fieur Dacier's admirable Preface to his Remarks on the Poeticks of Ariftotle; from which, what I have faid on this Head is but an Abridgment.

Since therefore the Neceffity of Rules is thus evident, I think I cannot be more just to the Art, and to thofe Poets who may hereafter arife worthy the Name, than to lay down, in as few Words as poffible, the Rules of the Drama: to which I shall subjoin fome relating to the Epigram, under which laft Head moft of the Mifcellanies of Shakespear will fall; that by this means the ingenious Reader may diftinguish betwixt his Errors, and Beauties, and fo fix his Praife on a jufter ground, than the blind Caprice of every ignorant Fancy. And if by this he will not appear fo praise-worthy in many things, as he may now be thought, yet his Praise will be greater and more valuable when it is founded on Reafon and Truth, and the Judgment of Men of Sense and Understanding.

Before I come to the particular Rules of the Stage, as Ariftotle has laid them down, I shall fet down what an English Nobleman has given us on this Subject in Verfe; because there are fome Things relating efpecially to the Diction, which Aristotle has not meddled with; and others, which tho conformable to him, yet being in Verfe, fink easier into the Memory, and will lead the Reader better to the. Apprehenfion and retaining the particular i Rules in Profe, and perhaps give him a better relifh of them. For when by Pleasure we are first let into the View of Truth, it has fuch Charms, as to engage our Pursuit after it, thro ways not altogether, so fmooth and delightful. The Verfes I take out of the Effay on Poetry written by the late Duke of Buc kingham, at a Time when the Town run away with as strange Monsters as have pleas'd fince; tho thofe were drefs'd a little more gayly, and went by there Chime a little more glibly off. the Tongue.

On then, my Mufe, advent'roufly engage,

To give Inftructions that concern the Stage.

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The Unities of Action, Time, and Place, Which if obferv'd give Plays fo great a Grace, Are, tho but little practis'd, too well known, To be taught here, where we pretend alone From nicer Faults to purge the prefent Age, Lefs obvious Errors of the English Stage.

2

First then Soliloquies had need be few,
Extremely short, and spoke in Paffion too.
Our Lovers talking to themselves, for want
Of others, make the Pit their Confident.
Nor is the matter mended yet, if thusedy
They truft a Friend, only to tell it us:
Th' Occafion fhould as naturally fall,
As when * Bellario confeffes all.
Figures of Speech, which Poets think fo fine,
Art's needlefs Varnish to make Nature fhine,
Are all but Paint upon a beauteous Face,
And in Defcriptions only can have place.
But to make Rage declaim, and Grief discourse,
From Lovers in Defpair fine things to force,
Muft needs fucceed: for who can chufe but pity
A dying Hero miferably witty?

But O! the Dialógue, where Jeft and Mock
Are held up like a Reft at fhuttle-cock!!
Or elfe like Bells eternally they chime,
They figh in Simile, and die in Rhime.

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What Things are thefe, who would be Poets thought vor, da
By Nature not infpir'd, nor Learning taught?

2

Some Wir they have, and therefore may deferved (927) 214 ←
A better Courfe, than this by which they farven to
But to write Plays! Why 'tis a bold Pretence
To Judgment, Breeding, Wit, and Eloquence.
Nay more, for they muft look within, to find
Thefe fecret Turns of Nature in the Mind. 1911 ve 25 quant
Without this Part, in vain would be the Whole,
And but a Body all, without a Soul.

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All

All this together yet is but a Partr çoiCA to saltia
Of* Dialogue, that great and powerful Art
Now almoft loft, which the old Grecians knew,
From which the Romans fainter Copies drew,
Scarce comprehended fince, but by a few:
Plato and Lucian are the beft Remains
Of all the Wonders which this Art contains
Yet to our felves we must fome juftice do,
Shakespear, and Fletcher are our Wonders now.
Confider them, and read them o'er and o'er,
Go see them play'd, then read them as before:
For tho in many things they often fail,
Over our Paflions ftill they fo prevail,
That our own Grief by theirs is rock'd asleep,

* nedw &A

The Dull are forc'd to feel, the Wife to weep.22 eswgi't
Their Beauties imitate, avoid their Faults.

† First on a Plot employ thy careful Thoughts;
Turn it with Time a thoufand feveral ways,
This oft alone has given Succefs to Plays.
Reject that vulgar Error, which appears.
So fair, of making perfect Characters:
There's no fuch thing in Nature, and you'll draw
A faultless Monfter, which the World ne'er faw.

A

Some Faults must be, that his Misfortunes drew,
But fuch as may deferve Compaffion too.
Befides the main Defign compos'd with Art,
¶Each moving Scene must be a Plot apart.

* His Grace here refers to Comedy, as the Instances of Plato and Inician fhow for the AR of Tragick Dialogue is to exprefs the Sentiments naturally in proper Words: elfe his Grace had mistaken; for certainly in the Tragick Dialogue, Sophocles and Euripides, nay, even fchylus, must have been preferr'd. Nay, it will not hold of Tragedy; for Fletcher's Dialogue is intolerable in that, and could not be otherwife, becaufe he feldom draws either his Manners or Sentiments from Nature.

Exactly conformable to Ariftotle.

Involuntary Faults, that is, the Effects of violent Paffions, not fuch as are voluntary and fcandalous; as will appear in our Rules. S

His Grace means not, that the Scenes fhould not be a Part of the Plor; but that the not a Poet fhould, befides the main Defign, confider well the working up of every particular Scene which is just.

Contrive

Contrive each little Turn, mark every Place,
As Painters firft chalk out the future Face.
Yet be not fondly your own Slave for this,
But change hereafter what appears amifs.

Think not fo much where thining Thoughts to place,
As what a Man fhould fay in fuch a cafe.
Neither in Comedy will this fuffice,

The Player too must be before your Eyes:
And tho 'tis Drudgery to ftoop fo low,
To him you muft your utmost Meaning fhow.
Expofe no fingle Fop, but lay the Load
More equally, and spread the Folly broad.
The other way is vulgar; oft we fee
A Fool derided by as bad as he.

Hawks fly at nobler Game; in this low way
A very Owl may prove a Bird of Prey.
Ill Poets fo will one poor Fop devour :
But to collect, like Bees, from every Flower,
Ingredients to compofe that precious Juice,
Which ferves the World for Pleafure, and for Ufe;
In fpite of Faction this would Favour get:

But Falstaff feems inimitable yet, &c.

In what I have to fay of the Rules, I fhall confine my self to them, without going into the Controverfy, yet I fhall fometinies add the Reafon and Foundation, that being the Extremity my Bounds will admit.

To begin therefore with the Definition of Tragedy (for the Rules of that I fhall first infist on, much of Comedy depending on them) it is this- Tragedy is the Imitation of one grave and entire Action of a juft Length, and which, without the Affiftance of Narration, by the means of Terror and Compaffion, perfectly refines in us all forts of Paffions, and whatever is like them.'

This is explain'd by a Piece of Hiftory-Painting (which is very near a-kin to Tragedy) for the Painter takes one grave and en

tire Action, and mingles nothing elfe with it. For example, Raphael painted the Battel of Conftantine, but he brought not into that one Action of Conftantine, all that he had done in his Life; for that had been monftrous, and contrary to Nature and Art. Thus a Tragedy is the Imitation of fome one grave Action, but not all the Actions of a Man's Life.

From hence it is plain, that there is no place in Tragedy for any thing but grave and ferious Actions. Comedy imitates the witty, and the pleafant, and the ridiculous Actions of Mankind. Next, this Action must be entire; that is, it must have a Beginning, Middle, and End, and be of a juft Length: not fo long as that of the Epopee, nor fo fhort as a fingle Fable. The excluding Narration, and the confining its Aim to Terror, and Compaffion, distinguishes it from the Epick Poem, which may be perfect without them, and employs Admiration.

By the refining the Paffions, I mean not their Extirpation, which is impoffible; but the reducing them to juft Bounds and Moderation, which renders them as ufeful as they are neceffary: for by representing to us the Miseries of those who have yielded too much to them, it teaches us to have a ftricter guard over them; and by beholding the great Misfortunes of others, it leffens thofe that we either do, or may feel our felves.

This Imitation mention'd in the Definition being made by the Actors, or Perfons representing, the Scenes are to be regarded by the Poet: For the Decoration is not only for Pomp and Show, as it is generally defign'd, but to exprefs the Nature of the things reprefented, and the Place where; fince there is no Action that does not fuppofe a Place, and Actors drefs'd in one Habit or other proper to that Place.

As Tragedy is the Imitation of an Action, not Inclinations or Habits; fo there is no Action, that does not proceed from the Manners and the Sentiments: therefore the Manners and Sentiments are effential Parts of Tragedy. For nothing but the Manners and Sentiments can distinguish and characterize an Action: the Manners form, and the Sentiments explain it, expofing its

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