"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 _SEJa.n.u.s_, 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 pa.s.sions 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 pa.s.sions: 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 _SEJa.n.u.s_ 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 compa.s.s 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 Lat.i.tude of Place is almost as little as you can imagine: for it lies all within the compa.s.s 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 n.o.ble 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 a.s.sured 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, pa.s.sion, 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 pa.s.sions 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 compa.s.s, 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 compa.s.s, 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 maitre _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 c.o.kES_; 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.