The Tragedy of Rollo Duke of Normandy.

NO reason, I presume, can be given, why, having found an History, this Author should change the names; of Antoninus and Geta [Page 17] into Rollo and Otto; Emperors of Rome, into Dukes of Normandy. Nor why he alter'd the Scene to bring these Cut-throats and Poisoners from the other side of the Alps. Aristotle tells it as extraordinary, of a Tragedy made by Polemon; wherein both the names and matter were of his own invention; and yet it had the for­tune to please. He also reminds us that a man is better pleas'd with the picture of an acquaintance, than of a person of whom we had never heard. And we generally observe, when one tells of an adventure, or but a jeast, he will choose to father it on some one that is known, thereby to get attention, and gain more cre­dit to what he relates. Besides, ma­ny things are probable of Antoninus, or of Alexander, and particular men, because they are true, which cannot be generally probable: and he that will be feigning persons, should confine his fancy to general probability.

[Page 18] The Fable is this:

ROllo and Otto Brothers, and both equally (let me call them) Kings of one and the same Kingdom, cannot agree about the matter. Rollo (by the means of his favourite La­torch) attempts to poison his Brother; which failing, he kills Otto in the arms of their Mother Sophia, with Sword drawn offers to kill his Mo­ther and Sister Mat. but is disarm'd by Aubrey, yet sends out Lord Chan­cellor Gisbert to be chopt in two, and thrown to the dogs; and his Tu­tor Baldwin also to be beheaded. Hamond, Captain of the Guards, saw all this executed. Allan, the Cap­tain's Brother gives (his quondam-Master) the Chancellor, Christian Bu­rial: for which, he is sent to por. Edith, Baldwin's Daughter, beseeches the King to spare her Father; pre­vails, but too late. Rollo is in love with her; she resolves his death. Ha­mond, in revenge of his Brother Al­lan, stabs, and is stab'd by Rollo, whose [Page 19] Sister Matilda, Aubrey takes to Wife, and Reigns in his stead.

Now, if you call this a Fable; give me one of old AEsop's; where, for all the coarse out-side, there dwells a lit­tle reasonable Soul within, a little good Sense at the bottom, which carries it through all Nations, and will com­mend it to the end of the World.

For nothing certainly is design'd in this of Rollo, either to move pitty or terror, either to delight or instruct:

It is indeed a History, and it may well be a History; for never man of common sense could set himself to in­vent any thing so gross.

Poetry requires the ben trovato, something handsomely invented, and leaves the truth to History; but ne­ver were the Muses profan'd with a more foul, unpleasant, and unwhol­some truth, than this which makes the Argument of Rollo.

If the end of this Tragedy is the Marriage and Coronation of Aubrey, had one of the ancient Poets been to cultivate this History; They would have laid the right of the Crown in [Page 20] Aubrey. They would have given us to understand, that Aubrey's Father, a good King, rais'd Rollo's Father from a mean condition to be his fa­vourite, and have the places of great­est trust and confidence with him. This ungrateful Villain most trea­cherously murders the King his Ma­ster, settles himself on his Throne, dies in Peace, leaves the Kingdom equally to his two Sons. These Sons enter upon the Government, the peo­ple swear Allegiance to 'em, Comple­ment them with Addresses from all Countreys; the Air rings with Vive­le-Roy's and Acclamations. The Sun shines as it was wont, the Grass grows, Cows give white Milk, and no AEgyp­tian Plague troubles the Land. Hea­ven has forgot, and human means appear none, for either revenging the murder'd King, or restoring his Son Aubrey.

Now is the time for a Poet to shew his cunning. Now he must bring a sudden and terrible judgment to de­stroy the Rollian-Race, and set young Aubrey on the Throne of his An­cestors.

[Page 21] To effect this, the two Brothers must be made to kill each other; and, as a consequence of this disaster, their Mother is to kill her self for sor­row.

These Brothers, in their character, would have been harmless men, mo­dest enough, and loving each other tenderly: for had they been wicked, the judgment upon them might be apply'd as due to their own crimes. Or however their Fathers crime in it self would have appear'd less, as not enough alone to deserve that ven­geance; and if the occasion was not clear, the punishment would be less regarded; but their innocence makes the punishment more signal and ex­traordinary, and more discovers the work of Heaven. And thus also they are capable of moving pitty, when only their Father's crime pursues them; and it seems likely that, other wise, they might have liv'd happily together.

Their Sister Matilda must have been a vertuous sweet Lady, every way of singular merit, sensible of her [Page 22] Father's crime, and of the wrong that Aubrey suffers. By this character, all those who had pittied her Bro­thers, would have been extremely sa­tisfi'd to see their Sister so well pre­ferr'd in the Marriage with Aubrey; for Heaven, by this, would seem, in her, to make some amends for the hard measure to the unfortunate Brothers.

Aubrey should in all his words and actions appear great, promising, and Kingly, to deserve that care which Heaven manifests so wonderfully in his Restoration.

And because this, of the two Bro­thers killing each other, is an action morally unnatural; therefore, by way of preparation, the Tragedy would have begun with Heaven and Earth in disorder, nature troubl'd, unheard of prodigies; something (if I may so say) physically unnatural, and against the ordinary course of nature. Perhaps the first Scene would have shew'd the Usurper's Ghost from Hell, full of horror for his crime, cur­sing his Sons, and sending some in­fernal fury amongst them.

[Page 23] And, by the way, he might relate all things fit to be known, which past out of the Drama.

The nicety in writing upon this Fable, would have chiefly been in the characters of the two Brothers, These are the persons kill'd, and, of all things, a Poet must be tender of a mans life, and never sacrifice it to his Maggot and Capriccio. Therefore, as (I said) the Brothers were not to be wicked, so likewise they ought not to be ab­solutely innocent. For if they had refused to succeed their Father, and when they might have sat on the Throne, have humbled themselves at Aubrey's feet; then no Poetical Iu­stice could have touch'd them: guil­ty they were to be, in enjoying their Father's crime; but not of commit­ting any new. And this guilt of theirs was also either to be palliated, or else to be past over in silence, lest, laid too open, the compassion of the Audience might be abated. Neither would it suffice that these Brothers kill each other by some chance; but it should appear, that agitated by their [Page 24] Father's crime, like Machines, they unavoidably clash against each other; whilst their proper inclination in vain strives against the violence.

If the English Theatre requires more intrigue, an Author may mul­tiply the Incidents, may add Episods, and thicken the Plot, as he sees oc­casion; provided that all the lines tend to the same center: more of a main Plot, Virgil requir'd not for his Epic Poem.

And peradventure, if the Poet de­sign any certain sense by his Fable, that sense will bind him to the unity of action; and the unity of action cannot well exceed the rule for time. And these two unities will not permit that the Poet can far transgress in the third. So that all the regularities seem in a manner to be link'd toge­ther: but begin with an absurdity, and nothing reasonable can ever fol­low. If a Pilot puts to Sea without resolving for what Port, none can wonder that he sails not by the Com­pass.

To return to this Tragedy of Rollo, [Page 25] if the stress of the design rests not on Aubrey; but the sense of all termi­nates in Rollo. The sense must be this; He that sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed. And if this be all, where's the Wonder? Have we not every day cried in the Streets, instances of God's revenge against murder, more extraordinary, and more poetical than all this comes to? If this be Poetry, Tyburn is a better and more ingenious School of Vertue, than the Theatre.

In former times Poetry was ano­ther thing than History, or than the Law of the Land. Poetry disco­ver'd crimes, the Law could never find out; and punish'd those the Law had acquitted. The Areopagus clear'd Orestes, but with what Furies did the Poets haunt and torment him? and what a wretch made they of Oedipus, when the Casuist excus'd his invin­cible ignorance?

The Poets consider'd, that natural­ly men were affected with pitty, when they saw others suffer more than their fault deserv'd; and vice, they [Page 26] thought, could never be painted too ugly and frightful; therefore, whe­ther they would move pitty, or make vice detested, it concern'd them to be somewhat of the severest in the punishments they inflicted. Now, because their hands were tied, that they could not punish beyond such a degree; they were oblig'd to have a strict eye on their Malefactor, that he transgrest not too far, that he com­mitted not two crimes, when but re­sponsible for one: nor, indeed, be so far guilty, as by the Law to deserve death. For though historical Iustice might rest there; yet poetical Iustice could not be so content. It would require that the satisfaction be com­pleat and full, e're the Malefactor goes off the Stage, and nothing left to God Almighty, and another World. Nor will it suffer that the Spectators trust the Poet for a Hell behind the Scenes; the fire must roar in the con­science of the Criminal, the fiends and furies be conjur'd up to their faces, with a world of machine and horrid spectacles; and yet the Criminal [Page 27] could never move pitty. Therefore amongst the Ancients we find no Ma­lefactors of this kind; a wilful Mur­derer is with them as strange and un­known, as a Paricide to the old Ro­mans. Yet need we not fancy that they were squeamish, or unacquainted with any of these great lumping crimes in that age; when we remem­ber their Oedipus, Orestes, or Medea. But they took care to wash the Vi­per, to cleanse away the venom, and with such art to prepare the morsel: they made it all Junket to the tast, and all Physick in the operation.

They so qualifi'd, so allaid, and co­ver'd the crime with circumstances, that little could appear on the Stage, but either the causes and provoca­tions before it, or the remorse and pe­nitence, the despairs and horrors of conscience which follow'd, to make the Criminal every way a fit object for pitty. Nor can we imagin their Stage so rarely endur'd any blood­shed, and that the sight was displea­sing, because the Spectators were some sort of effeminate, unfighting [Page 28] fellows. When we remember the Battels of Marathon and Salamin; and with what small number these very Spectators had routed Xerxes and the greatest Armies in the World. For now it was that the arms of the Athenians (as well as their arts) shin'd in their greatest glory.

The truth is, the Poets were to move pitty; and this pitty was to be mov'd for the living, who remain'd; and not for the dead. And they found in nature, that men could not so easily pardon a crime committed before their faces; and consequently could not be so easily dispos'd to be­stow that pitty on the Criminal which the Poets labour'd for. The Poets, I say, found that the sight of the fact made so strong an impression, as no art of theirs could afterwards ful­ly conquer.

But leave reasoning, and return to Rollo; it seems very odd to see the first four Scenes pass as if nothing ex­traordinary were towards, without any preparation; and immediately, without more ado, the two Brothers, [Page 29] two Kings, are a fighting. The An­cients would have made the Earth tremble, and the Sun start out of the Firmament at a sight so unnatural. Yet we make no more of them, but turn them out, like two Cocks of the Game, for the diversion of the Rab­ble.

Some have remark'd, that Athens being a Democracy, the Poets, in fa­vour of their Government, expos'd Kings, and made them unfortunate. But certainly, examin the Kings of their Tragedies, they appear all He­roes, and ours but Dogs, in compari­son of them. So respectful they seem to Kings in their Democracy, and so unthinking and unpolitick are our Poets under a Monarchy. Thebes was always enemy to Athens, yet would not any National pique, nor other, provoke the Poets to treat those Kings unhandsomly; because by their rules to have lessen'd the Kings, would have made their Trage­dies of no effect, in moving the pitty intended by them. They made the Kings unfortunate, we make them [Page 30] wicked: they made them to be pit­tied, we make them to be curst and abhorr'd.

That I may, in all hitherto laid down, be the better understood, let it be observ'd what measures Euripides took in the Tragedy of Etheocles and Polynices.

This instance I choose, the condi­tion of those Theban Kings being the neerest to this of Rollo and Ot­to: for they also were equally Kings, could not agree, kill'd each other. That we might not suspect that the dissention between them rose from any malice of their own, we are let to know, that the Gods owe a vengeance to Thebes, which is now ripe, and ready to fall upon them, for a crime of their Founder Cadmus.

That their Grandfather Laius warn'd by the Oracle not to marry, his Marriage had so incens'd the Gods, that now they were punishing his disobedience on the third genera­tion.

That their Father Oedipus had curst them, and praid they might dye by each others hands.

[Page 31] These Brothers, to avoid their Fa­ther's curse, agree, not to live toge­ther, but to Reign by the year alter­nately, and each to be King in his turn. According to this agreement, the younger Brother goes into banish­ment, where he marries, makes Allies of some hot-headed Princes, as Tydeus, Capaneus, and five more, and brings a Consederate Army before Thebes. The Brothers have an enterview; Polynices demands his turn; Etheo­cles answers to this effect.

Now, whilst I may continne a King, I cannot willingly yield to become a Servant. Neither take you a right course, coming with force of Arms, and laying the Countrey wast. Thebes would blush, should I resign my Scepter for fear of the Mycenaean spears. In fine, Brother, if I am to transgress, for a Kingdom I would transgress; in all the rest ^f serve God.

This haughty speech of Etheocles turns all the current of pitty to his Brother's side. Now the Confederates [Page 32] fall on to storm the Town, are repuls'd, with great slaughter on both sides. Etheocles, notwithstanding he was the King in possession, notwithstanding he knew (by Tyresias the Prophet) that the Thebans would be victorious, and notwithstanding the danger of his Father's curse; yet out of his gene­rosity and humanity to save the effu­sion of innocent blood; offers the single Combat with his Brother; which accepted, both are kill'd, and dye friends. Etheocles could not speak, indeed, but his sighs were all tenderness. The last breath of Po­lynices made these words;

^g My friend turn'd enemy, but still my friend.

But though Polynices seems ill treated, and his Brother is much too sharp upon him. The reason given by the Poet, is, because he brings for­reign Forces to invade his Native Countrey: and perhaps the Poet on this occasion might somewhat strain his Philosophy to gratify the Politi­cian, [Page 33] but the Poet seems so afraid that the Audience should forget that these dissentions are the effect of their Ancestors crimes; and in no wise spring from their own ill mind and election; that he is every where a hinting to us the curse entailed on the Family by their Grandfathers Marriage; the violence of superior powers, of Demons and Furies, which we want language to express,— [...]: or some terrible goddess discord. ‘— [...].’ [...]:—Whether discord or your Father is the cause, or some ill spirit. [...] suffer for the old pique against Cadmus, [...]—the land is sick, [...]—breath'd terrible curses a­gainst them, [...] did curse most unhallowed curses to his Sons, [...]. God is rea­dy to fulfil your curses, because in spight of the gods Laius made Chil­dren, [...], hand­ing the curses from Laius down to [Page 34] his posterity,— [...]— [...],—I was not born such a fool to pull out my own eyes, and curse my Sons, if some of the Gods had not made me mad, says Oedipus, [...],—because of your fiends. [...],—your fiend is the cause. ‘ [...]’ [...], some bane sent upon the land by evil spirits, [...], the bane fixed to the Mar­riage of Laius, [...]. not escape their Fathers Furies, [...], the joy of the Furies, [...], because of the Furies, [...], the Plague of the Furies, [...], sighing curses against his Sons, [...],—what comes from god, [...], haunted with evil spirits [...], Polynices had his name from Conten­tion.

By what I have noted one might think the Poet would have us be­lieve that all the Furies in Hell were broke loose and at work to make these two Brothers miserable, and consequently would have us take [Page 35] their part, would engage our affe­ctions, and carry our heart along with a sense of their sufferings: Heaven and Earth conspire their ruine. ‘Quid meus AEneas in te committere tantum?’

What had they done to deserve this persecution? the curse of their Father lay nearest them, and is most insisted on by the Poet, how had they vexed their Father? their Father transported with the sense of his own horrible misfortunes, tore out his own Eyes, and in that condition would have run about the streets, but these two Sons of his kept him within doors by force, this enrag'd him the more, and he threw his curses about him, which some evil spirits (who haunted the house for some old ac­counts) gladly lay hold on, and never rested till those curses had their ef­fect.

By what has been observ'd any one may judge whether these Chara­cters of Etheocles and Polynices, or those of Rollo and Otto be the better contrived for moving that pity which [Page 36] Tragedy requires. And I have been the more particular, because not on­ly Rollo, but most of the Characters in our Tragedies of the last Age, may be examin'd by the same reason. And yet Eurypides has been blam'd for making his Characters more wicked then they ought to be in Tragedy: he was not taxed by Aristophanes and Aristotle only, but by Sophocles, and the general sense of Athens was against him. They said, in those days, that Comedy (whose Province was humor and ridiculous matter on­ly) was to represent things worse then the truth. History to describe the truth, but Tragedy was to invent things better then the truth. Like good Painters they must design their Images like the Life, but yet better and more beautiful then the Life. The Malefactor of Tragedy must be a bet­ter sort of Malefactor then those that live in the present Age. For an ob­durate impudent and impenitent Ma­lefactor can neither move compassion nor terror; nor be of any imaginable use in Tragedy.

[Page 37] See we then Rollo, fighting with his own Brother and King, equal to himself, and attempting to poyson him, without any remorse; killing him in their mothers arms, without any provocation; calling the Queen their Mother Belldam, and with drawn sword threatning to kill both her and his Sister, without any sense of honour or piety; and must we not imagine a Legion of Devils in his belly. When Rollo has murder'd his Brother, he stands condemn'd by the Laws of Poetry; and nothing re­mains but that the Poet see him exe­cuted, and the Poet is to answer for all the mischief committed after­wards. But Rollo we find has made his escape, and wo be to the Chan­cellor, to the Schoolmaster, and the Chancellors Man; for those are to be men of this world no longer. Here is like to be Poetical Iustice, so many lives taken away, and but the life of one guilty person to an­swer for all, and is not this a strange method of killing? If the Planets had contriv'd him for a Cock of thir­teen, his first Victory should not have [Page 38] been the most important, he should first have praictis'd on his subjects, and have risen by degrees to the height of iniquity. His Brother So­veraign was his top-murder; nothing remain'd after that, unless it were his Lady-Mother.

Neither is Otto here a much more taking Gentleman, nothing appears in his Cue to move pity, or any way make the Audience of his party.

But of all the world who would ever have expected that Aubrey is to succeed in the Kingship? 'Tis a good man, but the dullest good man that ever Poor advanc'd to a Throne by such extraordinary means. Some Dreams or old Prophesie should have begun an expectation in us; or some Lambent-fires incircling his head, have drawn the peoples eyes upon him. Rollo and Otto must both make untimely ends, to make way for Au­brey. So strange a Revolution never happens in Poetry, but either Hea­ven or Earth gives some sorenotice of it.

[Page 39] However, something shining and extraordinary ought to have appear'd in his Character. Indeed he parts Rollo and Otto fighting, and Rollo was once disarm'd by him. But then for decencies sake and Rollo's credit, he should have been lookt on as something more then a meer Subject. In all the rest he appears an humble endeavourer, speaks honestly to no purpose, is brav'd and abus'd by Ras­cals. Whereas each step of his should have been attended with such awe and Majesty, that the spectators, if not guess, might at least wish to see him their Soveraign; and have the pleasure to see their wishes suc­cessful.

Gisbert and Baldwin, Chancellor and Tutor are Devota Capita, only come on the Stage to make Rollo the greater sinner by their mur­der.

Further to shew his rage against the Chancellor, says Rollo,

No reason here is given for this in­humanity.

On the like occasion Sophocles con­triv'd a Tragedy, the Plot is this. By the death of Etheocles and Poly­nices, Creon King of Thebes made an Edict, that none, upon pain of being buried alive, should presume to give burial to Polynices, the reasons pre­tended are, That Polynices had brought Forreigners to invade his Country, and Etheocles had dyed in his Countreys defence, and therefore it would be unjust to give to both the same honour of Funeral. He further alledges a charge left by Etheocles to the same effect. Now the piety of Antigone could not digest so hard a Law, but in the night she goes and covers her Brother with earth, is ta­ken by the Watch, and (Creon being deaf to all intercession) is sent to pu­nishment. When the Bishop Tyresias reproving Creon strikes him with re­morse, [Page 41] who thereupon runs himself to reprieve her, hears from her Tomb the last groans of his only Son Hae­mon, who he finds had stabb'd him­self and lay a dying at the feet of Antigone, his dead Mistress. This disaster brought the same violent Fate on the Queen Eurydice, and with her depriv'd Creon of all that could be dear to him in the world.

In this we have every thing just, every thing surprizing, every thing passionate to extremity.

Whereas in Rollo we meet with so much stuff lumberd together, that not the least spring can work, nor the least passion stir, that is pleasant or generous; nor the least proportion or beauty of Tragedy appear. Ari­stotle says that an Image drawn with Chalk in the exact shape and symme­try, will please more then a whole potful of the best Colours thrown upon a wall without any figure or de­sign.

But to proceed with the Chara­cterrs. Sophia at the first appears a woman of spirit, in opposing so vehe­mently the division of the Dukedom. [Page 42] But she ill maintains this Character; when Rollo in her presence murders his Brother, threatens both her and her Daughter, she very tamely ex­horts the Daughter to a vile com­pliance, says she

She ought surely in another sort of tone to have resented this outrage, or before to have manifested a parti­ality for Rollo.

At his death History informs us she died of grief. 'Tis a wonder this Tragedy spares her; hers would have been a more decent and Poeti­cal death then any of the rest. In this the History is the better Tra­gedy.

The Princess Matilda for the small part she bears, acquits her self brave­ly enough. Yet, methinks, Aubrey and she should have exchang'd some words; some glances have been cast, or otherways some approaches have [Page 43] been begun. For here there scarce go three words to the bargain. In the last lines of the Play he comes to this Lady as abruptly as to the Dukedom, both drop into his mouth.

In Edith these waylings, clingings, and beseechings; these showers of tears and words.

This sort of importunity is nothing so proper in this place, it might much better become Comedy, where Miss La Fool intercedes for little Dog or Moncky, in peril for some misdemea­nor; something more of stomach and courage had suited her better. Tra­gedy requires not what is only Na­tural, but what is great in Nature, and such thoughts as quality and Court-education might inspire. She might indeed be surpriz'd, and at the first let the meer Natural woman es­cape [Page 44] a little, but one or two so harsh and barbarous repulses should have rouz'd that Tragical spirit so vilely prostituted, and made her reflect on the other bloody scenes, so lately acted before her eyes, and caus'd her to despair before she had troubl'd us with her endless impertinen­cies.

Nor indeed comes short of her for tongue and wind, the old Dutchess, when in all reason one might expect that so violent grief and passions would choak them; they run chat­tering, as if the concern were no more then a gossiping: theirs are not of the old cut, Curae leves loquuntur ingentes stupent.

Take her then resolv'd to kill this Holofernes, when she sets up for a Heroine, and will revenge the blood of the murder'd King Otto, of her Father, and the rest. When that scene presents her full of dire design and bloody purpose, we then indeed have her concise in word, and Laco­nick in the repartee. To the first Complement she answers.

Is it likely that a Lady in her cir­cumstances could be sensible what a pretty lisping way he had with him; or could listen to the soft things he spoke, or answer him so lightly? is not this more like some Minx in an Alley, then any Character for Tra­gedy? There are in Women comi­cal frailties, and heroick frailties: and several considerations might have made her resolution stagger; but this of the tempting tongue is Comedy out of season.

I would also in this scene note this passage, says

Pray if thou canst pray, I [Page 46] will kill thy soul else.

Pray suddenly.

This I think sounds not so well in Poetry, whatever it may do in Divi­nity. And now that I am upon the short Dialogues, let me cite one that went before.

But leaving Edith, let us examine what was there in this Latorch to give him the ascendant over his So­veraign? Was it his Quality, his Va­lour, or some Pestilent Wit, or what Fiddle had he to Charm this savage Master of his? ^a An Historian (who was never taxt for a prodigal of his words) could not mention the D [...]me that led Cataline astray, without an­nexing the Inventory of her Excel­lencies, as how well she Danc'd, how she handl'd the Lute, and how she spoke Greek. Yet Rollo a Prince of as great importance to us, is led by the Nose to do all the mischiefs under [Page 47] the Sun; and no body knows who 'tis does manage him.

'Tis possible that a Prince may a­bandon himself to be rul'd by some busie creature of no consideration. The Annals of Normandy may men­tion such Dukes.

History may have known the like. But Aristotle cries shame. Poetry will allow of nothing so unbecoming, nor dares any Poet imagine that God Almighty would trust his Anointed with such a Guardian Devil.

In the third Act enters Hamond, Captain of the Guard, and is a nimble Executioner; and who would guess this the Man ordain'd to kill the Dra­gon. But whether in Poetry this job more properly belong'd to Edith, or to this Hamond, may be a que­stion.

In the first place 'tis resolv'd that to neither of them did it belong, but that (of the two) Edith might ra­ther have kill'd Rollo, the following reasons may prove, viz.

1. To Edith the provocation was greater; a Father engaging our Piety more strongly then a Bro­ther.

[Page 48] 2. Hamond holding a place of trust, had a stricter tye upon him: and Edith lying under no such obligati­on; the fact in her would not have been subject to so many aggrava­tions.

3. She, as a woman, might be pre­sum'd not so well to understand Alle­giance, and to distinguish how far her Piety was to be restrain'd by it.

4. As in her sex reason is said to be more feeble, so the Passions are suppos'd to be the more violent and precipitate.

5. The punishment had been more signal and more grievous to the Ty­rant, dying by the hand of a woman, and a woman to whom he was making love.

6. By a woman the fact would have been more surprising and extra­ordinary; and greater would have been the wonder, which a Poet al­ways endeavours for, when it clashes not with probability.

7. Baldwin was of better quality then Allan. For though the Maid might be content enough to be rob'd of her revenge; yet what would her [Page 49] Fathers Ghost say? And indeed what would the Chancellor's and Otto's Ghost say? was their blood dumb? or was not the cry of their blood to be heard? must they be murder'd and no harm ensue? only to the Manes of the Chancellors Man must this Monarch be sacrific'd. ‘Allan te hoc vulnere—’says Ha­mond. ‘ Allan, my Brother Allon gives this stab.’

Allon it seems is satisfi'd, whilst his betters must be fain to appeal, and wait till Doomsday.

Hitherto the Plot and Caracters.

For the thoughts and good sense, compare the speech against dividing the Dukedom, with that in Herodian (from whence our Author takes it) on that same occasion. Upon the division it was agreed, the one Brother to have Europe, the other to have Asia; which their Mother hearing, thus spoke,

The Sea and Land, my Sons, you have found how to divide; the Pro­pontick, you say, is a bound for ei­ther Continent, but how is it that [Page 50] you will divide your Mother? how shall wretched I be cut in two and disposed on to each of you? first, there­fore, first slay me, and each of you take his moiety with him, and bury it. So with the Sea and Land, I also shall be divided between you.

Says Sophia,

[Page 52] The former speech seems to show a Woman of great spirit, labouring to contain her passion till she may utter her mind: But this latter seems to present a well-breath'd and practis'd Scold, who vents her passion and ea­ses her mind by talking, and can weep and talk everlastingly.

In that of Julia we find but one thought, yet that follow'd close and press'd with all the vehemence that a strong passion might inspire; as may be easily apprehended by any who understand in Virgil, ‘It lachrymans, guttisque humectat grandibus ora.’

She is not content to say, divide me, but to lay the Image before their eyes, and make the stronger impres­sion. She will, like the Sea and Land be divided, be cut in two, be shar'd out to them, to each his moiety, &c.

But what a pother makes the old Dutchess? never French Author hash'd and kickshaw'd a little sense into so many words that signifie no­thing. [Page 53] She manages as if she were to hold forth by the glass: Had her passion after the first three words burst out at her eyes, had she wept and torn her hair, her Rhetorick had been more moving, and better under­stood, and she had acquitted her self Heroickly: But she falls off immedi­ately, as if she had bolted out some rash thing at first, and was afraid of being ta'ne at her word; her tongue runs over her passion, and steals into matters that lean another way, and she talks as if she would talk the im­pression of her first words quite out of the hearers heads again. After the three first words she flies from the only thought that was proper, high enough, and proportionable to her passion: she is for being split in as many pieces as there are Villages in Normandy; which expression scatters the thought, breaks the resemblance and carries all remote from the occa­sion, and must in effect move but ve­ry indifferently. From thence she plunges into such impertinent and in­consistent wild jargon as is obvious to [Page 54] any man. That of the Diamond is a good thought in it self; but in this place comes very cold from her mouth, 'tis no more than if she had said, Divide the Dukedom, divide me first, nay divide a Diamond, &c. Natu­rally in a great passion none have leisure to ramble for comparisons, much less to compute the value of Diamonds whole or broken.

I question not the Grammar, nor how Poetical the stile is, I rest in the sense, nor had yet been so particular, but that I take all this Tragedy to be of the same piece for the writing, un­less that scene of the Astrologers; and the Comical part, than which no­thing can be more diverting.

Speeches of more matter I confess we have in the Play, and to Latorch we are oblig'd for them.

This Latorch alwaies Cants at this rate, and an extraordinary Muse at­tends him. We may, I think, conclude the success of this Play due chiefly to the Scenes for laughter, the merry jig under the Gallows, and where the Tragedy tumbles into the Kitchin a­mong the Skoundrels that never saw buskin in their lives before. There the Pantler and Cook give it that relish which renders it one of the most fol­lowed entertainments in the Town.

A King and no King.

WEll fares it with Tragedy (says an ^a old stager) the title is no sooner known, but the Spe­ctators see into the design, and agree what they are to expect. Name Oe­dipus, they know Laius was his Fa­ther, Jocasta his Mother, and all the generation: so there needs no more but hold up a finger, the Curtain's drawn, and to't they go.

But ill is our condition, we are fain to coin new words, explain what is past, present, and to come, yet ne­ver can be understood enough, and without this ado whether Phidon or whether Chremes enters, he is hist off the Stage; when as Teucer, Oedipus, or Peleus might come with autho­rity.

[Page 57] Our Authors we see, never make use of the advantage which that Co­median envy'd so much in Tragedy. This Title gives no more light into the design, then had they call'd it Hocus Pocus; and indeed the name seems rather to promise a Comedy, and one might expect some sort of Mam­mamouchy King, or Cozen of Duke Trinckelo's for the Heroe of the Play.

The Plot is this:

The Queen of Iberia, Arane, had feign'd her self with child, and made use of Gobrias's Son to carry out the cheat. She afterwards proves truly with child, which came to be Pan­thea, durst not discover the first cheat, so that Arbaces (Gobria's Son) became actually King, is made really so by marrying Panthea.

The rest is all Episode.

In this Fable appears some pro­portion, shape, and (at the first sight) an outside fair enough, yet at the bot­tom we hardly find what is more choice, or more exquisite and more [Page 58] perfect than History. By the turn of the Plot, if we look on Arane, this Play might have been call'd The De­ceiver Deceiv'd, if we look on Ar­baces, the title might have been The Fortunate Impostor, The lucky Sham, or something of that kind; which shows a want of that good sense in it which Tragedy requires.

There might have been feigned some right to the Crown long con­tested between the two Families; (as ours of York and Lancaster) and bloody civil war ready to break out; when unexpectedly all grew husht and ended in a marriage; which (by a train long laid by Gobrias) took ef­fect. This marriage should not have seem'd so advantageous to the false King, and his Father who brought it about; but by manifest reasons of state appear'd absolutely necessa­ry for the good of the Kingdom, and above all things, desired and la­bour'd for by the relations of Pan­thea.

Whereas on the contrary, we find the Queen Mother attempting to poi­son [Page 59] this usurper, and see no reason to blame her endeavours.

What sets this Fable below Histo­ry, are many improbabilities, and those of the worst sort; because they contribute nothing to the wonder. What more improbable, than that the Mother whose business it was to con­trive the death of the Impostor, should never caution or inform her only Daughter, who had the right to the Crown, that Arbaces was none of her Brother, but her vassal, and so ob­struct her love for him?

Nor is it likely that Gobrias should not have reserv'd some means to let his Son know the secret, that his Sons conduct and addresses to gain the Princess, might have been fashion'd accordingly.

The Characters are all improbable and unproper in the highest degree, besides that both these, their actions and all the lines of the Play run so wide from the Plot, that scarce ought could be imagin'd more contrary.

We blunder along without the least streak of light, till in the last act we [Page 60] stumble on the Plot, lying all in a lump together; neither any tolerable direction to guide us thither; nor ought ingenious, just, or reasonable, that carries us from thence.

What find we in the Son of Gobri­as that he must have the Princess and the Kingdom for her portion, save only that the Knave his Father will have it so?

Take his picture sent before him, and drawn by a friend. —He is vain­glorious, and humble, and angry, and patient, and merry, and dull, and joy­ful, and sorrowful, in extremity in an hour—Should we find underwrit­ten This is a King, yet could not rea­son give way to our belief.

Kings of Tragedy are all Kings by the Poets Election, and if such as these must be elected, certainly no Polish Diet would ever suffer Poet to have a voice in choosing a King for them. Nor will it serve that Arbaces is not truly a King, for he is actually such, and intended for a true and rightful King before the Poet has done with him, what wants in Birth [Page 61] the Poet should make up in his Me­rit, every one is to consent and wish him King, because the Poet designs him for one, 'tis (besides) observ'd that Usurpers generally take care to deserve by their conduct what is de­ny'd them by right.

We are to presume the greatest ver­tues, where we find the highest of rewards; and though it is not neces­sary that all Heroes should be Kings, yet undoubtedly all crown'd heads by Poetical right are Heroes. This Character is a flower, a prerogative, so certain, so inseparably annex'd to the Crown, as by no Poet, no Parlia­ment of Poets, ever to be invaded.

Arbaces indeed is of a different mould, he no sooner comes on the Stage, but lays about him with his tongue at so nauseous a rate, Captain Bessus is all Modesty to him, to mend the matter his friend shaking an em­pty skull, says 'Tis pity that valour should be thus drunk. Had he been content to brag only amongst his own Vassals, the fault might be more sufferable, but the King of Armenia [Page 62] is his prisoner, he must bear the load of all; he must be swagger'd at, in­sulted over, and trampl'd on without any provocation. We have a Scene of his sufferings in each Act of the Play: Bajazet in the Cage was ne­ver so carried about, or felt half the barbarous indignities which are thrown on this unfortunate Prince by our monster of a King.

If the Poet would teach that victo­ry makes a man insolent; he must at the same time make victory blush, and fly to the other side; as a just punishment for him that had abused her favours.

To the Queen-Mother his lan­guage is, Plagues rot the adulterous Witch! thou worse than Woman dam'd—strumpet—whore! &c. to his Father Gobrias;

To the Princess Panthea his sup­posed [Page 63] Sister, after having cast her in Prison, and a thousand outrages very coarsly.

These speeches, drawing his Sword at the Queen-Mother, and the other outrages, make the sum of our He­roes vertues, and neither worse nor better find we throughout his cha­racter. Arbaces should have been consider'd in a double capacity; he should have been endu'd with all the greatness of mind, and generosity of [Page 64] a King, and also with the modesty of a Subject. The want of which, is a great aggravation of his fauls; for his carriage towards the Royal Cap­tive, towards the Queen-Mother, to­wards the Princess, as he was a King, were insupportable, as no King, it was all abominable. History sometimes takes notice of a certain instinct which has strangely hinder'd many unnatural actions. A Poet, I am sure, ought always to have that instinct, or some good genius ready to serve his Heroe upon occasion, to prevent these unpleasant shocking indecencies, which otherwise might happen. This instinct should in Arbaces have begot a respect to his Father Gobrias, and have humbl'd him in the presence of such as were truly of the Blood Roy­al.

And far from decorum is it, that we find the King drolling and quib­ling with Bessus and his Buffoons, and worse, that they should presume to break their little jests upon him.

This too is natural, some will say. There are in nature many things [Page 65] which Historians are asham'd to men­tion, as below the dignity of an Hi­story: Shall we then suffer a Tom Coriat in Poetry? Shall we on the most important day of a King's Reign, and at Court be content with such entertainment as is not above a Cob­ler's shop? Might not a Poet as well describe to us how the King eats and drinks, or goes to Stool; for these actions are also natural: but observe the behaviour of Arbaces, after that he is found to be no King. Now he will make amends, and give satisfa­ction to all he had wrong'd. To the Gentlemen about him.

And surely the Captive King can­not but be content, when told that

For the Captive King's Mistress;

Now, that he is no King, nor has ought to give, he is for selling all without asking leave of the true So­vereign Panthea. To her his Com­pliment is,

Should not rather the Spirit of Majesty have now rouz'd up in the Princess, and she have call'd to mind his late brutish insolence, and have call'd him impudent Slave, and dis­charg'd a frown that should have struck him dead, or commanded him to be nail'd to the floor as false coin, [Page 68] and a counterfeit stamp of Majesty. And certainly his character could de­serve no better fate. But for his com­fort, this Princess was none of those. One might swear she had a knock in the Cradle; so soft she is at all points, and so silly. No Linsey-woolsey Shep­herdess but must have more soul in her, and more sense of decency (not to say) honour. To this Vassal of hers, on her knees for half an hour together, she whines at this rate, viz.

Thus she continues, and by and by he kisses her thrice, then calls her Witch, Poisoner, Traitor, sends her to Prison; she thanks him with all her heart. ‘ [Page 69] Nay, 'tis well the King is pleas'd with it.’

At the next meeting she will needs be closer and closer to him; he can­not keep her off him, he tells her he would commit incest with her: She returns a drawling, yawning, yielding answer; and proceeds to tell him, that she wishes he were not her Bro­ther, that she loves him so well, she can love no man else; she shall weep her eyes out: and farther.

Had Panthea been some Wastcoat­teer of the Village, that had been formerly Complaisant with him be­yond discretion, more vile submissions she could not devise: But as she is lawful Sovereign, nothing could be invented more opposite to all honesty, [Page 70] honour, and decorum. If we consider them as Brother and Sister, 'tis hor­ribly wicked. If we look on her as Sovereign, and him as her Subject, what can be more dishonourable? So that if instinct guided their love, as lawful and warrantable; it may be answer'd, that the same iustinct should have prevented that love, as insolent and presumptuous in Arbaces, base and unbecoming in Panthea. For whether a Lady may better marry her Brother, or her Groom, is a que­stion more easily decided in Divinity, than in Poetry.

We are let to know that the Queen-Mother was for removing the Usurper by poison, and for bringing all into the right channel agen. This we might expect to be a Woman coura­gious, and truly Tragical: yet we find her the veriest patient Grissel that ever had lain by a Monarch's side. She comes but thrice on the Stage; the first time she is rebuk'd by Gobrias, with the same language that the Vicar of Newgate might dispence to some sinner forlorn; then she is on [Page 71] her mary-bones to the Impostor with­out reluctancy. Lastly, when pro­vok'd with a drawn Sword, and words more cutting, the proudest rant she could be rais'd to, was: —Fire con­sume me if ever I was a Whore.

If nothing else in the character of Arbaces, the drawing his Sword a­gainst a Woman, was enough in Poetry to damn him. After that outrage, he could make no pretensions to ought that is good or honourable.

On this occasion memorable is that passage in Virgil, where AEneas after having related, how the Town on fire about his ears,—on the sudden awak'd from his sleep,—flung headlong by rage and despair,—forsaken by his reason,—his friends slaughter'd about him,—the King Priam murder'd be­fore his face:—when he spies the cause of all this, Hellen, skulking in a corner—at the sight of her.

[Page 72] All which, with what follows, comes to no more, than had he said;—In that nick of time I even made a que­stion within my self, whether I was not to take revenge on her; to that de­gree of madness had my troubles wrought me. ‘Talia jactabam, & furiata mente ferebar.’

Now here, this revenge goes no farther than his thoughts; these thoughts —AEneas himself con­demns, and calls them madness; and is also sharply reprov'd for them by his Guardian Angel,

No man but Virgil could ever pen any thing with that infinite care and caution as is this particular passage. One might think Virgil foresaw what­ever could be objected; and provided against all scruples.

[Page 73] Yet of such a nice tast were the Criticks in that age of good sense; that Varus and Tucca struck out all the 22 Verses which contain this passage. These were employ'd by Augustus to inspect what (by the untimely death of Virgil) might have been left im­perfect, and they durst not suffer these 22 lines to pass, though essential to the Poem; so tender they were, lest their Heroe might lye under a suspi­tion of transgressing in any punctilio of that nature.

We need not make a controversy whether Virgil or his Criticks be in the right: But if Virgil will not in a man allow the thought of striking a Woman in any circumstances, un­less he condemns himself for that thought. And if his Criticks will not permit a thought of that kind with any qualifications whatsoever; then we may well conclude, that Poetry to be very gross, where the men both think, and speak, and act their cruel­ties against Women, without any shame or restraint.

[Page 74] But Arbaces, though mad, and flash'd upon by never so great a hur­rican of provacations, was not to be allow'd to think of striking; because the Womans quality was above his, and made her sacred. Neither in this point is there a difference be­twixt an Epick Poem and a Tragedy; when the conclusion of both is pro­sperous.

As here, AEneas, a King, of great merit, by the assistance of Heaven, and his friends, after much labour, mar­ries Lavinia.

And Arbaces, no King, of no merit, without friends in Heaven, or on the Earth; without any trouble weds his King's only Daughter, and the Kingdom of Iberia is her portion.

I know with the Ancients, Orestes kill'd his Mother, Hercules his Wife and Children, Agamemnon his Daugh­ter. But the first was an act of Iu­stice; the second of Frenzy; the last of Religion. But these were all Tra­gedies unhappy in the catastrophe. And the business so well prepar'd; that every one might see, that these [Page 75] Worthies had rather have laid violent hands on themselves, had not their will and choice been over-rul'd. Eve­ry step they made, appear'd so con­trary to their inclinations, as all the while shew'd them unhappy, and ren­der'd them the most deserving of pit­ty in the World.

Another Canker in the heart of this Tragedy, is the incestuous love (for such it appears) between Arba­ces and Panthea, I mean, the conduct of it. When any design on the Stage is in agitation, the Poet must take care that he engage the affections, take along the heart, and secure the good will of the Audience. If the design be wicked, as here the making approaches towards an incestuous en­joyment; the Audience will naturally loath and detest it, rather than favour or accompany it with their good wishes. 'Tis the sad effects and con­sequences of an ill design which the Audience love to have represented: 'tis then that the penitence, remorse and despairs move us: 'tis then that we grieve with the sorrow­ful, [Page 76] and weep with those that weep.

Therefore were the Ancients to make an incestuous love their subject; they would take it in the fall, as it rowls down headlong to desperation and misery.

Many in the World for their interest may comply and help forward the ad­vances towards an ill action; but on the Stage there is no kindred nor fil­thy lucre to biass the Audience, or make them partial to the evil-doer. If the Poet observe not these mea­sures, the working up of a Scene, is plainly the tormenting of nature, and holding our ears to the Grind­stone.

For an incestuous love, famous a­mongst the Ancients, was the tale of Macareus and Canace. In the list of those Tragedies wherein Nero de­lighted to be an Actor, Suetonius reckons Canace parturiens. The ti­tle may satisfy us, that all the soft things, all the amours, the flowers and fleurets were over, e're the Offen­ders entred on the Stage.

[Page 77] In this last age a noble ^* Italian compos'd a Tragedy of Canace after the model of the Ancients; for the time of the action: he also chooses the day of Canaces labour. And then the pangs of child-bearing are the easiest that she suffers. For, to heigh­ten the disgrace, this Poet feigns Ma­careus and Canace to be Twins, and this day to have been their birth day, which the King, their Father, is about to solemnize with a Festival. Im­mediatly we find the two Offenders (under their apprehension of being discover'd) in the greatest confusion and despair imaginable. But that we might more justly pitty them, he in­forms us, that their crime proceeded not from any folly or miscarriage in themselves which they might have avoided; but that a ^† resistless power above, and Coelestial force had over-rul'd them: that indeed Venus [Page 78] had an old reck'ning with their Fa­ther AEolus, for persecuting her AEne­as, and thus she discharg'd it with a vengeance.

By the rule of the Antients no co­lours, no sophistry or ribaldry's, were us'd to lessen a crime before it was committed: for then their Rhe­torick could have no good effect, but must have grated on the hearers pa­tience. But after the fact, when its punishment came heavy upon it, then all their art and invention was at work, to find out circumstances to extenuate the guilt, that the persons guilty might be capable of pity.

Arbaces in the dishonest love to his Sister, should have follow'd the example of that Antiochus in the Hi­story, who in love with his Step­mother, discover'd not his passion by any words or gallantries; but pin'd away, and gave himself over to dye; and had dy'd, if the dexterity of his Physitian had not by feeling his Pulse learnt the cause of his distemper.

The better to cleer this matter, I will trace the manners and conduct [Page 79] of Phedra in Euripides, where we are told that Hippolytus having too rudely slighted the Altars of Venus, she is offended, and will have the whole Family feel the effects of her resentment. To bring this about, she strikes Phedra with a poison'd dart, and makes her in love with this Hip­polytus, her Son in Law. Phedra conceals her love, strives to overcome it, not prevailing, resolves to ^a kill her self by fasting. And now for three days had she neither eat nor slept, when she first appears on the Stage. No wonder then if she talks very madly, she is in an hundred minds all at once, she tries all places and all postures, and is always uneasie in the present. Now her dress is a pain to her, and now she will be carry'd to her Closet and shut up close, in­stantly agen, she calls to have her locks tied back, and nothing but the garb of an Amazon will please her, then she would sleep in some grott, and drink the waters from a mossie foun­tain. [Page 80] Now she cries for the open air, for ranging the hills, for driving the woods, for whooping the dogs, for chasing the Stag, and brandishing a Iavelin: and ah that the horses were ready to mount. Now she complains of her distraction, and blames some ^b Divine power; and now her face is loaded with shame; confusion and tears. Hide me (she cries) ah hide me from the world, it pains her (she says) to return to her right senses.

Here is a Scene of Madness, but not of Bedlam-madness; here is Nature, but not the obscenities, not the blind­sides of Nature, which are represen­ted when Arbaces and Panthea go loose together, and whether of the two Madnesses is the more apt to move pity, need not certainly be a question.

Hitherto cannot the Governess, Con­fident, or Nurse of Phedra, under­stand where Phedra is pincht. She sifts, importunes and conjures her, yet [Page 81] after all is no wiser till accidentally amongst other arguments whereby she would perswade Phedra to live, Live, says she, otherwise you betray your Children to be Lorded over by that other womans Bastard, this Amazon' s Son, I mean Hippolytus, woes me, says Phedra, you have un­done me! name him no more. The Nurse proceeds to torture her with questions, and Phedra returns as many perplexed answers, till at the last says Phedra,

[Page 82] Alas! undone! intolerable, cries the Nurse, and she will not live one moment longer. And concludes that all, (even modest women too against their will) would be naught, and that Love is the veryest god almighty; there is not the fellow of him in all the heavenly gang.

I have only cited the conclusion of this Scene, to note the utmost ad­vances of Phedra towards a confes­sion, the only crime of which she was guilty; and to show that this Nurse (so long kept in ignorance) was no fool, but subtle and nimble enough to catch and run away with the least hint that could be offer'd.

In the former Scene all the conflict was between love and modesty; this presents love and an active friendship join'd, both at once labouring to sub­due this modesty, so far only as to ex­tort a confession. The Nurse with wrung hands lies at Phedra's feet, embraces her knees, begs her to live, for her Childrens sake to live, and tell her pain. Phedra strives, would be from the Nurses hands, complains of [Page 83] the violence, promises to tell, yet raves and rambles, speaks short and ambiguous, all is darkness; whilest every where tenderness, passion and modesty reign, and appear to admira­tion.

This Scene having wrought off the Remains of Phedra's frenzy, in the next she seems more calm, her mind more at ease, and now will move pity from a new Topick, for now this un­fortunate Lady is found to be a wo­man of great sense and understanding. She reasons (to the Chorus) and won­ders how humane life becomes so cor­rupt, for certainly (says she) it can­not be natural to do amiss, when we understand what is right. Yet thus it happens, we have before our eyes, and know what is good, but we pra­ctise otherwise. Some out of floath, and others preferring a kind of pleasure before honesty; there be many plea­sures of life, as conversation, ease a sweet evil, and modesty. Now there are two sorts of pleasure, one good, this other the bane of Families: but would this appear always in its true [Page 84] colours, 'twould no longer be counted pleasure. These things when I con­sider'd, I thought no Philter could ever seduce me to act against my knowledge.

But to open my mind to you, after love had wounded me, I cast with my self how I might bear my illness the most decently, and from that time made it my care to hide my distemper and keep it to my self. Secondly, I resolv'd to get my right senses agen, and with chastity to overcome my frenzy. In the third place, if the attempt to cure my distemper prov'd vain, I then thought my best course would be to dye.

For I know the disease to be infa­mous, and especially in me a woman, odious to all people.

Then she curses those who first pol­luted the Marriage-bed. And hates the baggag [...]s that can talk so smoothly, and yet will do naughty things in a corner. ^a Blessed Lady, says she, [Page 85] how can they look their husbands in the face? how can they but tremble at their ^b confederate darkness? and be afraid that the very ^c walls and doors should open and cry whore at 'um.

She concludes, Therefore dear friends, this same shall kill me, that I may never be taken to disgrace my Husband, and the Children I have brought forth.

The Nurse perceiving her Mistress thus resolute, sets her tongue a run­ning to this purpose.

The Nurse here delivers all the good sense that could be proper for the occasion, as may be discern'd, not­withstanding the ill dress, in which I have disguis'd it. A less considering Poet would have displaid all this dialogue-wise, and made it a Scene of [Page 90] mighty sputter. But Euripides would not suffer his Phedra so far to coun­tenance or listen to these lewd rea­sons, as once to think they deserv'd any particular answer. To dispute in a matter of this kind, would have been the next door to the being con­vinc'd; and to contend, was to put her self in the way of being over­come. She therefore at once makes this return.

To make short, the Nurse tells her that wise sentences will not do the business: that, for her part, she would not be the minister of any ones plea­sure: but in this extremity, where life is at stake, she might without blame for a violent disease, provide an extraordinary Cure.

[Page 91] Phedra calls these horrible, filthy speeches; and commands her to ^* lock up her mouth.

The Nurse urges that her words, if they are not clean, they are whol­some; and the preservation of life was of more importance than any proud name she would boast on in her death.

But she (finding that this sort of discourse did the more exasperate and provoke her Mistress) recants. But (says she) now that it comes in my mind, I have at home ^† healing Philters that will work your Cure without touching upon your modesty.

Phedra is in fear, makes scruples, asks questions; which the Nurse evades, and tells her, she wanted not to be instructed, but to be assisted.

In the next Scene Phedra is on the Stage, and over-hears the Nurse within, exchanging some words with Hippolytus: whereupon she cries out, [Page 92] says, she is betraid, curses the Nurse, and resolves to kill her self. And now the apprehensions that Hippoly­tus would accuse her to his Father, made her write a Letter, laying all the blame on Hippolytus, as the best expedient (that amidit her distracti­ons, she could on the sudden devise) to secure her honour, and to prevent the disgrace of her Family, and of her Children: and with this Letter in her hand, she hangs her self.

Had some Author of the last age given us the character of Phedra, they (to thicken the Plot) would have brought her in burning of Chur­ches, poisoning her Parents, prostitu­ting her self to the Grooms, solliciting her Son face to face, with all the im­portunity and impudence they could imagin; and never have left dawbing so long as there might remain the least cranny for either pitty or proba­bility. They would never have left her, till she had swell'd to such a Toad, as nothing but an audience of brass could fit the sight of her.

But (for our credit) Seneea, before [Page 93] us, in this blind way of designing made no inconsiderable progress. We find his Phedra at the first dash justi­fying her incestuous love: and her Nurse is the Woman of sentences; who labours with all the wholsome advise, the sense and nonsense she could scrape together, to maul this monstrous lust that rag'd in her Nurs­ling, Phedra. And whilst she goes on without any signs of success, Phe­dra surprises her, (on the sudden) re­solving to dye with a good name. Whereupon the Nurse bids her be pa­tient, and promises to try what she can do with the young man.

Without more words, the next Scene presents us Phedra, (as if the late resolution had never been made) all upon the gallantry, she is tricking her self up in Masquerade; and thus she hopes to win the Salvage Hippo­lytus, and the Nurse and she make their supplications to the Goddess of Chastity to help on their design. And now it is that the Nurse attacks him: but how? she expounds to him at large, that a City-life and Women are [Page 94] a comfortable importance; he answers in another harangue, that nothing is like to the ranging in the Countrey: and truly (for Women) he hates them all mortally. During this conference, Phedra reels in amongst them, falls in a swoun; and well is it for her that she is taken up in the arms of her be­loved Son: therefore she takes heart, and puts it to him couragiously. But words proving vain, she will needs ^a ravish the poor stripling. Here­upon, to cut her neck off, he draws out the brown Faulcheon, ^b on which she laying her sweaty palms, he cries foh! flings it from him, and runs away. And now the Nurse puts in her word, and says, marry, 'tis the best way to be before-hand with him, and to cry Whore first. Accordingly they fly to Theseus, Phedra tells him that Hippolytus not only purposed, but had ^c effected his filthy pur­pose [Page 95] upon her body, do she what she could: and ecce signum shews the Sword to witness for her truth. Here­upon Theseus dispatches his Son Hip­polytus into another World. And now (with a canker to her) comes Phedra, confesses the truth indeed, and kills her self.

Now in this Phedra of Seneca, what one occasion of pitty have we? what ground for terror? and, above all, what manners have we? ask the generality of Women if they are mov'd and concern'd, if their hearts and good will go along and attend the thoughts and motions of this Phedra? will they not answer that they know no such Woman, that she is no way a kin to them, nor has any resemblance with their nature? She must be some brat of a Succubus, or an evil Spirit, (say they) that perso­nates a Woman; or some Devil in a Machine, that comes to render the Sex odious. Nor can they allow her more compassion than to a Bitch, or Polecat, and what has no relation to human shape.

[Page 99] Nor can this be a cause of terror: for few Women would be apt to fan­cy that they could (in any circum­stances) be so wicked as this Phedra, Each will say, were it my fate, or should I be curst to love where I ought not, I would certainly conceal my love, and strive with it, my thoughts, words, and actions, and all, my con­dition might be every way the same, or very like to that of Phedra in Euripides. But I could never speak or act at this impudent abominable rate, could never be transform'd to such a monster as this Phedra of Se­neca. And since my conduct would not be the same, my case can never be the same; and consequently this example cannot move or concern, or have any operation to stir either pitty or terror in me.

I have been the more large on this matter, because it may serve as a certain and general test, whereby may be discover'd what is naturally apt to move pitty or terror. And this is founded on a Philosophy ne­ver contraverted, but alike current at Malmsbury as at Athens.

[Page 97] Every one have noted Seneca for his unnatural way of writing. Yet, besides what is already observ'd in his characters, I cannot leave him, without reminding you, that though he takes all his thoughts from Sopho­cles and Euripides, yet he rarely af­fords us any of their good sense. He crumbles every thought into all the little points that ever he can strain it to; and all these points (for, or a­gainst him, it matters not) must one way or other be apply'd.

Whensoever he finds a Diamond, he forces, and breaks it into an hun­der'd pieces; never letting it rest so long as any of it will sparkle. I de­sire your patience but for one instance of this kind.

In the Scene where the Nurse pres­ses to know what it is that pains her Mistress; amongst her other ravings; says Phedra in Euripides. ‘ ^a’

The Poet made Phedra say this, not only, as a proper and natural re­flection, that these extravagant loves run in the blood; but as a hint of her disease, and withal so qualifi'd, as might also shew her modesty: for she puts less in the conclusion than was in the premisses. She concludes to the unhappiness only, and does not (as she might) say. ‘And now the third unhappy Lo­ver, I.’

We find Seneca baiting this thought six several times in one Scene, and we have at least, 40 lines in the Tragedy all meer descant upon it.

[Page 99] [Page 100]

The thought in Euripides was good and just enough; but here we have it hall'd, and pull'd, and tost, and tum­bl'd about, in all postures and figures, and in all colours but the right. Ob­serve but how a a propos the Heroine first starts it. No wonder (says she) if my love goes to the (a) wood, see­ing my Mother was gallanted by a Bull; this brings her the ready way to (b) Daedalus and the labyrinth, where both she and the Poet are lost together. One might think, it would well enough serve from the Nurses mouth for an (c) use of reproof: till shortly after we find it a (d) turn-coat, and muster'd up by Phedra in the way of an excuse. The rest are all wide from sense and sobriety, as (e) the huge bellowings that fill'd the De­dalian Cloysters.

[Page 101] This may suffice for Seneca, and Phedra, with whom I had not so long digress'd, but that I had Panthea in mine eye all the while. Nor should I have judg'd Panthea worth all this ado, but that she has many proper Cousins on the Stage. And these vile characters have so long prosper'd, that they bear high, and are fairly on to pass for excellencies.

But I grow weary of this Tragedy: In the former I took Latorch by his mouth, and ranting air for a copy of Cassius in Shakespear: and that you may see Arbaces here, is not without his Cassian strokes.

Thus Cassius in Shakespear.

Thus Arbaces.

Would not these raptures have put Sir Will. Petty in mind of the Irish Inscription?

FOR FIERCENESS AND FOR FURIOUSNESS,—

MEN CALL ME THE QUEENS MORTER-PIECE.

The business of the Maids Tragedy is this;

AMintor contracted to Aspatia (Callianax' s Daughter) by the King's command, marries Evadne, Sister to Melanthius; and expects to lye with her; but the Bride (min­cing nothing) flatly tells him that he is but taken for a Cloak; that She, in­deed, is a Bedfellow only for the King. The good man is perswaded to dissemble all, till his friend Melan­thius extorts from him the secret: and thereupon hectors his Sister Evadne into repentance, and makes her promise to murder the King. Which she effects: in the mean time, by vexing Callianax, Melanthius pre­vails with him to deliver up the Fort, (wherein consisted the strength of the Kingdom,) and so provides for his own security. Lysimachus, Bro­ther [Page 105] to the murder'd King, succeeds on the Throne, and pardons all. Evadne would now go to bed with her Hus­band, he refuses, she kills her self. Aspatia in mans habit kicks her Sweetheart Amintor, duels him, and is kill'd; and now Amintor kills him­self to follow her: at which sight, his friend Melanthius would also take the same course, but is prevented.

Here we find Amintor false to his Mistress; and this fault is the source of all the revolutions in this Tra­gedy.

Amintor therefore should have named the Tragedy, and some addi­tional title should have hinted the Poet's design.

But seeing the Maid comes in at the latter end, only, to be kill'd for company; and seeing the King is the person of greatest importance, is the greatest loser and concern'd in the action of the Play more than enough. And seeing that the new King Lysi­machus in the close of the Tragedy makes this sober conclusion, says he;

From these considerations we might gather that the Poets intent was to show the dismal consequences of fornication. And if so, then the Title of the Tragedy should have re­lated to the King.

Whil'st thus we are uncertain what ought to be the title, we may suspect that the Action of the Tragedy is double, where there seem two centers, neither can be right; and the lines leading towards them must all be false and confus'd; the preparation I mean, and conduct must be all at ran­dom, since not directed to any one certain end.

But what ever the Poet design'd; nothing in History was ever so unna­tural, [Page 107] nothing in Nature was ever so improbable, as we find the whole conduct of this Tragedy, so far are we from any thing accurate, and Phi­losophical as Poetry requires.

This will appear as we examin the particular actions and Characters a­part.

Our Poet here gives to the great Comical Booby Callianax, the ho­nour of a long name with a King at th'end on't, yet lets the King himself go without. But since he must be nameless we may treat him with the greater freedom, and to tell my mind, certainly God never made a King with so little wit, nor the devil with so little grace, as is this King Ano­nymus.

A King of History might marry his Concubine to another man for a Maid; might hinder that man from the enjoyment. But would not then turn them into the bed-chamber to be all night together; nor would come in the morning to interrogate and question him, and torture the soul of him, as we find in this Tragedy, [Page 108] nor would impose it on a hus­band thus affronted, whom he calls honest and valiant, to be the pimp to his bride. To have taken Amintors head off had been clemency in com­parison of these outrages without any cause or colour. And how wise the King was in all this, may be judg'd from his own mouth, finding the hus­band contented and all quiet, the King (jealous that Evadne had not observ'd covenants) thus taxes her.

As if she had said, you have Evad­ne, you have broken Articles with me; it cannot be otherwise; for had you kept them, flesh and blood could not endure the affront, and he is such a man as would have cut us all to pieces in revenge. The danger being so cleer and certain, and a thousand safe courses before his nose, why should he stumble on this? never was a King of History so errant a fool and madman.

In framing a Character for Trage­dy, a Poet is not to leave his reason, and blindly abandon himself to fol­low fancy; for then his fancy might be monstrous, might be singular and please no body's maggot but his own, but reason is to be his guide, reason is common to all people, and can never carry him from what is Natural.

Many are apt to mistake use for [Page 110] nature, but a Poet is not to be an Historiographer, but a Philosopher, he is not to take Nature at the second hand, soyl'd and deform'd as it pas­ses in the customes of the unthinking vulgar.

The ^a Phedra in Euripides told us truly that it is not Natural to do evil when we know good. Therefore vice can never please unless it be painted and dress'd up in the colours and disguise of vertue, and should any man knowingly and with open eyes prefer what is evil, he must be reck­on'd the ^b greatest of Monsters, and in no wise be lookt on as any image of what is Natural, or what is suit­able with humane kind.

What is there of the Heroe, of Man, or of Nature in these Kings of our Poets framing? And for Evadners [Page 111] part, did Hell ever give reception to such a Monster? or Cerberus ever wag his tayl at an impudence so sa­cred?

On the Wedding night the Bride­groom is cajol'd by her in no better terms than.

Hitherto she is bashful, after this the Scene is to be wrought up, and the next Scene presents her impu­dence triumphant; but I shall trace her duty towards her husband no far­ther.

Had Evadne been the injur'd bo­dies sister, and had marry'd Amintor out of revenge, or had their been any foundation from circumstances for this sort of carriage, the Character then might have been contriv'd plau­sible enough; but both the Kings [Page 113] behaviour and hers, uncircumstanc'd as we have them, are every way so harsh and against Nature, that every thing said by them strikes like a dag­ger to the souls of any reasonable au­dience.

Whatever persons enter upon the Stage the Poetry would be gross e­nough if the audience could not by the manners distinguish in what Country the Scene lay; whether in England, Italy, or Turky: more gross would it be if the manners would not discover which were men and which the women.

Now Nature knows nothing in the manners which so properly and par­ticularly distinguishes woman as doth her modesty, consonant therefore to our principles and Poetical, is what some writers of Natural History have reported; that women when drown­ed swim with their faces down­wards, though men on the contra­ry.

Tragedy cannot represent a woman without modesty as natural and essen­tial to her.

[Page 114] If a woman has got any acciden­tal historical impudence, if docu­mented in the School of Nanna or Heloisa, she is furnish'd with some stock of acquired impudence, she is no longer to stalk in Tragedy on her high shoes; but must rub off and pack down with the Carriers into the Pro­vence of Comedy, there to be kickt about and expos'd to laughter.

There are degrees of modesty. Evadne and every person feign'd ought to be represented with more modesty then Phedra or Semiramis, because the History makes it credible that these had less of modesty then Naturally is inherent to the Sex, yet ought these also to show more of mo­desty then is ordinarily seen in men, that the Characters might still be di­stinguish'd.

But (of all) the Kings murder is at­tended with those circumstances, with such a knot of absurdity and in­justice, that I don't well know where to begin to unravel it.

This King indeed is born a Mon­ster, a Monster of great hopes, and [Page 115] what might we not have expected from him? yet certainly the Poet cuts him off, e're ripe for punish­ment.

And by such unproper means, that to remove one guilty person he makes an hundred; and commits the deadly sins to punish a venial one.

If Amintors falshood and its fatal consequences are to be noted, what occasion have we for a King in this Tragedy? cannot Corydon deceive his Amarillis (for such is Aspatia) but the King must know of it, the King must be murder'd for't?

To vex this false man, a Groom might have done the job, and have been the Poets Cuckold-maker to all intents and purposes every jot as well.

If it be said that the King was ac­cessary to the falshood, I question whether in Poetry a King can be an accessary to a crime, if the King com­manded Amintor; Amintor should have begg'd the Kings pardon; should have suffer'd all the racks and tortures [Page 116] a Tyrant could inflict; and from Pe­rillus's Bull should have still bellow­ed out that eternal truth, that his Promise was to be kept, that he is true to Apatia, that he dies for his Mistress, then would his memory have been precious and sweet to after-ages; and the Midsummer-Maydens would have offer'd their Garlands all at his grave.

And thus the King might kill A­mintor, but Amintor could not pre­tend that the King or Fortune had made him false.

Therefore, I say, the King was not to blame; or however not so far, as in any wise to render his life obnoxi­ous.

But if the Poet intended to make an example of this King, and that the King right or wrong must be kill'd. Amintor only felt the highest provo­cations, [Page 117] and he alone should have been drawn out for the wicked instru­ment, for Melantius had no reason to be angry at any but at his Sister Evadne; nor could she have any pre­tence to exercise her hands, unless it were against her self.

If I mistake not, in Poetry no wo­man is to kill a man, except her qua­lity gives her the advantage above him, nor is a Servant to kill the Ma­ster, nor a Private Man, much less a Subject to kill a King, nor on the contrary.

Poetical decency will not suffer death to be dealt to each other by such persons, whom the Laws of Du­el allow not to enter the lifts toge­ther.

There may be circumstances that alter the case, as when there is a suf­ficient ground of partiality in an Au­dience, either upon the account of Religion (as Rinaldo, or Riccardo in Tisso might kill Soliman, or any other Turkish King or great Sultan) or else in favour of our Country for then a private English Heroe might over­come [Page 118] a King of some Rival Na­tion.

But grant that Evadne lies under none of all these impediments; sup­pose her duly qualifi'd, and let the King wave his priviledges. Is there in History any president of a Magda­len sinner, that meerly from a fit of repentance fell foul on her Gallant at this horrid rate. Indeed, amongst 'em, they call him lustful Thief, De­vil-King, shameless Villain, &c. the Athenian Servants were better bred. ‘ ^a [...].’ ‘Ah fool; if we may term our Ma­sters so.’ ‘ [...].’ ‘Death take him! no, he is my Ma­ster.’

But I say, what reason is there for all this outcry? What can she lay to the King's charge?

The noble Gentleman indeed is wrong'd: but, good Madam, what reason is there for you to complain? did any force or philter overcome you? was not you as forward? did not you freely and heartily consent? do not we remember your hot rising blood,

Has the King cast you off? or bro­ken articles? no: but you repent? then repent at home; you may make bold with your own body, and there let fly your rage and violence. For to kill your Lover, is no effect or opera­tion [Page 120] of repentance, nor has any ground in nature or reason: 'tis worse than brutish.

But indeed most of our Murderers hitherto have been no better; they are the Poets Ban-dogs let loose to worry those the Poet had mark'd out for slaughter; and never shew more reason or consideration: and conse­quently can in no wise occasion either pitty or terror to cause that delight expected from Tragedy.

In Epick Poetry enemies are kill'd; and Mezeutius must be a wicked Ty­rant; the better to set off AEneas's piety. In Tragedy, all the clashing is amongst friends, no panegyrick is design'd, nor ought intended but pit­ty and terror: and consequently no shadow of sense can be pretended for bringing any wicked persons on the Stage. And yet in that Mezentius of Virgil, we find more vertue than in all the characters I have yet ex­amind; and greater occasion for pit­ty. We forget all his cruelties, when we see that trouble and infinite pas­sion for his Son Lausus, (who was [Page 121] slain in his defence, and whom he would not survive,) which is so ad­mirably exprest.

Which lines, Tasso (who translates the whole passage under the names of Solimano and Amiralto into his Ge­rusalemme) thus renders in more words, but not with more advan­tage.

But to return, what yet makes this fact of Evadne more unlikely, is, that she should be hector'd into a re­pentance so pernicious, by her Bro­ther [Page 122] Melantius: who is said to be noble and brave; but from his own mouth we may judg him a Heroe, like those we met with formerly; all his words are brags; no Danger­field, nor Captain Thundergun could sit neer him. And for his manners, after one King was murder'd by his contrivance, he stands on his guard, and takes up the next King thus roundly.

And now this new King, Brother to the former, as heroickly throws him a blank, and bids him make his [Page 123] own terms. His words are these:

And more to the purpose we find not (in the Tragedy) of this second King; save only when he concludes the Play, and tells us, that he (for his part) will take warning how ever he meddles with a Woman; as be­fore has been cited.

Callianax is an old humorous Lord, neither wise nor valiant, as himself confesses; and yet is en­trusted with the strength and keys of the Kingdom: whereas, in Come­dy, he would scarce pass, for a good Yeoman of the Cellar.

His Daughter, Aspatia, that gives name to this Tragedy, makes also here a very simple figure. Never did Amintas or Pastor fido know any thing so tender; nor were the Arca­dian Hills ever water'd with the tears of a creature so innocent. Pretty Lamb! how mournfully it bleats! it [Page 124] needs no articulate voice to move our compassion: it seeks no shades but under the dismal Yew; and brow­ses only on Willow-garlands: yet it can speak for a kiss or so.

At this rate of tattle she runs on, and never knows when she has said enough.

This Aspatia is a Lord's Daughter, and bred at Court; yet is in the pre­sence, and in the Bed-chamber of the Lady that supplants her, and amongst the Bride-maids, where she acts her part; and fawns upon the perjur'd man that forsakes her. And now [Page 125] cannot I be perswaded that there is ought of nature or probability in all this. Much less would I think this a Woman to handle a Sword, and kick Amintor, as we see her do soon after. Nor can I conceive wherein consists that blessing, as she calls it; which she propos'd to her self, in being kill'd by his hands. This may be Romance, but not Nature.

And certainly, of all the characters, this of Amintor is the most unrea­sonable. No reason appears why he was contracted to Aspatia, and less why he forsook her for Evadne; and least of all for his dissembling, and bearing so patiently the greatest of provocations that could possibly be given. Certainly no spectacle can be more displeasing, than to see a man ty'd to a post, and another buffetting him with an immoderate tongue. Cer­tainly nothing can please a generous mind better, than that of Virgil. ‘Parcere subjectis, & debellare su­perbos.’

[Page 126] Poetry will allow no provocation or injury, where it allows no revenge. And what pleasure can there be in seeing a King threaten and hector without cause; when none may be suffer'd to make a return? Poetry will not permit an affront, where there can be no reparation. But well was it for us all, that Amintor was by the Poet his maker, endu'd with a restraining grace, and had his hands ty'd.

The King should first have kill'd his own Mother to have made him mad enough, and fitted him for such a monstrous provocation. And Amin­tor too should have been guilty of some enormous crime, (as he is in­deed) that drew this curse upon him, and prepar'd him to receive so horrid an out-rage. Both should have been ripe for punishment, which this oc­casion pulls down upon them, by ma­king them kill each other. Then Poetical Iustice might have had its course, though no way could pitty be due to either of them.

[Page 127] But surely this character of Amin­tor is ^a inconsistent, and is contra­diction all over. He is a man of Ho­nour, yet breaks his Faith with his Mistress, bears the greatest of affronts from his Wife that ever was given, and dissembles it. 'Tis true; once or twice he is for singing a Catch, for the Fiddle and Dancing; but his coun­tenance is not always set after that copy; he does not always dissemble scurvily: for sometimes we have him looking so pleas'd, that Comedy would almost be asham'd of such a Cuckold.

He is also honest, and of unshaken loyalty; yet sometimes has such de­villish throws, as would afright any true liege people from sitting at a Coffee-house near him.

And all the passions in him work so aukwardly, as if he had suck'd a Sow. Thus he threatens.

Should not he rather have kick'd her out of doors? And did ever man huff with such a parenthe­sis?

As the Scene and provocations work higher; what Aspatia might have said to him, he whines to E­vadne.

Amintor lov'd Aspatia, and mar­ri'd Evadne, only because the King commanded him. We heard nothing of his love to Evadne till now, that he is turn'd the amorous Owf, when he ought to be all rage and indigna­tion.

When he should be silenc'd, he falls a preaching.

This is loyal breath; but present­ly comes a puff that drives us back to the North of Scotland.

[Page 130]

Oh, says he, 'tis well its no worse, for had I lain with thee, I should have been all fire and fury; I would not have valu'd twenty Kings, but have kill'd 'em all. Well Amintor, de gusti­bus non est disputandum, there is dif­ference betwixt men and men; some one, peradventure, of a grosser sense, might have been as cool and well content, if he had been permitted the honour to touch for once where his Majesty had toucht before. But now the storm is over, and he pro­ceeds,

See how he concludes too, to the eternal disgrace of Rhime. One might think that a man in his predicament should scarce be in a mood to be so [Page 132] very particular, and enlarge thus up­on the subject, unless he were well pleas'd with the occasion. Besides, we find here, Lovers, entic'd, laugh, Bridegroom, Bride, loving, wantonly, pleas'd, toy, prethee, did as married people use; so many pleasant words and pretty, got together, Longinus would swear that no man could be angry at heart with all these in his mouth; they ought none of them to be nam'd on the same day with Evad­ne, and the transactions in this Tra­gedy. What I have cited, is only from the first Scene, wherein Amin­tor has business; nor would I follow him farther, but that in the third Act, betwixt him and Melantius we find the first occasion for a Tragical passion that yet (I think) these Plays have afforded us; which arises from the conduct of an Husband who discovers the secret of his Wives dis­honour to his Friend her Brother. Melantius importunes Amintor to tell the cause of his trouble. When the matter comes to be broken, they proceed thus:

[Page 133]

Here I suppose, Amintor might better have wept, without telling it to Melantius.

This line at the full length, is sure­ly enough, his care is, so to mince that matter as not to offend the Brother. Some broken speeches, as your Sister, the King, her honour, or [Page 134] the like, with now and then a sprink­ling of his tears, might have suffic'd, and the Brother should have been left to guess and paraphrase the broad meaning. But Amintor harps upon the same string out of time himself. What follows, is plainly to upbraid and affront his Friend by words, though he intended nothing less; for he goes on:

And what yet is more silly, in the next he adds.

This provokes Melantius to draw his Sword, and he is for fighting A­mintor; yet I am apt to be of A­mintors mind, which he thus ex­presses:

Yet Melantius persists, till Amin­tor is provoked to draw his Sword, and then Melantius puts up. Harle­quin and Scaramouttio might do these things. Tragedy suffers 'em not, here is no place for Cowards, nor for giddy fellows, and Bullies with their squabbles. When a Sword is once drawn in Tragedy, the Scabbard may be thrown away; there is no leaving what is once design'd, till it be tho­roughly effected. Iphigenia Taurica went to sacrifice Orestes, and she de­sisted, why? she discover'd him to be her Brother. None here are such Fools as by words to begin a quarrel; nor of so little resolution, to be talkt agen from it, without some new emer­gent cause that diverts them. No ^a simple alteration of mind ought to produce or hinder any action in a Tragedy.

[Page 136] Yet far more faulty is what fol­lows; the counter-turn has no shadow of sense or sobriety. Melantius has swaggered away his fury, and now Amintor is all agog to be afighting; for what; but to get his secret back again.

Thou art mad Amintor, Bedlam is the only place for thee; if thou comest here with thy madness, Tra­gedy expects ^b ut cum ratione in­sanias.

Hercules was mad, and kill'd his Wife and Children, yet there was reason in his madness; a mist was cast before his eyes, he mistook them for their enemies, and believ'd he was revenging their quarrel whilst he heat their brains out. That was a madness might move pity; but this of Amintor is meerly bruitish, [Page 137] and can move nothing but our aver­sion. Here is a bluster begun without provocation, and ended without any thing of satisfaction.

But that I may never find a fault without shewing something better. For a quarrel betwixt two friends, with the turn and counter-turn: let me commend that Scene in the Iphi­genia in Aulide. Where Agamemnon having consented that his Daughter should be sacrific'd, and (that her Mo­ther might let her come the more willingly) sent for her with a pre­tence that she was to be marri'd to Achilles; yet in a fit of Fatherly ten­derness he privately dispatches Let­ters to hinder her coming. Menelaus meets the Messenger going from Aga­memnon, suspects the business, takes the Letters from him before Agamem­non's face, and read them; and now arose the contest: Menelaus was zea­lous for the publick good, the more, because it agreed so much with his own interest: and Agamemnon had cause enough to stand up for his Daughter; but yet, at length, with [Page 138] weeping eyes, and shame for his weakness and partiality, he yielded up the cause. But Menelaus now see­ing the conflict of Agamemnon, the tears rowling down his cheeks, and his repentance, this sight melted the heart of him, and now he turns Ad­vocate for Iphigenia: He will have Hellen and the concerns of Greece left to the mercy of Heaven, rather than that his Brother Agamemnon should do so much violence to him­self; and that so vertuous a young Princess be trapan'd to lose her life.

Here all the motions arise from oc­casions great and just; and this is matter for a Scene truly passionate and Tragical.

We may remember (how-ever we find this Scene of Melanthius and Amintor written in the Book) that at the Theater we have a good Scene Acted, there is work cut out, and both our AEsopus and Roscius are on the Stage together: Whatever defect may be in Amintor and Melanthius; Mr. Hart and Mr. Mohun are wanting in nothing. To these we owe for [Page 139] what is pleasing in the Scene; and to this Scene we may impute the suc­cess of the Maids Tragedy.

The Drolls in this Play make not so much noise as in the two former; but are less excusable here. In the former they keep some distance, and make a sort of interlude: but here they thrust into the principal places; when we should give our full attention to what is Tragedy. When we would listen to a Lute, our ears are rapt with the tintamar and twang of the Tongs and Iewstrumps. A man may be free to make a jest of his own mis­fortunes: but surely 'tis unnatural and barbarous to laugh when we see another on the Scaffold. Some would laugh to find me mentioning Sacrifi­ces, Oracles, and Goddesses: old Su­perstitions, say they, not practicable, but more than ridiculous on our Stage. These have not observ'd with what Art Virgil has manag'd the Gods of Homer, nor with what judgment Tasso and Cowley employ the heaven­ly powers in a Christian Poem. The like hints from Sophocles and Euripi­des [Page 140] might also be improv'd by modern Tragedians; and something thence devis'd suitable to our Faith and Cu­stomes. 'Tis the general reason I con­tend for: Nor would I more have Oracles or Goddesses on the Stage, then hear the persons speak Greek, they are Apes and not men that imi­tate with so little discretion.

Some would blame me for insisting and examining only what is apt to please, without a word of what might profit.

1. I believe the end of all Poetry is to please.

2. Some sorts of Poetry please without profiting.

3. I am confident whoever writes a Tragedy cannot please but must al­so profit; 'tis the Physick of the mind that he makes palatable.

And besides the purging of the pas­sions; something must stick by obser­ving that constant order, that har­mony and beauty of Providence, that necessary relation and chain, where­by the causes and the effects, the ver­tues and rewards, the vices and their [Page 141] punishments are proportion'd and link'd together; how deep and dark soever are laid the Springs, and how­ever intricate and involv'd are their operations.

But these enquiries I leave to men of more flegm and considerati­on.

Othello comes next to hand, but lay­ing my Papers together without more scribling, I find a volumn, and a greater burthen then I dare well ob­trude upon you.

If I blindly wander in erroneous paths, 'tis more then time Mr. Shep­heard that you set me right, and if I am not so much out of the way; then most of the main faults in these other Tragedies cannot be far from our view, if we tread not on their skirts already.

I will wait your direction e're I ad­vance farther, and be sure of your pardon for what is past. Many seem­ing contradictions I rather chose to slip over, then to be ever casting in your way some parenthesis or some distinction.

[Page 142] Many other slips and mistakes too you meet withall, but the fortune of Greece depends not on them.

Nor I know could you (that read Hebrew without the pricks) be at a loss for the sense, where you found not a period truly pointed.

If the Characters I have examin'd are the same I take them for, I send you Monsters enough for one Bar­tholmew-fair: but what would vex a Christian, these are shown us for our own likenesses, these are the Duch Pictures of humane kind.

I have thought our Poetry of the last Age as rude as our Architecture, one cause thereof might be, that Ari­stotle's treatise of Poetry has been so little studied amongst us, it was per­haps Commented upon by all the great men in Italy, before we well know (on this side of the Alps) that there was such a Book in being. And though Horace comprizes all in that small Epistle of his; yet few will think long enough together to be Masters, and to understand the reason of what is deliver'd so in short.

[Page 143] With the remaining Tragedies I shall also send you some reflections on that Paradise lost of Miltons, which some are pleas'd to call a Poem, and assert Rime against the slender Sophi­stry wherewith he attacques it: and also a Narrative of Petrarch's Coro­nation in the Capitol, with all the Pontificalibus on that occasion, which seems wanting in Selden, where he treats on that subject. Let me only anticipate a little in behalf of the Ca­taline, and now tell my thoughts, that though the contrivance and oe­conomy is faulty enough, yet we there find (besides what is borrow'd from others) more of Poetry and of good thought, more of Nature and of Tra­gedy, then peradventure can be scrap't together from all those other Plays.

Nor can I be displeas'd with honest Ben, when he rather chooses to bor­row a Melon of his Neighbour, than to treat us with a Pumpion of his own growth.

[Page 144] But all is submitted to you Men of better sense, by