After reading the passages from "Dr. Dodypoll" in Lamb's "Extracts from
the Garrick Plays," many students must have felt a desire to have the
play in its entirety. I fear that in gratifying their desire I shall
cause them some disappointment; and that, when they have read the play
through, they will not care to remember much beyond what they knew
already. "Dr. Dodypoll" affords a curious illustration of the astounding
inequality in the work of the old dramatists. The opening scene, between
Lucilia and Lord Lassenbergh, shows rich imagination and a worthy gift
of expression. The writer, whoever he may have been, scatters his gold
with a lavish hand. In the fine panegyric[47] on painting, there is a
freedom of fancy that lifts us into the higher regions of poetry; and
dull indeed must be the reader who can resist the contagion of
Lassenbergh's enthusiasm. But this strain of charming poetry is brought
too quickly to a close, and then begins the comic business. Haunce, the
serving-man, is just tolerable, but the French doctor, with his broken
English, is a desperate bore. Soon the stage is crowded with figures,
and we have to set our wits on work to follow the intricacies of the
plot. Flores, the jeweller, has two daughters, Cornelia and Lucilia. The
elder of the two, Cornelia, an ill-favoured virgin, whose affections are
fixed on the young Lord Alberdure, has two contending suitors in the
doctor and the merchant. Alberdure is in love with Hyanth, but he has a
rival in the person of his own father, the Duke of Saxony, who had been
previously contracted to the Lady Catherine. Meanwhile Lord Lassenbergh,
who is living disguised as a painter under Flores' roof, has gained the
affections of Lucilia. In the conduct of the complicated plot no great
dexterity is shown. There is a want of fusion and coherence. The reader
jumbles the characters together, and would fain see at least one couple
cleared off the stage in order to simplify matters. In making Earl
Cassimeere marry the deformed Cornelia and share his estate with her
father, the author (as Laugbaine observed) has followed Lucian's story
of Zenothemis and Menecrates (in "Toxaris, vel De Amicitia"). The third
scene of the third act, where Lassenbergh in the hearing of the
enchanter chides Lucilia for following him, is obviously imitated from
"Midsummer Night's Dream," and in single lines of other scenes we catch
Shakespearean echoes. But the writer's power is shown at its highest in
the scene (iii. 6) where Lucilia's faltering recollection strives to
pierce the veil of her spell-bound senses, gains the light for an
instant, and then is lost again in the tumult of contending emotions.
The beauty of that scene is beyond the reach of any ordinary poet. And
what shall be said of that exquisite description of the cameo in ii. 1?
"_Flores_. See, then, (my Lord) this Aggat that containes
The image of that Goddesse and her sonne,
Whom auncients held the Soveraignes of Love;
See, naturally wrought out of the stone
(Besides the perfect shape of every limme,
Besides the wondrous life of her bright haire)
A waving mantle of celestiall blew
Imbroydering it selfe with flaming Starres.
_Alber_. Most excellent: and see besides (my Lords)
How _Cupids_ wings do spring out of the stone
As if they needed not the helpe of Art."
Is there in the whole Greek Anthology anything more absolutely flawless?
As to the authorship of "Dr. Dodypoll" I am unable to form a conjecture.
We learn from Henslowe's Diary that a play called the "French Doctor"
was popular in 1594; but we are not justified in identifying this piece
with "Dr. Dodypoll." Steevens states that the present play was composed
before 1596, but he gives no authority for the statement. The song on
p. 102, "What thing is love"? is found in William Drummond's MS.
extracts from Peele's "Hunting of Cupid" (apud Dyce's Peele).[48]
The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll.
_As it hath bene sundrie times Acted by the Children of Powles_.
LONDON Printed by _Thomas Creede_, for _Richard Oliue_,
dwelling in Long Lane. 1600.
The Wisdome of Doctor Dodypoll.
_Actus Prima_.
_A Curtaine drawne, Earle_ Lassingbergh _is discovered
(like a Painter) painting_ Lucilia, _who sits working
on a piece of Cushion worke_.
_Lassinberge_.[49] Welcome, bright Morne, that with thy golden rayes
Reveal'st the variant colours of the world,
Looke here and see if thou canst finde disper'st
The glorious parts of faire _Lucilia_:
Take[50] them and joyne them in the heavenly Spheares,
And fix them there as an eternall light
For Lovers to adore and wonder at:
And this (long since) the high Gods would have done,
But that they could not bring it back againe
When they had lost so great divinitie.
_Lu_. You paint your flattering words, [Lord] _Lassinbergh_,
Making a curious pensill of your tongue;
And that faire artificiall hand of yours
Were fitter to have painted heavens faire storie
Then here to worke on Antickes and on me.
Thus for my sake you (of a noble Earle)
Are glad to be a mercinary Painter.
_Lass_. A Painter, faire _Luci[li]a_? Why, the world
With all her beautie was by painting made.
Looke on the heavens colour'd with golden starres,
The firmamentall ground of it all blew:
Looke on the ayre where, with a hundred changes,
The watry Rain-bow doth imbrace the earth:
Looke on the sommer fields adorn'd with flowers,--
How much is natures painting honour'd there?
Looke in the Mynes, and on the Easterne shore,
Where all our Mettalls and deare Jems are drawne,
Thogh faire themselves made better by their foiles:
Looke on that little world, the twofold man,
Whose fairer parcell is the weaker still,
And see what azure vaines in stream-like forme
Divide the Rosie beautie of the skin.
I speake not of the sundry shapes of beasts,
The severall colours of the Elements,
Whose mixture shapes the worlds varietie
In making all things by their colours knowne.
And to conclude, Nature, her selfe divine,
In all things she hath made is a meere Painter.
[_She kisses her hand_.
[_Lu_.] Now by this kisse, th'admirer of thy skill,
Thou art well worthie th'onor thou hast given
(With so sweet words) to thy eye-ravishing Art,
Of which my beauties can deserve no part.
_Lass_. From[51] these base Anticks where my hand hath spearst
Thy severall parts, if I uniting all
Had figur'd there the true _Lucilia_,
Then might'st thou justly wonder at mine Art
And devout people would from farre repaire,
Like Pilgrims, with there dutuous sacrifice,
Adoring[52] thee as Regent of their loves.
Here, in the Center of this Mary-gold,
Like a bright Diamond I enchast thine eye;
Here, underneath this little Rosie bush,
Thy crimson cheekes peers forth more faire then it;
Here _Cupid_ (hanging downe his wings) doth sit,
Comparing Cherries to thy Ruby lippes:
Here is thy browe, thy haire, thy neck, thy hand,
Of purpose all in severall shrowds disper'st,
Least ravisht I should dote on mine own worke
Or Envy-burning eyes should malice it.
_Lu_. No more, my Lord; see, here comes _Haunce_
our man.
_Enter Haunce_.
_Haunce_. We have the finest Painter here at boord wages that ever made
Flowerdelice, and the best bedfellow, too; for I may lie all night
tryumphing from corner to corner while he goes to see the Fayries, but
I for my part see nothing, but here [sic] a strange noyse sometimes.
Well, I am glad we are haunted so with Fairies, for I cannot set a
cleane pump down but I find a dollar in it in the morning. See, my
Mistresse _Lucilia_, shee's never from him: I pray God he paints no
pictures with her; but I hope my fellowe hireling will not be so sawcie.
But we have such a wench a comming for you (Lordings) with her woers:
A, the finest wench.
Wink, wink, deare people, and you be wise,
And shut, O shut, your weeping eyes.
_Enter_ Cornelia _sola, looking upon the picture of_
Alberdure _in a little Jewell, and singing. Enter the
Doctor and the Merchant following and hearkning to her_.