man's counsel, debauching the widow first, in hope to marry her afterward. In the Silent Woman, Dauphine (who, with the other two gentlemen, is of the same character with my Celadon in the Maiden Queen, and 5 with Wildblood in this) professes himself in love with all the Collegiate Ladies: and they likewise are all of the same character with each other, excepting only Madam Otter, who has something singular: yet this naughty Dauphine is crowned in the end with the 10 possession of his uncle's estate, and with the hopes of enjoying all his mistresses; and his friend, Mr. Truewit (the best character of a gentleman which Ben Johnson ever made) is not ashamed to pimp for him. As for Beaumont and Fletcher, I need not allege examples 15 out of them; for that were to quote almost all their comedies. But now it will be objected, that I patronize vice by the authority of former poets, and extenuate my own faults by recrimination. I answer, that as I defend myself by their example, so that example 20 I defend by reason, and by the end of all dramatic poesy. In the first place, therefore, give me leave to show you their mistake, who have accused me. They have not distinguished, as they ought, betwixt the rules of Tragedy and Comedy. In Tragedy, where the actions 25 and persons are great, and the crimes horrid, the laws of justice are more strictly observed; and examples of punishment to be made, to deter mankind from the pursuit of vice. Faults of this kind have been rare amongst the ancient poets: for they have punished in 30 Edipus, and in his posterity, the sin which he knew not he had committed. Medea is the only example I remember at present, who escapes from punishment after murder. Thus Tragedy fulfils one great part of its institution; which is, by example, to instruct. But 35 in Comedy it is not so; for the chief end of it is

divertisement and delight: and that so much, that it is disputed, I think, by Heinsius, before Horace his Art of Poetry, whether instruction be any part of its employment. At least I am sure it can be but its secondary end for the business of the poet is to make you laugh: 5 when he writes humour, he makes folly ridiculous; when wit, he moves you, if not always to laughter, yet to a pleasure that is more noble. And if he works a cure on folly, and the small imperfections in mankind, by exposing them to public view, that cure is not per- 10 formed by an immediate operation. For it works first on the ill-nature of the audience; they are moved to laugh by the representation of deformity; and the shame of that laughter teaches us to amend what is ridiculous in our manners. This being then established, 15 that the first end of Comedy is delight, and instruction only the second; it may reasonably be inferred, that Comedy is not so much obliged to the punishment of faults which it represents, as Tragedy. For the persons in Comedy are of a lower quality, the action is little, 20 and the faults and vices are but the sallies of youth, and the frailties of human nature, and not premeditated crimes such to which all men are obnoxious, not such as are attempted only by few, and those abandoned to all sense of virtue: such as move pity and commisera- 25 tion, not detestation and horror: such, in short, as may be forgiven, not such as must of necessity be punished. But, lest any man should think that I write this to make libertinism amiable, or that I cared not to debase the end and institution of Comedy, so I might thereby 35 maintain my own errors, and those of better poets, I must further declare, both for them and for myself, that we make not vicious persons happy, but only as Heaven makes sinners so; that is, by reclaiming them first from vice. For so it is to be supposed they are, 25

when they resolve to marry; for then, enjoying what they desire in one, they cease to pursue the love of many. So Chærea is made happy by Terence, in marrying her whom he had deflowered: and so are 5 Wildblood and the Astrologer in this play.

There is another crime with which I am charged, at which I am yet much less concerned, because it does not relate to my manners, as the former did, but only to my reputation as a poet: a name of which I assure 10 the reader I am nothing proud; and therefore cannot be very solicitous to defend it. I am taxed with stealing all my plays, and that by some, who should be the last men from whom I would steal any part of 'em. There is one answer which I will not make; but it has been 15 made for me, by him to whose grace and patronage I owe all things,

Et spes et ratio studiorum in Caesare tantum—

and without whose command they should no longer be troubled with anything of mine:-that he only desired, 20 that they, who accused me of theft, would always steal

him plays like mine. But though I have reason to be proud of this defence, yet I should waive it, because I have a worse opinion of my own comedies than any of my enemies can have. 'Tis true, that wherever 25 I have liked any story in a romance, novel, or foreign play, I have made no difficulty, nor ever shall, to take the foundation of it, to build it up, and to make it proper for the English stage. And I will be so vain to say, it has lost nothing in my hands: but it always 30 cost me so much trouble to heighten it for our theatre (which is incomparably more curious in all the ornaments of dramatic poesy than the French or Spanish), that when I had finished my play, it was like the hulk of Sir Francis Drake, so strangely altered, that there

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scarcely remained any plank of the timber which first built it. To witness this, I need go no farther than this play it was first Spanish, and called El Astrologo Fingido; then made French by the younger Corneille ; and is now translated into English, and in print, under 5 the name of The Feigned Astrologer. What I have performed in this will best appear by comparing it with those you will see that I have rejected some adventures which I judged were not divertising; that I have heightened those which I have chosen; and that I ro have added others, which were neither in the French nor Spanish. And, besides, you will easily discover, that the walk of the Astrologer is the least considerable in my play for the design of it turns more on the parts of Wildblood and Jacintha, who are the chief 15 persons in it. I have farther to add, that I seldom use the wit and language of any romance or play, which I undertake to alter: because my own invention (as bad as it is) can furnish me with nothing so dull as what is there. Those who have called Virgil, Terence, 20 and Tasso, plagiaries (though they much injured them), had yet a better colour for their accusation; for Virgil has evidently translated Theocritus, Hesiod, and Homer, in many places; besides what he has taken from Ennius in his own language. Terence was not 25 only known to translate Menander (which he avows also in his prologues), but was said also to be helped in those translations by Scipio the African, and Lælius. And Tasso, the most excellent of modern poets, and whom I reverence next to Virgil, has taken both from 30 Homer many admirable things, which were left untouched by Virgil, and from Virgil himself, where Homer could not furnish him. Yet the bodies of Virgil's and Tasso's poems were their own; and so are all the ornaments of language and elocution in 35

them. The same (if there were anything commendable in this play) I could say for it. But I will come nearer to our own countrymen. Most of Shakespeare's plays, I mean the stories of them, are to be found in the 5 Hecatommuthi, or Hundred Novels of Cinthio. I have myself read in his Italian, that of Romeo and Juliet, the Moor of Venice, and many others of them. Beaumont and Fletcher had most of theirs from Spanish novels: witness The Chances, The Spanish Curate, Rule a Wife 10 and have a Wife, The Little French Lawyer, and so many others of them as compose the greatest part of their volume in folio. Ben Johnson, indeed, has designed his plots himself; but no man has borrowed so much from the Ancients as he has done: and he did well in 15 it, for he has thereby beautified our language.

But these little critics do not well consider what is the work of a poet, and what the graces of a poem: the story is the least part of either: I mean the foundation of it, before it is modelled by the art of him who 20 writes it; who forms it with more care, by exposing only the beautiful parts of it to view, than a skilful lapidary sets a jewel. On this foundation of the story, the characters are raised: and, since no story can afford characters enough for the variety of the English 25 stage, it follows, that it is to be altered and enlarged

with new persons, accidents, and designs, which will almost make it new. When this is done, the forming it into acts and scenes, disposing of actions and passions into their proper places, and beautifying both with 30 descriptions, similitudes, and propriety of language, is the principal employment of the poet; as being the largest field of fancy, which is the principal quality required in him: for so much the word Tonтýs implies. Judgment, indeed, is necessary in him; but 'tis fancy 25 that gives the life-touches, and the secret graces to it;