Chapter III: Act II

SCENE I.--_The Playhouse_.--LUCKLESS, MARPLAY, senior, MARPLAY, junior.

_Luck_. [_Reads_.]

"Then hence my sorrow, hence my ev'ry fear;
No matter where, so we are bless'd together.
With thee, the barren rocks, where not one step
Of human race lies printed in the snow,
Look lovely as the smiling infant spring."

_Mar. sen_. Augh! will you please to read that again, sir?

_Luck_. "Then hence my sorrow, hence my ev'ry fear."

_Mar. sen_. "Then hence my sorrow."--Horror is a much better word.--And then in the second line--"No matter where, so we are bless'd together."--Undoubtedly, it should be, "No matter where, so somewhere we're together." Where is the question, somewhere is the answer.--Read on, sir.

_Luck_. "With thee,----"

_Mar. sen_. No, no, I could alter those lines to a much better idea.

"With thee, the barren blocks, where not a bit
Of human face is painted on the bark,
Look green as Covent-garden in the spring."

_Luck_. Green as Covent-garden!

_Mar. jun_. Yes, yes; Covent-garden market, where they sell greens.

_Luck_. Monstrous!

_Mar. sen_. Pray, sir, read on.

_Luck_.

"LEANDRA: oh, my Harmonio, I could hear thee still;
The nightingale to thee sings out of tune,
While on thy faithful breast my head reclines,
The downy pillow's hard; while from thy lips
I drink delicious draughts of nectar down,
Falernian wines seem bitter to my taste."

_Mar. jun_. Here's meat, drink, singing, and lodging, egad.

_Luck_. He answers.

_Mar. jun_. But, sir----

_Luck_.

"Oh, let me pull thee, press thee to my heart,
Thou rising spring of everlasting sweets!
Take notice, Fortune, I forgive thee all!
Thou'st made Leandra mine. Thou flood of joy
Mix with my soul, and rush thro' ev'ry vein."

_Mar. sen_. Those two last lines again if you please.

_Luck_. "Thou'st made," &c.

_Mar. jun_.

"----Thou flood of joy,
Mix with my soul and rush thro' ev'ry vein."

Those are two excellent lines indeed: I never writ better myself: but, Sar----

_Luck_.

"Leandra's mine, go bid the tongue of fate
Pronounce another word of bliss like that;
Search thro' the eastern mines and golden shores,
Where lavish Nature pours forth all her stores;
For to my lot could all her treasures fall,
I would not change Leandra for them all."

There ends act the first, and such an act as, I believe, never was on this stage yet.

_Mar. jun_. Nor never will, I hope.

_Mar. sen_. Pray, sir, let me look at one thing. "Falernian wines seem bitter to my taste."

Pray, sir, what sort of wines may your Falernian be? for I never heard of them before; and I am sure, as I keep the best company, if there had been such sorts of wines, I should have tasted them. Tokay I have drank, and Lacrimas I have drank, but what your Falernian is, the devil take me if I can tell.

_Mar. jun_. I fancy, father, these wines grow at the top of Parnassus.

_Luck_. Do they so, Mr Pert? why then I fancy you have never tasted them.

_Mar. sen_. Suppose you should say the wines of Cape are bitter to my taste.

_Luck_. Sir, I cannot alter it.

_Mar. sen_. Nor we cannot act it. It won't do, sir, and so you need give yourself no farther trouble about it.

_Luck_. What particular fault do you find?

_Mar. jun_. Sar, there's nothing that touches me, nothing that is coercive to my passions.

_Luck_. Fare you well, sir: may another play be coercive to your passions.

SCENE II.--MARPLAY, senior, MARPLAY, junior.

_Mar. sen_. Ha, ha, ha!

_Mar. jun_. What do you think of the play?

_Mar. sen_. It may be a very good one, for aught I know: but I am resolved, since the town will not receive any of mine, they shall have none from any other. I'll keep them to their old diet.

_Mar. jun_. But suppose they won't feed on't?

_Mar. sen_. Then it shall be crammed down their throats.

_Mar. jun_. I wish, father, you would leave me that art for a legacy, since I am afraid I am like to have no other from you.

_Mar. sen_. 'Tis buff, child, 'tis buff--true Corinthian brass; and, heaven be praised, tho' I have given thee no gold, I have given thee enough of that, which is the better inheritance of the two. Gold thou might'st have spent, but this is a lasting estate that will stick by thee all thy life.

_Mar. jun_. What shall be done with that farce which was damned last night?

_Mar. sen_. Give it them again to-morrow. I have told some persons of quality that it is a good thing, and I am resolved not to be in the wrong: let us see which will be weary first, the town of damning, or we of being damned.

_Mar. jun_. Rat the town, I say.

_Mar. sen_. That's a good boy; and so say I: but, prithee, what didst thou do with the comedy which I gave thee t'other day, that I thought a good one?

_Mar. jun_. Did as you ordered me; returned it to the author, and told him it would not do.

_Mar. sen_. You did well. If thou writest thyself, and that I know thou art very well qualified to do, it is thy interest to keep back all other authors of any merit, and be as forward to advance those of none.

_Mar. jun_. But I am a little afraid of writing; for my writings, you know, have fared but ill hitherto.

_Mar. sen_. That is because thou hast a little mistaken the method of writing. The art of writing, boy, is the art of stealing old plays, by changing the name of the play, and new ones, by changing the name of the author.

_Mar. jun_. If it was not for these cursed hisses and catcalls----

_Mar. sen_. Harmless musick, child, very harmless musick, and what, when one is but well seasoned to it, has no effect at all: for my part, I have been used to them.

_Mar. jun_. Ay, and I have been used to them too, for that matter.

_Mar. sen_. And stood them bravely too. Idle young actors are fond of applause, but, take my word for it, a clap is a mighty silly, empty thing, and does no more good than a hiss; and, therefore, if any man loves hissing, he may have his three shillings worth at me whenever he pleases. [_Exeunt_.

SCENE III.--_A Room in_ BOOKWEIGHT'S _house_.--DASH, BLOTPAGE, QUIBBLE, _writing at several tables_.

_Dash_. Pox on't, I'm as dull as an ox, tho' I have not a bit of one within me. I have not dined these two days, and yet my head is as heavy as any alderman's or lord's. I carry about me symbols of all the elements; my head is as heavy as water, my pockets are as light as air, my appetite is as hot as fire, and my coat is as dirty as earth.

_Blot_. Lend me your Bysshe, Mr Dash, I want a rhime for wind.

_Dash_. Why there's blind, and kind, and behind, and find, and mind: it is of the easiest termination imaginable; I have had it four times in a page.

_Blot_. None of those words will do.

_Dash_. Why then you may use any that end in ond, or and, or end. I am never so exact: if the two last letters are alike, it will do very well. Read the verse.

_Blot_. "Inconstant as the seas or as the wind."

_Dash_. What would you express in the next line?

_Blot_. Nay, that I don't know, for the sense is out already. I would say something about inconstancy.

_Dash_. I can lend you a verse, and it will do very well too.

"Inconstancy will never have an end."

End rhimes very well with wind.

_Blot_. It will do well enough for the middle of a poem.

_Dash_. Ay, ay, anything will do well enough for the middle of a poem. If you can but get twenty good lines to place at the beginning for a taste, it will sell very well.

_Quib_. So that, according to you, Mr Dash, a poet acts pretty much on the same principles with an oister-woman.

_Dash_. Pox take your simile, it has set my chaps a watering: but come, let us leave off work for a while, and hear Mr Quibble's song.

_Quib_. My pipes are pure and clear, and my stomach is as hollow as any trumpet in Europe.

_Dash_. Come, the song.

SONG.

AIR. _Ye Commons and Peers_.

How unhappy's the fate
To live by one's pate,

And be forced to write hackney for bread! An author's a joke To all manner of folk, Wherever he pops up his head, his head, Wherever he pops up his head.

Tho' he mount on that hack,
Old Pegasus' back,
And of Helicon drink till he burst,
Yet a curse of those streams,
Poetical dreams,
They never can quench one's thirst, &c.

Ah! how should he fly
On fancy so high,
When his limbs are in durance and hold?
Or how should he charm,
With genius so warm,
When his poor naked body's a cold, &c.

SCENE IV.--BOOKWEIGHT, DASH, QUIBBLE, BLOTPAGE.

_Book_. Fie upon it, gentlemen! what, not at your pens? Do you consider, Mr Quibble, that it is a fortnight since your Letter to a Friend in the Country was published? Is it not high time for an Answer to come out? At this rate, before your Answer is printed, your Letter will be forgot. I love to keep a controversy up warm. I have had authors who have writ a pamphlet in the morning, answered it in the afternoon, and answered that again at night.

_Quib_. Sir, I will be as expeditious as possible: but it is harder to write on this side the question, because it is the wrong side.

_Book_. Not a jot. So far on the contrary, that I have known some authors choose it as the properest to shew their genius. But let me see what you have produced; "With all deference to what that very learned and most ingenious person, in his Letter to a Friend in the Country, hath advanced." Very well, sir; for, besides that, it may sell more of the Letter: all controversial writers should begin with complimenting their adversaries, as prize-fighters kiss before they engage. Let it be finished with all speed. Well, Mr Dash, have you done that murder yet?

_Dash_. Yes, sir, the murder is done; I am only about a few moral reflexions to place before it.

_Book_. Very well: then Jet me have the ghost finished by this day se'nnight.

_Dash_. What sort of a ghost would you have this, sir? the last was a pale one.

_Book_. Then let this be a bloody one. Mr Quibble, you may lay by that life which you are about; for I hear the person is recovered, and write me out proposals for delivering five sheets of Mr Bailey's English Dictionary every week, till the whole be finished. If you do not know the form, you may copy the proposals for printing Bayle's Dictionary in the same manner. The same words will do for both.

_Enter_ INDEX.

So, Mr Index, what news with you?

_Index_. I have brought my bill, sir.

_Book_. What's here? For fitting the motto of Risum teneatis Amici to a dozen pamphlets, at sixpence per each, six shillings; for Omnia vincit Amor, et nos cedamus Amori, sixpence; for Difficile est Satyram non scribere, sixpence. Hum! hum! hum!--sum total for thirty-six Latin mottoes, eighteen shillings; ditto English, one shilling and ninepence; ditto Greek, four--four shillings. These Greek mottoes are excessively dear.

_Ind_. If you have them cheaper at either of the universities, I will give you mine for nothing.

_Book_. You shall have your money immediately; and pray remember, that I must have two Latin seditious mottoes and one Greek moral motto for pamphlets by to-morrow morning.

_Quib_. I want two Latin sentences, sir--one for page the fourth in the praise of loyalty, and another for page the tenth in praise of liberty and property.

_Dash_. The ghost would become a motto very well if you would bestow one on him.

_Book_. Let me have them all.

_Ind_. Sir, I shall provide them. Be pleased to look on that, sir, and print me five hundred proposals and as many receipts.

_Book_. "Proposals for printing by subscription a New Translation of Cicero Of the Nature of the Gods, and his Tusculan Questions, by Jeremy Index, Esq." I am sorry you have undertaken this, for it prevents a design of mine.

_Ind_. Indeed, sir, it does not; for you see all of the book that I ever intend to publish. It is only a handsome way of asking one's friends for a guinea.

_Book_. Then you have not translated a word of it, perhaps.

_Ind_. Not a single syllable.

_Book_. Well, you shall have your proposals forthwith: but I desire you would be a little more reasonable in your bills for the future, or I shall deal with you no longer; for I have a certain fellow of a college, who offers to furnish me with second-hand mottoes out of the Spectator for twopence each.

_Ind_. Sir, I only desire to live by my goods; and I hope you will be pleased to allow some difference between a neat fresh piece, piping hot out of the classicks, and old threadbare worn-out stuff that has past through every pedant's mouth and been as common at the universities as their whores.

SCENE V.--BOOKWEIGHT, DASH, QUIBBLE, BLOTPAGE, SCARECROW.

_Scare_. Sir, I have brought you a libel against the ministry.

_Book_. Sir, I shall not take anything against them;--for I have two in the press already. [_Aside_.

_Scare_. Then, sir, I have an Apology in defence of them.

_Book_. That I shall not meddle with neither; they don't sell so well.

_Scare_. I have a translation of Virgil's Aeneid, with notes on it, if we can agree about the price.

_Book_. Why, what price would you have?

_Scare_. You shall read it first, otherwise how will you know the value?

_Book_. No, no, sir, I never deal that way--a poem is a poem, and a pamphlet a pamphlet with me. Give me a good handsome large volume, with a full promising title-page at the head of it, printed on a good paper and letter, the whole well bound and gilt, and I'll warrant its selling. You have the common error of authors, who think people buy books to read. No, no, books are only bought to furnish libraries, as pictures and glasses, and beds and chairs, are for other rooms. Look ye, sir, I don't like your title-page: however, to oblige a young beginner, I don't care if I do print it at my own expence.

_Scare_. But pray, sir, at whose expence shall I eat?

_Book_. At whose? Why, at mine, sir, at mine. I am as great a friend to learning as the Dutch are to trade: no one can want bread with me who will earn it; therefore, sir, if you please to take your seat at my table, here will be everything necessary provided for you: good milk porridge, very often twice a day, which is good wholesome food and proper for students; a translator too is what I want at present, my last being in Newgate for shop-lifting. The rogue had a trick of translating out of the shops as well as the languages.

_Scare_. But I am afraid I am not qualified for a translator, for I understand no language but my own.

_Book_. What, and translate Virgil?

_Scare_. Alas! I translated him out of Dryden.

_Book_. Lay by your hat, sir--lay by your hat, and take your seat immediately. Not qualified!--thou art as well versed in thy trade as if thou hadst laboured in my garret these ten years. Let me tell you, friend, you will have more occasion for invention than learning here. You will be obliged to translate books out of all languages, especially French, that were never printed in any language whatsoever.

_Scare_. Your trade abounds in mysteries.

_Book_. The study of bookselling is as difficult as the law: and there are as many tricks in the one as the other. Sometimes we give a foreign name to our own labours, and sometimes we put our names to the labours of others. Then, as the lawyers have John-a-Nokes and Tom-a-Stiles, so we have Messieurs Moore near St Paul's and Smith near the Royal Exchange.

SCENE VI.--_To them_, LUCKLESS.

_Luck_. Mr Bookweight, your servant. Who can form to himself an idea more amiable than of a man at the head of so many patriots working for the benefit of their country.

_Book_. Truly, sir, I believe it is an idea more agreeable to you than that of a gentleman in the Crown-office paying thirty or forty guineas for abusing an honest tradesman.

_Luck_. Pshaw! that was only jocosely done, and a man who lives by wit must not be angry at a jest.

_Book_. Look ye, sir, if you have a mind to compromise the matter, and have brought me any money--

_Luck_. Hast thou been in thy trade so long, and talk of money to a modern author? You might as well have talked Latin or Greek to him. I have brought you paper, sir.

_Book_. That is not bringing me money, I own. Have you brought me an opera?

_Luck_. You may call it an opera if you will, but I call it a puppet-show.

_Book_. A puppet-show!

_Luck_. Ay, a puppet show; and is to be played this night at Drury-lane playhouse.

_Book_. A puppet-show in a playhouse!

_Luck_. Ay, why, what have been all the playhouses a long while but puppet-shows?

_Book_. Why, I don't know but it may succeed; at least if we can make out a tolerable good title-page: so, if you will walk in, if I can make a bargain with you I will. Gentlemen, you may go to dinner.

SCENE VII.--_Enter_ JACK-PUDDING, Drummer, Mob.

_Jack-P_. This is to give notice to all gentlemen, ladies, and others, that at the Theatre Royal in Drury-lane, this evening, will be performed the whole puppet-show called the Pleasures of the Town; in which will be shewn the whole court of nonsense, with abundance of singing, dancing, and several other entertainments: also the comical and diverting humours of Some-body and No-body; Punch and his wife Joan to be performed by figures, some of them six foot high. God save the King.

[_Drum beats_.

SCENE VIII.--WITMORE _with a paper, meeting_ LUCKLESS.

_Wit_. Oh! Luckless, I am overjoyed to meet you; here, take this paper, and you will be discouraged from writing, I warrant you.

_Luck_. What is it?--Oh! one of my play-bills.

_Wit_. One of thy play-bills!

_Luck_. Even so--I have taken the advice you gave me this morning.

_Wit_. Explain.

_Luck_. Why, I had some time since given this performance of mine to be rehearsed, and the actors were all perfect in their parts; but we happened to differ about some particulars, and I had a design to have given it over; 'till having my play refused by Marplay, I sent for the managers of the other house in a passion, joined issue with them, and this very evening it is to be acted.

_Wit_. Well, I wish you success.

_Luck_. Where are you going?

_Wit_. Anywhere but to hear you damned, which I must, was I to go to your puppet-show.

_Luck_. Indulge me in this trial; and I assure thee, if it be successless, it shall be the last.

_Wit_. On that condition I will; but should the torrent run against you, I shall be a fashionable friend and hiss with the rest.

_Luck_. No, a man who could do so unfashionable and so generous a thing as Mr Witmore did this morning----

_Wit_. Then I hope you will return it, by never mentioning it to me more. I will now to the pit.

_Luck_. And I behind the scenes.

SCENE IX.--LUCKLESS, HARRIOT.

_Luck_. Dear Harriot!

_Har_. I was going to the playhouse to look after you--I am frightened out of my wits--I have left my mother at home with the strangest sort of man, who is inquiring after you: he has raised a mob before the door by the oddity of his appearance; his dress is like nothing I ever saw, and he talks of kings, and Bantam, and the strangest stuff.

_Luck_. What the devil can he be?

_Har_. One of your old acquaintance, I suppose, in disguise--one of his majesty's officers with his commission in his pocket, I warrant him.

_Luck_. Well, but have you your part perfect?

_Har_. I had, unless this fellow hath frightened it out of my head again; but I am afraid I shall play it wretchedly.

_Luck_. Why so?

_Har_. I shall never have assurance enough to go through with it, especially if they should hiss me.

_Luck_. Oh! your mask will keep you in countenance, and as for hissing, you need not fear it. The audience are generally so favourable to young beginners: but hist, here is your mother and she has seen us. Adieu, my dear, make what haste you can to the playhouse.

[_Exit_.

SCENE X.--HARRIOT, MONEYWOOD.

_Har_. I wish I could avoid her, for I suppose we shall have an alarum.

_Money_. So, so, very fine: always together, always caterwauling. How like a hangdog he stole off; and it's well for him he did, for I should have rung such a peal in his ears.--There's a friend of his at my house would be very glad of his company, and I wish it was in my power to bring them together.

_Har_. You would not surely be so barbarous.

_Money_. Barbarous! ugh! You whining, puling fool! Hussey, you have not a drop of my blood in you. What, you are in love, I suppose?

_Har_. If I was, madam, it would be no crime,

_Money_. Yes, madam, but it would, and a folly too. No woman of sense was ever in love with anything but a man's pocket. What, I suppose he has filled your head with a pack of romantick stuff of streams and dreams, and charms and arms. I know this is the stuff they all run on with, and so run into our debts, and run away with our daughters. Come, confess; are not you two to live in a wilderness together on love? Ah! thou fool! thou wilt find he will pay thee in love just as he has paid me in money. If thou wert resolved to go a-begging, why did you not follow the camp? There, indeed, you might have carried a knapsack; but here you will have no knapsack to carry. There, indeed, you might have had a chance of burying half a score husbands in a campaign; whereas a poet is a long-lived animal; you have but one chance of burying him, and that is, starving him.

_Har_. Well, madam, and I would sooner starve with the man I love than ride in a coach and six with him I hate: and, as for his passion, you will not make me suspect that, for he hath given me such proofs on't.

_Money_. Proofs! I shall die. Has he given you proofs of love?

_Har_. All that any modest woman can require.

_Money_. If he has given you all a modest woman can require, I am afraid he has given you more than a modest woman should take: because he has been so good a lodger, I suppose I shall have some more of the family to keep. It is probable I shall live to see half a dozen grandsons of mine in Grub-street.

SCENE XI.--MONEYWOOD, HARRIOT, JACK.

_Jack_. Oh, madam! the man whom you took for a bailiff is certainly some great man; he has a vast many jewels and other fine things about him; he offered me twenty guineas to shew him my master, and has given away so much money among the chairmen, that some folks believe he intends to stand member of parliament for Westminster.

_Money_. Nay, then, I am sure he is worth inquiring into. So, d'ye hear, sirrah, make as much haste as you can before me, and desire him to part with no more money till I come.

_Har_. So, now my mother is in pursuit of money, I may securely go in pursuit of my lover: and I am mistaken, good mamma, if e'en you would not think that the better pursuit of the two.

In generous love transporting raptures lie,
Which age, with all its treasures, cannot buy.

THE TRAGEDY OF TRAGEDIES; OR, THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMB THE GREAT.

WITH THE ANNOTATIONS OF H. SCRIBLERUS SECUNDUS

FIRST ACTED IN 1730, AND ALTERED IN 1731.

H. SCRIBLERUS SECUNDUS,

HIS PREFACE.

THE town hath seldom been more divided in its opinion than concerning the merit of the following scenes. While some publickly affirmed that no author could produce so fine a piece but Mr P----, others have with as much vehemence insisted that no one could write anything so bad but Mr F----.

Nor can we wonder at this dissension about its merit, when the learned would have not unanimously decided even the very nature of this tragedy. For though most of the universities in Europe have honoured it with the name of "Egregium et maximi pretii opus, tragoediis tam antiquis quam novis longe anteponendum;" nay, Dr B---- hath pronounced, "Citius Maevii Aeneadem quam Scribleri istrus tragoediam hanc crediderium, cujus autorem Senecam ipsum tradidisse haud dubitarim:" and the great professor Burman hath styled Tom Thumb "Heroum omnium tragicorum facile principem:" nay, though it hath, among other languages, been translated into Dutch, and celebrated with great applause at Amsterdam (where burlesque never came) by the title of Mynheer Vander Thumb, the burgomasters receiving it with that reverent and silent attention which becometh an audience at a deep tragedy. Notwithstanding all this, there have not been wanting some who have represented these scenes in a ludicrous light; and Mr D---- hath been heard to say, with some concern, that he wondered a tragical and Christian nation would permit a representation on its theatre so visibly designed to ridicule and extirpate everything that is great and solemn among us.

This learned critick and his followers were led into so great an error by that surreptitious and piratical copy which stole last year into the world; with what injustice and prejudice to our author will be acknowledged, I hope, by every one who shall happily peruse this genuine and original copy. Nor can I help remarking, to the great praise of our author, that, however imperfect the former was, even that faint resemblance of the true Tom Thumb contained sufficient beauties to give it a run of upwards of forty nights to the politest audiences. But, notwithstanding that applause which it received from all the best judges, it was as severely censured by some few bad ones, and, I believe rather maliciously than ignorantly, reported to have been intended a burlesque on the loftiest parts of tragedy, and designed to banish what we generally call fine things from the stage.

Now, if I can set my country right in an affair of this importance, I shall lightly esteem any labour which it may cost. And this I the rather undertake, first, as it is indeed in some measure incumbent on me to vindicate myself from that surreptitious copy before mentioned, published by some ill-meaning people under my name; secondly, as knowing myself more capable of doing justice to our author than any other man, as I have given myself more pains to arrive at a thorough understanding of this little piece, having for ten years together read nothing else; in which time, I think, I may modestly presume, with the help of my English dictionary, to comprehend all the meanings of every word in it.

But should any error of my pen awaken Clariss. Bentleium to enlighten the world with his annotations on our author, I shall not think that the least reward or happiness arising to me from these my endeavours.

I shall waive at present what hath caused such feuds in the learned world, whether this piece was originally written by Shakspeare, though certainly that, were it true, must add a considerable share to its merit, especially with such who are so generous as to buy and commend what they never read, from an implicit faith in the author only: a faith which our age abounds in as much as it can be called deficient in any other.

Let it suffice, that THE TRAGEDY OF TRAGEDIES; or, THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOM THUMB, was written in the reign of queen Elizabeth. Nor can the objection made by Mr D----, that the tragedy must then have been antecedent to the history, have any weight, when we consider that, though the HISTORY OF TOM THUMB, printed by and for Edward M----r, at the Looking-glass on London-bridge, be of a later date, still must we suppose this history to have been transcribed from some other, unless we suppose the writer thereof to be inspired: a gift very faintly contended for by the writers of our age. As to this history's not bearing the stamp of second, third, or fourth edition, I see but little in that objection; editions being very uncertain lights to judge of books by; and perhaps Mr M----r may have joined twenty editions in one, as Mr C----l hath ere now divided one into twenty.

Nor doth the other argument, drawn from the little care our author hath taken to keep up to the letter of this history, carry any greater force. Are there not instances of plays wherein the history is so perverted, that we can know the heroes whom they celebrate by no other marks than their names? nay, do we not find the same character placed by different poets in such different lights, that we can discover not the least sameness, or even likeness, in the features? The Sophonisba of Mairet and of Lee is a tender, passionate, amorous mistress of Massinissa: Corneille and Mr Thomson give her no other passion but the love of her country, and make her as cool in her affection to Massinissa as to Syphax. In the two latter she resembles the character of queen Elizabeth; in the two former she is the picture of Mary queen of Scotland. In short, the one Sophonisba is as different from the other as the Brutus of Voltaire is from the Marius, jun., of Otway, or as the Minerva is from the Venus of the ancients.

Let us now proceed to a regular examination of the tragedy before us, in which I shall treat separately of the Fable, the Moral, the Characters, the Sentiments, and the Diction. And first of the

Fable; which I take to be the most simple imaginable; and, to use the words of an eminent author, "one, regular, and uniform, not charged with a multiplicity of incidents, and yet affording several revolutions of fortune, by which the passions may be excited, varied, and driven to their full tumult of emotion."--Nor is the action of this tragedy less great than uniform. The spring of all is the love of Tom Thumb for Huncamunca; which caused the quarrel between their majesties in the first act; the passion of Lord Grizzle in the second; the rebellion, fall of Lord Grizzle and Glumdalca, devouring of Tom Thumb by the cow, and that bloody catastrophe, in the third.

Nor is the Moral of this excellent tragedy less noble than the Fable; it teaches these two instructive lessons, viz., that human happiness is exceeding transient; and that death is the certain end of all men: the former whereof is inculcated by the fatal end of Tom Thumb; the latter, by that of all the other personages.

The Characters are, I think, sufficiently described in the dramatis personae; and I believe we shall find few plays where greater care is taken to maintain them throughout, and to preserve in every speech that characteristical mark which distinguishes them from each other. "But (says Mr D----) how well doth the character of Tom Thumb, whom we must call the hero of this tragedy, if it hath any hero, agree with the precepts of Aristotle, who defineth 'Tragedy to be the imitation of a short but perfect action, containing a just greatness in itself'? &c. What greatness can be in a fellow whom history relateth to have been no higher than a span?" This gentleman seemeth to think, with serjeant Kite, that the greatness of a man's soul is in proportion to that of his body; the contrary of which is affirmed by our English physiognomical writers. Besides, if I understand Aristotle right, he speaketh only of the greatness of the action, and not of the person.

As for the Sentiments and the Diction, which now only remain to be spoken to; I thought I could afford them no stronger justification than by producing parallel passages out of the best of our English writers. Whether this sameness of thought and expression, which I have quoted from them, proceeded from an agreement in their way of thinking, or whether they have borrowed from our author, I leave the reader to determine. I shall adventure to affirm this of the Sentiments of our author, that they are generally the most familiar which I have ever met with, and at the same time delivered with the highest dignity of phrase; which brings me to speak of his diction. Here I shall only beg one postulatum, viz., That the greatest perfection of the language of a tragedy is, that it is not to be understood; which granted (as I think it must be), it will necessarily follow that the only way to avoid this is by being too high or too low for the understanding, which will comprehend everything within its reach. Those two extremities of stile Mr Dryden illustrates by the familiar image of two inns, which I shall term the aerial and the subterrestrial.

Horace goes farther, and sheweth when it is proper to call at one of these inns, and when at the other:

Telephus et Peleus, cum pauper et exul uterque,
Projicit ampullas et sesquipedalia verba.

That he approveth of the sesquipedalia verba is plain; for, had not Telephus and Peleus used this sort of diction in prosperity, they could not have dropt it in adversity. The aerial inn, therefore (says Horace), is proper only to be frequented by princes and other great men in the highest affluence of fortune; the subterrestrial is appointed for the entertainment of the poorer sort of people only, whom Horace advises,

--dolere sermone pedestri.

The true meaning of both which citations is, that bombast is the proper language for joy, and doggrel for grief; the latter of which is literally implied in the sermo pedestris, as the former is in the sesquipedalia verba.

Cicero recommendeth the former of these: "Quid est tarn furiosum vel tragicum quam verborum sonitus inanis, nulla subjecta sententia neque scientia." What can be so proper for tragedy as a set of big sounding words, so contrived together as to convey no meaning? which I shall one day or other prove to be the sublime of Longinus. Ovid declareth absolutely for the latter inn:

Omne genus scripti gravitate tragoedia vincit.

Tragedy hath, of all writings, the greatest share in the bathos; which is the profound of Scriblerus.

I shall not presume to determine which of these two stiles be properer for tragedy. It sufficeth, that our author excelleth in both. He is very rarely within sight through the whole play, either rising higher than the eye of your understanding can soar, or sinking lower than it careth to stoop. But here it may perhaps be observed that I have given more frequent instances of authors who have imitated him in the sublime than in the contrary. To which I answer, first, Bombast being properly a redundancy of genius, instances of this nature occur in poets whose names do more honour to our author than the writers in the doggrel, which proceeds from a cool, calm, weighty way of thinking. Instances whereof are most frequently to be found in authors of a lower class. Secondly, That the works of such authors are difficultly found at all. Thirdly, That it is a very hard task to read them, in order to extract these flowers from them. And lastly, it is very difficult to transplant them at all; they being like some flowers of a very nice nature, which will flourish in no soil but their own: for it is easy to transcribe a thought, but not the want of one. The EARL OF ESSEX, for instance, is a little garden of choice rarities, whence you can scarce transplant one line so as to preserve its original beauty. This must account to the reader for his missing the names of several of his acquaintance, which he had certainly found here, had I ever read their works; for which, if I have not a just esteem, I can at least say with Cicero, "Quae non contemno, quippe quae nunquam legerim." However, that the reader may meet with due satisfaction in this point, I have a young commentator from the university, who is reading over all the modern tragedies, at five shillings a dozen, and collecting all that they have stole from our author, which shall be shortly added as an appendix to this work.

DRAMATIS PERSONAe.

MEN.

_King Arthur_, a passionate sort of king, |
husband to queen Dollallolla, of whom he |
stands a little in fear; father to Huncamunca,| Mr MULLART.
whom he is very fond of, and in love with |
Glumdalca. |

_Tom Thumb the Great_, a little hero |
with a great soul, something violent in his | YOUNG
temper, which is a little abated by his | VERHUYCK.
love for Huncamunca. |

_Ghost of Gaffer Thumb_, a whimsical sort | Mr LACY.
of ghost. |

_Lord Grizzle_, extremely zealous for the |
liberty of the subject, very cholerick in his | Mr JONES.
temper, and in love with Huncamunca. |

_Merlin_, a conjurer, and in some sort | Mr HALLAM.
father to Tom Thumb. |

_Noodle, Doodle,_ courtiers in place, and | Mr REYNOLDS,
consequently of that party that is uppermost | Mr WATHAN.

_Foodle_, a courtier that is out of place, |
and consequently of that party that is | Mr AYRES.
undermost |

_Bailiff, and Follower,_ of the party of | Mr PETERSON,
the plaintiff. | Mr HICKS.

_Parson_, of the side of the church. | Mr WATSON.

WOMEN.

_Queen Dollallolla_, wife to king Arthur, |
and mother to Huncamunca, a woman intirely | Mrs MULLART.
faultless, saving that she is a little given |
to drink, a little too much a virago towards |
her husband, and in love with Tom Thumb. |

_The Princess Huncamunca_, daughter to |
their majesties king Arthur and queen |
Dollallolla, of a very sweet, gentle, and | Mrs JONES.
amorous disposition, equally in love with |
Lord Grizzle and Tom Thumb, and desirous to |
be married to them both. |

_Glumdalca_, of the giants, a captive |
queen, beloved by the king, but in love with | Mrs DOVE.
Tom Thumb. |

_Cleora, Mustacha,_ maids of honour in love with Noodle and
Doodle.--_Courtiers, Guards, Rebels, Drums, Trumpets,
Thunder and Lightning_.

SCENE, the court of king Arthur, and a plain thereabouts.