264

CRITICAL REFLECTIONS

to draw in Purchafers, like the Head of Shakespeare on his Sign. My Letter too being anonymous, your Name at the Head, will more than compensate for the Want of mine at the End of it: And our above-mentioned Friend is, no Doubt, too well verfed in both his Occupations, not to know the Confequence of Secrecy in a Bookfeller, as well as the Neceffity of concealing from the Publick many Things that país behind the Curtain.

There is perhaps no Country in the World more fubordinate to the Power of Fashion than our own. Every Whim, every Word, every Vice, every Virtue, in its Turn becomes the Mode, and is followed with a certain Rage of Approbation for a Time. The favourite Stile in all the polite Arts, and the reigning Tafte in Letters, are as notoriously Objects of Caprice as Architecture and Drefs. A new Poem, or Novel, or Farce, are as inconfiderately extolled or decried as a Ruff or a Chinese Rail, a Hoop or a Bow Window. Hence it happens, that the publick Tafte is often vitiated: Or if, by Chance, it has made a proper Choice, becomes partially attached to one Species of Excellence, and remains dead to the Senfe of all other Merit, however equal, or fuperior.

I think I may venture to affert, with a Confidence, that on Reflection it will appear to be true, that the eminent Class of Writers, who flourished at the Beginning of this Century, have almost entirely superfeded their illuftrious Predeceffors. The Works of Congreve, Vanbrugh, Steele, Addison, Pope, Swift, Gay, &c. &c. are the chief Study of the Million: I fay, of the Million; for as to those few, who are not only familiar with all our own Authors, but are also converfant with the Ancients, they are not to be circumfcribed by the narrow Limits of the Fafhion. Shakespeare and Milton feem to ftand alone, like firstrate Authors, amid the general Wreck of old English Litera

2

fent Fame to the

of Addifon. Sha to us with fucce continued, or You have, in n been ftiled the But have you n tracted a narro Author? Has no Excellencies aln

Judgement, wh made you blind Under your Do cher, nay even trical Difgrace? Caufe I have n languish in Obf unknown? To this perha indeed without old Plays, thou are raifed muc Writers, are yo exhibited on the ftead of being

general

Life, is attended with Conduct of th uncouth, and i Correctnefs pre ed, as they pr that the Charac have no pleafin they are fo total prefent Age. Thefe, and peared reafonal

Literature. Milton perhaps owes much of his prefent Fame to the generous Labours and good Taste of Addifon. Shakespeare has been tranfmitted down to us with fucceffive Glories; and you, Sir, have continued, or rather increased, his Reputation. You have, in no fulfome Strain of Compliment, been ftiled the Best Commentator on his Works: But have you not, like other Commentators, contracted a narrow, exclufive, Veneration of your Author? Has not the Contemplation of Shakespeare's Excellencies almost dazzled and extinguished your Judgement, when directed to other Objects, and made you blind to the Merit of his Cotemporaries? Under your Dominion, have not Beaumont and Fletcher, nay even Johnjon, fuffered a Kind of theatrical Difgrace? And has not poor Mafinger, whofe Cause I have now undertaken, been permitted to languish in Obscurity, and remained almost entirely. unknown?

To this perhaps it may be plaufibly answered, nor indeed without fome Foundation, that many of our old Plays, though they abound with Beauties, and are raised much above the humble Level of later. Writers, are yet, on feveral Accounts, unfit to be exhibited on the modern Stage; that the Fable, inftead of being raised on probable Incidents in real Life, is generally built on fome foreign Novel, and attended with romantick Circumftances; that the Conduct of thefe extravagant Stories is frequently uncouth, and infinitely offenfive to that dramatick Correctness prefcribed by late Criticks, and practifed, as they pretend, by the French Writers; and that the Characters, exhibited in our old Plays, can have no pleasing Effect on a modern Audience, as they are so totally different from the Manners of the prefent Age.

Thefe, and fuch as thefe, might once have appeared reasonable Objections: But you, Sir, of all Perfons,

Perfons, can urge them with the leaft Grace, fince your Practice has fo fully proved their Infufficiency. Your Experience muft have taught you, that when a Piece has any ftriking Beautics, they will cover a Multitude of Inaccuracies; and that a Play need not be written on the fevereft Plan, to please in the Reprefentation. The Mind is foon familiarized to Irregularities, which do not fin against the Truth of Nature, but are merely Violations of that strict Decorum of late fo earneftly infifted on. What patient Spectators are we of the Inconfiftencies that confeffedly prevail in our darling Shakespeare! What critical Catcall ever proclaimed the Indecency of introducing the Stocks in the Tragedy of Lear? How quietly do we fee Glofier take his imaginary Leap from Dover Cliff! Or to give a ftronger inftance of Patience, with what a philofophical Calmnefs do the Audience dofe over the tedious, and uninterefting, Love-Scenes, with which the bungling Hand of Tate has coarfely pieced and patched that rich Work of Shakespeare! To inftance further from Shakespeare himfelf, the Grave-diggers in Hamlet (not to mention Polonius) are not only endured, but applauded; the very Nurfe in Romeo and Juliet is allowed to be Nature; the Tranfactions of a whole Hiftory are, without Offence, begun and compleated in lefs than three Hours; and we are agreeably wafted by the Chorus, or oftener without fo much Ceremony, from one End of the World to another.

It is very true, that it was the general Practice of our old Writers, to found their Pieces on some fɔreign Novel; and it feemed to be their chief Aim to take the Story, as it ftood, with all its appendant Incidents of every Complexion, and throw it into Scenes. This Method was, to be fure, rather inartificial, as it at once overloaded and embarraffed the Fable, leaving it deftitute of that beautiful dramatick Connection, which enables the Mind to take in all

its Circumftances with Facility and Delight. But I am still in Doubt, whether many Writers, who come nearer to our own Times, have much mended the Matter. What with their Plots, and Double-Plots, and Counter-Plots, and Under-Plots, the Mind is as much perplexed to piece out the Story, as to put together the disjointed Parts of our ancient Drama. The Comedies of Congreve have, in my Mind, as little to boast of Accuracy in their Construction, as the Plays of Shakespeare; nay, perhaps, it might be proved that, amidst the most open Violation of the leffer critical Unities, one Point is more fteadily perfued, one Character more uniformly fhewn, and one grand Purpose of the Fable more evidently accomplifhed in the Production of Shakespeare than of Congreve.

These Fables (it may be further objected) founded on romantick Novels, are unpardonably wild and extravagant in their Circumftances, and exhibit too little even of the Manners of the Age in which they were written. The Plays too are in themselves a Kind of heterogeneous Compofition; fcarce any of them being, ftrictly speaking, a Tragedy, Comedy, or even Tragi-Comedy, but rather an indigested Jumble of every Species thrown together.

This Charge must be confessed to be true: But upon Examination it will, perhaps, be found of lefs Confequence than is generally imagined. Thefe Dramatick Tales, for fo we may beft ftile fuch Plays, have often occafioned much Pleasure to the Reader and Spectator, which could not poffibly have been conveyed to them by any other Vehicle. Many an interefting Story, which, from the Diverfity of its Circumstances, cannot be regularly reduced either to Tragedy or Comedy, yet abounds with Character, and contains feveral affecting Situations: And why fuch a Story fhould lofe its Force, dramatically related and affifted by Reprefentation, when it

pleafes,

pleases, under the colder Form of a Novel, is difficult to conceive. Experience has proved the Effect of fuch Fictions on our Minds; and convinced us, that the Theatre is not that barren Ground, wherein the Plants of Imagination will not flourish. The Tempeft, the Midfummer Night's Dream, the Merchant of Venice, As you like it, Twelfth Night, the Faithful Shepherdess of Fletcher, (with a much longer Lift that might be added from Shakespeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, and their Cotemporaries, or immediate Succeffors) have most of them, within all our Memories, been ranked among the most popular Entertainments of the Stage. Yet none of these can be denominated Tragedy, Comedy, or Tragi-Comedy. The Play Bills, I have obferved, cautioufly ftile them Plays: And Plays indeed they are, truly fuch, if it be the End of Plays to delight and inftruct, to captivate at once the Ear, the Eye, and the Mind, by Situations forcibly conceived, and Characters truly delineated.

There is one Circumftance in Dramatick Poetry, which, I think, the chaftifed Notions of our modern Criticks do not permit them fufficiently to confider. Dramatic Nature is of a more large and liberal Quality than they are willing to allow. It does not confift merely in the Reprefentation of real Characters, Characters, acknowledged to abound in common Life; but may be extended also to the Exhibition of imaginary Beings. To create, is to be a Poet indeed; to draw down Beings from another Sphere, and endue them with fuitable Paffions, Affections, Difpofitions, allotting them at the fame Time proper Employment; to body forth, by the Powers of Imagination, the Forms of Things unknown, and to give to airy Nothing a local Habitation and a Name, furely requires a Genius for the Drama equal, if not fuperior, to the Delineation of Perfonages, in the ordinary Course of Nature.

Shake