
&c. than Gnathonides, Philiades, Demeas a flattering
Orator, from whence our Author seems to have
taken his Poet; Thrasycles a Philosopher but not
of Apimanthus's kind, but a Lover of Money or
rather a Hypocrite. Blapsius, Laches, Gniphon.
Apimanthus is indeed Shakespear's own and much
better for the End he introduces him than Thrasycles
cou'd have been, tho' the later is better in
Lucian. Shakespear has thrown the Infamy on the
Poet which Lucian threw on the Orator; not
considering, that Poets made another sort of
Figure in Athens where the Scene lies, than
they do in England, the State thinking them so
useful to the Public, that on the Death of Eupolis
in a Sea Fight, all Poets were for the future forbid
to go to the War. Yet a Poet methinks shou'd
have more regard to his Art and himself, than to
bring in a Character of one mean or ridiculous.
But Mr. Shadwell who has pretended to alter this
Play has made him a very Scoundrel, and the
Players always take Care in Dress and Action to
make him more so. But this is not the only thing in which Mr. Shadwell
has made this Poem worse in the Copy or
Amendments, than it is in the Original; He has
created two Ladies of his own with a very odd
Design. Melissa he makes a Woman of Quality,
and Honour, but has given her Qualities more
abandon'd than a Prostitute; and Evandra is a
Whore profess'd, but to her he has given Gratitude,
Love, and Fidelity even to the forsaking of
the World to bear the Hardships of Timon's Miseries,
to perswade the Town that a Whore is a
more eligible and excellent Creature, than a Woman
of Honour. Such Doctrines as these have
rais'd so many Enemies to the Stage with too much
Reason and Justice. For in them indeed the Stage
has lost all its Beauty and Greatness; nay and all
its Art and Genius, it being so easie a Matter to
please at the Expence of Religion and Morality,
but so hard to do it on the solid Grounds of Art
which are subservient to Virtue, and I may say an
Assistant of Religion in purging and reforming the
Manners. It is plain that the Plot is not regular as to
Time, or Place, but the Action may be look'd
on as pretty uniform, unless we wou'd make the
Banishment, and Return of Alcibiades an under
Plot, which yet seems to be born of the main
Design. The Play is full of Moral Reflections and useful
Satire. The Characters are well mark'd and
observ'd, and the Diction generally speaking
expressive. On Ceremony or Complement. p. 2168.
The trying and Refusal of the Friends is very
touching, and too natural and obvious to need a
Comment; a Hint of this is in the latter End of
Lucian's Dialogue of Timon. Against Duelling, p. 2192. Your Words have took
such Pains as if they labour'd to bring Manslaughter,
&c. nor is Alcibiade's Answer much amiss, ibid.
The false Supper Timon invites his false Friends
to is all Shakespear's Contrivance. Timon's Curses
on Athens in the Beginning of the fourth Act, p.
2197, and 8. is worthy his Rage and Passion.
—O! thou Wall, that girdlest in those Wolves, &c.
The parting of the Servants something touching,
p. 2119. Timon's Speech, p. 2200. tho' disguis'd
too much in affected Words contains good satirical
Reflections. The Scene betwixt him, Alcibiades, Timandra,
&c. is full of wholesome Satire against Whoring,
&c. 2202, and 3, 4, and 5. and the Speech of
Timon after they are gone out is very Moral, 2205.
The Scene betwixt Timon and Apamantus from
2205, to 2211. contains many fine Reflections and
Lines, the whole being very Dramatic. In short the Scenes betwixt him and his Steward,
and the Senators and him are worth Reading. The
Epitaph seems to be taken from this,
Caius Julius Cæsar having now vanquish'd all his
Enemies, and fixt himself in the perpetual Dictatorship.
The Party of Liberty conspir'd to dispatch
him; Caius Cassius, Metellus, Cimber, Casca and Brutus
agree to Stab him in the Senate House. He is
deter'd by Dreams Prodigies, and his Wife Calpurnia's
Prayers from going to the Senate that Day
being the Ides of March, but Decimus Brutus and
the other Conspirators coming to him perswade
him from his Superstition, so he goes, and by the
way receives a Paper of the Conspirators but will
not look at it. In the Senate House Metellus
Cimber kneels to begg the Repeal of his Brothers
Banishment, which when Cæsar denies they all come
in the same Manner, till Casca gives the first Stab
when Brutus wounds him he falls with et tu Brute?
Anthony being drawn aside by Trebonius flies away
on the Noise of Cæsar's Death, but coming to them
by Permission, agrees with the Murtherers, and
obtains Leave to bury and praise Cæsar in the
Market Place or Forum according to custom.
Brutus having first given the People an Account
of what the Conspirators had done, and justify'd
it with Reasons; Anthony makes such an Oration
that he sets the People in a Mutiny who burn the
Conspirators Houses, &c. Brutus, and Cassius
and the Rest of them flie out of Rome. At the
Camp at Sardis Cassius meets Brutus, and there
happens a Quarrel betwixt them about Brutus's
not pardoning Lucus Pella and on Cassius not sending
Money to pay the Army. This being over
and they Friends and separated the Ghost of Cæsar
appears to Brutus and says he'll meet him again as
Philippi. Whether when the Armies are gone
Octavius and Mark Anthony, follow fight and beat
them: Cassius kills himself on a Mistake, and Brutus
on his being close pursu'd. This Play or History is call'd Julius Cæsar tho'
it ought rather to be call'd Marcus Brutus; Cæsar
is the shortest and most inconsiderable Part in
it, and he is kill'd in the beginning of the third
Act. But Brutus is plainly the shining, and darling
Character of the Poet; and is to the End of
the Play the most considerable Person. If it had
been properly call'd Julius Cæsar it ought to have
ended at his Death, and then it had been much
more regular, natural and beautiful. But then
the Moral must naturally have been the Punishment
or ill Success of Tyranny. I know that a noble Man of great Judgment in the
Drama, is and has been for some time altering
this Play. In which I believe Shakespear will have
a better Fate, than in most of those which have
been alter'd: For generally they who have undertaken
this Province have been careful to leave
all the Faults, and to rob him of many of the
Beauties; But this has been because few, who have
attempted it, knew more of the Art of the Stage,
than our Author, and wanted his Genius to relish
those things, which were really good. But the
principal Character Cæsar, that is left so little
touch'd by Shakespear, will merit his Regard; and
the Regulation of the Design without Doubt will
be Object of his Care and Study; and then there
cannot be so much of this remaining, as to rob the
Alterer of the Honour of the whole; for the two
best things in the Play are after the Death of Cæsar
where the Action Ends, viz. the Orations of
Brutus and Anthony, and the Quarrel betwixt Brutus
and Cassius. These Orations are indeed the Beginning
of a new Action the Death of Brutus and
Cassius, and have nothing (in a Dramatic Sense)
to do with the Death of Cæsar which is the first
Action. But this is a Part of the Drama which
our Shakespear is not to be accountable for. We
shall therefore proceed to those Beauties of which
he is undoubtedly Master. The Manners first, and
here I think he is generally wonderful, for there
is the Likeness in all, and a perfect Convenience, and
Equality. What Mark Anthony says to the imaginary People
of Shakespear's Rome, are so artful, so finely
taken from the very Nature of the thing, that I question
whether what the real Mark Anthony spoke
cou'd be more moving or better calculated to
that Effect. Plutarch says nothing of it, but we
find that Appian has given us some Fragments, of
Anthony's Oration on this Occasion which in Honour
of our Shakespear I'll transcribe; for tho' he
seems to follow this Author chiefly in his Play yet
has he not borrow'd the Oration either of Brutus
or Anthony tho' one he form'd there entire, and
the other so supply'd that he might easily gather
the Connection. It is not just, Gentlemen, that I alone shou'd undertake
the funeral Praises of this great Man; it
were fitter his Country did declare them. I will, therefore,
with the Voice of the Republick, and not my own,
only make Recital of those Honours, which whilst he
was living the People of
‘Having said this he began with a sad and
sorrowful Countenance the Recital of Cæsar's glorious
Titles; pronouncing every thing distinctly;
and stopping more particularly at those by
which they had made him more than Man; as
Sacred, Iaviolable, Father of his Country, Benefactor,
Prince and many others, which till then had never
been given to any Man. At every Word
turning towards the Body, and animating his
Speech by his Gesture, and when he pronounc'd
any one of those Titles, added some intermingled
Terms of Grief and Indignation; as when
he recited the Decree of the Senate calling him
Father of his Country’—See there, said he, the
Testimony of your Acknowledgements—and in
pronouncing these Words—Holy, Sacred, Inviolable,
and the Refuge of the miserable, he added—never
any one, that fled to him for Refuge perish'd; yet he
himself is Murder'd, tho' made Holy and Sacred by our
Decrees, without having exacted these Titles from us,
or ever desir'd them. And surely we are in a shameful
Slavery indeed, if we give those Titles to unworthy
Persons, who never ask them of us. But Oh! faithful
Citizens you purge your selves well from this Reproach
by the Honours you now pay his Memory.
After this reciting the Act of the Oath, by which
they were all oblig'd to Guard the Person of Cæsar,
and to employ all their Forces so, that if any attempted
his Person, whoever expos'd not his Life
in his Defence shou'd be execrable, he rais'd his
Voice, and extending his Hands towards the Capitol,
cry'd out—Oh! Jupiter! Protector of my
Country behold me ready to revenge as I have sworn,
and since it is a thing resolv'd by the Judgment of all
good Men, I beseech thee with all the other Gods to
be favourable to me. A Tumult hereupon arising
among the Senators, who believ'd these Words to
be manifestly address'd to them, Anthony to appease
them turn'd the Discourse, and said—But
Gentlemen, this Accident must rather be attributed
to some God, than to Men; and we ought rather to
provide against the present Necessities, than speak of
things past, since we are threaten'd with extream Miseries
for the future, and are upon the Point of falling
again into our ancient Seditions, and the seeing
all the Nobility of the City perish. Let us then Conduct
this sacred Person among the Gods solemnly in
mournful Elegies singing his Praise—After having
said these Words he tuck'd up his Robe, as if he
had been possess'd with some Spirit, and girding
it about him, that he might have his Hands more
at Liberty he went, and plac'd himself near the
Bed where the Corps lay upon an eminent Place,
and opening the Curtain, and looking in he began
to sing his Praises, as of a Celestial Divinity.
And the better to make him be believ'd to be of
that Race, he lifted his Hands up to Heaven;
reciting even to the Loss of Breath, his Wars,
his Combats, his Victories; the Nations he had
subdu'd; the Spoils he had brought away speaking
of every thing as a Miracle; and crying out many
times—Thou alone art he, who hast return'd
Victorious from so many Fights: Thou alone art he,
who hast reveng'd thy Country of the Injuries done her
for three hundred Years together, and constrain'd People
till then imdomitable, who alone took and burnt
the City to ask Pardon on their Knees. Having said
these things and many more, as of a divine Person
he lower'd his Voice, and in a mournful Tone
with Tears in his Eyes, lamented the unworthy
Death of his Friend, wishing that he cou'd redeem
his Life with his own, and at length abandoning
himself to Grief he was so far transported as to
discover the Body of Cæsar, and to show at the
Top of his Pike his Robe pierc'd with the Stabs,
he had receiv'd, and all stain'd with his Blood, &c. I have given all this from Appion, that the Reader
may see, as it were the whole Procedure of
Anthony on this Occasion, and from this make a
Judgment on his Oration; and what Shakespear has
made him speak: Which if not so adapted to the
Roman People, certainly was very agreeable to
them as represented by him in his Play. The other thing in this Play is the famous
Quarrel betwixt Brutus and Cassius in the second
Scene of the fourth Act. This has always receiv'd
a just Applause, and has by Mr. Dryden in his
Preface to Troilus and Cressida been prefer'd to
a no less famous Scene of a Quarrel betwixt
Agamemnon and Menelaus in the Iphigenia in Aulis of
Euripides. His Words are these—The Occasion
of which I hope it will be no Injury to our Countryman
to do Justice to an old Greek Poet of the first Magnitude.
To that End I must needs say, that the
Advantage Mr. Dryden gives to the Briton, is equally
due to Euripides, for certainly Agamemnon
and Menelaus, in the Poetic World at least, and
in the System of Hero's in the Time Euripides
wrote, were as great as Brutus and Cassius, one of
whom perhaps cannot carry away the Prize of
the greatest Hero of his Age without some Dispute.
Next in the Quarrel of Euripides, not the
Disappointment of some Pay of Legions, or the
Denial of quitting a Man guilty of Bribery, which
both were past, but the Fate, the Glory, and the
Honour if not the Safety of all Greece depended
on the Ground of their Difference. But whether this of Shakespear be either so
well prepar'd, have those fine Turns in it, or come
as naturally to its Declination as this of Euripides,
I leave to the Judgement of the Reader. But I
must desire that some Grains of Allowance may be
made the Stranger for the Badness of a Translation,
which however good must fall much short of
the Beauties of the Original. To shew the Preparation of this Quarrel I shall
give the Argument of the first Act, for Mr.
Barnes in his Edition of Euripides had divided his
Plays into Acts. The second Act begins with Menelaus intercepting
the Messenger, and striving to get the Letter
from him.
Old Man.
Agam.
Men.
Agam.
Tho' I have taken some Latitude in the Translation
and made bold to leave out sometimes a Word
or two, and sometimes a Line or two, which related
more to Custom, than the Passion, yet I
have been far from making Euripides Amends for
what he loses in the Translation. As it is I leave
it to be by the Reader compared with that of Mr.
Dryden in Troilus and Cressida, and that of Shakespear in this Play. This indeed is a juster Way of the Tryal of
our Poets excelling the Ancients, than what Mr.
Hales of Eaton, my Lord Falkland, &c. took in
the Comparison of Topics for if he here prevail,
he will indeed get a Victory in a real Province of
Poetry. I am surpris'd that so judicious a Poet as
Racine shou'd omit this admirable Scene in his
Iphigenia in Aulis, at the same time that he made
a quarrelling Scene betwixt Agamemnon and
Achilles. I have said so much on the two most beautiful
Parts of this Play, that I shall leave the rest
to the Reader, this being a Play so often acted that
they are obvious to every Body.
There is one thing in this Play which I remark
for those judicious Gentlemen, who by a swelling
gouty Style have set up for fine Duncan King of Scotland has two Sons Malcolme
and Donalbain, his General against the Rebels and
Norweighians (who then invaded that Country) is
Mackbeth a Kinsman of the Crown, and with him
is join'd in Commission Banquo; who returning victorious
on an open Heath, meet with three Witches,
who salute Mackbeth three times, the last Salutation
being King that shall be. Their other Salutations
proving true, he and his Wife resolve to
make the third so. In the Night therefore they murther
Duncan, and lay it on his Chamberlains, Malcolm
and Donalbain fly away, on which they are accus'd
of having employ'd them to kill their Father, so
the Election falls on Mackbeth, who being now
King has Banquo murdered for Fear of his Race,
for the wayward Sisters told him, that he should
get a Race of Kings, but his Son Fleance makes
his Escape. Murders and Tyrannies growing every
Day, Mackduff flies to the English Court,
and with much ado convinces Malcolm of his Fidelity, and with him comes into Scotland with
English Forces, having first heard, that the Tyrant
had surpriz'd his Castle and kill'd his Wife and
Children. Mackbeth having consulted the Witches
is told, that he shall not be kill'd by any Man
born of Woman; nor till Birnam Wood came
to his Castle of Dunsinane. But his Wife haunted
with Remorse for the Murders she had been Partner
in dies; and he finding the Deceit of the
Witches Assurance of Birnam Wood, by the English
Armies taking e'ery Man a Branch of a Tree in
his Hand, ventures out to fight, and is at last
kill'd by Mackduff who was ript out of his Mother's Womb. To say much in the Praise of this Play I cannot,
for the Plot is a sort of History, and the Character
of Mackbeth and his Lady are too monstruous
for the Stage. But it has obtained, and in too much
Esteem with the Million for any Man yet to say
much against it. The Topics and Lines of this Play are less in
Number and Beauty than most of his. A celebrated
Speech is that of Mackbeth after he has committed
the Murther, p. 2318. I need not say any thing here about the Witches,
since what I have said of them and Spirits in the
Tempest is sufficient, he has drawn those Chimera's
wonderfully, and made them Forms and Ceremonies
according to their black Mysteries. Hamlet Son of the former King of Denmark is
put aside the Election by his Uncle Claudius, who
marry'd his Mother soon after his Father's Death;
which was succeeded by the walking of the Ghost
of the deceas'd King; Hamlet being inform'd of
it goes to the Watch sees and speaks to the Ghost,
who tells him, that his Uncle who now possesses
his Throne and Wife, murder'd him as he lay asleep
in his Garden by pouring Poison into his
Ear. So desiring Revenge the Ghost vanishing,
Hamlet obliges all who had seen it to keep
the Secret and by no means discover, that they
had beheld any such Sight. Hamlet assumes a sort
of Madness, and the Queen loving him very well
is solicitous to know the Cause, which Polonius the
Lord Chamberlain persuades to be the Love of
his Daughter, on her rejecting his Letters and
Address according to her Brothers and Fathers
Orders. Hamlet willing to discover whether the
Ghost had told him true orders some Players who
came then to Elsinor to Act such a Part, as the
Ghost had inform'd him the King had been guilty
of, desiring Horatio his Friend to observe him all
the Action, but when the Poisoning of his Brother
in the Garden came to be Acted the King unable
to see more rises up and breaks off the Play.
This confirms Hamlet in his Resolution of revenging
his Father's Death. But the King highly affected
with this retires while his Mother is order'd
to check him for his Conduct, but Polonius
advises the King to let him hide himself to over
hear what passes betwixt them for fear the Mother's
Indulgence shou'd not discover all. As Hamlet
is going to his Mother he finds the King at Prayers,
and therefore will not kill him because he took
his Father in his Sins. He is so rough with his
Mother, that she crys out help, and Polonius alarm'd
does the same but Hamlet taking him for the
King kills him behind the Arras, then charges the
Queen home with her fault of marrying her Husband's
Brothers, &c. owns that he is not Mad, the
Ghost of his Father comes into the Room, which
heightens her Agony. They part the Queen promising
not to reveal ought to the King. The
King is resolv'd to send Hamlet to England with
Rosencross and Guildenstern, with private Orders
for him to be put to Death there, but Hamlet aboard
getting their Commissions from them found the
fatal Order and keeps it, supplying the Place with
a fresh Order to put the Ambassadors to Death;
so he comes back and in the Church finds a Grave
digging for Ophelia, who running Mad on her Father's
Death, was Drown'd and Laertes coming
back from France was but just hinder'd from revenging
his Father's Death on the King, but is
assur'd, that he wou'd help in his Revenge by
ingaging Hamlet to try his Skill with him at Foils
whilst Hamlet shou'd have a Blunt and Laertes a
Sharp which he poison'd. But in the Scuffle the
Queen drinks to Hamlet but drinks the Poison
prepar'd by the King for Hamlet, who being now
wounded got the Sharp from Laertes and wounds
him, the Queen crys out that she is Poison'd, and
so Hamlet kills the King; Laertes confesses the
Contrivance and Dies, as Hamlet does immediatly
after. Tho' I look upon this as the Master-Piece of
Shakespear according to our Way of Writing;
yet there are abundance of Errors in the Conduct
and Design, which will not suffer us in Justice to
prefer it to the Electra of Sophocles, with the Author
of his Life; who seems to mistake the Matter
wide when he puts this on the same Foot
with the Electra. Hamlet's Mother has no Hand
in the Death of her Husband, as far as we can
discover in this Poem, but her fault was in yielding
to the incestuous Amour with her Husband's
Brother; that at least is all that the Ghost charges
her with. Besides Shakespear was Master of this
Story, but Sophocles was not. Orestes farther was
commanded by the Oracle to kill his Mother and
therefore all moral Duties yielding to the immediat
Command of the Gods, his Action according
to that System of Religion under which Sophocles
wrote had nothing in it of Barbarity but was entirely
pious; As Agamemnon's Sacrificing his
own Daughter Iphigenia on Diana's Order. This Play indeed is capable of being made
more perfect than the Electra, but then a great
deal of it must be thrown away and some of the
darling Trifles of the Million, as all the comical
Part entirely and many other things which relate
not to the main Action, which seems here to be
pretty entire tho' not so artfully Conducted as it
might be. But I wander from my Point, I propos'd
not to show the Errors especially when
this Play contains so many Beauties. Hamlet every
where almost gives us Speeches that are full of
the Nature of his Passion, his Grief, &c. as p. 2374
and 5. The Advice of Laertes to his Sister is
very moral and just and full of prudential Caution.
And that of Polonius to his Son p. 2380. and
that of the same to his Daughter p. 2382. Ay
Springes to catch Woodcocks, &c. If the young Ladies
wou'd Study these Pages they wou'd Guard their
Vertues and Honors better, than many of them
do. All the Scene betwixt Hamlet and the Ghost
is admirable, as the Ghost's Description of his Residence
in the other World p. 2384, &c. so on Vertue and Lust, p. 2385, and 6.
Ophelia's Description of Hamlet's mad Address
to her. p. 2391. My Lord as I was sowing in my
Chamber, &c. and Which Dreams indeed are Ambition for the
very Substance of the Ambitious is meerly the
Shadow of a Dream. On Man, p. 2401.
What a piece of Worth is Man? how noble in
Reason? how infinite in Faculty, in Form, and
Moving how express and admirable? In Action
how like an Angel? In Apprehension how like a
God! The Beauty of the World, &c. In Hamlet's Speech to the Players Shakespear gives
us his whole Knowledge of the Drama, and for
that Reason this favourable Judgment of a Play,
that did not please the Million is what shou'd teach
some of our successful Poets not to value themselves
meerly on Success, since the Million often
fail, tho' as Horace says they sometimes hit right. I heard thee speak me a Speech once,
but it was never acted, or if it was, not above
once, for the Play I remember, pleas'd not the
Million, it was Caviare to the General; but it
was as I received it, and others, whose Judgment
in such Matters, cry'd to the Top of mine an excellent
Play—well digested in the Scenes, set down
with as much Modesty as Cunning, &c. p. 2404. Let them be well us'd, for they are the
Abstracts and brief Chronicles of the Time, &c.
2406. The Power and Force of Tragedy, in this and
other Particulars has been confirmed by undoubted
History. Alexander Tyrant of Pherea a City of Thessaly
seeing the Hecuba of Euripides acted, found himself
so affected, that he went out before the End
of the first Act, saying, That he was asham'd to be
seen to weep at that Misfortune of I cannot here omit what Benefit the City of
Athens it self receiv'd from some Verses of the
Electra of Euripides, in its great Distress; for
when it was debated, that the City of Athens shou'd
be destroy'd, and the Country laid waste, a milder
Course was taken by the Commanders, by one
of them repeating these Verses out of the Electra
of Euripides. This shook them (says Plutarch in the Life of
Lysander) and gave an Occasion to reflect how barbarous
it wou'd appear to lay that City in Ruin,
which had been renown'd for the Birth and Education
of so many famous Men.
Hamlet's Solilquy, 2409.
Hamlet's Advice and Directions to Players is very
good containing very good Precepts of a just Pronunciation,
which being as useful for those, who
Judge, as those who act I shall take more Notice
of them. Speak the Speech I pray you as I pronounc'd
it to you trippingly on the Tongue. But
if you mouth it as many of our Players do, I had
as live the Town Cryer had spoke my Lines.
Nor do not saw the Air too much with your
Hand thus, but use all gently; for in the very
Torrent, Tempest, and I may say the Whirle-wind of
Passion, you must beget a Temperance, that may give
it Smoothness. Oh! it offends me to the Soul to
see a roboustous Periwig-pated Fellow tear a Passion
to Tatters, to very Rags, to split the Ears
of the Groundlings; who, for the most part, are
capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb Shows,
and Noise, &c. and a little further.
—Be not too tame neither, but let your own
Discretion be your Tutor. Sute the Action to
the Word, and the Word to the Action; with
this especial Observance, that you o'ertop not
the Modesty of Nature; for any thing so overdone,
is from the Purpose of Playing; whose
End both at the first and now, was and is, to
hold as 'twere a Mirror up to Nature. To show
Vertue her own Feature; Scorn her own Image;
and the very Age and Body of the Time his Form
and Pressure. Now this over done, or come tardy
of, tho' it make the unskilful Laugh cannot but
make the Judicious grieve. The Censure of which
These Precepts of Shakespear are as valuable, as
any thing in him, for indeed thoroughly study'd
and understood they teach the whole Art of the
Stage, which relates to the Representation or the
Actors; who still are too commonly guilty of
these very Follies, which Shakespear observ'd in
the Players of his Time. I shall say no more in Explanation of this here
designing a particular Discourse on the Art of
Pronounciation and Acting, for it is not sufficient
for a Player to speak well, he must give what he
says its true Action; he must look his Part, he
must be the Man, he represents according to the
very Lineaments of the Passion, or Humour which
he represents or else he is no Actor. They are
call'd Actors not Speakers, and a Mistake in the
accenting a Word, or ev'n in a vicious Tone of
Utterance may be forgiven, but an ill Action is
an Error in the Fundamentals. There is a Lady
on the Stage who may perhaps be sometimes out
in her Speaking, but always so Charms in her
Action, that she will not suffer a Lover of the Art
not to sink the smaller Error in the greater Beauty.
Our Actors are very liable to neglect the Decorum
of the Representation, and when they have
form'd them to the Figure of a passionate Man as
long as they speak, while the Opposite speaks, are
as calm as if unconcern'd in the Matter, whereas
in Nature no Man in Anger, Love or Grief
but minds what the other says and is as much
concern'd in it as if he spoke himself. In this Particular
no Body can excell Mrs. Barry, whom I
have frequently observ'd change her Colour, and
discover a Concern that equal'd Nature; this is
no Flattery to her but barely Justice. But not to dwell on this Subject, or anticipate
what I have to say in a longer Discussion of this
Point let us return to the fine things of this Play
of Hamlet. His Speech to Horatio p. 2414 has
many good Lines. The Queen's Protests in the
Play that's introduc'd, and the King's Discourse
with her is worth reading for the Lines and the
Reflections p. 2417. 18. The Scene betwixt his
Mother, and Hamlet is generally very well; tho'
perhaps it is capable of Improvement; that part
of the Scene where the Ghost comes in is very
strong; as indeed Shakespear is in the former Scene,
which as I have been assur'd he wrote in a Charnel
House in the midst of the Night. from p. 2426
to p. 2431. The Discourse betwixt Hamlet and the Grave
Maker is full of moral Reflections and worthy
minding, tho' that Discourse it self has nothing
to do there, where it is, nor of any use to the
Design, and may be as well left out; and what
ever can be left out has no Business in a Play,
but this being low Comedy has still less to do here.
p. 2450 to 2453. The Character Hamlet gives
of Osrick is very Satirical and wou'd be good any
where else. p. 2459. Lear King of Britain has three Daughters Gonerill,
Regan, and Cordelia. Gonerill is marry'd to
the Duke of Albany, Regan to the Duke of Cornwal,
and the King of France and Duke of Burgundy
are Pretenders to Cordelia. The King being old
divides his Kingdom betwixt his three Daughters
reserving only an hundred Knights for himself
and the Name of King. But the two Elder by
their mighty Professions of Love and Duty beyond
Measure win the Father's Heart, now alienated
from Cordelia because she daub'd not her Affections
over with empty Professions, so that old Lear
in a Passion gives away her Share to her other
Sisters and with his Curse leaves her to France
who takes her for his Wife tho' rejected by Burgundy.
The two Daughters Regan and Gonerill
soon fall from their Duty, and grow weary of
the King are uncivil to his Followers wou'd abridge
them, nay take them quite away; when
in a stormy Night he is turn'd out of the Earl
of Gloucester's House with Orders to him not to
relieve him. The Earl of Gloucester shook with
Horror of these unnatural Proceedings, acquaints
his bastard Son of his Intentions to assist the
King, and that the French were come over to his
Aid, but he betrays him, and so his Eyes are
put out, and he turn'd out of Doors being inform'd
that his bastard Son had done it all, by whom
deceiv'd he had believ'd his own Son Edgar had
contriv'd his Death, and who for fear of the Proclamation
against him wander'd like Tom a Bedlam.
He meets with the King, and with his Father afterwards
on whose Head there being a Price set
Gonerills Steward meeting him offers to kill him but
is prevented by Edgar's killing of him, about whom
he finds Gonerills Letters to the Bastard, being Love
to him and a Design against the Duke of Albany
her Husband. To whom he carries it before the
Battle betwixt the Britains and the French under
Cordelia's Command, whom she brought to the
King's Assistance against her unnatural Sisters, but
being beaten and the King and she taken Prisoners
the Bastard orders them to be kill'd, in Prison.
And Edgar having fought and kill'd the Bastard,
Regan being Poison'd by her Sister Gonerill, and she
being upbraided by her Husband, with the Guilt, but
more affected with the loss of Edmond kills herself,
he owns his Warrant out against the King
and Cordelia they send to save them but come too
late, Cordelia being hang'd but the King kill'd the
Rogue that hang'd her, but breaks his Heart and
dies; so the Play Ends. The King and Cordelia ought by no means to
have dy'd, and therefore Mr Tate has very justly
alter'd that particular, which must disgust the
Reader and Audience to have Vertue and Piety
meet so unjust a Reward. So that this Plot, tho'
of so celebrated a Play, has none of the Ends of
Tragedy moving neither Fear nor Pity. We rejoice
at the Death of the Bastard and the two Sisters,
as of Monsters in Nature under whom the very
Earth must groan. And we see with horror and
Indignation the Death of the King, Cordelia and
Kent; tho' of the Three the King only cou'd move
pity if that were not lost in the Indignation and
Horror the Death of the other two produces, for
he is a truly Tragic Character not supremely Virtuous
nor Scandalously vicious he is made up of
Choler, and Obstinacy, Frailties pardonable enough
in an Old Man, and yet what drew on him all the
Misfortunes of his Life. The Bastard's Speech of the Folly of laying our
Fate and Follies on the Stars, p. 2480. is worth
reading—This is the excellent Foppery of the
World, that when we are sick in Fortune, &c. Lear's Passion, p. 2488. on the Ingratitude of his
Daughter Gonerill is very well, and his Curses on
her very well and naturally chose. Lear's Speech
to Regan, p. 2505. is very well—No
thou shalt ne'er have my Curses, &c. and his Passion
in this whole Scene agreeable to the Manners. The Needs of Life few, p. 2507.
Kent's Description of the tempestuous Night,
p. 2511. is very good. There is nothing more beautiful than Lear's
first Starts of Madness, 2514. When Edgar comes
out in the Habit of the Madman—Didst thou
give all to thy Daughters? And art thou come to this?
And again—Have his Daughters brought him
to this pass, cou'dst thou save nothing? Wouldst thou
give 'em all— —Now all the Plagues, that in the pendulous Air
Hang fated o'er Mens Faults, Light on thy Daughters. Edgar's Account of a Servingman is very pretty.
ibid. as all that he says in the Play is according
to the Character, which his Affairs oblige him to
assume. Edgar's Description of the Precipice of Dover Cliff
is very good, p. 2530. Against the gross and Idolatrous Flattery of
Princes see Lear's Madness, p. 2532. They flatter'd
‘me like a Dog, and told me that I had white
Hairs in my Beard e'er the black ones were there,
to say Ay, and No to every thing I said’—Ay
and No too was no good Divinity. When the Rain
came to wet me once, and the Wind to make me chatter,
when the Thunder wou'd not peace at my bidding, there
I found 'em, there I smelt them out—go to, they are
not Men of their Words; they told me I was every thing,
'tis a Lie I am not Ague Proof. Tho' all Lear's
Madness is good, yet p. 2544 is particularly remarkable
for the satyrical Reflections—The
Userer hangs the Couzener. Through tatter'd Cloaths
great Vices do appear, &c. For this Story read Milton's and Tyrrel's History
of England and Leland, with Geofry of Monmouth, &c. Othello a noble Moor or Negro, who had by long
and faithful Services, and brave Deeds establish'd
himself in the Opinion of the Senate of Venice, wins
the Affections of Desdemona, Daughter to Brabantio
one of the Senators, marries her unknown to
her Father, and with the Senators Leave, carries
her with him to Cyprus his Province. He makes
Cassio his Lieutenant, 'tho Iago had solicited the
Post by his Friends for himself, which Refusal
join'd with a Jealousy, that Othello had been too
familiar with his Wife, makes him contrive the
Destruction of Cassio, and the Moor to gratify his
Revenge and his Ambition. But having no Way
to take a Vengeance on the Moor proportion'd to his
imaginary and double Injury but this, he draws
him with a great deal of Cunning into a Jealousy
of his Wife, and that by a Chain of Circumstances
contriv'd to that Purpose, and urg'd with all
the taking Insinuations imaginable. Othello by
these Means won to a Belief of his own Infamy
resolves the Murder of his Wife and Cassio, whom
he concluded guilty. Iago undertakes the dispatching
Cassio, whose Comission he had already got,
which designing to do by Roderigo who had been
his Dupe in Hopes by his Means to enjoy Desdemona,
and who now grew impatient of any longer
Delay. But he missing his Aim is wounded, and
kill'd outright by Iago to stop him from telling
any Tales of him. But the Moor effectually put his
Revenge in Execution on his Wife; which is no
sooner done, but he is convinc'd of his Error, and
in Remorse kills himself, whilst Iago the Cause of
all this Villany having mortally wounded his Wife
for discovering of it, is born away to a more ignominious
Punishment; and Cassio is made Governour
of Cyprus. I have drawn the Fable with as much favour to
the Author, as I possibly cou'd, yet I must own
that the Faults found in it by Mr. Rymer are but
too visible for the most Part. That of making a
Negro of the Hero or chief Character of the Play,
wou'd shock any one; for it is not the Rationale of
the thing and the Deductions, that may thence be
brought to diminish the Opposition betwixt the
different Colours of Mankind that wou'd not be
sufficient to take away that which is shocking in
this Story; since this entirely depends on Custom
which makes it so, and on common Womens admitting
a Negro to a Commerce with her every
one almost starts at the Choice. Much more in
a Woman of Vertue; and indeed Iago, Bambutio,
&c. have shewn such Reasons as make it monstruous.
I wonder Shakespear saw this in the Persons
of his Play, and not in his own Judgment. If Othello
had been made deformed, and not over young but
no Black, it had removed most of the Absurdities,
but now it pleases only by Prescription. 'Tis possible,
that an innocent tender young Woman, who
knew little of the World, might be won by the
brave Actions of a gallant Man not to regard his
Age or Deformities, but Nature, or what is all
one in this Case, Custom having put such a
Bar as so opposite a Colour, it takes away our Pity
from her, and only raises our Indignation against
him. I shall pass over the other Observations
founded on this Error, since they have been
sufficiently taken Notice of already. It must be
own'd that Shakespear drew Men better, than
Women; to whom indeed he has seldom given
any considerable Place in his Plays; here and in
Romeo and Juliet he has done most in this matter,
but here he has not given any graceful Touches
to Desdemona in many places of her Part. Whether the Motives of Othello's Jealousie be
strong enough to free him from the Imputation
of Levity and Folly I will not determine; since
Jealousie is born often of very slight Occasions,
especially in the Breasts of Men of those warmer
Climates. Yet this must be said Shakespear
has manag'd the Scene so well, that it is that
alone, which supports his Play, and imposes on
the Audience so very successfully, that till a Reformation
of the Stage comes, I believe it will
always be kindly receiv'd. Iago is a Character, that can hardly be admitted
into the Tragic Scene, tho' it is qualify'd by his
being push'd on by Revenge, Ambition and Jealousie;
Because he seems to declare himself a settled Villain.
But leaving these things to every Man's
Humour, which is in our Age all the Rule of
Judging, let us take a View of what we can find
beautiful in the Reflections and Sentiments. So that notwithstanding our Murmurers in the
Army and other Places we find Merit and Right
have been post-pon'd to Favour long before our
Days. Iago's Harangue against Honesty in this
Page is severe enough; and 'tis pity that the Satire
is too true p. 2562. Brabantio urges what I
before remark'd of the improbability of his Daughters
being won by the Moor, but by Charms and
Witch-craft. I do not think Othello's Account to the Senate
of the progress of his Love with Desdemona so ridiculous
as Mr. Rimer makes it, for, as for the
Canibals; and Men whose Heads grew beneath
their Shoulders, &c. being Objects of vulgar
Credulity, they are as probable and as moving,
as the Cyclops and Harpyes of Virgil; and then
abating for the Colour of the Moor, and the improbability
of his having that Post, the Tale has
a great deal of the Pathos. p. 2565. 68. Iago to
insinuate into Roderego that he may have hopes
of Desdemona, says p. 2580.—mark me with
what violence she lov'd the There are in this Play as well as in most of
this Poet a great abundance of Soliloquies in
which the Dramatic Person discourses with the
Audience his Designs, his Temper, &c. which
are highly unnatural, and not to be imitated by
any one. The Moor has not bedded his Lady till he came
to Cyprus, nay it was not done, p. 2582 and 3.
and yet it is before and after urg'd that she was
or might be sated with him. But those little Forgetfulnesses
are not worth minding. Against Reputation. p. 2589.
Reputation is an idle, and most false Imposition,
oft got without Merit, and lost without deserving,
&c.
Content is Wealth. 2600.
Othello's Soliloquie before he kills Desdemona has
been much admir'd. p. 2636. This Play is the History of Anthony and Cleopatra
from the Death of Fulvia to the taking of Alexandria,
and the Death of Cleopatra. The Scene
is sometimes at Rome sometimes in Ægypt, sometimes
at Sea and sometimes at Land, and seldom
a Line allow'd for a Passage to so great a Distance
and the Play is full of Scenes strangely broken: many
of which exceed not ten Lines. It is needless
to write the Story since it is so known to every
Body that Anthony fell in Love with Cleopatra, that
after Fulvia's Death he marry'd Octavia, the Sister
of Augustus to piece up the Flaws, that Fulvia and
mutual Jealousies had made; That however he
soon relaps'd to Cleopatra, and that War ensuing,
Anthony's ill Conduct lost the Day at Actium first,
and afterwards at Alexandria where he kill'd himself
with his Sword, and Cleopatra with the Sting
of an Aspic to avoid being carry'd in Triumph
by Augustus. In this Play indeed Sextus Pompeius
is brought in, and the Treat he gave Anthony
Lepidus, and Augustus on Board his Vessel. Augustus gives Anthony his true Character p. 2667.
When thou wert beaten from
thou he is now? Pompey I must not omit the Description Enobarbus gives
of Cleopatra's Sailing down the Cydnos, because
Mr. Dryden has given us one of the same in his
All for Love, which I shall here compare together
and leave the Decision of the Victory to the impartial
Reader.
Mr. Dryden in his All for Love Act third, where
Antony gives it to Dolabella in these Words. Both Poets are a little beholding to the Historian for
at least the Groundwork of this Description.
The Incident of Eros killing himself instead of
Antony when his Back is turn'd, Mr. Dryden has
borrow'd in his All for Love, for Ventidius p. 2729.
And Cleopatra's sending him Word that she had
kill'd her self, is made use of in near the same
Manner by our late Laureat, in the forequoted Play of his. For the Plot or Story of this Piece read Plutarch's
Life of Anthony; Suetonius in Aug. Dion Cassius lib.
48. Orosius l. 6. c. 7. Cluny. l. 4. c. 11. Appian. l. 5. Cymbeline King of Britain in the Time of Augustus,
having lost his Sons Guiderius and Aviragus,
had only one Daughter remaining call'd Imogen,
who privately married Posthumus contrary to her
Father's Will; who design'd her for Clotten the
Queen's Son by a former Husband, but a silly affected
proud Fellow. Posthumus is therefore banish'd
Britain, and goes to Rome, where he wagers
with one Jacimo an Italian, that he cannot corrupt
his Lady. He gives him Letters to her and
he takes a Journey into Britain on purpose, tries
her by Words in vain, so gets Leave to put a
Chest of Treasure into her Chamber for one Night;
in which being convey'd, he lets himself out when
she is asleep, observes the Room, takes away the
Bracelet from her Arm, views a Mark under her
Breast, and retires into his Chest again, and is the
next Day carried away by his Men; returns to
Rome, and by these Tokens perswades Posthumus,
that he had lain with his Wife, so has the Chain
and the Ring, whilst Posthumus sends an Order to
Pisanio his Man to get his Mistress down to
Milford Haven and there to murder her, for having
betray'd his Honour in the Embraces of another.
Imogen with Joy goes with him hoping to
meet her Husband there, as her Letter promis'd;
but when Pisanio shew'd her his Order to kill her
for Adultery, she is highly concerned and begs
her Death, but he perswades her to stay there in
Boys Cloaths to get into the Service of Lucius the
Roman General, and so she might come near
Posthumus and observe him, to whom Pisanio sent
Word, that he had kill'd her according to his Order.
Imogen in the mean while losing her Way among
the Mountains, wanders till she is almost
starved, when finding a Cave and Victuals, she enters
and falls to eating, when Bellarius or Morgan,
Guiderius and Aviragus or Cadwal and Polydore the
Masters of that Cave return and find her, and
taking her for a Boy, are very fond of her, calling
her Brother, &c. But she being sick takes some of a
Viol given her by Pisanio, which he had from the
Queen as a Cordial, tho' Meant for a Poison:
The Brothers and the Father going again out to
hunt, meet with Clotten, who was come thither
in the Cloaths of Posthumus, on his Understanding
that Imogen was fled thither, but bearing himself
insolently to Guiderius and Aviragus one of them
fights and kills him and cuts off his Head and having
triumph'd over him, threw his Head into the
Sea. But returning home they find Fidele Dead
(for by that Name Imogen call'd herself in that
Habit) they sing her Dirge, and leave her with the
Dead and headless Body of Clotten, she comes to
herself again and finding a Body without a Head
and in the Cloaths of Posthumas imagines it to be
him slain; and is found weeping on the Body by
Lucius the Roman General, who was come now with
his Army to invade Britain, Cymbeline having refus'd
to pay the Tribute settled with Julius Cæsar.
He takes her for his Page: Posthumus being come
over with the Romans before the Day of Battle
changes his Habit for a poor Country Fellow's;
and Bellarius not able to restrain Guiderius and
Aviragus from the Fight goes with them, and there
rescue the King now almost taken Prisoner; and
the Battle being chang'd by the Valour of these
four the Romans are beat, so Posthumus puts on
his Roman Habit again, that he might be taken
and put to Death, being weary of Life for the
Death of Imogen. He therefore, and Lucius and
Jacimo are put in Prison and reserv'd for Execution,
Fidele is taken by the King for his Page, and
of her he is so fond as to grant her whatever
Life she demanded among the Roman Prisoners.
She seeing the Ring of Posthumus on Jacimo's Finger
demands that he be oblig'd to discover how he
come by it. Jacimo then owns all the Roguery,
and Posthumus then discovers himself and says, that
he had murder'd Imogen, who coming to embrace
him he strikes her from him supposing her only
a Page, but she being come to her self owns, that
she is Imogen. And she accusing Pisanio of having
given her Poison, the Physician and the Queen's
Maids justify him by letting the King know
that the Queen on her Death Bed own'd that
she had given Pisanio a Draught for a Cordial, that
wou'd poison him, at the same time confessing her
guilty Design against the King himself. Guiderius
owning that he had kill'd Clotten, the King orders
him to be put to Death, when Bellarius discovers
that he and Aviragus are the King's Sons. And
Posthumus owning himself to be the Country Fellow,
that behaved himself so well, all are forgiven,
and Peace made, Cymbeline agreeing to pay the
Tribute tho' a Conqueror. Tho' the usual Absurdities of irregular Plots abound
in this, yet there is something in the Discovery,
that is very touching. The Character of the
King Queen and Clotten, do not seem extreamly agreeable
to their Quality. This Play has been alter'd
by Mr. Durfey, but whether to its Advantage
or not I will not determine, because I have
not the Alteration by me; but I am afraid the
Gentleman who alter'd it, was not so well acquainted
with the Rules of Art, as to be able to improve
the Cymbeline of Shakespear. He himself p. 2751.
makes this Objection against a main Incident of
the Play—2 Gal. That a King's Children should
be so conveyed, so slackly guarded, and the Search so
slow, that cou'd not trace them—1 Gent. Howsoe'er
'tis strange, or that the Negligence may well be
laugh'd at; yet it is true, &c. But he has here as in
other things slighted the Absurdity, and kept to
the Errour knowingly; but the Answer he puts in
the first Gentleman's Mouth is of no Validity
were it so, viz. Yet it is true; for here Probability
is more to be sought, than Truth, which is sometimes
so meerly possible, that it can scarce find Belief.
And indeed most of the Incidents of this Play
smell rankly of Romance. Jacimo's false Accusation
of Posthumus to his Wife is well enough, and ha
manny good Lines in it. Against Women, p. 2782.
The Speech of Bellarius to Aviragus and Guiderius,
p. 2788. contains many fine Reflections—
Consider when you above perceive me like a Crow, that
it is Place that lessens and sets off, &c. And in his
next Speech—Did you but know the Cities
Usuries, and felt them knowingly, the Art i' th' Court,
&c. His Description of the Temper and Action
of Guiderius on hearing a Martial Story. Pag. 2789, and 90. Pisanio's Description of the Temper of a pert
Boy or Page is a propos enough.
Imogen on Lies and Falshood pretty enough, p.
2800. Two Beggars told me I could not miss my Way,
will poor Folks Lie, &c. The Plot of this Play is taken from Barcaces's
Novels. Day 2. Nov. 9. Pericles goes to the Court of Antiochus the Great
in Order to get his Daughter Hesperides by solving
a Riddle propos'd by her Father, which he justly
interpreted to be his Incest with her; he therefore
flies thence to save his Life, and for fear of
his Power flies from Home with some Ships leaving
Hellicanus Governour of his Principality in his
Absence; he comes to Tharsus, which Place he relieves
in a Famine, and proceeds farther by Sea,
till cast away on the Coast of Pentapolis he Justs
for the King's Daughter Thaisa, wins her in all his
Exercises. Departing home to Tyre Antiochus being
kill'd with his incestuous Daughter by Lightning,
she is brought to Bed of a Daughter and
dies in Childbed; the Daughter is call'd Marina,
and the Mother put into a close Chest and thrown
into the Sea near Ephesus; where being taken up
the Chest is open'd and she brought to Life again,
and retires to the Temple of Diana till she
can hear of her Husband. Pericles in the mean
while makes his Way to Tharsus, there leaves his
infant Daughter to be brought up by Dionysia and
Cleon whom he had formerly relieved in Distress,
and sails home to Tyre, to satisfy his People, who
else doubting his Life, had chose Hellicanus. Marina
grows up in all Perfection, and as in Years,
so as to carry all the Praise from Philoten Daughter
to Dyonysia and Cleon, so that raising the highest
Envy in the Mother, she is resolv'd to have
her murder'd by Leonine, by the Sea side, and
thrown into the Sea; but some Pyrates landing in
the Instant of his going to kill her, they bear her
off to Metaline, and there sell her to a Bawd, but
by her Vertues she converts all the Debochees and
at last perswades her Mistress to get Money by
her singing and working, and her teaching both;
this makes her known so well, that when Pericles
comes that Way, overwhelm'd in Grief so far, as
to speak to no Body, Lysimachus the Governour
comes aboard and advises Hellicanus to admit this
famous Maid to sing to him, on which Pericles
is touch'd by her Appearance, and demanding
who she was finds her to be his Daughter, whom
he had lamented as dead having seen her Tomb at
Tharsus, which Dionysia and Cleon to conceal the
Murder had built to her as dying a natural Death.
Diana at that time appears to Pericles in his Sleep
and bids him go to Ephesus and praying in her
Temple to tell his Fortunes and there he should
find his Wife, which he did, and so all ends happily,
Lysimachus being to marry his Daughter, who
had converted him at the Bawdy-House, and Cleon
and Dionysia as the last Chorus tells us are punish'd
for their Treachery. It being certain that this Play was printed before
Shakespear's Death, and often acted then with
Applause, I have taken the Pains to give you the
Argument in which there is nothing Dramatic but
the Discovery, which tho' built on the highest Improbability
is very moving. Whence Shakespear
took the Story I know not, but it seems of the
Size of the Seven Champions of Christendom, Valentine
and Orson, and the seven wise Masters, or the like. The Fisherman p. 2862 makes a good Comparison
betwixt the Fish of Prey in the Sea, and our
Devourers Ashoar. There are besides these on which I have some
few Remarks The London Prodigal, Thomas Lord
Cromwel, Sir John Old-castle, The Puritan or the
Widow of Watling-street, The Yorkshire Tragedy and
Locrine; which, as I am very well assur'd, are none
of Shakespear's, nor have any thing in them to
give the least Ground to think them his; not so
much as a Line; the Stile, the manner of Diction,
the Humours, the Dialogue, as distinct as any thing
can possibly be. In the worst of those which are
genuine, there are always some Lines, various Expressions,
and the turn of Thought which discover
it to have been the Product of Shakespear: But
in these Six I can find none of these Signs. I have thus at last past through all Shakespear's
Plays in which if any good judge shall think me too
partial to my Author, they must give me the
allowance of an Editor, who can seldom see a
Fault in the Author, that he publishes; nay if
he publish two of the same kind, that which is
then under Consideration has the Advantage, and
excells all others. Besides if I have shown you
all that was any way beautiful in him, I have
also been so just to the Art, as often to point out
his Errors in that particular. And having gone
over this celebrated Author with so much Care,
an Author asserted by the Number of his
Admirers (whom to oppose is counted little less
than Heresie in Poetry) to be the greatest Genius
of the modern Times, especially of this Nation,
I find my self confirm'd in the Opinion I have
long had of the Antients in the Drama, I mean
in Tragedy; for having been so long conversant
with the Confusions of want of Art in this Poet,
tho' supported with all the Advantages of a great
Genius; the Beauty of Order, Uniformity, and
Harmony of Design appears infinitely more Charming,
and that is only to be found in the Greek
Poets, tho' Otway and a very few Plays wrote by
some yet living are not without their just Praise;
but those are not such as have been the longest
lived on the Stage tho' very well receiv'd; it being
a difficult Matter to bring such a Town to
judge of the Man by the Performance, and not of
the Performance by the Man. Shakespear is indeed
stor'd with a great many Beauties, but they are
in a heap of Rubbish; and as in the Ruines of a
magnificent Pile we are pleas'd with the Capitals
of Pillars, the Basso-relievos and the like as we
meet with them, yet how infinitely more beautiful,
and charming must it be to behold them in
their proper Places in the standing Building, where
every thing answers the other, and one Harmony
of all the Parts heightens the Excellence even of
those Parts; and thus if those partial Beauties of
Shakespear cou'd be, or had been view'd in a true Position
with their Correspondence to some perfect
whole, they wou'd receive a Praise, that they cannot,
as they are come up to. This wou'd make me surpriz'd to find so many
Advocates for Confusion, in the Preference they
give the modern Tragic Poets above Order in Sophocles,
and Euripides; did I not remember, that
this is done by Persons, who are totally ignorant of
the Art and are only pleas'd by Vogue, and Whimsey;
and the Authors themselves, who wanting
Genius, and Skill have rail'd at the Excellence
they cou'd not arrive at, being humbly content
with the precarious Applause of Fools; which as
it was at first given without Reason, so is lost
with as little, for whilst there is no Standard of
Excellence, there can be no such thing as Excellence,
which is such a levelling Principle in Poetry,
as all Men who wou'd pretend to the least Merit
shou'd, for their own sakes, explode, as the genuine
Child of Ignorance and Barbarism. But I am more surpriz'd to find Mr. Dryden in
the Number of the Flaterers of the Poets of the
Age, who having had the Education of a Scholar,
heighten'd it with the Beauties of a great Genius.
But his Arguments for the Moderns against the
Ancients worthy the Cause he defends that is highly
ridiculous. For his first Argument is that the
But as this was no Improvement in the Art of
the Drama, so had it been so, 'tis plain, that the
Moderns cou'd not make any Pretence to the Invention,
and by Consequence can give us no manner
of Advantage over the Greek Poets in that
particular. His next Argument is—That the Tragedies
of the Greeks was taken from some Tale drawn
from Thebes or Troy, or at least something, that
happen'd in those Ages, which were so known to
the Audience, that they cou'd not afford any Delight.
But let us hear his own Words—And
the People as soon as ever they hear'd the Name of I have transcrib'd so many of his own Words
meerly to show the vain and wretched Triumph
of a Man, who was so far from gaining any Advantage
over the Ancients, that he is out in every
Particular. That most of the Fables were taken
from those celebrated Stories of the fabulous Age
of Greece is true, but that all are so is far from
Truth, for the Persians of Æschylus was not so, and
some of Agatho's and other of the Greek Poets
now lost, were pure Fictions of their own as is
plain from Aristotle's Art of Poetry and from Horace's
Rule. Nay this was so common a Practice, that Aristotle
himself draws one of his Rules from it, and
from which Horace took that just quoted. Next
Mr. Dryden was either ignorant, or forgot that
tho' the same Action was wrote upon by several of
the Greek Poets, yet the Conduct and Managment
of it was always different, and the Ingenuity of that
Variation was extreamly entertaining to so polite
a People. Thus Euripides took the Story of Iphigenia
in Tauris, and Polyides, and Agatho, and others
did the same, yet the Discovery is made in much
a different Manner. Euripides makes Iphigenia, before
she goes to sacrifice Orestes, write a Letter to her
Brother Orestes, and give it to Pylades to deliver
to him, and lest he should lose the Letter tells
him the Contents of it, by which the Discovery is
made, that she is Iphigenia, which with the Proof
of Orestes saves his Life, and they both make their
Escape. Polyides made a Play on the same Subject,
in which Orestes was brought to the Altar to
be sacrific'd, who when he was going to receive
the fatal Blow from the Hands of his Sister Iphigenia
cries out, As my Sister was sacrific'd to
their Attention, but the Interest they gave themselves
in the Misfortune of a Mother, who was
going to kill her Son, and of a Son who was to
dye by the Hands of his Mother. But methinks that if this had been a real Objection
he wou'd never have chose to write upon
the Story of Anthony after Shakespear and some
others, the various Conduct of the same Story
takes away that Dulness which he apprehends
from hearing the same so often. This is confirm'd
by the beginning of Mr. Dryden's own Preface to
All for Love—The Death of But this indeed was wrote some Time after the
Essay on Poetry, and may therefore differ from
it, as most of Mr. Dryden's critical Prefaces do.
He has given another Instance in his Oedipus,
wrote upon not only by the Greeks, Seneca and
Corneille but by some of our old English Poets, yet
he has told us, that they are different Plays tho'
on the same Subject. His indeed differs extreamly
from that of Sophocles; and tho' he condemns
Seneca absolutely, and Corneille almost as much yet
he has taken the Description of the Plague the
Ghost of Laius from Seneca, and an Under-plot
from Corneille, not that his Under-plot is the same,
but as an Under-plot it is the same Error copy'd
from a Man he condemn'd and here I can't but
take Notice, that of all he has said against Oedipus
in the foregoing Quotation, there is not one particular
to be found in Sophocles. He has no Ghost
of Laius he has no stir in a Description of a Plague,
nor any but an extream pathetick Complaint of
his Misfortunes. But after all this Talk of the Pleasures being
vanish'd after the Novelty is gon is highly ridiculous;
for this wou'd hold good against all Plays
that had been seen above once, and be more so in
those of Corneille, and his English Imitations, which
depend on Admiration, or the Instricacy of an Intrigue,
which after it has been seen like a Jugler's
Tricks when known, have nothing entertaining; for
we then know it all as well as the Athenians cou'd
know Oedipus, Thyestes, or any other of the Greek
Stories; as for Example the Discovery in the Spanish
Fryar, Don Sebastian, the Accidents of the Five
Hours Adventures, &c. yet Mr. Dryden wou'd never
have yielded, that the Argument against the Fables
of the Antients wou'd hold good against the acting
or seeing any of his Plays but once. But the Passions
or Manners of the Antients are so admirably
perform'd the Harmony of the Parts so charming
and perfect, that they will bear viewing like an
admirable Piece of Painting for ever, and afford
a strong and lively Pleasure. It is not a little
Knot, or Difficulty in a vain Intrigue, that supports
a Play or gives that Pleasure, which is deriv'd
from Tragedy; but it is the good and judicious
Contrivance and Conduct of the whole in Incidents
productive of Terror and Compassion; and by the
artful Working up of the Passions, and Expression
of the Manners, Sentiments and the like, which
must delight the sensible Soul when ever they are
seen. Besides his Description of the Oscitation, and
languid beholding of the Athenian Plays without
Pleasure is directly contrary to the very matter
of Fact, as is plain from the Instance of Merope I
gave out of Plutarch and from the Athenians Practice,
who sate whole Days to see these Performances. In the next Place he brings Tragicomedies as a
Proof of the Preference of the Moderns to the
Ancients, tho' as weakly and to as little Purpose
to his Cause, as any thing he had before urg'd.
But let us see his own Words—I must therefore
have stronger Arguments e'er I am convinc'd, that
There is scarce a Word of this Quotatiation
which is true either in Fact or Criticism. For first
we did not invent Tragicomedy, as is plain from
the Prologue of Plautus to his Amphitryo. Nay this unnatural Mixture was even before
Tragedy was in Perfection; that is in the Infancy
of the Stage in both Athens and Rome; till rejected
and the Stage reformed from it by the
greatest Wits and Poets of these Cities, as a Mixture
wholly monstruous and unnatural. Nam
For wit and Railery belongs not properly to
Tragedy, to which Laughter is an Enemy (as Demetrius
Phalerius observes) in which nothing is shown but
what is pitiful and terrible. Thus what the Romans and Greeks rejected from
the first ignorant Performances of the first Essays
of the Stage; Mr. Dryden has made the highest
Perfection we have over them, and so it is indeed,
for we differ from them in nothing but in retaining
those Faults which the Ignorance of our first
Writers brought in, which they threw aside from
their ruder Sketches, that they might indeed arrive
at a real Perfection. But Mr. Dryden goes on—He tells us (says he)
that we cannot so speedily recollect our selves after a
Scene of great Passion, and Concernment, as to pass to
another of Mirth and Humour, and enjoy it with any
Relish. But why should he imagine the Soul of Man
more heavy, than his Senses? Does not the Eye pass from
an unpleasant Object to a pleasant one, in much shorter
Time, than is requir'd to this? And does not the Unpleasantness
of the first commend the Beauty of the latter?
The old Rule of Logic might have convinc'd him,
that Contraries plac'd near set off each other, &c. I wonder he would lay the Objection so strong
and yet answer it so weakly. For the Soul can
no more pass in a Moment from the Tumult of
a strong Passion in which it is throughly engag'd,
than the Sea can pass from the most turbulent
and furious Storm, into a perfect Calm in a Moment.
There must be time for the terrible Emotion
to subside by Degrees into a Calm; and there
must be a gradual Passage from the extream of
Grief, Pity or the like to its opposite Mirth, Humour,
or Laughter. The Simile therefore, which he
lays down as a Proof is so far from an Argument
of what he contends for, that it is in no Manner
a Parallel, nor even will it hold in it self as here
urg'd. There is no Agreement betwixt the Passage
of the Eye from one Object to another of
different, nay contrary Kinds, and a Soul work'd
up to the Height of Grief, Pity, Indignation, Love, &c.
starting from these in a Moment to calm Enjoyment
of Mirth and Laughter; nor is this any Argument
of the Heaviness of the Soul, for 'tis impossible
to quit that in a Moment in which it was
engag'd by Steps or Degrees. Here we have
nothing to do with Heaviness or Lightness
but in a Metaphorical Sense, meaning Dulness
or Vivacity, but such a swift Passage of the Soul
from opposite to opposite, is a Proof of a Dulness
of Spirit, which cou'd not be engag'd throughly
in any Passion. But the Instance of the Eye it self
is not rightly suppos'd; for if the Eye be fixt with
Pleasure on a grave and serious Object, suppose
the taking our Saviour from the Cross by Jordan
of Antwerp, the Eye thus attach'd will neither soon
nor easily remove it self to look on a Droll-piece
of Hemskirk, &c. But granting, that it remove with
Ease and Swiftness from an Object that is unpleasant
to one that is delightful: Will it
return with the same Facility from the pleasant
to the unpleasant, as in Tragicomedy, where the
Soul is to start from Tears to Laughter, and
from Laughter to Tears, five times in one Play; such
a Soul must be like some Childrens and Womens
who can weep and laugh in a Breath. But as Mr.
Dryden in this Instance did not consider the Nature
of the Soul, so did he not that of the Eye,
for Objects are pleasing or displeasing to that only
as they please or displease the Mind, so that he
leaves the Controversy undecided, or rather he perfectly
yields the Point by bringing nothing against it
of the least Force and Validity. If by this Instance
he mean only the mere mechanic Motion
of the Eye without any Concern in the Object it
has as little to do with the Soul engag'd, for then
the Simile shou'd be the Soul disengag'd in any
Particular, and the meer swiftness of the Transition
of the Mind from one Thought to another.
Thus take him which way you will his Instance
has nothing to do with the Matter in Hand, but
has left the Absurdity where he found it in Tragi
Comedy. I confess most of our Tragi-comedies are
such as engage the Passions so very little, that the
Transition from the Serious to the comical Part
may be quick and easie; but then the Argument
has nothing to do here for that which was to be
prov'd was the swift Transition from Grief to
Mirth or the like. But (says Mr. Dryden) a Scene of Mirth mix'd
with Tragedy has the same Effect upon us, which our
Musick has between the Acts; and that we find a Relief
to us from the best Plot and Language of the Stage if
the Discourses have been long. By this he wou'd make the Comic Part of no
more Relation to the Play, than the Music, which
betwixt the Acts that has none at all. But the
Parallel here is as defective as in the former: For
the Music employing only Sounds, may by them
contribute gradually to the calming the Soul, restoring
that Tranquility which the ruffling of a
great Passion had rais'd, here is nothing to require
the Attention of the Mind or Reason; here
is no start from one Extreamity to the other,
which confounds and not relieves the agitated
Soul. But according to this Notion of his they
might compendiously act a Tragedy and a Comedy
together, first a Scene of Tragedy, and then a Scene
of Comedy; but sure Mr. Dryden nor any of his
Opinion wou'd never think this a Perfection, and
such a Perfection found out, and improv'd by us,
as the Antients, nor any other Nation of the Moderns
ever knew? And yet most if not all of our
Modern Tragi-comedies are even as if a Tragedy
and Comedy was acted together; the Comic Part
of them having no more to do with or Relation
to the Tragic, than if it were another Play; as
in the Spanish Fryar, the Comedy of which has with
Success been acted by it self without any Gap in
the Representation; which is a Proof that it is
no Part of the Tragedy since it is not maim'd by
the seperation. And yet Mr. Dryden pleasantly
enough tells his Patron in the Beginning of his
Dedication—Accordingly I us'd the best of my
Endeavour, in the management of two Plots so very
different from each other, that it was not perhaps the
Talent of every Writer to have made them of a Piece—
Since he himself has not done it in any one Particular;
unless it be by making two or three of
the under Parts of the serious Part, the chief Persons
in the Comic, which yet does not connect
them so but that end may be acted seperately,
and make a different Comedy and Tragedy;
which needs no great Talent to perform since no
Poet cou'd do less in his worst Performance. Had
he indeed, united them so, that the Fryar, Lorenzo,
Gomez, Elvira, &c. had contributed to the
carrying on the Plot, or Design of the Queen,
Torrismond, &c. or the Discovery of the Birth of
Torrismond, or the Life of old Sancho, there had
been some Ground to say they were of a Piece;
but whilst they carry on two several nay different
Designs, they are two distinct Plays tho' lamely
tack'd together, acted together and Printed together,
as one Play. The Authors Supposition of so quick a Transition
from Grief, Anger, &c. to Mirth or Laughter
wou'd go a great way, to convince a sensible
Man, that he seldom, or never had himself experimentally
felt those Emotions of Soul, which a true
Passion excites, and therefore knew not how it is
fixt to a Passion, it is engag'd in, by a well written
Scene. But in this he was always equal to himself.
He was once talking of translating Homer, and
I recommended Euripides to his Pen, but he reply'd
that he did not like the Poet, which was a
Proof that he had but little Taste of Nature, or
that he was affraid to do that Poet Justice in the
English Language, left his charming Draughts of
Nature shou'd refine our Taste, and make us contemn
the tinsel Trifles of our modern Writers
of Tragedy. But I am rather apt to think it was
his want of a true Relish of Nature having been
early misled by a great Conversation with the
French Romances, which are just Opposites to Nature;
because he told a Gentleman being by one Day
at the Coffee-house who had met with Success in
some of his Plays, that he wou'd make much
such another Poet, as Otway; the Gentleman justly
reply'd, that he desir'd to be no greater. I shou'd not have taken so much Pains with this
Essay of Mr. Dryden, had it not been Printed in
his Works without any Mark of the Alteration
of his Opinion; because the ignorant Reader, that
depends on his Judgment in Print will be misled by
his Authority, and the Speciousness of his Reasons.
And this I hope will be my Excuse for opposing a
Man, who must by all be acknowledg'd to have
much improv'd our Verification and to have discover'd
a Genius in his other Writings, which justly
claims our Admiration. But that very thing
is what must justify my Undertaking, since the
very Authority which his Merits give him will
be the more prejudicial in establishing his Errors. Before I quit this Point I must take Notice that
the Author of Shakespear's Life is of Opinion, that
Tragicomedy will take more, than Tragedies; but he
having given no Instances to prove this Opinion,
I must only take it for a Supposition, which has
more probability of Falshood, than Truth. For
we have not for some Years past had any of that
kind on the Stage, which have pleas'd; The Fatal
Marriage and Oroonoko are the last, that I can remember;
and I am apt to believe, that more were
pleas'd with the Tragic Part of both those Plays,
than with the Comic. Thus the Scene of the
Historical Dialogues of Shakespear please by a
sort of Prescription, yet let any Man in our Days
bring any such thing upon the Stage, he wou'd
soon be convinc'd of his Error by a just Condemnation. I hope by this Time I have made it plain, that
the Moderns have not got any Advantage above
the Antients in the Drama by what Mr. Dryden
has urg'd in their behalf in the Particulars above
mention'd, but there still remains another Objection,
tho' much more modestly urg'd in his Preface
to All for Love, in which Play he at last confesses,
that the Antients ought to be our Masters, and
allows what Horace says to be just.
But then—Yet tho' their Models are regular,
they are too little for English Tragedy, which requires
to be built on a larger Compass Tho' I cou'd
answer him from himself in his Preface to Oedipus,
after he has said more in this Point, or rather explain'd
what he says here; yet I shall examine the
Weight of what he urges. But first let us hear him
in the fore-quoted Preface to Oedipus. ‘Sophocles
is indeed admirable every where, and therefore
we have follow'd him as close as ever we cou'd.
But the Athenian Theatre (whether more perfect,
than ours is not now disputed) had a Perfection
differing from ours. You see there in every Act
a single Scene (or two at the most) which manages
the Business of the Play, and after that
succeeds the Chorus, which commonly takes up
more Time in singing, than there has been employ'd
in speaking. The principal Person appears
almost constantly through the Play; but
the inferiour Parts seldom above once in the
whole Tragedy. The Conduct of our Stage is much
more difficult, where we are oblig'd never to lose
any considerable Character which we have once
presented.’ And a little after—‘Perhaps after all, if we
cou'd think so, the ancient Method, as it is
easiest is also the most natural, and the best; for
Variety as 'tis manag'd, is too often subject to
breed Distraction; and while we wou'd please too
many Ways, for want of Art in the Conduct we
please in none.’
I confess I was not a little puzled on the first
Quotation till I met with the second which was
as a Comment on the former. Nay I am yet
to seek what he means by a Model; he shou'd
have desin'd his Term since 'tis plain that he
means something different from what we understand
by the Formation of the Design, the Constitution
of the Subject. The Reader will find that
in those Rules, which I have from Aristotle laid
down for the Writing and judging of a Tragedy
there is no one Rule about the Seldom or often
bringing in of the Characters, but that naturally
follows the Constitution of the Subject, for
it is Certain in Reason and Nature, that none
ought to be brought in but such as are necessary
to the Design, and only as they are necessary;
to do otherwise is contrary to good Conduct,
and to Perfection; and if in many of those Plays
of the Ancients which remain, what Mr. Dryden
has observ'd be true, it is no Rule to him if he
forms his Story according to Art, and yet have
his under Characters more frequently on the
Stage. That each Act of the Ancients consists of about
one or two Scenes is a certain Perfection, but
in the Laison of Scenes as the French call it,
and in their Shortness, which I believe Mr. Dryden
meant by their Model being too little for our Stage;
for those numerous Scenes brought in by our
Poets do not only stretch the Play to an unreasonable
Length but generally breeds a Confusion,
and have no Connection to one another.
So that this shows Mr. Dryden's Error in making
a Distinction betwixt the Perfection of the
Athenian Stage and that of London, in the same
numerical sort of Poem, in which there can be
but one Perfection, and either Athens or London,
must be in the Wrong, but I have already
prov'd Athens in the Right, so that what Mr.
Dryden urges for a different Perfection on our
Stage, only proves a Defect and ought therefore
to be rejected, as he indeed in the End seems
to confess, but lays his adhering to the Error
on the Tyranny of Custom, which Men of his
Authority, may and ought to break and reform And that Shortness which he Objects to the Ancients
is what we often wish for in our modern
Authors, when they tire us with their tedious Scenes
for four Hours together, without ever engaging
our Souls at all. And the Chorus was a more natural
Relief, than comic Interludes, or the Music
betwixt the Acts. That our Stage does not require
a larger Compass to build on is plain from
the Orphan of Otway, which still pleases and ever
will, and yet for the most Part according to the
Model of the Ancients, and without any under
Plot; the Episodes of it being entirely Parts of
the Design, and not to be left out without maiming
the whole. Whence it is plain that it is not
the Fault of the Audience, but the Impotence or
Ignorance of the Poet, who is not able (tho'
he calls this Way the most easie (to travel in so
smooth and pleasant a Way. But this Controversy betwixt the Ancients and
the Moderns is so copious and large to be throughly
discuss'd in this Point, it has engag'd Boileau
and Mr. Perault in France, and Mr. Wotton, and Sir
William Temple in our own Country; but I think
a middle Course ought to be steer'd, there are
things in which they have evidently excell'd us,
and to imitate which is counted now the highest
Perfection; as in Statuary, and the best Painters
have made it their Study to imitate the Antique.
The same must be said in Oratory and Poetry especiall
in the Tragic Poem, in which we have by no
Means yet been able to rival them. We have had
some Poets who have happily describ'd some things
finely, and given us many pretty and fine Reflections
and Topics, but there is no Order, no Decorum,
no Harmony of Design, nay no Relation of
the Parts to each other but as Horace says They can patch a lame Plot with some fine
Lines some pretty Similes; can make a fine Description
of a Battle, of a Grove, or the like, but
all these thrust into their wrong Places, where they
have not the least to do. And these are the Men
who exclaim against the Rules, and by a senseless
Noise set up for Patrons of Confusion, and Enemies
to Harmony and Order, as if any one should prefer
the rambling Prelude of a Performer (who by the
Way seldom knows any thing of the Composition)
to the fine Sonata's of Corelli or the admirable Composition
and Harmony of Parts in a Piece of
Henry Purcel. One is only a Proof of the Volubility
of the Performers Fingers, the other the Power of
Music, that moves the Soul which way it
pleases.
But there may be some tolerable Reason given
why these Poets, that have even those Skantlings
of Poetry, shoud surprise the Town into an Admiration
of their Performances, as our Shakespeare, and
Mr. Dryden in his Plays; but the Success of some
since them is wholly unaccountable, who are fully
as faulty in their Plots or Designs, and yet have
scarce one Line in a Play that discovers any Reflection. Among these are our Lady Poets, who like Juno
in the Production of Vulcan are always delivered
of Cripples. I beg the Ladies Pardon I do not exclude
them from all Manner of Poetry; they have
in all Ages succeeded in the lesser Poesie, but no
Woman of any other Nation, that I know of except
England, ever pretended to meddle with the
Drama. Magalostrate the Mistress of Alcman the
Lyric Poet. Sappho one of whose Poems is still extant,
and whose Writings were admired by Longinus
himself, she wrote Elegies, Epigrams, Monodes
and Iambics; and her Friend Erinna, and her contemporary
Demophila. Theano the Wife of Pythagoras.
Cleobalina who wrote Enigma's. Corinna who
was Mistress of so much Excellence, and so good a
Lyric Poet, that she was call'd the Lyric Muse, and
had five times the Victory over the famous Pindar
of Thebes. Telesilla, Praxilla, Aspasia, a second Erinna,
Myro, Eudosia, the Wife of Theodosius the younger;
Damocharis, Hestica of Alexandria, Moeio, Nossis
a Lyric Poetess, some of whose Poems are yet extant;
Philœnis. All these we have had from Greece,
and not one of them attempted the Drama. Now
for the Latins who are but very few. Corinficia whose
Epigrams are still extant; Sempronia, Theophila, the
Wife of Canius the Poet. Proba, Roswid a Nun, who
writing in Latin Verse is put among the Latin
Poets. But in England we have had almost as
many Ladies in the Soch and Buskin as Men.
But to these I wou'd address what Plato has
made Sophocles and Euripides say to a young
Poet, who thus speaks to them. I can make
Verses tolerably well, and I know how in my Descriptions
to extend a mean Subject, and contract
a great one; I know how to excite Terror and
Compassion, and to make pitiful Things appear
dreadful and menacing. I will, therefore, go and
write Tragedies. Sophocles and Euripides answer
him thus. Do not go so fast, Tragedy is not what
you take it to be; 'tis a Body compos'd of many different
and well suited Parts; of which you will make
a Monster, unless you know how to adjust them. You
may know what is to be learn'd before the Study of
The Art of Tragedy, but you don't yet know that
Art. But this ought to be address'd to the Male
Writers as well as the Female, for it has been the
ill Writing of the former, which gave them the
Assurance to attempt, a Thing, in which they cou'd
see no Difficulty, while they saw nothing but the
wild Compositions of the Times. But this is a Subject which I have a Design to
touch more closely when I shall examine all the
taking Plays of the later Years, and deliver a Critick
upon them in such a Manner, that the Ladies
themselves may judge of the Ridiculousness of
those things, which we now call Tragedies. For
the Fate of that Point of the Drama depending
much on the Boxes, the Labour will not be disagreeable
to give them such Demonstrations as may
without Difficulty inform their Understandings and
Judgments.
Tho' this gradual way of reforming the Stage
may be something tedious, yet since there is no
other Way to obtain that Happiness, but the Governments
having an immediate Inspection of it,
or by deputing as many Judges of the Drama as
were in Athens, where each of the Ten Tribes
chose a Judge, who acted upon Oath; but that
can never be done while private Interest has the
Direction of a publick Diversion; for that has no
Regard to any thing but it self. I shall here take my Leave of the Plays of Shakespear;
and shall proceed to the Consideration of his
Poems, which are publish'd in this Edition, and
are more perfect in their kind, than his Plays, as will
appear by making a Judgment of them by those
Rules which I shall lay down as the Guides to
Perfection in them. | |||
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