Chapter VI: Part 6

"To begin, first, with the Length of the Action. It is so far from exceeding the compass of a natural day, that it takes not up an artificial one. 'Tis all included in the limits of three hours and a half; which is no more than is required for the presentment [_representation of it_] on the Stage. A beauty, perhaps, not much observed. If it had [been]; we should not have looked upon the Spanish Translation [_i.e., the adaptation from the Spanish_] of _Five Hours_ [pp. 533, 541], with so much wonder.

"The Scene of it is laid in London. The Latitude of Place is almost as little as you can imagine: for it lies all within the compass of two houses; and, after the First Act, in one.

"The Continuity of Scenes is observed more than in any of our Plays, excepting his own _Fox_ and _Alchemist_, They are not broken above twice, or thrice at the most, in the whole Comedy: and in the two best of CORNEILLE's Plays, the _CID_ and _CINNA_, they are interrupted once a piece.

"The Action of the Play is entirely One: the end or aim of which, is the settling _MQROSE's_ estate on _DAUPHINE_.

"The Intrigue of it is the greatest and most noble of any pure unmixed Comedy in any language. You see in it, many persons of various Characters and Humours; and all delightful.

"As first, _MOROSE_, an old man, to whom all noise, but his own talking, is offensive. Some, who would be thought critics, say, 'This humour of his is forced.' But, to remove that objection, we may consider him, first, to be naturally of a delicate hearing, as many are, to whom all sharp sounds are unpleasant: and, secondly, we may attribute much of it to the peevishness of his age, or the wayward authority of an old man in his own house, where he may make himself obeyed; and this the Poet seems to allude to, in his name _MOROSE_. Besides this, I am assured from divers persons, that BEN. JOHNSON was actually acquainted with such a man, one altogether as ridiculous as he is here represented.

"Others say, 'It is not enough, to find one man of such an humour. It must he common to more; and the more common, the more natural.' To prove this, they instance in the best of comical characters, _FALSTAFF_. There are many men resembling him; Old, Fat, Merry, Cowardly, Drunken, Amorous, Vain, and Lying. But to convince these people; I need but [to] tell them, that _Humour is the ridiculous extravagance of conversation, wherein one man differs from all others_. If then it be common, or communicated to any; how differs it from other men's? or what indeed causes it to be ridiculous, so much as the singularity of it. As for _FALSTAFF_, he is not properly one Humour; but a Miscellany of Humours or Images drawn from so many several men. That wherein he is singular is his Wit, or those things he says, _praeter expectatum_, 'unexpected by the audience'; his quick evasions, when you imagine him surprised: which, as they are extremely diverting of themselves, so receive a great addition from his person; for the very sight of such an unwieldy old debauched fellow is a Comedy alone.

"And here, having a place so proper for it, I cannot but enlarge somewhat upon this subject of Humour, into which I am fallen.

"The Ancients had little of it in their Comedies: for the [Greek: no geloiou] [_facetious absurdities_] of the Old Comedy, of which ARISTOPHANES was chief, was not so much to imitate a man; as to make the people laugh at some odd conceit, which had commonly somewhat of unnatural or obscene in it. Thus, when you see _SOCRATES_ brought upon the Stage, you are not to imagine him made ridiculous by the imitation of his actions: but rather, by making him perform something very unlike himself; something so childish and absurd, as, by comparing it with the gravity of the true SOCRATES, makes a ridiculous object for the spectators.

"In the New Comedy which succeeded, the Poets sought, indeed, to express the [Greek: aethos] [_manners and habits_]; as in their Tragedies, the [Greek: pathos] [_sufferings_] of mankind. But this [Greek: aethos] contained only the general characters of men and manners; as [of] Old Men, Lovers, Servingmen, Courtizans, Parasites, and such other persons as we see in their Comedies. All which, they made alike: that is, one Old Man or Father, one Lover, one Courtizan so like another, as if the first of them had begot the rest of every [_each_] sort. _Ex homine hunc natum dicas_. The same custom they observed likewise in their Tragedies.

"As for the French. Though they have the word _humeur_ among them: yet they have small use of it in their Comedies or Farces: they being but ill imitations of the _ridiculum_ or that which stirred up laughter in the Old Comedy. But among the English, 'tis otherwise. Where, by Humour is meant _some extravagant habit, passion, or affection, particular_, as I said before, _to some one person, by the oddness of which, he is immediately distinguished from the rest of men_: which, being lively and naturally represented, most frequently begets that malicious pleasure in the audience, which is testified by laughter: as all things which are deviations from common customs, are ever the aptest to produce it. Though, by the way, this Laughter is only accidental, as the person represented is fantastic or bizarre; but Pleasure is essential to it, as the Imitation of what is natural. This description of these Humours[9], drawn from the knowledge and observation of particular persons, was the peculiar genius and talent of BEN. JOHNSON. To whose Play, I now return.

"Besides _MOROSE_, there are, at least, nine or ten different Characters and Humours in the _Silent Woman_: all which persons have several concernments of their own; yet are all used by the Poet to the conducting of the main Design to perfection.

"I shall not waste time in commending the Writing of this Play: but I will give you my opinion, that there is more Wit and Acuteness of Fancy in it, than in any of BEN. JOHNSON's. Besides that, he has here described the conversation of gentlemen, in the persons of _TRUE WIT_ and his friends, with more gaiety, air, and freedom than in the rest of his Comedies.

"For the Contrivance of the Plot: tis extreme[ly] elaborate; and yet, withal, easy. For the [Greek: _desis_], or Untying of it: 'tis so admirable, that, when it is done, no one of the audience would think the Poet could have missed it; and yet, it was concealed so much before the last Scene, that any other way would sooner have entered into your thoughts.

"But I dare not take upon me, to commend the Fabric of it; because it is altogether so full of Art, that I must unravel every Scene in it, to commend it as I ought. And this excellent contrivance is still the more to be admired; because 'tis [a] Comedy where the persons are only of common rank; and their business, private; not elevated by passions or high concernments as in serious Plays. Here, every one is a proper judge of what he sees. Nothing is represented but that with which he daily converses: so that, by consequence, all faults lie open to discovery; and few are pardonable. 'Tis this, which HORACE has judiciously observed--

"_Creditur ex medio quia res arcessit habere
Sudoris minimum, sed habet Comedia tanto
Plus oneris, quanto venice minus._

"But our Poet, who was not ignorant of these difficulties, had prevailed [? _availed_] himself of all advantages; as he who designs a large leap, takes his rise from the highest ground.

"One of these Advantages is that, which CORNEILLE has laid down as _the greatest which can arrive_ [happen] _to any Poem_; and which he, himself, could never compass, above thrice, in all his plays, viz., _the making choice of some signal and long expected day; whereon the action of the Play is to depend_. This day was that designed by _DAUPHINE_, for the settling of his uncle's estate upon him: which to compass, he contrives to marry him. That the marriage had been plotted by him, long beforehand, is made evident, by what he tells _TRUE WIT_, in the Second Act, that 'in one moment, he [_TRUE WIT_] had destroyed what he had been raising many months.'

"There is another artifice of the Poet, which I cannot here omit; because, by the frequent practice of it in his Comedies, he has left it to us, almost as a Rule: that is, _when he has any Character or Humour, wherein he would show a_ coup de maître _or his highest skill; he recommends it to your observation by a pleasant description of it, before the person first appears_. Thus, in _Bartholomew Fair_, he gives you the picture of _NUMPS and COKES_; and in this, those of _DAW, LAFOOLE, MOROSE_, and the _Collegiate Ladies_: all which you hear described, before you, see them. So that, before they come upon the Stage, you have a longing expectation of them; which prepares you to receive them favourably: and when they are there, even from their first appearance, you are so far acquainted with them, that nothing of their humour is lost to you.

"I will observe yet one thing further of this admirable Plot. The business of it rises in every Act. The Second is greater than the First; the Third, than the Second: and so forward, to the Fifth. There, too, you see, till the very last Scene, new difficulties arising to obstruct the Action of the Play: and when the audience is brought into despair that the business can naturally be effected; then, and not before, the Discovery is made.

"But that the Poet might entertain you with more variety, all this while; he reserves some new Characters to show you, which he opens not till the Second and Third Acts, In the Second, _MOROSE, DAW, the Barber_, and _OTTER_; in the Third, the _Collegiate Ladies_, All which, he moves, afterwards, in by-walks or under-plots, as diversions to the main Design, least it grow tedious: though they are still naturally joined with it; and, somewhere or other, subservient to it. Thus, like a skilful chess player, by little and little, he draws out his men; and makes his pawns of use to his greater persons.

"If this Comedy and some others of his, were translated into French prose (which would now be no wonder to them, since MOLIERE has lately given them Plays out of Verse; which have not displeased them), I believe the controversy would soon be decided betwixt the two nations: even making them, the judges.

"But we need not call our heroes to our aid. Be it spoken to the honour of the English! our nation can never want, in any age, such, who are able to dispute the Empire of Wit with any people in the universe. And though the fury of a Civil War, and power (for twenty years together [1640-1660 A.D.]) abandoned to a barbarous race of men, enemies of all good learning[10], had buried the Muses under the ruins of Monarchy: yet, with the Restoration of our happiness [1660], we see revived Poesy lifting up its head, and already shaking off the rubbish, which lay so heavy upon it.

"We have seen, since His Majesty's return, many Dramatic Poems which yield not to those of any foreign nation, and which deserve all laurels but the English. I will set aside flattery and envy. It cannot be denied but we have had some little blemish, either in the Plot or Writing of all those plays which have been made within these seven years; and, perhaps, there is no nation in the world so quick to discern them, or so difficult to pardon them, as ours: yet, if we can persuade ourselves to use the candour of that Poet [_HORACE_], who, though the most severe of critics, has left us this caution, by which to moderate our censures.

"_Ubi plum nitent in carmine non ego paucis offendar maculis._

"If, in consideration of their many and great beauties, we can wink at some slight and little imperfections; if we, I say, can be thus equal to ourselves: I ask no favour from the French.

"And if I do not venture upon any particular judgement of our late Plays: 'tis out of the consideration which an ancient writer gives me. _Vivorum, ut magna admiratio ita censura difficilis_; 'betwixt the extremes of admiration and malice, 'tis hard to judge uprightly of the living.' Only, I think it may be permitted me to say, that as it is no lessening to us, to yield to some Plays (and those not many) of our nation, in the last Age: so can it be no addition, to pronounce of our present Poets, that _they have far surpassed all the Ancients, and the Modern Writers of other countries_."

This, my Lord! [_i.e., the Dedicatee, the Lord BUCKHURST, p. 503] was the substance of what was then spoke, on that occasion: and LISIDEIUS, I think, was going to reply; when he was prevented thus by CRITES.

"I am confident," said he, "the most material things that can be said, have been already urged, on either side. If they have not; I must beg of LISIDEIUS, that he will defer his answer till another time. For I confess I have a joint quarrel to you both: because you have concluded [pp. 539, 548], without any reason given for it, that _Rhyme is proper for the Stage._

"I will not dispute how ancient it hath been among us to write this way. Perhaps our ancestors knew no better, till SHAKESPEARE's time, I will grant, it was not altogether left by him; and that PLETCHER and BEN JOHNSON used it frequently in their Pastorals, and sometimes in other Plays.

"Farther; I will not argue, whether we received it originally from our own countrymen, or from the French. For that is an inquiry of as little benefit as theirs, who, in the midst of the Great Plague [1665], were not so solicitous to provide against it; as to know whether we had it from the malignity of our own air, or by transportation from Holland.

"I have therefore only to affirm that _it is not allowable in serious Plays._ For Comedies, I find you are already concluding with me.

"To prove this, I might satisfy myself to tell you, _how much in vain it is, for you, to strive against the stream of the People's inclination!_ the greatest part of whom, are prepossessed so much with those excellent plays of SHAKESPEARE, FLETCHER, and BEN. JOHNSON, which have been written _out_ of Rhyme, that (except you could bring them such as were written better _in_ it; and those, too, by persons of equal reputation with them) it will be impossible for you to gain your cause with them: who will (still) be judges. This it is to which, in fine, all your reasons must submit. The unanimous consent of an audience is so powerful, that even JULIUS CAESAR (as MACROBIOS reports of him), when he, was Perpetual Dictator, was not able to balance it, on the other side: but when LABERIUS, a Roman knight, at his request, contended in the _Mime_ with another poet; he was forced to cry out, _Etiam favente me victus es Liberi_.

"But I will not, on this occasion, take the advantage of the greater number; but only urge such reasons against Rhyme, as I find in the writings of those who have argued for the other way.

"First, then, I am of opinion, that Rhyme is unnatural in a Play, because _Dialogue,_ there, _is presented as the effect of sudden thought._ For a Play is the Imitation of Nature: and since no man, without premeditation, speaks in rhyme; neither ought he to do it on the Stage. This hinders not but the Fancy may be, there, elevated to a higher pitch of thought than it is in ordinary discourse; for there is a probability that men of excellent and quick parts, may speak noble things _ex tempore_: but those thoughts are never fettered with the numbers and sound of Verse, without study; and therefore it cannot be but unnatural, _to present the most free way of speaking, in that which is the most constrained_.

"'For this reason,' says ARISTOTLE, ''tis best, to write Tragedy in that kind of Verse, which is the least such, or which is nearest Prose': and this, among the Ancients, was the _Iambic_; and with us, is _Blank Verse, or the Measure of Verse kept exactly, without rhyme_. These numbers, therefore, are fittest for a Play: the others [_i.e., Rhymed Verse_] for a paper of Verses, or a Poem [p. 566]. Blank Verse being as much below them, as Rhyme is improper for the Drama: and, if it be objected that neither are Blank Verses made _ex tempore_; yet, as nearest Nature, they are still to be preferred.

"But there are two particular exceptions [_objections_], which many, beside myself, have had to Verse [_i.e., in rhyme_]; by which it will appear yet more plainly, how improper it is in Plays. And the first of them is grounded upon that very reason, for which some have commended Rhyme. They say, 'The quickness of Repartees in argumentative scenes, receives an ornament from Verse [pp. 492, 498].' Now, _what is more unreasonable than to imagine that a man should not only light upon the Wit, but the Rhyme too; upon the sudden_? This nicking of him, who spoke before, both in Sound and Measure, is so great a happiness [_felicity_], that you must, at least, suppose the persons of your Play to be poets, _Arcades omnes et cantare pares et respondere parati_. They must have arrived to the degree of _quicquid conabar dicere_, to make verses, almost whether they will or not.

"If they are anything below this, it will look rather like the design of two, than the answer of one. It will appear that your Actors hold intelligence together; that they perform their tricks, like fortune tellers, by confederacy. The hand of Art will be too visible in it, against that maxim of all professions, _Ars est celare artem_; 'that it is the greatest perfection of Art, to keep itself undiscovered.'

"Nor will it serve you to object, that however you manage it, 'tis still known to be a Play; and consequently the dialogue of two persons, understood to be the labour of one Poet. For a Play is still an Imitation of Nature. We know we are to be deceived, and we desire to be so; but no man ever was deceived, but with a _probability of Truth_; for who will suffer a gross lie to be fastened upon him? Thus, we sufficiently understand that the scenes [_i.e., the scenery which was just now coming into use on the English Stage_], which represent cities and countries to us, are not really such, but only painted on boards and canvas. But shall that excuse the ill painture [_painting_] or designment of them? Nay rather, ought they not to be laboured with so much the more diligence and exactness, to help the Imagination? since the Mind of Man doth naturally bend to, and seek after Truth; and therefore the nearer anything comes to the Imitation of it, the more it pleases.

"Thus, you see! your Rhyme is incapable of expressing the greatest thoughts, naturally; and the lowest, it cannot, with any grace. For what is more unbefitting the majesty of Verse, than 'to call a servant,' or 'bid a door be shut' in Rhyme? And yet, this miserable necessity you are forced upon!

"'But Verse,' you say, 'circumscribes a quick and luxuriant Fancy, which would extend itself too far, on every subject; did not the labour which is required to well-turned and polished Rhyme, set bounds to it [pp. 492-493]. Yet this argument, if granted, would only prove, that _we may write better in Verse_, but not _more naturally_.

"Neither is it able to evince that. For he who _wants_ judgement to confine his Fancy, in Blank Verse; may want it as well, in Rhyme: and he who has it, will avoid errors in both kinds [pp. 498, 571], Latin Verse was as great a confinement to the imagination of those poets, as Rhyme to ours: and yet, you find OVID saying too much on every subject.

"_Nescivit_, says SENECA, _quod bene cessit relinquere_: of which he [OVID] gives you one famous instance in his description of the Deluge.

"_Omnia pontus erat, deerant quoque litora ponto._
Now all was sea; nor had that sea a shore.

"Thus OVID's Fancy was not limited by Verse; and VIRGIL needed not Verse to have bounded his.

"In our own language, we see BEN. JOHNSON confining himself to what ought to be said, even in the liberty of Blank Verse; and yet CORNEILLE, the most judicious of the French poets, is still varying the same Sense a hundred ways, and dwelling eternally upon the same subject, though confined by Rhyme.

"Some other exceptions, I have to Verse; but these I have named, being, for the most part, already public: I conceive it reasonable they should, first, be answered."

"It concerns me less than any," said NEANDER, seeing he had ended, "to reply to this discourse, because when I should have proved that Verse may be _natural_ in Plays; yet I should always be ready to confess that those which I [_i.e., DRYDEN, see_ pp. 503, 566] have written in this kind, come short of that perfection which is required. Yet since you are pleased I should undertake this province, I will do it: though, with all imaginable respect and deference both to that Person [_i.e., SIR ROBERT HOWARD, see_ p. 494] from whom you have borrowed your strongest arguments; and to whose judgement, when I have said all, I finally submit.

"But before I proceed to answer your objections; I must first remember you, that I exclude all Comedy from my defence; and next, that I deny not but Blank Verse may be also used: and content myself only to assert that _in serious Plays_, where the Subject and Characters are great, and the Plot unmixed with mirth (which might allay or divert these concernments which are produced), _Rhyme is there, as natural, and more effectual than Blank Verse_.

"And now having laid down this as a foundation: to begin with CRITES, I must crave leave to tell him, that some of his arguments against Rhyme, reach no farther that from _the faults or defects of ill Rhyme_ to conclude against _the use of it in general_ [p. 598]. May not I conclude against Blank Verse, by the same reason? If the words of some Poets, who write in it, are either ill-chosen or ill-placed; which makes not only Rhyme, but all kinds of Verse, in any language, unnatural: shall I, for their virtuous affectation, condemn those excellent lines of FLETCHER, which are written in that kind? Is there anything in Rhyme more constrained, than this line in Blank Verse?

"I, heaven invoke! and strong resistance make.

"Where you see both the clauses are placed unnaturally; that is, contrary to the common way of speaking, and that, without the excuse of a rhyme to cause it: yet you would think me very ridiculous, if I should accuse the stubbornness of Blank Verse for this; and not rather, the stiffness of the Poet. Therefore, CRITES! you must either prove that _words, though well chosen and duly placed, yet render not Rhyme natural in itself_; or that, _however natural and easy the Rhyme may be, yet it is not proper for a Play_.

"If you insist on the former part; I would ask you what other conditions are required to make Rhyme natural in itself, besides an election of apt words, and a right disposing of them? For the due _choice_ of your words expresses your Sense naturally, and the due _placing_ them adapts the Rhyme to it.

"If you object that _one verse may be made for the sake of another, though both the words and rhyme be apt_, I answer it cannot possibly so fall out. For either there is a dependence of sense betwixt the first line and the second; or there is none. If there be that connection, then, in the natural position of the words, the latter line must, of necessity, flow from the former: if there be no dependence, yet, still, the due ordering of words makes the last line as natural in itself as the other. So that the necessity of a rhyme never forces any but bad or lazy writers, to say what they would not otherwise.

"'Tis true, there is both care and art required to write in Verse. A good Poet never concludes upon the first line, till he has sought out such a rhyme as may fit the Sense already prepared, to heighten the second. Many times, the Close of the Sense falls into the middle of the next verse, or farther off; and he may often prevail [_avail_] himself of the same advantages in English, which VIRGIL had in Latin; he may break off in the hemistich, and begin another line.

"Indeed, the not observing these two last things, makes Plays that are writ in Verse so tedious: for though, most commonly, the Sense is to be confined to the Couplet; yet, nothing that does _perpetuo tenore fluere_, 'run in the same channel,' can please always. 'Tis like the murmuring of a stream: which, not varying in the fall, causes at first attention; at last, drowsiness. VARIETY OF CADENCES is the best Rule; the greatest help to the Actors, and refreshment to the Audience.

"If, then, Verse may be made _natural in itself; how becomes it improper to a Play_? You say, 'The Stage is the Representation of Nature, and no man, in ordinary conversation, speaks in Rhyme': but you foresaw, when you said this, that it might be answered, 'Neither does any man speak in Blank Verse, or in measure without Rhyme!' therefore you concluded, 'That which is nearest Nature is still to be preferred.' But you took no notice that Rhyme might be made as natural as Blank Verse, by the well placing of the words, &c. All the difference between them, when they are both correct, is the sound in one, which the other wants: and if so, the sweetness of it, and all the advantages resulting from it which are handled in the _Preface_ to the _Rival Ladies_ [pp. 487-493], will yet stand good.

"As for that place of ARISTOTLE, where he says, 'Plays should be writ in that kind of Verse which is nearest Prose': it makes little for you, Blank Verse being, properly, but Measured Prose.

"Now Measure, alone, in any modern language, does not constitute Verse. Those of the Ancients, in Greek and Latin, consisted in Quantity of Words, and a determinate number of Feet. But when, by the inundations of the Goths and Vandals, into Italy, new languages were brought in, and barbarously mingled with the Latin, of which, the Italian, Spanish, French, and ours (made out of them, and the Teutonic) are dialects: a New Way of Poesy was practised, new, I say, in those countries; for, in all probability, it was that of the conquerors in their own nations. The New Way consisted of Measure or Number of Feet, _and_ Rhyme. The sweetness of Rhyme and observation of Accent, supplying the place of Quantity in Words: which could neither exactly be observed by those Barbarians who knew not the Rules of it; neither was it suitable to their tongues, as it had been to the Greek and Latin.

"No man is tied in Modern Poesy, to observe any farther Rules in the Feet of his Verse, but that they be dissyllables (whether Spondee, Trochee, or Iambic, it matters not); only he is obliged to Rhyme. Neither do the Spanish, French, Italians, or Germans acknowledge at all, or very rarely, any such kind of Poesy as Blank Verse among them. Therefore, at most, 'tis but a Poetic Prose, _a sermo pedestris_; and, as such, most fit for Comedies: where I acknowledge Rhyme to be improper.

"Farther, as to that quotation of ARISTOTLE, our Couplet Verses may be rendered _as near_ Prose, as Blank Verse itself; by using those advantages I lately named, as Breaks in the Hemistich, or Running the Sense into another line: thereby, making Art and Order appear as loose and free as Nature. Or, not tying ourselves to Couplets strictly, we may use the benefit of the Pindaric way, practised in the _Siege of Rhodes_; where the numbers vary, and the rhyme is disposed carelessly, and far from often chiming.

"Neither is that other advantage of the Ancients to be despised, of changing the Kind of Verse, when they please, with the change of the Scene, or some new Entrance. For they confine not themselves always to Iambics; but extend their liberty to all Lyric Numbers; and sometimes, even, to Hexameter.

"But I need not go so far, to prove that Rhyme, as it succeeds to all other offices of Greek and Latin Verse, so especially to this of Plays; since the custom of all nations, at this day, confirms it. All the French, Italian, and Spanish Tragedies are generally writ in it; and, sure[ly], the Universal Consent of the most civilised parts of the world ought in this, as it doth in other customs, [to] include the rest.

"But perhaps, you may tell me, I have proposed such a way to make Rhyme _natural_; and, consequently, proper to Plays, as is impracticable; and that I shall scarce find six or eight lines together in a Play, where the words are so placed and chosen, as is required to make it _natural_.

"I answer, no Poet need constrain himself, at all times, to it. It is enough, he makes it his general rule. For I deny not but sometimes there may be a greatness in placing the words otherwise; and sometimes they may sound better. Sometimes also, the variety itself is excuse enough. But if, for the most part, the words be placed, as they are in the negligence of Prose; it is sufficient to denominate the way _practicable_: for we esteem that to be such, which, in the trial, oftener succeeds than misses. And thus far, you may find the practice made good in many Plays: where, you do not remember still! that if you cannot find six natural Rhymes together; it will be as hard for you to produce as many lines in Blank Verse, even among the greatest of our poets, against which I cannot make some reasonable exception.

"And this, Sir, calls to my remembrance the beginning of your discourse, where you told us _we should never find the audience favourable to this kind of writing_, till we could produce as good plays _in_ Rhyme, as BEN. JOHNSON, FLETCHER, and SHAKESPEARE had writ _out_ of it [p. 558]. But it is to raise envy to the Living, to compare them with the Dead. They are honoured, and almost adored by us, as they deserve; neither do I know any so presumptuous of themselves, as to contend with them. Yet give me leave to say thus much, without injury to their ashes, that not only we shall never equal them; but they could never equal themselves, were they to rise, and write again. We acknowledge them our Fathers in Wit: but they have ruined their estates themselves before they came to their children's hands. There is scarce a Humour, a Character, or any kind of Plot; which they have not blown upon. All comes sullied or wasted to us: and were they to entertain this Age, they could not make so plenteous treatments out of such decayed fortunes. This, therefore, will be a good argument to us, either not to write at all; or to attempt some other way. There are no Bays to be expected in their walks, _Tentanda via est qua me quoque possum tollere humo_.

"This way of Writing in Verse, they have only left free to us. Our Age is arrived to a perfection in it, which they never knew: and which (if we may guess by what of theirs we have seen in Verse, as the _Faithful Shepherdess_ and _Sad Shepherd_) 'tis probable they never could have reached. For the Genius of every Age is different: and though ours excel in this; I deny not but that to imitate Nature in that perfection which they did in Prose [_i.e., Blank Verse_] is a greater commendation than to write in Verse exactly.

"As for what you have added, _that the people are not generally inclined to like this way_: if it were true, it would be no wonder but betwixt the shaking off of an old habit, and the introducing of a new, there should be difficulty. Do we not see them stick to HOPKINS and STERNHOLD's Psalms; and forsake those of DAVID, I mean SANDYS his Translation of them? If, by the _people_, you understand the Multitude, the [Greek: _oi polloi_]; 'tis no matter, what they think! They are sometimes in the right, sometimes in the wrong. Their judgement is a mere lottery. _Est ubi plebs recte putat, est ubi peccat_. HORACE says it of the Vulgar, judging Poesy. But if you mean, the mixed Audience of the Populace and the Noblesse: I dare confidently affirm, that a great part of the latter sort are already favourable to Verse; and that no serious Plays, written since the King's return [_May_ 1660], have been more kindly received by them, than the _Siege of Rhodes_, the _MUSTAPHA_, the _Indian Queen_ and _Indian Emperor_. [_See_ p. 503.]

"But I come now to the Inference of your first argument. You said, 'The dialogue of Plays is presented as the effect of sudden thought; but no one speaks suddenly or, _ex tempore_, in Rhyme' [p. 498]: and you inferred from thence, _that Rhyme_, which you acknowledge to be proper to Epic Poesy [p. 559], _cannot equally be proper to Dramatic; unless we could suppose all men born so much more than poets, that verses should be made_ in _them, not_ by _them_.

"It has been formerly urged by you [p. 499] and confessed by me [p. 563] that 'since no man spoke any kind of verse _ex tempore_; that which was _nearest_ Nature was to be preferred.' I answer you, therefore, by distinguishing betwixt what is _nearest_ to the nature of Comedy: which is the Imitation of common persons and Ordinary Speaking: and, what is _nearest_ the nature of a serious Play. This last is, indeed, the Representation of Nature; but 'tis Nature wrought up to an higher pitch. The Plot, the Characters, the Wit, the Passions, the Descriptions are all exalted above the level of common converse [_conversation_], as high as the Imagination of the Poet can carry them, with proportion to verisimility [_verisimilitude_].

"Tragedy, we know, is wont to Image to us the minds and fortunes of noble persons: and to pourtray these exactly, Heroic Rhyme is _nearest_ Nature; as being the noblest kind of Modern Verse.

"_Indignatur enim privatis, et prope socco,
Dignis carminibus narrari coena THYESTOE._

"says HORACE. And in another place,

"_Effutire leveis indigna tragoedia versus._

"Blank Verse is acknowledged to be too low for a Poem, nay more, for a paper of Verses [pp. 473, 498, 559]; but if too low for an ordinary Sonnet, how much more for Tragedy! which is, by ARISTOTLE, in the dispute between the Epic Poesy and the Dramatic, (for many reasons he there alleges) ranked above it.

"But setting this defence aside, your argument is almost as strong against the use of Rhyme in Poems, as in Plays. For the Epic way is everywhere interlaced with Dialogue or Discoursive Scenes: and, therefore, you must either grant Rhyme to be improper there, which is contrary to your assertion; or admit it into Plays, by the same title which you have given it to Poems.

"For though Tragedy be justly preferred above the other, yet there is a great affinity between them; as may easily be discovered in that Definition of a Play, which LISIDEIUS gave us [p. 513]. The genus of them is the same, A JUST AND LIVELY IMAGE OF HUMAN NATURE, IN ITS ACTIONS, PASSIONS, AND TRAVERSES OF FORTUNE: so is the End, namely, FOR THE DELIGHT AND BENEFIT OF MANKIND. The Characters and Persons are still the same, viz., the greatest of both sorts: only the _manner of acquainting us_ with those actions, passions, and fortunes is different. Tragedy performs it, _viva voce_, or by Action in Dialogue: wherein it excels the Epic Poem; which does it, chiefly, by Narration, and therefore is not so lively an Image of Human Nature. However, the agreement betwixt them is such, that if Rhyme be proper for one, it must be for the other.

"Verse, 'tis true, is not 'the effect of Sudden Thought.' But this hinders not, that Sudden Thought may be represented in Verse: since those thoughts are such, as must be higher than Nature can raise them without premeditation, especially, to a continuance of them, even out of Verse: and, consequently, you cannot imagine them, to have been sudden, either in the Poet or the Actors.

"A Play, as I have said, to be like Nature, is to be set above it; as statues which are placed on high, are made greater than the life, that they may descend to the sight, in their just proportion.

"Perhaps, I have insisted too long upon this objection; but the clearing of it, will make my stay shorter on the rest.

"You tell us, CRITES! that 'Rhyme is most unnatural in Repartees or Short Replies: when he who answers, it being presumed he knew not what the other would say, yet makes up that part of the Verse which was left incomplete; and supplies both the sound and the measure of it. This,' you say, 'looks rather like the Confederacy of two, than the Answer of one.'

"This, I confess, is an objection which is in every one's mouth, who loves not Rhyme; but suppose, I beseech you! the Repartee were made only in Blank Verse; might not part of the same argument be turned against you? For the measure is as often supplied there, as it is in Rhyme: the latter half of the hemistich as commonly made up, or a second line subjoined as a reply to the former; which any one leaf in JOHNSON's Plays will sufficiently make clear to you.

"You will often find in the Greek Tragedians, and in SENECA; that when a Scene grows up into the warmth of Repartees, which is the close fighting of it, the latter part of the trimeter is supplied by him who answers: and yet it was never observed as a fault in them, by any of the Ancient or Modern critics. The case is the same in our verse, as it was in theirs: Rhyme to us, being in lieu of Quantity to them. But if no latitude is to be allowed a Poet; you take from him, not only his license of _quidlibet audendi_: but you tie him up in a straighter compass than you would a Philosopher.

"This is, indeed, _Musas colere severiores_. You would have him follow Nature, but he must follow her on foot. You have dismounted him from his _Pegasus_!

"But you tell us 'this supplying the last half of a verse, or adjoining a whole second to the former, looks more like the Design of two, than the Answer of one [pp. 498, 559].' Suppose we acknowledge it. How comes this Confederacy to be more displeasing to you, than a dance which is well contrived? You see there, the united Design of many persons to make up one Figure. After they have separated themselves in many petty divisions; they rejoin, one by one, into the gross. The Confederacy is plain amongst them; for Chance could never produce anything so beautiful, and yet there is nothing in it that shocks your sight.

"I acknowledge that the hand of Art appears in Repartee, as, of necessity, it must in all kind[s] of Verse. But there is, also, the quick and poignant brevity of it (which is a high Imitation of Nature, in those sudden gusts of passion) to mingle with it: and this joined with the cadency and sweetness of the Rhyme, leaves nothing in the Soul of the Hearer to desire. 'Tis an Art which _appears_; but it _appears_ only like the shadowings of painture [_painting_], which, being to cause the rounding of it, cannot be absent: but while that is considered, they are lost. So while we attend to the other beauties of the Matter, the care and labour of the Rhyme is carried from us; or, at least, drowned in its own sweetness, as bees are some times buried in their honey.

"When a Poet has found the Repartee; the last perfection he can add to it, is to put it into Verse. However good the Thought may be, however apt the Words in which 'tis couched; yet he finds himself at a little unrest, while Rhyme is wanting. He cannot leave it, till that comes naturally; and then is at ease, and sits down contented.

"From Replies, which are the most _elevated_ thoughts of Verse, you pass to the most _mean_ ones, those which are common with the lowest of household conversation. In these you say, the majesty of the Verse suffers. You instance in 'the calling of a servant' or 'commanding a door to be shut' in Rhyme. This, CRITES! is a good observation of yours; but no argument. For it proves no more, but that such thoughts should be waved, as often as may be, by the address of the Poet. But suppose they _are_ necessary in the places where he uses them; yet there is no need to put them into rhyme. He may place them in the beginning of a verse and break it off, as unfit (when so debased) for any other use: or granting the worst, that they require more room than the hemistich will allow; yet still, there is a choice to be made of best words and least vulgar (provided they be apt) to express such thoughts.

"Many have blamed Rhyme in general for this fault, when the Poet, with a little care, might have redressed it: but they do it, with no more justice, than if English Poesy should be made ridiculous, for the sake of [JOHN TAYLOR] the Water Poet's rhymes.

"Our language is noble, full, and significant; and I know not why he who is master of it, may not clothe ordinary things in it, as decently as the Latin; if he use the same diligence in his choice of words.

"_Delectus verborum origo est eloquentiae_ was the saying of JULIUS CAESAR; one so curious in his, that none of them can be changed but for the worse.

"One would think 'Unlock the door!' was a thing as vulgar as could be spoken; and yet SENECA could make it sound high and lofty, in his Latin--

"_Reserate clusos regii postes Laris._

"But I turn from this exception, both because it happens not above twice or thrice in any Play, that those vulgar thoughts are used: and then too, were there no other apology to be made, yet the necessity of them (which is, alike, in all kind[s] of writing) may excuse them. Besides that, the great eagerness and precipitation with which they are spoken, makes us rather mind the substance than the dress; that for which they are spoken, rather than what is spoke[n]. For they are always the effect of some hasty concernment; and something of consequence depends upon them.

"Thus, CRITES! I have endeavoured to answer your objections. It remains only that I should vindicate an argument for Verse, which you have gone about to overthrow.

"It had formerly been said [p. 492] that, 'The easiness of Blank Verse renders the Poet too luxuriant; but that the labour of Rhyme bounds and circumscribes an over fruitful fancy: the Sense there being commonly confined to the Couplet; and the words so ordered that the Rhyme naturally follows them, not they, the Rhyme.'

"To this, you answered, that 'It was no argument to the question in hand: for the dispute was not which way _a man may write best_; but which is _most proper for the subject on which he writes_.'

"First. Give me leave, Sir, to remember you! that the argument on which you raised this objection was only secondary. It was built upon the hypothesis, that to write in Verse was proper for serious Plays. Which supposition being granted (as it was briefly made out in that discourse, by shewing how Verse might be made _natural_): it asserted that this way of writing was a help to the Poet's judgement, by putting bounds to a wild, overflowing Fancy. I think therefore it will not be hard for me to make good what it was to prove.

"But you add, that, 'Were this let pass; yet he who wants judgement in the liberty of the Fancy, may as well shew the defect of it, when he is confined to Verse: for he who has judgement, will avoid errors; and he who has it not will commit them in all kinds of writing.'

"This argument, as you have taken it from a most acute person, so I confess it carries much weight in it. But by using the word Judgement here indefinitely, you seem to have put a fallacy upon us. I grant he who has judgement, that is, so profound, so strong, so infallible a judgement that he needs no helps to keep it always poised and upright, will commit no faults; either in Rhyme, or out of it: and, on the other extreme, he who has a judgement so weak and crazed, that no helps can correct or amend it, shall write scurvily out of Rhyme; and worse in it. But the first of these Judgements, is nowhere to be found; and the latter is not fit to write at all.

"To speak, therefore, of Judgement as it is in the best Poets; they who have the greatest proportion of it, want other helps than from it within: as, for example, you would be loath to say that he who was endued with a sound judgement, had no need of history, geography, or moral philosophy, to write correctly.

"Judgement is, indeed, the Master Workman in a Play; but he requires many subordinate hands, many tools to his assistance. And Verse, I affirm to be one of these. 'Tis a 'Rule and Line' by which he keeps his building compact and even; which, otherwise, lawless Imagination would raise, either irregularly or loosely. At least, if the Poet commits errors with this help; he would make greater and more without it. 'Tis, in short, a slow and painful, but the surest kind of working.

"OVID, whom you accuse [p. 561] for luxuriancy in Verse, had, perhaps, been farther guilty of it, had he writ in Prose. And for your instance of BEN. JOHNSON [p. 561]; who, you say, writ exactly, without the help of Rhyme: you are to remember, 'tis only an aid to a _luxuriant_ Fancy; which his was not [p. 551]. As he did not want Imagination; so, none ever said he had much to spare. Neither was Verse then refined so much, to be a help to that Age as it is to ours.

"Thus then, the second thoughts being usually the best, as receiving the maturest digestion from judgement; and the last and most mature product of those thoughts, being artfull and laboured Verse: it may well be inferred, that Verse is a great help to a luxuriant Fancy. And this is what that argument, which you opposed, was to evince."

NEANDER was pursuing this discourse so eagerly that EUGENIUS had called to him twice or thrice, ere he took notice that the barge stood still; and that they were at the foot of Somerset Stairs, where they had appointed it to land.

The company were all sorry to separate so soon, though a great part of the evening was already spent: and stood a while, looking back upon the water; which the moonbeams played upon, and made it appear like floating quicksilver.

At last, they went up, through a crowd of French people, who were merrily dancing in the open air, and nothing concerned for the noise of the guns, which had alarmed the Town that afternoon.

Walking thence together to the Piazza, they parted there, EUGENIUS and LISIDEIUS, to some pleasant appointment they had made; and CRITES and NEANDER to their several lodgings.

FINIS.

[9] Compare DRYDEN's definition of Humour, with that of Lord MACAULAY,
in his review of _Diary and Letters of Madame D'ARBLAY (Edinburgh
Review_, Jan. 1843). E.A. 1880.

[10] Glorious JOHN DRYDEN! thee liest! CROMWELL and his Court were
no "enemies of all good learning," though they utterly rejected the
Dramatic branch of it. E.A. 1880.

The Honourable Sir ROBERT HOWARD Auditor of the Exchequer.

Preface to _The great Favourite, or the Duke of LERMA_.

[Published in 1668.]

_TO THE READER._

I cannot plead the usual excuse for publishing this trifle, which is commonly the subject of most Prefaces, by charging it upon the importunity of friends; for I confess I was myself willing, at the first desire of Mr. HERRINGMAN [_the Publisher_], to print it: not for any great opinion that I had entertained; but for the opinion that others were pleased to express. Which, being told me by some friends, I was concerned to let the World judge what subject matter of offence was contained in it. Some were pleased to believe little of it mine; but they are both obliging to me, though perhaps not intentionally: the last, by thinking there was anything in it that was worth so ill designed an envy, as to place it to another author; the others, perhaps the best bred Informers, by continuing their displeasure towards me, since I most gratefully acknowledge to have received some advantage in the opinion of the sober part of the World, by the loss of theirs.

For the subject, I came accidentally to write upon it. For a gentleman brought a Play to the King's Company, called, _The Duke of LERMA_; and, by them, I was desired to peruse it, and return my opinion, "Whether I thought it fit for the Stage!" After I had read it, I acquainted them that, "In my judgement, it would not be of much use for such a design, since the Contrivance scarce would merit the name of a Plot; and some of that, assisted by a disguise: and it ended abruptly. And on the person of PHILIP III., there was fixed such a mean Character; and on the daughter of the Duke of LERMA, such a vicious one: that I could not but judge it unfit to be presented by any that had a respect, not only to Princes, but indeed, to either Man or Woman."

And, about that time, being to go in the country, I was persuaded by Mr. HART to make it my diversion there, that so great a hint might not be lost, as the Duke of LERMA saving himself, in his last extremity, by his unexpected disguise: which is as well in the true Story [_history_], as the old Play. And besides that and the Names; my altering the most part of the Characters, and the whole Design, made me uncapable to use much more, though, perhaps, written with higher Style and Thoughts than I could attain to.

I intend not to trouble myself nor the World any more in such subjects; but take my leave of these my too long acquaintances: since that little Fancy and Liberty I once enjoyed, is now fettered in business of more unpleasant natures. Yet, were I free to apply my thoughts, as my own choice directed them; I should hardly again venture into the Civil Wars of Censures.

_Ubi ... Nullos habitura triumphos_.

In the next place. I must ingeniously confess that the manner of Plays, which now are in most esteem, is beyond my power to perform [p. 587]; nor do I condemn, in the least, anything, of what nature soever, that pleases; since nothing could appear to me a ruder folly, than to censure the satisfaction of others. I rather blame the unnecessary understanding of some, that have laboured to give strict Rules to things that are not mathematical; and, with such eagerness, pursuing their own seeming reasons, that, at last, we are to apprehend such Argumentative Poets will grow as strict as SANCHO PANZA's Doctor was, to our very appetites: for in the difference of Tragedy and Comedy, and of Fars [_farce_] itself, there can be no determination, but by the taste; nor in the manner of their composure. And, whoever would endeavour to like or dislike, by the Rules of others; he will be as unsuccessful, as if he should try to be persuaded into a power of believing, not what he must, but what others direct him to believe.