thus answered him.
"I shall grant LISIDEIUS, without much dispute, a great part of what he
has urged against us.
"For I acknowledge _the French contrive their Plots more regularly;
observe the laws of Comedy, and decorum of the Stage_, to speak
generally, _with more exactness_ _than the English_. Farther, I deny not
but he has taxed us justly, in some irregularities of ours; which he has
mentioned. Yet, after all, I am of opinion, that neither our faults, nor
their virtues are considerable enough to place them above us.
"For _the lively Imitation of Nature_ being the Definition of a Play [p.
513]; those which best fulfil that law, ought to be esteemed superior to
the others, 'Tis true those beauties of the French Poesy are such as will
raise perfection higher where it is; but are not sufficient to give it
where it is not. They are, indeed, the beauties of a Statue, not of a
Man; because not animated with the Soul of Poesy, which is _Imitation of
Humour and Passions_.
"And this, LISIDEIUS himself, or any other, however biased to their
party, cannot but acknowledge; if he will either compare the Humours of
our Comedies, or the Characters of our serious Plays with theirs.
"He that will look upon theirs, which have been written till [within]
these last ten years [_i.e._, 1655, _when MOLIERE began to write_], or
thereabouts, will find it a hard matter to pick out two or three passable
Humours amongst them. CORNEILLE himself, their Arch Poet; what has he
produced, except the _Liar_? and you know how it was cried up in France.
But when it came upon the English Stage, though well translated, and that
part of _DORANT_ acted to so much advantage by Mr. HART, as, I am
confident, it never received in its own country; the most favourable to
it, would not put it in competition with many of FLETCHER's or BEN.
JOHNSON's. In the rest of CORNEILLE's Comedies you have little humour. He
tells you, himself, his way is first to show two lovers in good
intelligence with each other; in the working up of the Play, to embroil
them by some mistake; and in the latter end, to clear it up.
"But, of late years, DE MOLIERE, the younger CORNEILLE, QUINAULT, and
some others, have been imitating, afar off, the quick turns and graces of
the English Stage. They have mixed their serious Plays with mirth, like
our Tragi-Comedies, since the death of Cardinal RICHELIEU [_in_ 1642]:
which LISIDEIUS and many others not observing, have commended that in
them for a virtue [p. 531], which they themselves no longer practise.
"Most of their new Plays are, like some of ours, derived from the Spanish
novels. There is scarce one of them, without a veil; and a trusty _DIEGO_,
who drolls, much after the rate of the _Adventures_ [pp. 533, 553]. But
their humours, if I may grace them with that name, are so thin sown; that
never above One of them comes up in a Play. I dare take upon me, to find
more variety of them, in one play of BEN. JOHNSON's, than in all theirs
together: as he who has seen the _Alchemist_, the _Silent Woman_, or
_Bartholomew Fair_, cannot but acknowledge with me. I grant the French
have performed what was possible on the ground work of the Spanish plays.
What was pleasant before, they have made regular. But there is not above
one good play to be writ upon all those Plots. They are too much alike,
to please often; which we need not [adduce] the experience of our own
Stage to justify.
"As for their New Way of mingling Mirth with serious Plot, I do not, with
LISIDEIUS, condemn the thing; though I cannot approve their manner of
doing it. He tells us, we cannot so speedily re-collect ourselves, after
a Scene of great Passion and Concernment, as to pass to another of Mirth
and Humour, and to 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, in a much shorter time than is required
to this? and does not the unpleasantness of the first commend the beauty
of the latter? The old rule of Logic might have convinced him, that
'Contraries when placed near, set off each other.' A continued gravity
keeps the spirit too much bent. We must refresh it sometimes; as we bait
[_lunch_] upon a journey, that we may go on with greater ease. A Scene of
Mirth mixed with Tragedy, has the same effect upon us, which our music has
betwixt the Acts; and that, we find a relief to us from the best Plots and
Language of the Stage, if the discourses have been long.
"I must, therefore, have stronger arguments, ere I am convinced that
Compassion and Mirth, in the same subject, destroy each other: and, in
the meantime, cannot but conclude to the honour of our Nation, that we
have invented, increased, and perfected a more pleasant way of writing
for the Stage than was ever known to the Ancients or Moderns of any
nation; which is, Tragi-Comedy.
"And this leads me to wonder why LISIDEIUS [p. 533], and many others,
should cry up _the barrenness of the French Plots_ above _the variety and
copiousness of the English_?
"Their Plots are single. They carry on one Design, which is push forward
by all the Actors; every scene in the Play contributing and moving
towards it. Ours, besides the main Design, have Under Plots or
By-Concernments of less considerable persons and intrigues; which are
carried on, with the motion of the main Plot: just as they say the orb
[?_orbits_] of the fixed stars, and those of the planets (though they
have motions of their own), are whirled about, by the motion of the
_Primum Mobile_ in which they are contained. That similitude expresses
much of the English Stage. For, if contrary motions may be found in
Nature to agree, if a planet can go East and West at the same time; one
way, by virtue of his own motion, the other, by the force of the First
Mover: it will not be difficult to imagine how the Under Plot, which is
only different [from], not contrary to the great Design, may naturally be
conducted along with it.
"EUGENIUS [?_LISIDEIUS_] has already shown us [p. 534], from the
confession of the French poets, that the Unity of Action is sufficiently
preserved, if all the imperfect actions of the Play are conducing to the
main Design: but when those petty intrigues of a Play are so ill ordered,
that they have no coherence with the other; I must grant, that LISIDEIUS
has reason to tax that Want of due Connection. For Co-ordination in a
Play is as dangerous and unnatural as in a State. In the meantime, he
must acknowledge, our Variety (if well ordered) will afford a greater
pleasure to the audience.
"As for his other argument, that _by pursuing one single Theme, they gain
an advantage to express, and work up the passions_ [p. 533]; I wish any
example he could bring from them, would make it good. For I confess their
verses are, to me, the coldest I have ever read.
"Neither, indeed, is It possible for them, in the way they take, so to
express Passion as that the effects of it should appear in the
concernment of an audience; their speeches being so many declamations,
which tire us with the length: so that, instead of persuading us to
grieve for their imaginary heroes, we are concerned for our own trouble,
as we are, in the tedious visits of bad [_dull_] company; we are in pain
till they are gone.
"When the French Stage came to be reformed by Cardinal RICHELIEU, those
long harangues were introduced, to comply with the gravity of a
Churchman. Look upon the _CINNA_ and _POMPEY_! They are not so properly
to be called Plays, as long Discourses of Reason[s] of State: and
_POLIEUCTE_, in matters of Religion, is as solemn as the long stops upon
our organs. Since that time, it has grown into a custom; and their Actors
speak by the hour glass, as our Parsons do. Nay, they account it the grace
of their parts! and think themselves disparaged by the Poet, if they may
not twice or thrice in a Play, entertain the audience, with a speech of a
hundred or two hundred lines.
"I deny not but this may suit well enough with the French: for as we, who
are a more sullen people, come to be diverted at our Plays; they, who are
of an airy and gay temper, come thither to make themselves more serious.
And this I conceive to be one reason why Comedy is more pleasing to us,
and Tragedy to them.
"But, to speak generally, it cannot be denied that _short_ Speeches and
Replies are more apt to move the passions, and beget concernment in us;
than the other. For it is unnatural for any one in a gust of passion, to
speak long together; or for another, in the same condition, to suffer him
without interruption.
"Grief and Passion are like floods raised in little brooks, by a sudden
rain. They are quickly up; and if the Concernment be poured unexpectedly
in upon us, it overflows us: but a long sober shower gives them leisure
to run out as they came in, without troubling the ordinary current.
"As for Comedy, Repartee is one of its chiefest graces. The greatest
pleasure of the audience is a Chase of Wit, kept up on both sides, and
swiftly managed. And this, our forefathers (if not we) have had, in
FLETCHER's _Plays_, to a much higher degree of perfection, than the
French Poets can arrive at.
"There is another part of LISIDEIUS his discourse, in which he has rather
excused our neighbours, than commended them; that is, _for aiming only_
[simply] _to make one person considerable in their Plays_.
"'Tis very true what he has urged, that one Character in all Plays, even
without the Poet's care, will have the advantage of all the others; and
that the Design of the whole Drama will chiefly depend on it. But this
hinders not, that there may be more shining Characters in the Play; many
persons of a second magnitude, nay, some so very near, so almost equal to
the first, that greatness may be opposed to greatness: and all the persons
be made considerable, not only by their Quality, but their Action.
"'Tis evident that the more the persons are; the greater will be the
variety of the Plot. If then, the parts are managed so regularly, that
the beauty of the whole be kept entire; and that the variety become not a
perplexed and confused mass of accidents: you will find it infinitely
pleasing, to be led in a labyrinth of Design; where you see some of your
way before you, yet discern not the end, till you arrive at it.
"And that all this is practicable; I can produce, for examples, many of
our English plays, as the _Maid's Tragedy_, the _Alchemist_, the _Silent
Woman_.
"I was going to have named the _Fox_; but that the Unity of Design seems
not exactly observed in it. For there appear two Actions in the Play; the
first naturally ending with the Fourth Act, the second forced from it, in
the Fifth. Which yet, is the less to be condemned in him, because the
disguise of _VOLPONE_ (though, it suited not with his character as a
crafty or covetous person) agreed well enough with that of a voluptuary:
and, by it, the Poet gained the end he aimed at, the punishment of vice,
and reward of virtue; which that disguise produced. So that, to judge
equally of it, it was an excellent Fifth Act; but not so naturally
proceeding from the former.
"But to leave this, and to pass to the latter part of LISIDEIUS his
discourse; which concerns RELATIONS. I must acknowledge, with him, that
the French have reason, _when they hide that part of the Action, which
would occasion too much tumult on the Stage_; and choose rather to have
it made known by Narration to the audience [p. 535]. Farther; I think it
very convenient, for the reasons he has given, that _all incredible
Actions were removed_ [p. 537]: but, whether custom has so insinuated
itself into our countrymen, or Nature has so formed them to fierceness, I
know not; but they will scarcely suffer combats or other objects of horror
to be taken from them. And indeed the _indecency_ of tumults is all which
can be objected against fighting. For why may not our imagination as well
suffer itself to be deluded with the _probability_ of it, as any other
thing in the Play. For my part, I can, with as great ease, persuade
myself that the blows, which are struck, are given in good earnest; as I
can, that they who strike them, are Kings, or Princes, or those persons
which they represent.
"For _objects of incredibility_ [p. 537], I would be satisfied from
LISIDEIUS, whether we have any so removed from all appearance of truth,
as are those in CORNEILLE's _ANDROMEDE_? A Play that has been frequented
[_repeated_] the most, of any he has writ. If the _PERSEUS_ or the son of
the heathen god, the _Pegasus_, and the Monster, were not capable to choke
a strong belief? let him blame any representation of ours hereafter!
Those, indeed, were objects of delight; yet the reason is the same as to
the probability: for he makes it not a Ballette [_Ballet_] or Masque; but
a Play, which is, _to resemble truth_.
"As for _Death_, that _it ought not to be represented_ [p. 536]: I have,
besides the arguments alleged by LISIDEIUS, the authority of BEN.
JOHNSON, who has foreborne it in his Tragedies: for both the death of
SEJANUS and CATILINE are Related. Though, in the latter, I cannot but
observe one irregularity of that great poet. He has removed the Scene in
the same Act, from Rome to _CATILINE_'s army; and from thence, again to
Rome: and, besides, has allowed a very inconsiderable time after
_CATILINE_'s speech, for the striking of the battle, and the return of
_PETREIUS_, who is to relate the event of it to the Senate. Which I
should not animadvert upon him, who was otherwise a painful observer of
[Greek: to prepon] or the Decorum of the Stage: if he had not used
extreme severity in his judgement [_in his 'Discoveries'_] upon the
incomparable SHAKESPEARE, for the same fault.
"To conclude on this subject of Relations, if we are to be blamed for
showing too much of the Action; the French are as faulty for discovering
too little of it. A mean betwixt both, should be observed by every
judicious writer, so as the audience may neither be left unsatisfied, by
not seeing what is beautiful; or shocked, by beholding what is either
incredible or indecent.
"I hope I have already proved in this discourse, that though we are not
altogether so punctual as the French, in observing the laws of Comedy:
yet our errors are so few, and [so] little; and those things wherein we
excel them so considerable, that we ought, of right, to be preferred
before them.
"But what will LISIDEIUS say? if they themselves acknowledge they are too
strictly tied up by those laws: for the breaking which, he has blamed the
English? I will allege CORNEILLE's words, as I find them in the end of
this _Discourse_ of _The three Unities_. _Il est facile aux speculatifs
d'être severe, &c_. ''Tis easy, for speculative people to judge severely:
but if they would produce to public view, ten or twelve pieces of this
nature; they would, perhaps, give more latitude to the Rules, than I have
done: when, by experience, they had known how much we are bound up, and
constrained by them, and how many beauties of the Stage they banished
from it.'
"To illustrate, a little, what he has said. By their servile imitations
of the UNITIES of TIME and PLACE, and INTEGRITY OF SCENES they have
brought upon themselves the Dearth of Plot and Narrowness of Imagination
which may be observed in all their Plays.
"How many beautiful accidents might naturally happen in two or three
days; which cannot arrive, with any probability, in the compass of
twenty-four hours? There is time to be allowed, also, for maturity of
design: which, amongst great and prudent persons, such as are often
represented in Tragedy, cannot, with any likelihood of truth, be brought
to pass at so short a warning.
"Farther, by tying themselves strictly to the UNITY OF PLACE and UNBROKEN
SCENES; they are forced, many times, to omit some beauties which cannot be
shown where the Act began: but might, if the Scene were interrupted, and
the Stage cleared, for the persons to enter in another place. And
therefore, the French Poets are often forced upon absurdities. For if the
Act begins in a Chamber, all the persons in the Play must have some
business or other to come thither; or else they are not to be shown in
that Act: and sometimes their characters are very unfitting to appear
there. As, suppose it were the King's Bedchamber; yet the meanest man in
the Tragedy, must come and despatch his business there, rather than in
the Lobby or Courtyard (which is [_were_] fitter for him), for fear the
Stage should be cleared, and the Scenes broken.
"Many times, they fall, by it, into a greater inconvenience: for they
keep their Scenes Unbroken; and yet Change the Place. As, in one of their
newest Plays [_i.e., before 1665_]. Where the Act begins in a Street:
there, a gentleman is to meet his friend; he sees him, with his man,
coming out from his father's house; they talk together, and the first
goes out. The second, who is a lover, has made an appointment with his
mistress: she appears at the Window; and then, we are to imagine the
Scene lies under it. This gentleman is called away, and leaves his
servant with his mistress. Presently, her father is heard from within.
The young lady is afraid the servingman should be discovered; and thrusts
him through a door, which is supposed to be her Closet [_Boudoir_]. After
this, the father enters to the daughter; and now the Scene is in a House:
for he is seeking, from one room to another, for his poor _PHILIPIN_ or
French _DIEGO_: who is heard from within, drolling, and breaking many a
miserable conceit upon his sad condition. In this ridiculous manner, the
Play goes on; the Stage being never empty all the while. So that the
Street, the Window, the two Houses, and the Closet are made to walk
about, and the Persons to stand still!
"Now, what, I beseech you! is more easy than to write a regular French
Play? or more difficult than to write an irregular English one, like
those of FLETCHER, or of SHAKESPEARE?
"If they content themselves, as CORNEILLE did, with some flat design,
which (like an ill riddle) is found out ere it be half proposed; such
Plots, we can make every way regular, as easily as they: but whene'er
they endeavour to rise up to any quick Turns or Counter-turns of Plot, as
some of them have attempted, since CORNEILLE's _Plays_ have been less in
vogue; you see they write as irregularly as we! though they cover it more
speciously. Hence the reason is perspicuous, why no French plays, when
translated, have, or ever can succeed upon the English Stage. For, if you
consider the Plots, our own are fuller of variety; if the Writing, ours
are more quick, and fuller of spirit: and therefore 'tis a strange
mistake in those who decry the way of writing Plays in Verse; as if the
English therein imitated the French.
"We have borrowed nothing from them. Our Plots are weaved in English
looms. We endeavour, therein, to follow the variety and greatness of
Characters, which are derived to us from SHAKESPEARE and FLETCHER, The
copiousness and well knitting of the Intrigues, we have from JOHNSON. And
for the Verse itself, we have English precedents, of elder date than any
of CORNEILLE's plays. Not to name our old Comedies before SHAKESPEARE,
which are all writ in verse of six feet or Alexandrines, such as the
French now use: I can show in SHAKESPEARE, many Scenes of Rhyme together;
and the like in BEN. JOHNSON's tragedies. In _CATILINE_ and _SEJANUS_,
sometimes, thirty or forty lines. I mean, besides the Chorus or the
Monologues; which, by the way, showed BEN. no enemy to this way of
writing: especially if you look upon his _Sad Shepherd_, which goes
sometimes upon rhyme, sometimes upon blank verse; like a horse, who eases
himself upon trot and amble. You find him, likewise, commending FLETCHER's
pastoral of the _Faithful Shepherdess_: which is, for the most part, [in]
Rhyme; though not refined to that purity, to which it hath since been
brought. And these examples are enough to clear us from, a servile
imitation of the French.
"But to return, from whence I have digressed. I dare boldly affirm these
two things of the English Drama,
"First. That we have many Plays of ours as regular as any of theirs;
and which, besides, have more variety of Plot and Characters. And
"Secondly. That in most of the irregular Plays of SHAKESPEARE or
FLETCHER (for BEN. JOHNSON's are for the most part regular), there
is a more masculine Fancy, and greater Spirit in all the Writing,
than there is in any of the French.
"I could produce, even in SHAKESPEARE's and FLETCHER's _Works_, some
Plays which are almost exactly formed; as the _Merry Wives of Windsor_
and the _Scornful Lady_. But because, generally speaking, SHAKESPEARE,
who writ first, did not perfectly observe the laws of Comedy; and
FLETCHER, who came nearer to perfection [_in this respect_], yet, through
carelessness, made many faults: I will take the pattern of a perfect Play
from BEN. JOHNSON, who was a careful and learned observer of the Dramatic
Laws; and, from all his Comedies, I shall select the _Silent Woman_ [p.
597], of which I will make a short examen [_examination_], according to
those Rules which the French observe."
As NEANDER was beginning to examine the _Silent Woman_: EUGENIUS, looking
earnestly upon him, "I beseech you, NEANDER!" said he, "gratify the
company, and me in particular, so far, as, before you speak of the Play,
to give us a Character of the Author: and tell us, frankly, your opinion!
whether you do not think all writers, both French and English, ought to
give place to him?"
"I fear," replied NEANDER, "that in obeying your commands, I shall draw a
little envy upon myself. Besides, in performing them, it will be first
necessary to speak somewhat of SHAKESPEARE and FLETCHER his Rivals in
Poesy; and one of them, in my opinion, at least his Equal, perhaps his
Superior.
"To begin then with SHAKESPEARE. He was the man, who, of all Modern and
perhaps Ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive Soul [p.
540]. All the Images of Nature [pp. 528, 533] were still present
[_apparent_] to him [p. 489]: and he drew them not laboriously, but
luckily [_felicitously_]. When he describes anything; you more than see
it, you feel it too. Those who accuse him to have wanted learning; give
him the greater commendation. He was naturally learned. He needed not the
spectacles of books, to read Nature; he looked inwards, and found her
there. I cannot say, he is everywhere alike. Were he so; I should do him
injury to compare him [_even_] with the greatest of mankind. He is many
times flat, insipid: his comic wit degenerating into clenches; his
serious swelling, into bombast.
"But he is always great, when some great occasion is presented to him. No
man can say, he ever had a fit subject for his wit, and did not then raise
himself as high above the rest of poets,
"_Quantum lenta solent, inter viberna cupressi._
"The consideration of this, made Mr. HALES, of Eton, say, 'That there was
no subject of which any poet ever writ; but he would produce it much
better treated of in SHAKESPEARE.' And however others are, now, generally
preferred before him; yet the Age wherein he lived (which had
contemporaries with him, FLETCHER and JOHNSON) never equalled them to
him, in their esteem. And in the last King's [_CHARLES I._] Court, when
BEN.'s reputation was at [the] highest; Sir JOHN SUCKLING, and with him,
the greater part of the Courtiers, set our SHAKESPEARE far above him.
"BEAUMONT and FLETCHER (of whom I am next to speak), had, with the
advantage of SHAKESPEARE's wit, which was their precedent, great natural
gifts improved by study. BEAUMONT, especially, being so accurate a judge
of plays, that BEN. JOHNSON, while he [_i.e., BEAUMONT_] lived, submitted
all his writings to his censure; and,'tis thought, used his judgement in
correcting, if not contriving all his plots. What value he had for
[_i.e., attached to_] him, appears by the verses he writ to him: and
therefore I need speak no farther of it.
"The first Play which brought FLETCHER and him in esteem, was their
_PHILASTER_. For, before that, they had written two or three very
unsuccessfully: as the like is reported of BEN. JOHNSON, before he writ
_Every Man in his Humour_ [_acted in_ 1598]. Their Plots were generally
more regular than SHAKESPEARE's, especially those which were made before
BEAUMONT's death: and they understood, and imitated the conversation of
gentlemen [_in the conventional sense in which it was understood in
DRYDEN's time_], much better [_i.e., than SHAKESPEARE_]; whose wild
debaucheries, and quickness of wit in repartees, no Poet can ever paint
as they have done.
"This Humour, which BEN. JOHNSON derived from particular persons; they
made it not their business to describe. They represented all the passions
very lively; but, above all, Love.
"I am apt to believe the English language, in them, arrived to its
highest perfection. What words have since been taken in, are rather
superfluous than necessary.
"Their Plays are now the most pleasant and frequent entertainments of the
Stage; two of theirs being acted through the year, for one of
SHAKESPEARE's or JOHNSON's. The reason is because there is a certain
Gaiety in their Comedies, and Pathos in their more serious Plays, which
suit generally with all men's humours, SHAKESPEARE's Language is likewise
a little obsolete; and BEN. JOHNSON's Wit comes short of theirs.
"As for JOHNSON, to whose character I am now arrived; if we look upon
him, while he was himself (for his last Plays were but his dotages) I
think him the most learned and judicious Writer which any _Theatre_ ever
had. He was a most severe judge of himself, as well as others. One cannot
say he wanted Wit; but rather, that he was frugal of it [p. 572]. In his
works, you find little to retrench or alter.
"Wit and Language, and Humour also in some measure, we had before him;
but something of Art was wanting to the Drama, till he came. He managed
his strength to more advantage than any who preceded him. You seldom find
him making love in any of his Scenes, or endeavouring to move the
passions: his genius was too sullen and saturnine to do it gracefully;
especially when he knew, he came after those who had performed both to
such a height. Humour was his proper sphere; and in that, he delighted
most to represent mechanic [_uncultivated_] people.
"He was deeply conversant in the Ancients, both Greek and Latin; and he
borrowed boldly from them. There is scarce a Poet or Historian, among the
Roman authors of those times, whom he has not translated in _SEJANUS_ and
_CATILINE_: but he has done his robberies so openly, that one may see he
fears not to be taxed by any law. He invades authors, like a Monarch; and
what would be Theft in other Poets, is only Victory in him. With the
spoils of these Writers, he so represents old Rome to us, in its rites,
ceremonies, and customs; that if one of their own poets had written
either of his Tragedies, we had seen less of it than in him.
"If there was any fault in his Language, 'twas that he weaved it too
closely and laboriously in his serious Plays. Perhaps, too, he did a
little too much Romanize our tongue; leaving the words which he
translated, almost as much Latin as he found them: wherein, though he
learnedly followed the idiom of their language, he did not enough comply
with ours.
"If I would compare him with SHAKESPEARE, I must acknowledge him, the
more correct Poet; but SHAKESPEARE, the greater Wit. SHAKESPEARE was the
HOMER, or Father of our Dramatic Poets; JOHNSON was the VIRGIL, the
pattern of elaborate writing. I admire him; but I love SHAKESPEARE.
"To conclude of him. As he has given us the most correct Plays; so in the
Precepts which he has laid down in his _Discoveries_, we have as many and
profitable Rules as any wherewith the French can furnish us.
"Having thus spoken of this author; I proceed to the examination of his
Comedy, the _Silent Woman_.
"_Examen of the Silent Woman._
"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.