I HAVE determin'd to make some Remarks, with Brevity and Im­partiallity, upon a late Drama­tick Performance, call'd, The Conscious Lovers, a Comedy: That I may be then certainly able to determine whether the great Success of it is owing to un­common Merit, or to those extraordinary in­famous Methods which I have lately taken Notice of in a former Treatise, and which, if there is not a sudden Stop put to them, will occasion the utter Downfal of the Stage, and of all the Arts dependent on it.

'Tis an Observation of Aristotle, in the sixteenth Chapter of his Poeticks, that there should be no Incident in the Action of a Tragedy, which should be without its Rea­son, because the Absurdity of the Incidents [Page 15] would destroy the Probability of the Action, and turn poetical Fiction into downright Falshood. Now, if upon this Account 'tis requir'd that all the Incidents should be rea­sonable in Tragedy, 'tis still more requisite in Comedy, where the Probable is more ne­cessary, and the Wonderful less tolerable. But now this whole Dramatick Performance seems to me to be built upon several Things which have no Foundation, either in Pro­bability, or in Reason, or Nature. The Father of Indiana, whose Name is Danvers, and who was formerly an eminent Merchant at Bristol, upon his Arrival from the Indies, from whence he returns with a great Estate, carries on a very great Trade at London un­known to his Friends and Relations at Bris­tol, under the Name of Sealand. Now this Fiction, without which there could be no Comedy, nor any thing call'd a Comedy, is not supported by Probability, or by Reason, or Nature. 'Tis true, he tells his Daugh­ter, in the fifth Act, towards the Top of the 82d Page, That when his Misfortunes drove him to the Indies, for Reasons too tedious to be mention'd at the Time he spoke, he chang'd his Name of Danvers into Sealand. When his Misfortunes drove him out of his Country, those Misfortunes were Reasons sufficient to account for the changing his Name. But is it probable, that at his Ar­rival in the Indies, or at his Return to Eng­land [Page 16] with a vast Estate, he should still retain the Name of Sealand? Is it natural to be­lieve, that under that borrow'd Name he should conceal himself from his Family and all his Relations, as it appears by what his Daughter says, Act II. Page 30. that he does? Is it credible, that he could be such a Monster, as never to send to Bristol after his Arrival from the Indies, to enquire after his Wife, his Sister, and his Daughter? and that he should feloniously marry a second Wife, without ever knowing what was be­come of the first? Is it reasonable to be­lieve, that if he could be absurd enough to design this, he could ever possibly effect it? Is it possible that a Man can return from the Indies with a vast Estate, and the World should not know either what he is, or what he was when he went thither, especially when he traded to every Part of the Globe? Is there so much as one Man in England with a vast Estate, whose Original is not known? Or was there ever any one great Merchant of London, whose Family and Original was not known to the Merchants at Bristol, when betwixt the one and the other there is always so strict and constant a Communication?

But secondly, the filial Obedience of young Bevil is carried a great deal too far. He is said to be one of a great Estate, and a great Understanding; and yet he makes a Promise to his Father, not to marry without his Con­sent, [Page 17] which is a Promise that can do his Fa­ther only a vain imaginary Good, and may do him real Hurt. A young Man of a great Understanding, cannot but know, that if he makes such a Promise, he may be oblig'd to break it, or perish, or, at least, be unhappy all the rest of his Life. Such a one cannot but know, that he may possibly be seiz'd with a Passion so resistless, and so violent, that he must possess, or perish; and conse­quently, if the Woman who inspires this Passion, be a Woman of strict Virtue, he must marry, or perish, or, at least, be mor­tally uneasy for the rest of his Life. Chil­dren, indeed, before they come to Years of Discretion are oblig'd to pay a blind Obe­dience to their Parents. But after they are come to the full Use of their Reason, they are only bound to obey them in what is rea­sonable. Indeed, if a Son is in Expectation of an Estate from his Father, he is engag'd to a good deal of Compliance, even after he comes to Years of Discretion. But that was not Bevil's Case: He enjoy'd a very good one of his Mother's, by vertue of a Marriage Ar­ticle; and therefore it was unreasonable in him to make such a Promise to his Father, as it was unreasonable in his Father to urge him to it, especially upon so sordid a Motive as the doubling a great Estate. This is acting in a manner something arbitrary. And it ill becomes an Author, who would be thought [Page 18] a Patron of Liberty, to suppose that Fathers are absolute, when Kings themselves are li­mitted. If he had not an Understanding of his own to tell him this, he might have learn'd from Mr. Locke, in his sixth Chap­ter of his admirable Essay on Government: That every Man has a Right to his natural Freedom, without being subjected to the Will or Authority of any other Man. Children, I confess, says that great Man, are not born in this full State of Equality, though they are born to it. Their Parents have a sort of Rule and Jurisdiction over them when they come into the World, and for some Time after; but 'tis, says he, but a temporary one. The Bonds of this Subjection are like the Swadling Clothes which they are wrapp'd up in, and supported by in the Weakness of their Infancy: Age and Reason, as they grow up, loosen them, till at length they drop quite off, and leave a Man at his own free Disposal.

The same Author a little after adds, That God having given Man an Understanding to direct his Actions, has allowed him a Free­dom of Will, and Liberty of acting, as pro­perly belonging thereunto, within the Bounds of that Law he is under. But while he is in an Estate wherein he has no Understand­ing of his own to direct his Will, he is not to have any Will of his own to follow; he that understands for him, must will for him too; he must prescribe to his Will, and re­gulate [Page 19] his Actions: But when he comes to the Estate that made his Father a Freeman, the Son is a Freeman too.

This holds, says that great Man, in all the Laws a Man is under, whether Natural or Civil. Is a Man under the Law of Na­ture? What made him free of that Law? What gave him a free disposing of his Pro­perty according to his own Will, within the Compass of that Law? I answer, a State of Maturity, wherein he might be suppos'd capable to know that Law, that so he might keep his Actions within the Bounds of it. When he has acquir'd that State, he is pre­sum'd to know how far that Law is to be his Guide, and how far he may make use of his Freedom; and so comes to have it: Till then some body else must guide him, who is presum'd to know how far the Law allows a Liberty. If such a State of Reason, such an Age of Discretion made him free, the same shall make his Son free too. Is a Man under the Law of England ? What made him free of that Law; that is, to have the Li­berty to dispose of his Actions and Posses­sions according to his own Will, within the Permission of that Law? A Capacity of knowing that Law, which is suppos'd by that Law at the Age of Twenty one, and in some Cases sooner. If this made the Fa­ther free, it shall make the Son free too. Till then we see the Law allows the Son [Page 20] to have no Will, but he is to be guided by the Will of his Father, or Guardian, who is to understand for him. And if the Father die, and fail to substitute a Deputy in this Trust, if he has not provided a Deputy to govern his Son during his Minority, during his want of Understanding, the Law takes care to do it; some other must govern him, and be a Will to him till he has attain'd to a State of Freedom, and his Understanding be fit to take the Government of his Will. But after that the Father and Son are equal­ly free, as much as a Tutor and Pupil after Nonage, equally Subjects of the same Law together, without any Dominion left in the Father over the Life, Liberty, or Estate of the Son, whether they be only in the State, and under the Law of Nature, or under the positive Laws of an establish'd Government.

I am sensible that this Quotation has been a great deal too long; and yet to set the Unreasonableness of Bevil's Promise in a full Light, I am oblig'd to add what the same Author says a little lower in the very same Chapter, viz. The Power of the Father extends not to the Laws, or Goods, which either his Children's Industry, or another's Bounty has made theirs, nor to their Li­berty neither, when they are once arriv'd to the Enfranchisement of the Years of Dis­cretion. The Father's Empire then ceases; and he can from thence-forwards no more [Page 21] dispose of the Liberty of his Son, than of any other Man. And it must be far from an ab­solute or perpetual Jurisdiction, from which a Man may withdraw himself; having Li­cense from divine Authority, to leave Fa­ther and Mother, and cleave to his Wife.

From what I have quoted from so judi­cious and so penetrating an Author, I think it is pretty plain, that young Bevil, who dispos'd of part of his Estate without, nay, and as he might reasonably suppose, against the Consent of his Father, might à fortiori have dispos'd of his Person too, if it had not been for his unreasonable Promise; and that 'tis highly improbable, that one of the Estate and Understanding, which he is said to have, should absurdly make a Promise which might possibly endanger the Happi­ness of his whole Life. 'Tis said, indeed, in more than one Place of the Play, that the Son has uncommon Obligations to his Father; but we are neither told, nor are we able to guess what those Obligations are. What uncommon Obligations can a Son, who has a great Estate in Possession, have to a Father of so sordid a Nature as Sir John Bevil shews himself? Act 4. Page 65. Besides, what Obligations can be binding enough to make a Man of a great Estate part with Liberty, with the very Liberty of his Choice, in the most important Action of his Life, upon which the Happiness of all the rest depends.

[Page 22] But as unreasonable as this Promise is, which young Bevil made to his Father, by which he gave away his Birthright, his Liberty, yes, the very Liberty of his Choice, in an Affair upon which his Happiness most de­pended, his Behaviour to Indiana is still more unaccountable: He loves her, and is beloved by her; makes constant Visits and profuse Presents to her; and yet conceals his Passion from her; which may be per­haps a clumsy Expedient for the Author's preparing the Discovery, but is neither a­greeable to Nature nor Reason: For 'tis im­possible that any young Man in Nature in Health and Vigour, and in the Height of a violent Passion, can so far command him­self by the meer Force of Reason. I am wil­ling, indeed, to allow that he may be able to do it by the Assistance of the true Reli­gion: But the Business of a Comick Poet is only to teach Morality: Grace is not taught, but inspir'd. The dreadful Mysteries of Christianity are but ill compatible with the Lightness and Mirth of Comedy; or with the Obscenity and Prophaness of a degenerate Stage, or with the Dispositions of an As­sembly, compos'd of Persons who have some of them no Religion, and some of them not the true one. Besides that, nothing but a Doctrine taken from the moral Law can be a just Foundation of a Fable; which every true Comedy is.

[Page 23] Nor is such a Behaviour any more agreeable to Reason, than it is to Nature: Bevil loves Indiana, and is beloved by her: She adores him, she dies for him, and he knows it: He observes it; and observes at the same Time that so violent a Passion is attended with equal Anxiety; and that Anxiety is entirely caus'd by the perplexing Doubt she is in, whether she is beloved, or not, as appears by what he says himself, Act 2. p. 27. Why then doth he not declare himself, and by that Declaration compose her Mind, and qualify her to expect with Patience the Benefit of Time. 'Tis indeed true, that he had pro­mis'd his Father never to marry without his Consent, while his Father liv'd; but he had not promis'd him never to love without his Consent; for that would have been a ridicu­lous Promise; a Promise, the Performance of Non-performance of which was not in his own Power, and would depend entirely on what the People call Chance, and what Phi­losophers call Providence. What could he mean then by not declaring himself? As the Love he had conceiv'd for Indiana was no Breach of the Promise he had made to his Father, so neither could he violate it by any Declaration of that Passion! What then, once more, can he mean by his Silence? His only reasonable way of proceeding had been to acquaint not only his Mistress, but his Fa­ther, and all the World, with the Passion [Page 24] which he felt for her, and with the Necessity he was in to marry her, or to be for ever miserable. Such a Declaration was not at all inconsistent with his Duty; and if his Father had either Reason or Compassion, would have caus'd him to relent, and to re­lease his Son from a Promise, the persevering in which must prove unhappy, or fatal to him. If it should be said that such a Con­cealment of his Passion was necessary, that he might make a Retreat with Honour, in Case his Father should still be obstinate; to this I answer, That there was no Retreat for him, unless he would at the same time re­treat from Virtue and Honour; that his Be­haviour had fix'd and determined him; that by his Generosity and constant Visits, he had raised the Passion of Indiana to such a Height, that his leaving her would in all likelihood be followed by Madness, or by Self-murder, or by dreadful Hysterical Symp­toms, as deplorable as either; of which, what passes between her Father and her in the fifth Act, is a sufficient Proof. Beside, that such a Retreat would prove as fatal to her Honour as to her Person: He had for some time made constant Visits; he had made ve­ry extravagant Presents to her; he had made no Declaration of the Affection he had for her, either to her or to her Aunt Isabella, or acquainted any one with his Design to marry her, if he could obtain his Father's [Page 25] Consent. Now can any thing be more plain, than that such a Behaviour, if he left her, would ruin the Reputation of the poor Lady, and cause all the World to entertain such Thoughts of her as Sealand and Myrtle had already express'd. And thus I have endea­vour'd to shew that the Behaviour of Bevil to Indiana, in his concealing his Passion from her, is as ridiculously whimsical, as that of Cimberton to her Sister Lucinda.

The Catastophre, I must confess, is very moving, but it would be more so, if it were rightly and reasonably handled, because it would be much more surprizing. For the Surprize is, in a good Measure, prevented by the Behaviour of Isabella upon the first Ap­pearance of Sealand; which, if it had not been out of all Probability and Nature, would have prevented it more. It was highly in Nature and Probability, that Isabella, upon the first discovering her Brother, should fly into an excessive Transport of Joy, and have run to embrace him; for when she is made to say, That her Brother must not know her yet, she is made to give no Rea­sons for it, nor can the Audience imagine any. 'Tis not Isabella who says that, but the Author, who clumsily uses it to serve a Turn; for if she had discover'd herself to her Brother at his first Appearance, it had prevented the Audience's Sorrow and Com­passion for the imaginary Distress of Indiana, [Page 26] and, consequently, their return to Joy. But as Aristotle, and all the great Criticks after him, have taught us, that there is to be no Inci­dent in a Dramatick Poem, but what must be founded on Reason, it happens, as we observ'd above, very unluckily here, that there is no Incident in the Conscious Lovers but what is attended by some great Absur­dity. For the Action of Indiana, in throw­ing away her Bracelet, is of the same Stamp, and is entirely the Author's, and not the Dramatick Person's; for it was neither ne­cessary nor profitable, that Indiana, in the Height of her Agony, should so much as think of her Bracelet, or if she did think of it, should resolve to throw away the greatest Token that she had to remember her dead Mother, for whose Memory her Grief and Distress ought naturally to renew and re­double her Tenderness. But the Author is obliged to have Recourse to this as an awkard Expedient, tho' the best he could find, to bring on the Discovery. But had he known any thing of the Art of the Stage, he would have known, that those Discoveries are but dully made, which are made by Tokens; that they ought necessarily or probably to spring from the whole Train of the Incidents contrary to our Expectation. And how easy was it to bring that about here? For such a Discovery had been very well prepared, by what young Bevil says to Humphrey in the [Page 27] first Act, and by the Hint Indiana gives to Sealand in the fifth Act, which Hint the old Gentleman readily takes; for when she tells him she had been made an Infant Captive on the Seas, he immediately crys out, An Infant Captive! and, after some Interruption given by Indiana, he says, Dear Lady! O yet one Moment's Patience, my Heart grows full with your Affliction, but yet there is some­thing in your Story that—She answers as if she were at cross Purposes, My Portion here is Bitterness and Sorrow. To which he replies, Do not think so. Pray answer me, Does Bevil know your Name and Fami­ly? So that a few Questions more, perti­nently answer'd, would have brought on the Discovery. Now if the Discovery had been made this Way, and Isabella had not known her Brother at her first seeing him, but had come in to Sealand and Indiana just after the Discovery had been made, there would have been two Surprizes, both greater and more agreeable than now they are, and both of them without Absurdity.

But now the Mention of the Infant Cap­tive brings to my Remembrance the Cir­cumstances of that Captivity, which are, to use Mr. Cimberton's Expression, pregnant with Absurdity. Indiana, it seems, with her Mother and her Aunt, are taken, in their Passage to the Indies, by a Privateer from Toulon, and carried into that Place. Now [Page 28] where were they taken? It must be either in the Channel, or on the Ocean. Now, in the first place, I never heard that Toulon set out any Privateers. Secondly, Suppose they did, 'tis improbable that a Privateer from Toulon should cruize in the Ocean, and much more improbable that they should rove as far as the Channel. Thirdly, 'Tis highly impro­bable, that an East-India Vessel, which had Force enough to venture without a Convoy, should be taken by a Privateer. Fourthly, 'Tis not a Jot more probable, that supposing a Privateer from Toulon should have taken such a Vessel, it should chuse to carry it into Toulon, rather than into Brest, or St. Malo. For how long must a Privateer be carrying an East-India Vessel from the Channel to Toulon, which is above a thousand Miles from the Chan­nel, and little less distant from that Part of the Ocean o'er which our East-India Ships pass. Now in so long a Voyage, the Priva­teer might very well be taken, and the Prize be retaken; whereas the latter might be carried to Brest, or St. Malo, with a hun­dred Times less Danger.

Well! But let us suppose the Privateer got safely with his Prize into Toulon. Does Sir Richard believe, that Toulon is situate under one of the Poles, that neither Ship nor Pas­sengers were heard of in so many Years. If Indiana was an Infant, Isabella was old enough to write; and if she was so indiffe­rent [Page 29] or stupid as to omit it, the Captain of the Ship and his Mate would not fail to write to their Owners, to let them know the Fate of their Ship. If there was no Passage for Letters directly thro' France, yet the Way of Holland was open, and upon the Arrival of those Letters, not only the whole East-India Company, but all London would have known what was become of the Ship, at a Time when so many News-Writers contend­ed which could furnish the Town with most and the freshest News. So that if Sealand, upon his coming from the Indies, had made but never so little Enquiry, he would have found that his Sister and Daughter had been at Toulon: If he had made no Enquiry, he must have shewn himself a fine Gentleman, in­deed, who would marry a second Wife before he was certain the first was dead: And it is impossible he could know that the first was dead, without knowing that his Sister and his Daughter were at Toulon.

I shall now compare the Relation that old Bevil makes to his Man Humphrey, in the first Scene of the Conscious Lovers, to that which Simo makes to Sosia in the be­ginning of the Andria: But I shall only compare them at present with relation to the Incidents; I shall take an Oportunity afterwards to consider the Sentiments and Expressions by themselves.

[Page 30] The beginning of the Andria is perfectly in Nature: Simo begins the Relation which he makes to Sosia with a grave and a so­lemn Air, suitable to the Disposition of Mind he is in, and the great Concern he is under: Old Bevil, who is suppos'd to be in the same Disposition of Mind, and to lie under the same Concern, begins the Rela­tion which he makes to Humphrey with an Impertinence dully gay; and therefore the beginning of the Conscious Lovers is entire­ly out of Nature.

In the Andria, Chremes, a rich old A­thenian Citizen, offers to bestow his only Daughter Philumena with a great Dowry on Pamphilus, the Son of Simo, who ac­cepts that Offer for his Son. The Match breaks off upon the Discovery which Pam­philus makes at the Funeral of Chrysis of his Passion for Glycerium. Simo the Father pretends that it still goes on, that he may take an Opportunity, from his Son's Refu­sal, of giving him a severe Reprimand:

In the beginning of the Conscious Lovers there is a very absurd Imitation of this Passage in Terence: Where old Bevil speaks [Page 31] thus to his Man Humphrey, concerning his Son.

If there is so much in this Amour of his, that he denies upon my Summons to marry, I shall have Cause enough to be offended: And then by insisting upon his marrying to Day, I shall know how far he is engag'd to the Lady in Masquerade, and from thence only shall be able to take my Measures.

Now it seems plain to me, that Simo would have reason to be angry at his Son's Refusal, and that old Bevil would have none. Pamphilus would refuse a Wife with a great Dowry, which he wanted, having nothing but what his Father supply'd him with, who, perhaps, might not be very easy in his own Circumstances. Besides, Glyce­rium pass'd for a Courtezan, (which was not the Case of Indiana,) because she was believ'd to be the Sister of Chrysis, who was publickly known to be one. And it would provoke any Father of a good Family, and who had all along liv'd with Reputation in the World, to find, to the Ruin and Dis­grace of that Family, his only Son married to a Whore, or living with her as if he were married to her, which was against both Law and Custom at Athens, and a great deal more scandalous there, than it is in this Blessed Town, as is evident from what Simo says in that admirable Scence which is between him and his Son and Chremes, in [Page 32] the fifth Act of this Comedy, where Nature is drawn with such masterly Strokes, and in such lively and glowing Colours.

But 'tis downright ridiculous in old Bevil to pretend to be offended, in Case his Son who is in Possession of a great Estate, and entirely independant on his Father, and one whom the Father himself calls a sober and discreet Gentleman, should refuse to marry at a Minute's Warning a Woman whom he does not like, and whom the Father chuses only with the sordid View of doubling a great Es­tate, when what they had already was more than sufficient: Because the Father is sordid, must the Son be unhappy? Must the Son, who has bespoke a Dish for himself, take up with another that is his Aversion, only be­cause his Father chooses it? The Passion which young Bevil had for another, is a just Cause of his Refusal; and if his Father is unreasonably offended, the Son, who has no Dependance upon him, may very reasonably be comforted. As the Father knew very well that the Son had no Occasion for the Wealth which would come from the marrying Lu­cinda, so he did not believe his frequenting Indiana, whether he suppos'd her an hono­rable [Page 33] or a kept Mistress, would bring any Scandal either upon himself or his Family. Witness what he says to Sealand in Act 4 Page 62 concerning this very Affair, viz. Sir, I can't help saying, that what might injure a Citizen's Credit may be no Stain to a Gen­tleman's Honour. So that 'tis plain Simo had two important Reasons to be offended at his Son's Refufal, which old Bevil apparent­ly had not; because he rejected Wealth, which he wanted; and courted Infamy, for which no one can have an Occasion.

The Relation of what passed between young Bevil and Indiana at the Masquerade, is a very absurd Imitation of what passed between Pamphilus and Glycerium at the Funeral of Chrysis. Pamphilus attends Glycerium to the Funeral of Chrysis, who pass'd for her Sister. While the Body was burning, Gly­cerium in the Agony of her Grief, ran to the Fire, and was about to throw herself into it, when Pamphilus, half dead with Fear, runs to her, catches hold of her, throws his Arms about her, and by that Action, and his tender Expostulation discovers the Vio­lence of that Passion which he had hitherto conceal'd; upon which Glycerium, by an Action which manifested her habitual Love, weeping reclin'd her Head upon his Breast with a most moving Tenderness. This is the Sense of that celebrated Passage: But is but [Page 34] barely the Sense; for no Pen, no Tongue can express the Elegance and the Grace of Terence.

But now let us see the Imitation of this in the Conscious Lovers: 'Tis in the first Scene of the Play, where old Bevil relates to his Man Hump [...]ey what passed at the last Mas­querade.

You know, I was last Thursday at the Masquerade; my Son, you may remember, soon found us out. He knew his Grandfather's Habit, which I then wore; and tho' it was the Mode, in the last Age, yet the Maskers, you know, follow'd us as if we had been the most monstrous Figures in the whole Assembly.

I remember, indeed, a young Man of Quality in the Habit of a Clown, that was particularly trouble some.

Right: He was too much what he seemed to be.

I knew he had a Mind to come to that Particular.

Ay, he followed us, till the Gentleman, who led the Lady in the Indian Mantle, presented that gay Creature to the Rustick, and bid him (like Cymon in the Fable) grow polite, by falling in Love, and let that worthy old Gentleman alone, meaning me. The Clown was not reform'd, but rudely persisted, and offer'd to force off my Mask; with that the Gentleman, throw­ing off his own, appear'd to be my Son; and in his Concern for me, tore off that of the No­bleman; [Page 35] At this they seiz'd each other: The Company called the Guards, and in the Surprise the Lady swooned away; upon which my Son quitted his Adversary, and had now no Care but of the Lady; when rai­sing her in his Arms, art thou gone, cried he, for ever—Forbid it Heaven!—She revives at his known Voice,—and with the most familiar, tho' modest Gesture, hangs in Safety over his Shoulder, weeping; but wept as in the Arms of one before whom she could give herself a Loose, were she not under Observation: while she hides her Face in his Neck, he carefully conveys her from the Company.

Now there is this remarkable Difference between what pass'd at the Funeral, and what pass'd at the Masquerade, that every Thing that relates to the former, seems to be either necessary or profitable; and almost eve­ry Thing that relates to the latter, appears to be improbable. How injudicious an Imitation is the Behaviour of Indiana at the Masque­rade, of the Behaviour of Glycerium at the Funeral. Nothing can be more natural than the Freedom which Glycerium takes with Pamphilus. She lov'd him, and was be­lov'd by him: She was betroth'd to him; She had no Reserve for him: The utmost Fami­liarities had pass'd between them: She was with Child by him, and expected every Day [Page 36] that the Time of her being deliver'd was come.

The Case of Indiana is very different, and her Behaviour is very inconsistent with her Character; 'tis true, she was in Love with young Bevil, but doubted very much whe­ther that Love was reciprocal; he had been so far from taking the same Liberty with her that Pamphilus had done with Glycerium, that his Behaviour had been always very re­spectful; and yet Indiana uses the same Fa­miliarity upon this Occasion with him, that Glycerium at the Funeral does with Pamphi­lus; she revives at his known Voice, which she heard, it seems, after she had lost all her Senses, and comes from Death to Life upon it, like the dead Men in the Rehearsal at the Voice of Poet Bays, and with the most familiar, tho' modest Gesture, hangs in Safe­ty over his Shoulder weeping, but wept as in the Arms of one before whom she could give herself a Loose, were she not under Ob­servation; and while she hides her Face in his Neck, he carefully conveys her from the Company.

Now this Behaviour is by no means con­sistent with the Character of Indiana; fami­liar and modest are not in this Case very compatible; and then what does Sir Richard mean by wept as in the Arms of one before whom she could give herself a Loose? If these Words have any Meaning, I would fain know what it is.

[Page 37] In this first Scene there is another very ridiculous Imitation of what Simo says to Sosia in the first Scene of the Andria.

Thus have I gone thro' the whole Train of Incidents, which are a Heap of Absurdi­ties and Inconsistences. I have partly like­wise gone thro' the Character of young Be­vil, who is made up of Contradictions. He is one who differs from himself as much as from the rest of the World. This Man of Conscience and of Religion is as arrant an Hypocrite as a certain Author. 'Tis indeed a pleasant Religion that never seizes a Man but when he is upon the Point either of Love [Page 38] or Battle: This Man of Conscience and of Religion dissembles with his Father most vilely, which Religion doth by no means allow, and so chuses rather to offend Heaven than an old sordid Blockhead, who pretends to treat one who is independent of him, and at Years of Discretion, like an arrant Boy; yet this the Son calls an honest Dissimulation, as he calls Breach of Trust the getting over a false Point of Honour. In the first Scene of the second Act this Man of Religion is put­ting Myrtle upon a Fraud, and palming two counterfeit Lawyers upon old Mrs. Sealand, a Practice which Religion and Morality both abhor.

The Character of young Bevil therefore is made up of Qualities, either incoherent and contradictory, as Religion and Dissimulation, Morality and Fraud; or most ridiculously consistent, as Circumspection and Folly. For one may say the same thing of young Bevil that Scandal in Love for Love says of and to Foresight, That if ever he commits an Er­ror, 'tis not without a great deal of Conside­ration, Circumspection and Caution. The Character therefore of young Bevil is not an Image of any thing in Life, and especially in common Life, as every thing in Comedy ought to be, but the Phantom of a feverish Author's Brain, as several of the other Cha­racters likewise are.

[Page 39] As young Bevil is the Character of such a young Man as is not to be found in the World, upon the foot of Nature, of which all true Poetry is a just Imitation, Cimberton is a Creature who is set as much below Humani­ty as Bevil appears to be drawn above it; he is an Animal that is nothing so like a Man as a Monkey is, nor is he near so well qua­lified to entertain a Lady agreeably; he is so very monstrous, that one would not think he could be produced by any thing that had hu­man Shape, and for the Credit of Human Nature ought, like a Sooterkin, to be demo­lished as soon as he appears.

Most of the other Characters are faintly and coarsly drawn, which is very strange, if we consider the admirable Patterns that Terence has laid before him. The Characters of that Comick Poet I must confess are in no great Compass, but tho' they are few they are excellent; they are so strong in Nature, that they may be taken for the Life, may be taken for Persons rather than Pictures, and for real rather than dramatick Persons. Sir Richard seems to be wholly ignorant of what Boileau has said of this Matter, who is one of the greatest of the French Poets, and one of the justest of their Criticks.

That is,

The very Character of Simo in the Andria is admirable, and the Relation he makes to Sosia a Masterpiece; I never read it but I see the old Athenian before my Eyes in the very same Colours that Davus paints Crito the Andrian in the same Comedy.

[Page 41] Whatever he says goes to my Heart; whereas old Bevil is an old fribling Block­head, and that which comes from him scarce touches my Lips.

But if in this Imitation of that Relation which Simo makes to Sosia, Sir Richard falls so very much short of Terence in his Inci­dents and his Characters, he is inexpressible Degrees below him in his Sentiments and his Dialogue.

The Sentiments of Terence are always true, are always just, and adapted to the Cha­racters; His Dialogue is the most charming that is to be found among the Roman Au­thors: Where is there that Purity, that Ele­gance, that Delicacy, that Grace, that Har­mony? If it has any Fault, 'tis too uniform a Politeness; the Servant speaking always with the same Grace and the same Elegance that his Master does. Setting that aside, 'tis every way accomplish'd: It has particularly for its Purity the Authorities of two of the best and greatest of the Roman Judges, Cae­sar and Cicero. Cicero says of this Comick Poet, that he is optimus Author Latinitatis; and all the World has seen the Verses that Julius Caesar made upon the same Author.

[Page 42] But now the Sentiments in the Conscious Lovers are often frivolous, false, and ab­surd; the Dialogue is awkard, clumsy, and spiritless; the Diction affected, impure, and barbarous, and too often Hibernian. Who, that is concern'd for the Honour of his Coun­try, can see without Indignation whole Crowds of his Countrymen assembled to hear a Parcel of Teagues talking Tipperary together, and applauding what they say. I know very well that what I now say will alarm some People, and for that reason I shall shortly bring Examples of the Sentiments and the Diction in the Conscious Lovers so pal­pable and so flagrant, that they shall justify me in spight of the Obstinacy and the Cla­mours of his most foolish Admirers.