_A Defence of_ An Essay of Dramatic Poesy.
Being an Answer to the Preface of _The great Favourite or the Duke of
LERMA_.
[Prefaced to the Second Edition of _The Indian Emperor_. 1668.]
The former Edition of the _Indian Emperor_, being full of faults, which
had escaped the printer; I have been willing to overlook this Second with
more care: and, though I could not allow myself so much time as was
necessary, yet, by that little I have done, the press is freed from some
gross errors which it had to answer for before.
As for the more material faults of writing, which are properly mine;
though I see many of them, I want leisure to amend them. 'Tis enough for
those, who make one Poem the business of their lives, to leave that
correct; yet, excepting VIRGIL, I never met with any which was so, in any
language.
But while I was thus employed about this impression, there came to my
hands, a new printed Play, called, _The great Favourite, or the Duke of
LERMA_. The author of which, a noble and most ingenious Person, has done
me the favour to make some observations and animadversions upon my
_Dramatic Essay_.
I must confess he might have better consulted his reputation, than by
matching himself with so weak an adversary. But if his honour be
diminished in the choice of his antagonist, it is sufficiently
recompensed in the election of his cause: which being the weaker, in all
appearance (as combating the received opinions of the best Ancient and
Modern authors), will add to his glory, if he overcome; and to the
opinion of his generosity, if he be vanquished, since he engages at so
great odds, and so (like a Cavalier) undertakes the protection of the
weaker party.
I have only to fear, on my own behalf, that so good a cause as mine, may
not suffer by my ill management or weak defence; yet I cannot, in honour,
but take the glove, when 'tis offered me: though I am only a Champion, by
succession; and, no more able to defend the right of ARISTOTLE and
HORACE, than an infant DYMOCK, to maintain the title of a King.
For my own concernment in the controversy, it is so small, that I can
easily be contented to be driven from a few Notions of Dramatic Poesy,
especially by one who has the reputation of understanding all things [!]:
and I might justly make that excuse for my yielding to him, which the
Philosopher made to the Emperor, "Why should I offer to contend with him,
who is Master of more than twenty Legions of Arts and Sciences!" But I am
forced to fight, and therefore it will be no shame to be overcome.
Yet, I am so much his servant as not to meddle with anything which does
not concern _me_ in his Preface. Therefore, I leave the good sense, and
other excellencies of the first twenty lines [_i.e., of the Preface, see_
p. 573] to be considered by the critics.
As for the Play of _The Duke of LERMA_; having so much altered and
beautified it, as he has done, it can be justly belong to none but him.
Indeed, they must be extreme[ly] ignorant as well as envious, who would
rob him of that honour: for you see him putting in his claim to it, even
in the first two lines.
_Repulse upon repulse, like waves thrown back,
That slide to hang upon obdurate rocks_.
After this, let Detraction do its worst! for if this be not his, it
deserves to be. For my part, I declare for Distributive Justice! and from
this, and what follows, he certainly deserves _those advantages_, which he
acknowledges, to _have received from the opinion of sober men_.
In the next place, I must beg leave to observe his great address in
courting the Reader to his party. For, intending to assault all Poets
both Ancient and Modern, he discovers not his whole Design at once; but
seems only to aim at me, and attack me on my weakest side, my Defence of
Verse.
To begin with me. He gives me the compellation of "The Author of a
_Dramatic Essay_"; which is a little Discourse in dialogue, for the most
part borrowed from the observations of others. Therefore, that I may not
be wanting to him in civility, I return his compliment, by calling him,
"The Author of _The Duke of LERMA_."
But, that I may pass over his salute, he takes notice [p. 575] of my
great pains to prove "Rhyme as _natural_ in a serious Play; and more
_effectual_ than Blank Verse" [p. 561]. Thus, indeed, I did state the
question, but he tells me, _I pursue that which I call_ natural, _in a
wrong application; for 'tis not the question whether_ Rhyme _or_ not
Rhyme _be best or most natural for a serious Subject; but what is nearest
the nature of that it represents_.
If I have formerly mistaken the question; I must confess my ignorance so
far, as to say I continue still in my mistake. But he ought to have
proved that I mistook it; for 'tis yet but _gratis dictum_. I still shall
think I have gained my point, if I can prove that "Rhyme is best or most
_natural_ for a serious Subject."
As for the question, as he states it, "Whether Rhyme be nearest the
nature of what it represents"; I wonder he should think me so ridiculous
as to dispute whether Prose or Verse be nearest to ordinary conversation?
It still remains for him, to prove his Inference, that, Since Verse is
granted to be more remote than Prose from ordinary conversation;
therefore no serious Plays ought to be writ in Verse: and when he clearly
makes that good, I will acknowledge his victory as absolute as he can
desire it.
The question now is, which of us two has mistaken it? And if it appear I
have not, the World will suspect _what gentleman that was, who was
allowed to speak twice in Parliament, because he had not yet spoken to
the question_ [p. 576]: and, perhaps, conclude it to be the same, who (as
'tis reported) maintained a contradiction _in terminis_, in the face of
three hundred persons.
But to return to Verse. Whether it be natural or not in Plays, is a
problem which is not demonstrable, of either side. 'Tis enough for me,
that he acknowledges that he had rather read good Verse than Prose [p.
575]: for if all the enemies of Verse will confess as much, I shall not
need to prove that it is _natural_. I am satisfied, if it cause Delight;
for Delight is the chief, if not the only end of Poesy. Instruction can
be admitted but in the second place; for Poesy only instructs as it
delights.
'Tis true, that to Imitate Well is a Poet's work: but to affect the soul,
and excite the passions, and, above all, to move Admiration [_wondering
astonishment_] (which is the Delight of serious Plays), a bare Imitation
will not serve. The converse [_conversation_] therefore, which a Poet is
to _imitate_, must be _heightened_ with all the arts and ornaments of
Poesy; and must be such as, _strictly considered_, could never be
supposed [to be] spoken by any, without premeditation.
As for what he urges, that, _A Play will still be supposed to be a
composition of several persons speaking_ ex tempore; and that good verses
are the hardest things, which can be imagined, to be so spoken_ [p. 575]:
I must crave leave to dissent from his opinion, as to the former part of
it. For, if I am not deceived, A Play is supposed to be the work of the
Poet, _imitating_ or _representing_ the conversation of several persons:
and this I think to be as clear, as he thinks the contrary.
But I will be bolder, and do not doubt to make it good, though a paradox,
that, One great reason why Prose is not to be used in serious Plays is
because it is too near the nature of converse [_conversation_]. There may
be too great a likeness. As the most skilful painters affirm there may be
too near a resemblance in a picture. To take every lineament and feature
is not to make an excellent piece, but to take so much only as will make
a beautiful resemblance of the whole; and, with an ingenious flattery of
Nature, to heighten the beauties of some parts, and hide the deformities
of the rest. For so, says HORACE--
_Ut pictura Poesis erit
Haec amat obscurum; vult haec sub luce videri,
Judicis argutum quae non formidat acumen.
Et quae
Desperat, tractata nitescere posse, relinquit_.
In _Bartholomew Fair_, or the lowest kind of Comedy, that degree of
heightening is used which is proper to set off that subject. 'Tis true,
the author was not there to go out of Prose, as he does in his higher
arguments of Comedy, the _Fox_ and _Alchemist_; yet he does so raise his
matter in that Prose, as to render it delightful: which he could never
have performed had he only said or done those very things that are daily
spoken or practised in the Fair. For then, the Fair itself would be as
full of pleasure to an Ingenious Person, as the Play; which we manifestly
see it is not: but he hath made an excellent Lazar of it. The copy is of
price, though the origin be vile.
You see in _CATILINE_ and _SEJANUS_; where the argument is great, he
sometimes ascends to Verse, which shews he thought it not unnatural in
serious Plays: and had his genius been as proper for Rhyme as it was for
Humour, or had the Age in which he lived, attained to as much knowledge
in Verse, as ours; 'tis probable he would have adorned those Subjects
with that kind of writing.
Thus PROSE, though the rightful Prince, yet is, by common consent,
deposed; as too weak for the Government of serious Plays: and he failing,
there now start up two competitors! one, the nearer in blood, which is
BLANK VERSE; the other, more fit for the ends of Government, which is
RHYME. BLANK VERSE is, indeed, the nearer PROSE; but he is blemished with
the weakness of his predecessor. RHYME (for I will deal clearly!) has
somewhat of the Usurper in him; but he is brave and generous, and his
dominion pleasing. For this reason of Delight, the Ancients (whom I will
still believe as wise as those who so confidently correct them) wrote all
their Tragedies in Verse; though they knew it most remote from
conversation.
But I perceive I am falling into the danger of another rebuke from my
opponent: for when I plead that "the Ancients used Verse," I prove not
that, They would have admitted Rhyme, had it then been written.
All I can say, is, That it seems to have succeeded Verse, by the general
consent of Poets in all modern languages. For almost all their serious
Plays are written in it: which, though it be no Demonstration that
therefore it ought to be so; yet, at least, the Practice first, and then
the Continuation of it shews that it attained the end, which was, to
Please. And if that cannot be compassed here, I will be the first who
shall lay it down.
For I confess my chief endeavours are _to delight the Age in which I
live_ [p. 582]. If the Humour of this, be for Low Comedy, small Accidents
[_Incidents_], and Raillery; I will force my genius to obey it: though,
with more reputation, I could write in Verse. I know, I am not so fitted,
by nature, to write Comedy. I want that gaiety of Humour which is required
to it. My conversation is dull and slow. My Humour is saturnine and
reserved. In short, I am none of those, who endeavour to break jests in
company, or make repartees. So that those who decry my Comedies, do me no
injury, except it be in point of profit. Reputation in _them_ is the last
thing to which I shall pretend.
I beg pardon for entertaining the reader with so ill a subject: but
before I quit that argument, which was the cause of this digression; I
cannot but take notice how I am corrected for my quotation of SENECA, in
my defence of Plays in Verse.
My words were these [p. 570]: "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_."
One would think, "Unlock the door," was a thing as vulgar as could be
spoken: yet SENECA could make it sound high and lofty in his Latin.
_Reserate clusos regii postes Laris_.
But he says of me, _That being filled with the precedents of the Ancients
who Writ their Plays in Verse, I commend the thing; declaring our language
to be full, noble, and significant, and charging all the defects upon the_
ill placing of words; _which I prove by quoting SENECA's loftily
expressing such an ordinary thing as_ shutting the door.
Here he manifestly mistakes. For I spoke not of the Placing, but the
Choice of words: for which I quoted that aphorism of JULIUS CAESAR,
_Delectus verborum est origo eloquentiae_. But _delectus verborum_ is no
more Latin for the "Placing of words;" than _Reserate_ is Latin for
"_Shut_ the door!" as he interprets it; which I, ignorantly, construed
"_Unlock_ or _open_ it!"
He supposes I was highly affected with the Sound of these words; and I
suppose I may more justly imagine it of him: for if he had not been
extremely satisfied with the Sound, he would have minded the Sense a
little better.
But these are, now, to be no faults. For, ten days after his book was
published, and that his mistakes are grown so famous that they are come
back to him, he sends his _Errata_ to be printed, and annexed to his
Play; and desires that instead of _Shutting_, you should read _Opening_,
which, it seems, was the printer's fault. I wonder at his modesty! that
he did not rather say it was SENECA's or mine: and that in some authors,
_Reserate_ was to _Shut_ as well as to _Open_, as the word _Barach_, say
the learned, is [_in Hebrew_] both to _Bless_ and _Curse_.
Well, since it was the printer['s fault]; he was a naughty man, to commit
the same mistake twice in six lines.
I warrant you! _Delectus verborum_ for _Placing_ of words, was his
mistake too; though the author forgot to tell him of it. If it were my
book, I assure you it should [be]. For those rascals ought to be the
proxies of every Gentleman-Author; and to be chastised for him, when he
is not pleased to own an error.
Yet, since he has given the _Errata_, I wish he would have enlarged them
only a few sheets more; and then he would have spared me the labour of an
answer. For this cursed printer is so given to mistakes, that there is
scarce a sentence in the Preface without some false grammar, or hard
sense [_i.e., difficulty in gathering the meaning_] in it; which will all
be charged upon the Poet: because he is so good natured as to lay but
three errors to the Printer's account, and to take the rest upon himself;
who is better able to support them. But he needs not [to] apprehend that I
should strictly examine those little faults; except I am called upon to do
it. I shall return, therefore, to that quotation of SENECA; and answer not
to what he _writes_, but to what he _means_.
I never intended it as an Argument, but only as an Illustration of what I
had said before [p. 570] concerning the Election of words. And all he can
charge me with, is only this, That if SENECA could make an ordinary thing
sound well in Latin by the choice of words; the same, with like care,
might be performed in English. If it cannot, I have committed an error on
the right hand, by commending too much, the copiousness and well sounding
of our language: which I hope my countrymen will pardon me. At least, the
words which follow in my _Dramatic Essay_ will plead somewhat in my
behalf. For I say there [p. 570], That this objection happens but seldom
in a Play; and then too, either the meanness of the expression may be
avoided, or shut out from the verse by breaking it in the midst.
But I have said too much in the Defence of Verse. For, after all, 'tis a
very indifferent thing to me, whether it obtain or not. I am content,
hereafter to be ordered by his rule, that is, "to write it, sometimes,
because it pleases me" [p. 575]; and so much the rather, because "he has
declared that it pleases him."
But, he has taken his last farewell of the Muses; and he has done it
civilly, by honouring them with the name of _his long acquaintances_ [p.
574]: which is a compliment they have scarce deserved from him.
For my own part, I bear a share in the public loss; and how emulous
soever I may be, of his Fame and Reputation, I cannot but give this
testimony of his Style, that it is extreme[ly] poetical, even in Oratory;
his Thoughts elevated, sometimes above common apprehension; his Notions
politic and grave, and tending to the instruction of Princes and
reformation of State: that they are abundantly interlaced with variety of
fancies, tropes, and figures, which the Critics have enviously branded
with the name of Obscurity and False Grammar.
Well, _he is now fettered in business of more unpleasant nature_ [p.
574]. The Muses have lost him, but the Commonwealth gains by it. The
corruption of a Poet is the generation of a Statesman.
_He will not venture again into the Civil Wars of Censure_ [Criticism].
_Ubi ... nullos habitura triumphos_.
If he had not told us, he had left the Muses; we might have half
suspected it by that word, _ubi_, which does not any way belong to
_them_, in that place. The rest of the verse is indeed LUCAN's: but that
_ubi_, I will answer for it, is his own.
Yet he has another reason for this disgust of Poesy. For he says,
immediately after, that _the manner of Plays which are now in most
esteem, is beyond his power to perform_ [p. 574]. To _perform_ the
_manner_ of a thing, is new English to me.
_However he condemns not the satisfaction of others, but rather their
unnecessary understanding; who, like SANCHO PANZA's Doctor, prescribe too
strictly to our appetites. For_, says he, _in the difference of Tragedy
and Comedy and of Farce itself; there can be no determination but by the
taste; nor in the manner of their composure_.
We shall see him, now, as great a Critic as he was a Poet: and the reason
why he excelled so much in Poetry will be evident; for it will have
proceeded from the exactness of his Judgement.
_In the difference of Tragedy, Comedy, and Farce itself; there can be no
determination but by the taste_. I will not quarrel with the obscurity of
this phrase, though I justly might: but beg his pardon, if I do not
rightly understand him. If he means that there is no essential difference
betwixt Comedy, Tragedy, and Farce; but only what is made by people's
taste, which distinguishes one of them from the other: that is so
manifest an error, that I need lose no time to contradict it.
Were there neither Judge, Taste, or Opinion in the world; yet they would
differ in their natures. For the Action, Character, and Language of
Tragedy would still be great and high: that of Comedy, lower and more
familiar. Admiration would be the Delight of the one: Satire, of the
other.
I have but briefly touched upon these things; because, whatever his words
are, I can scarce[ly] imagine that _he who is always concerned for the
true honour of Reason, and would have no spurious issue fathered upon
her_ [p. 578], should mean anything so absurd, as to affirm _that there
is no difference between Comedy and Tragedy, but what is made by taste
only_: unless he would have us understand the Comedies of my Lord L. [?];
where the First Act should be _Potages_, the Second, _Fricasses &c._, and
the Fifth, a _chère entière_ of women.
I rather guess, he means that betwixt one Comedy or Tragedy and another;
there is no other difference but what is made by the liking or disliking
of the audience. This is, indeed, a less error than the former; but yet
it is a great one.
The liking or disliking of the people gives the Play the _denomination_
of "good" or "bad"; but does not really make or constitute it such. To
please the people ought to be the Poet's aim [pp. 513, 582, 584]; because
Plays are made for their delight: but it does not follow, that they are
always pleased with good plays; or that the plays which please them, are
always good.
The Humour of the people is now for Comedy; therefore, in hope to please
them, I write Comedies rather than serious Plays; and, so far, their
taste prescribes to me. But it does not follow from that reason, that
Comedy is to be preferred before Tragedy, in its own nature. For that
which is so, in its own nature, cannot be otherwise; as a man cannot but
be a rational creature: but the opinion of the people may alter; and in
another Age, or perhaps in this, serious Plays may be set up above
Comedies.
This I think a sufficient answer. If it be not, he has provided me of
[_with_] an excuse. It seems, in his wisdom, he foresaw my weakness; and
has found out this expedient for me, _That it is not necessary for Poets
to study strict Reason; since they are so used to a greater latitude than
is allowed by that severe inquisition; that they must infringe their own
jurisdiction to profess themselves obliged to argue well_.
I am obliged to him, for discovering to me this back door; but I am not
yet resolved on my retreat. For I am of opinion, that they cannot be good
Poets, who are not accustomed to argue well. False Reasonings and Colours
of Speech are the certain marks of one who does not understand the Stage.
For Moral Truth is the Mistress of the Poet as much as of the Philosopher.
Poesy must _resemble_ Natural Truth; but it must _be_ Ethical. Indeed the
Poet dresses Truth, and adorns Nature; but does not alter them.
_Ficta voluptatis causa sint proxima veris_.
Therefore that is not the best Poesy which resembles notions of _things,
which are not_, to _things which are_: though the Fancy may be great, and
the Words flowing; yet the Soul is but half satisfied, when there is not
Truth in the foundation [p. 560].
This is that which makes VIRGIL [to] be preferred before the rest of
poets. In Variety of Fancy, and Sweetness of Expression, you see OVID far
above him; for VIRGIL rejected many of those things which OVID wrote. "A
great Wit's great work, is to refuse," as my worthy friend, Sir JOHN
BIRKENHEAD has ingeniously expressed it. You rarely meet with anything in
VIRGIL but Truth; which therefore leaves the strongest impression of
Pleasure in the Soul. This I thought myself obliged to say in behalf of
Poesy: and to declare (though it be against myself) that when poets do
not argue well, the defect is in the Workmen, not in the Art.
And, now, I come to the boldest part of his Discourse, wherein he attacks
not me, but all the Ancient and Moderns; and undermines, as he thinks, the
very foundations on which Dramatic Poesy is built. I could wish he would
have declined that envy, which must, of necessity, follow such an
undertaking: and contented himself with triumphing over me, in my
opinions of Verse; which I will never, hereafter, dispute with him. But
he must pardon me, if I have that veneration for ARISTOTLE, HORACE, BEN.
JOHNSON, and CORNEILLE, that I dare not serve him in such a cause, and
against such heroes: but rather fight under their protection; as HOMER
reports of little TEUCER, who shot the Trojans from under the large
buckler of AJAX Telamon--
[Greek: _Stae d'ar hap Aiautos sakei Telamoniadao_], &c.
He stood beneath his brother's ample shield;
And, covered there, shot death through all the field.