Much do I fuffer, much, to keep in peace POPE Sa perfect tragedy is the nobleft production of human nature, fo it is capable of giving the mind one of the most delightful and moft improving entertainments. A virtuous man, fays Seneca, ftruggling with misfortunes, is fuch a fpectacle as gods might look upon with pleasure; and fuch a pleasure it is which one meets with in the reprefentation of a well-written tragedy. Diverfions of this kind wear out of our thoughts every thing that is mean and little. They cherish and cultivate that humanity which is the ornament of our nature. They foften infolence, footh affliction, and subdue the mind to the difpenfations of providence. It is no wonder therefore that in all the polite nations of the world, this part of the Drama has met with public encouragement. The modern tragedy excels that of Greece and Rome in the intricacy and difpofition of the fable; but, what a chriftian writer would be ashamed to own, falls infinitely fhort of it in the moral part of the performance. This I may fhew more at large hereafter; and in the mean time, that I may contribute fomething towards the improvement of the English tragedy, I fhall take notice, in this and in other following papers, of fome particular parts in it that feem liable to exception. Ariftotle obferves, that the Iambic verfe in the Greek tongue was the most proper for tragedy; becaufe at the fame time that it lifted up the difcourfe from profe, it was that which approached nearer to it than any other other kind of verse. For, fays he, we may obferve that men in ordinary difcourfe very often fpeak Iambics, without taking notice of it. We make the fame obfervation of our English blank verfe, which often enters into our common difcourfe, though we do not attend to it, and is fuch a due medium between thyme and profe, that it seems wonderfully adapted to tragedy. I am therefore very much offended when I fee a play in rhyme; which is as abfurd in English, as a tragedy of Hexame ters would have been in Greek or Latin. The folcifin is, I think, ftill greater in thofe plays that have fome fcenes in rhyme and fome in blank verse, which are to be looked upon as two feveral languages; or where we fee fome particular fimilies dignified with rhyme, at the fame time that every thing about them lies in blank verfe. I would not however debar the poet from concluding his tragedy, or if he pleases every act of it, with two or three couplets, which may have the fame effect as an air in the Italian opera after a long Reci-tativo, and give the actor a graceful Exit. Befides, that we fee a diverfity of numbers in fome parts of the old tragedy, in order to hinder the ear from being tired. with the fame continued modulation of voice. For the fame reafon I do not diflike the fpeeches in our English tragedy that close with an Hemiftic, or half verfe, notwithstanding the perfon who speaks after it begins a new verfe, without filling up the preceding one: nor with abrupt paufes and breakings-off in the middle of a verfe, when they humour any paffion that is expreffed by it. Since I am upon this fubject, I muft obferve that our English poets have fucceeded much better in the ftile, than in the fentiments of their tragedies. Their lan guage is very often noble and fonorous, but the fenfe either very trifling or very common. On the contrary, in the ancient tragedies, and indeed in those of Corneille. and Racine, though the expreffions are very great, it is the thought that bears them up and fwells them.. For my own part, I prefer a noble fentiment that is de-. preffed with homely language, infinitely before a vulgar one that is blown up with all the found and energy of expreffion. Whether this defect in our tragedies may arife: from: from want of genius, knowledge, or experience in the writers, or from their compliance with the vicious taste of their readers, who are better judges of the language than of the fentiments, and confequently relish the one more than the other, I cannot determine. But I believe it might rectify the conduct both of the one and of the other, if the writer laid down the whole contexture of his dialogue in plain English, before he turned it into blank verfe; and if the reader, after the perufal of a fcene, would confider the naked thought of every speech in it, when divefted of all its tragic ornaments. By this means, without being impofed upon by words, we may judge impartially of the thought, and confider whether it be natural or great enough for the perfon that utters it, whether it deferves to fhine in fuch a blaze of eloquence, or fhew itself in fuch a variety of lights as are generally made ufe of by the writers of our English tragedy. I muft in the next place obferve, that when our thoughts are great and juft, they are often obfcured by the founding phrafes, hard metaphors, and forced expreffions in which they are cloathed. Shakespear is often very faulty in this particular. There is a fine observation in Ariftole to this purpose, which I have never feen quoted. The expreffion, fays he, ought to be very much laboured in the unactive parts of the fable, as in defcriptions, fimilitudes, narrations, and the like; in which the opinions, manners, and paffions of men are not reprefented; for thefe, namely the opinions, manners, and paffions, are apt to be obfcured by pompous phrafes and elaborate expreffions. Horace, who copied most of his criticisms after Ariftotle, feems to have had his eye on the foregoing rule, in the following verses: Et Tragicus plerumque dolet fermone pedestri: Ars Poet. ver. 95. Tragedians too lay by their fate to grieve: ROSCOMMON. Among our modern English poets, there is none who was better turned for tragedy than Lee; if, inftead of favouring the impetuofity of his genius, he had reftrained it, and kept it within its proper bounds. His thoughts are wonderfully fuited to tragedy, but frequently loft in fuch a cloud of words, that it is hard to fee the beauty of them; there is an infinite fire in his works, but fo involved in finoke, that it does not appear in half its luftre. He frequently fucceeds in the paffionate parts of the tragedy, but more particularly where he lackens his efforts, and eafes the file of thofe epithets and metaphors, in which he fo much abounds. What can be more natural, more foft, or more paffionate, than that line in Statira's fpeech, where the defcribes the charms. of Alexander's converfation? Then he would talk-Good Gods! how he would talk! That unexpected break in the line, and turning the defcription of his manner of talking into an admiration of it, is inexpreffibly beautiful, and wonderfully fuited to the fond character of the perfon that speaks it. There is a fimplicity in the words, that outfhines the utmost pride of expreffion. Otway has followed nature in the language of his tragedy, and therefore fhines in the paffionate parts more than any of our English poets. As there is fomething familiar and domeftic in the fable of his tragedy, more than in thofe of any other poet, he has little pomp, but' great force in his expreffions. For which reafon, tho' he has admirably fucceeded in the tender and melting part of his tragedies, he fometimes falls into too great a familiarity of phrafe in thofe parts, which, by Ariftotle's rule, ought to have been raised and supported by the dignity of expreffion. It has been obferved by others, that this poet has founded his tragedy of Venice Preferved on fo wrong a plot, that the greatest characters in it are thofe of rebels and traitors. Had the hero of his play discovered the fame good qualities in the defence of his country, that he fhewed for its ruin and fubverfion, the audience could not enough pity and admire him; but as he is now reprefented, we can only fay of him what the Roman historian hiftorian fays of Catiline, that his fall would have been glorious ( pro Patria fic concidiffet) had he fo fallen in the fervice of his country. C N° 40 Monday, April 16. Ac ne fortè putes, me, quæ facere ipfe recufem, Ut magus; & modò me Thebis, modò ponit Ath nis. IMITATE D. Yet left you think I rally more than teach, THE HE English writers of tragedy are poffeffed with a notion, that when they reprefent a virtuous or innocent perfon in diftrefs, they ought not to leave him 'till they have deliver'd him out of his troubles, or made him triumph over his enemies. This error they have been led into by a ridiculous doctrine in modern criticifm, that they are obliged to an equal distribution of rewards and punishments, and an impartial execution of poetical justice. Who were the first that established this rule I know not; but I am fure it has no foundation in nature, in reafon, or in the practice of the ancients. We find that good and evil happen alike to |