SCENE II.

Hip.Indeed, and so am I,For if I had that blood, I then should findA great delight in loving you.Mir.But, sir,I am another's, and your love is givenAlready to my sister.Hip.Yet I find,That, if you please, I can love still a little.

Hip.Indeed, and so am I,For if I had that blood, I then should findA great delight in loving you.

Mir.But, sir,I am another's, and your love is givenAlready to my sister.

Hip.Yet I find,That, if you please, I can love still a little.

Mir.I cannot be inconstant, nor should you.

Hip.O my wound pains me.

Mir.I am come to ease you.[She unwraps the sword.Hip.Alas! I feel the cold air come to me;My wound shoots worse than ever.[She wipes, and anoints the sword.

Mir.I am come to ease you.[She unwraps the sword.

Hip.Alas! I feel the cold air come to me;My wound shoots worse than ever.[She wipes, and anoints the sword.

Mir.Does it still grieve you?

Hip.Now methinks, there's somethingLaid just upon it.

Mir.Do you find no ease?

Hip.Yes, yes, upon the sudden, all the painIs leaving me: Sweet heaven, how I am eased!

EnterFerdinandandDorindato them.

Ferd.[to Dor.] Madam, I must confess my life is yours,I owe it to your generosity.Dor.I am overjoyed my father lets you live,And proud of my good fortune, that he gaveYour life to me.

Ferd.[to Dor.] Madam, I must confess my life is yours,I owe it to your generosity.

Dor.I am overjoyed my father lets you live,And proud of my good fortune, that he gaveYour life to me.

Mir.How? gave his life to her!

Hip.Alas! I think she said so, and he said,He owed it to her generosity.

Ferd.But is not that your sister with Hippolito?

Dor.So kind already?

Ferd.I came to welcome life, and I have metThe cruellest of deaths.

Hip.My dear Dorinda with another man?

Dor.Sister, what business have you here?

Mir.You see I dress Hippolito.

Dor.You're very charitable to a stranger.

Mir.You are not much behind in charity,To beg a pardon for a man, whom youScarce ever saw before.Dor.Henceforward let your surgery alone,For I had rather he should die, than youShould cure his wound.Mir.And I wish Ferdinand had died, beforeHe owed his life to your entreaty.Ferd.toHip.Sir, I am glad you are so well recovered.You keep your humour still to have all women?Hip.Not all, sir; you except one of the number,Your new love there, Dorinda.Mir.Ah, Ferdinand! can you become inconstant?If I must lose you, I had rather deathShould take you from me, than you take yourself.Ferd.And if I might have chose, I would have wishedThat death from Prospero, and not this from you.Dor.Ay, now I find why I was sent away,That you might have my sister's company.Hip.Dorinda, kill me not with your unkindness;This is too much, first to be false yourself,And then accuse me too.Ferd.We all accuseEach other, and each one denies their guilt:I should be glad it were a mutual error;And, therefore, first to clear myself from fault,Madam, I beg your pardon, while I say,I only love your sister.[ToDor.Mir.O, blest word!I'm sure I love no man but Ferdinand,

Mir.You are not much behind in charity,To beg a pardon for a man, whom youScarce ever saw before.

Dor.Henceforward let your surgery alone,For I had rather he should die, than youShould cure his wound.

Mir.And I wish Ferdinand had died, beforeHe owed his life to your entreaty.

Ferd.toHip.Sir, I am glad you are so well recovered.You keep your humour still to have all women?

Hip.Not all, sir; you except one of the number,Your new love there, Dorinda.

Mir.Ah, Ferdinand! can you become inconstant?If I must lose you, I had rather deathShould take you from me, than you take yourself.

Ferd.And if I might have chose, I would have wishedThat death from Prospero, and not this from you.

Dor.Ay, now I find why I was sent away,That you might have my sister's company.

Hip.Dorinda, kill me not with your unkindness;This is too much, first to be false yourself,And then accuse me too.

Ferd.We all accuseEach other, and each one denies their guilt:I should be glad it were a mutual error;And, therefore, first to clear myself from fault,Madam, I beg your pardon, while I say,I only love your sister.[ToDor.

Mir.O, blest word!I'm sure I love no man but Ferdinand,

Dor.Nor I, heaven knows, but my Hippolito.

Hip.I never knew I loved so much, beforeI feared Dorinda's constancy; but nowI am convinced, that I loved none but her;Because none else can recompense her loss.Ferd.'Twas happy, then, we had this little trial;But how we all so much mistook I know not.Mir.I have only this to say in my defence;My father sent me hither, to attendThe wounded stranger.Dor.And HippolitoSent me to beg the life of Ferdinand.Ferd.From such small errors, left at first unheeded,Have often sprung sad accidents in love.—But see, our fathers and our friends are comeTo mix their joys with ours.

Hip.I never knew I loved so much, beforeI feared Dorinda's constancy; but nowI am convinced, that I loved none but her;Because none else can recompense her loss.

Ferd.'Twas happy, then, we had this little trial;But how we all so much mistook I know not.

Mir.I have only this to say in my defence;My father sent me hither, to attendThe wounded stranger.

Dor.And HippolitoSent me to beg the life of Ferdinand.

Ferd.From such small errors, left at first unheeded,Have often sprung sad accidents in love.—But see, our fathers and our friends are comeTo mix their joys with ours.

EnterProspero,Alonzo,Antonio,andGonzalo.

Alon.toProsp.Let it no more be thought of;Your purpose, though it was severe, was just.In losing Ferdinand, I should have mourned,But could not have complained.Pros.Sir, I am gladKind heaven decreed it otherwise.Dor.O, wonder!How many goodly creatures are there here!How beauteous mankind is!Hip.O, brave new world,That has such people in't!Alon.toFerd.Now all the blessingsOf a glad father compass thee about,And make thee happy in thy beauteous choice.Gonz.I've inward wept, or should have spoken ere this.—Look down, sweet heaven! and on this couple dropA blessed crown; for it is you chalked outThe way, which brought us hither.Anto.Though penitence,Forced by necessity, can scarce seem real,Yet, dearest brother, I have hope my bloodMay plead for pardon with you: I resignDominion, which, 'tis true, I could not keep,But heaven knows too, I would not.Prosp.All past crimesI bury in the joy of this blessed day.Alon.And, that I may not be behind in justice,To this young prince I render back his dukedom,And as the duke of Mantua thus salute him.Hip.What is it that you render back? methinksYou give me nothing.Prosp.You are to be lordOf a great people, and o'er towns and cities.

Alon.toProsp.Let it no more be thought of;Your purpose, though it was severe, was just.In losing Ferdinand, I should have mourned,But could not have complained.

Pros.Sir, I am gladKind heaven decreed it otherwise.

Dor.O, wonder!How many goodly creatures are there here!How beauteous mankind is!

Hip.O, brave new world,That has such people in't!

Alon.toFerd.Now all the blessingsOf a glad father compass thee about,And make thee happy in thy beauteous choice.

Gonz.I've inward wept, or should have spoken ere this.—Look down, sweet heaven! and on this couple dropA blessed crown; for it is you chalked outThe way, which brought us hither.

Anto.Though penitence,Forced by necessity, can scarce seem real,Yet, dearest brother, I have hope my bloodMay plead for pardon with you: I resignDominion, which, 'tis true, I could not keep,But heaven knows too, I would not.

Prosp.All past crimesI bury in the joy of this blessed day.

Alon.And, that I may not be behind in justice,To this young prince I render back his dukedom,And as the duke of Mantua thus salute him.

Hip.What is it that you render back? methinksYou give me nothing.

Prosp.You are to be lordOf a great people, and o'er towns and cities.

Hip.And shall these people be all men and women?

Gonz.Yes, and shall call you lord.

Hip.Why, then, I'll live no longer in a prison,But have a whole cave to myself hereafter.Prosp.And, that your happiness may be complete,I give you my Dorinda for your wife:She shall be yours for ever, when the priestHas made you one.

Hip.Why, then, I'll live no longer in a prison,But have a whole cave to myself hereafter.

Prosp.And, that your happiness may be complete,I give you my Dorinda for your wife:She shall be yours for ever, when the priestHas made you one.

Hip.How can he make us one? Shall I grow to her?

Prosp.By saying holy words, you shall be joinedIn marriage to each other.Dor.I warrant you, those holy words are charms:My father means to conjure us together.Prosp.My Ariel told me, when last night you quarrelled,[To his daughters.You said you would for ever part your beds.But what you threatened in your anger, heavenHas turned to prophecy;For you, Miranda, must with Ferdinand,And you, Dorinda, with Hippolito,Lie in one bed hereafter.Alon.And heaven makeThose beds still fruitful in producing children,To bless their parents' youth, and grandsires' age.Mir.toDor.If children come by lying in a bed,I wonder you and I had none between us.Dor.Sister, it was our fault; we meant, like fools,To look 'em in the fields, and they, it seems,Are only found in beds.Hip.I am o'er-joyed,That I shall have Dorinda in a bed;We'll lie all night and day together there,And never rise again.Ferd.[Aside to him.] Hippolito! You yetAre ignorant of your great happiness;But there is something, which, for your own and fairDorinda's sake, I must instruct you in.Hip.Pray teach me quickly,How men and women, in your world, make love;I shall soon learn, I warrant you.

Prosp.By saying holy words, you shall be joinedIn marriage to each other.

Dor.I warrant you, those holy words are charms:My father means to conjure us together.

Prosp.My Ariel told me, when last night you quarrelled,[To his daughters.

You said you would for ever part your beds.But what you threatened in your anger, heavenHas turned to prophecy;For you, Miranda, must with Ferdinand,And you, Dorinda, with Hippolito,Lie in one bed hereafter.

Alon.And heaven makeThose beds still fruitful in producing children,To bless their parents' youth, and grandsires' age.

Mir.toDor.If children come by lying in a bed,I wonder you and I had none between us.

Dor.Sister, it was our fault; we meant, like fools,To look 'em in the fields, and they, it seems,Are only found in beds.

Hip.I am o'er-joyed,That I shall have Dorinda in a bed;We'll lie all night and day together there,And never rise again.

Ferd.[Aside to him.] Hippolito! You yetAre ignorant of your great happiness;But there is something, which, for your own and fairDorinda's sake, I must instruct you in.

Hip.Pray teach me quickly,How men and women, in your world, make love;I shall soon learn, I warrant you.

EnterAriel,driving inStephano,Trincalo,Mustacho,Ventoso,CalibanandSycorax.

Prosp.Why that's my dainty Ariel; I shall miss thee,But yet thou shalt have freedom.Gonz.O look, sir, look! The master and the sailors—The boatswain too—my prophecy is out,That if a gallows were on land, that manCould ne'er be drowned.Alon.Now, blasphemy; what, not one oath ashore!Hast thou no mouth by land? Why starest thou so?[ToTrincalo.Trinc.What! more dukes yet? I must resign my dukedom;But 'tis no matter, I was almost starved in't.

Prosp.Why that's my dainty Ariel; I shall miss thee,But yet thou shalt have freedom.

Gonz.O look, sir, look! The master and the sailors—The boatswain too—my prophecy is out,That if a gallows were on land, that manCould ne'er be drowned.

Alon.Now, blasphemy; what, not one oath ashore!Hast thou no mouth by land? Why starest thou so?[ToTrincalo.

Trinc.What! more dukes yet? I must resign my dukedom;But 'tis no matter, I was almost starved in't.

Must.Here's nothing but wild sallads, without oil, or vinegar.

Steph.The duke and prince alive! Would I had nowOur gallant ship again, and were her master:I'd willingly give all my island for her.

Vent.And I my viceroyship.

Trinc.I shall need no hangman; for I shall even hang myself, now my friend Butt has shed his last drop of life. Poor Butt is quite departed.

Anto.They talk like madmen.

Prosp.No matter, time will bring 'em to themselves,And now their wine is gone, they will not quarrel.Your ship is safe and tight, and bravely rigged,As when you first set sail.

Alon.This news is wonderful.

Ariel.Was it well done, my lord?

Prosp.Rarely, my diligence.

Gonz.But pray, sir, what are those mis-shapen creatures?

Prosp.Their mother was a witch; and one so strong,She would controul the moon, make flows and ebbs,And deal in her command without her power.

Syc.O Setebos! these be brave spirits indeed.

Prosp.Go, sirrah, to my cell, and, as you hopeFor pardon, trim it up.[ToCalib.Calib.Most carefully. I will be wise hereafter.What a dull fool was I, to take those drunkardsFor gods, when such as these were in the world?Prosp.Sir, I invite your highness and your trainTo my poor cave this night; a part of whichI will employ, in telling you my story.

Prosp.Go, sirrah, to my cell, and, as you hopeFor pardon, trim it up.[ToCalib.

Calib.Most carefully. I will be wise hereafter.What a dull fool was I, to take those drunkardsFor gods, when such as these were in the world?

Prosp.Sir, I invite your highness and your trainTo my poor cave this night; a part of whichI will employ, in telling you my story.

Alon.No doubt it must be strangely taking, sir.

Prosp.When the morn draws, I'll bring you to your ship,And promise you calm seas, and happy gales.My Ariel, that's thy charge: Then to the elementsBe free, and fare thee well!

Ariel.I'll do it, master.

Prosp.Now, to make amendsFor the rough treatment you have found to-day,I'll entertain you with my magic art;I'll, by my power, transform this place, and callUp those, that shall make good my promise to you.

—Changes to the Rocks, with the arch of Rocks, and calm Sea. Music playing on the Rocks.

Prosp.Neptune, and your fair Amphitrite, rise;Oceanus, with your Tethys too, appear;All ye sea-gods, and goddesses, appear!Come, all ye Tritons; all ye Nereids, come,And teach your saucy element to obey:For you have princes now to entertain,And unsoiled beauties, with fresh youthful lovers.

Neptune,Amphitrite,OceanusandTethys,appear in a Chariot drawn with Sea-horses; on each side of the Chariot, Sea-Gods, and Goddesses, Tritons, and Nereids.

Alon.This is prodigious!

Anto.Ah! what amazing objects do we see?

Gonz.This art doth much exceed all human skill.

SONG.

Amph.My lord, great Neptune, for my sake,Of these bright beauties pity take;And to the rest allowYour mercy too.Let this enraged element be still,Let Æolus obey my will:Let him his boisterous prisoners safely keepIn their dark caverns; and no moreLet them disturb the bosom of the deep,Till these arrive upon their wished-for shore.Nept.So much my Amphitrite's love I prize,That no commands of her's I can despise.Tethys no furrows now shall wear,Oceanus no wrinkles on his brow,Let your serenest looks appear!Be calm and gentle now.Nept. and{Be calm, ye great parents of the floods and the springs,Amph.{While each Nereid and Triton plays, revels, and sings.Ocean.Confine the roaring winds, and weWill soon obey you cheerfully.Chorus{Tie up the winds, and we'll obey;ofTrit.{Upon the floods we'll sing and play,& Ner.{And celebrate a Halcyon day.[Here the Dancers mingle with the Singers, and perform a dance.Nept.Great nephew, Æolus, make no noise,Muzzle your roaring boys.[Æolusappears.Amph.Let 'em not bluster to disturb our ears,Or strike these noble passengers with fears.Nept.Afford 'em only such an easy gale,As pleasantly may swell each sail.Amph.While fell sea-monsters cause intestine jars,This empire you invade by foreign wars.Nept.But you shall now be still,And shall obey my Amphitrite's will.Æolus{You I'll obey, who at one stroke can make,descends{With your dread trident, the whole earth to quake.Come down, my blusterers, swell no more,Your stormy rage give o'er.[Winds from the four corners appear.Let all black tempests cease,And let the troubled ocean rest:Let all the sea enjoy as calm a peace,As where the halcyon builds her quiet nest.To your prisons below,Down, down you must go:You in the earth's entrails your revels may keep;But no more till I call shall you trouble the deep.[Winds fly down.Now they are gone, all stormy wars shall cease;Then let your trumpeters proclaim a peace.Amph.Tritons, my sons, your trumpets sound,And let the noise from neighbouring shores rebound.Chorus.Sound a calm.Sound a calm.Sound a calm.a calm.Sound a calm.

Nept.So much my Amphitrite's love I prize,That no commands of her's I can despise.Tethys no furrows now shall wear,Oceanus no wrinkles on his brow,Let your serenest looks appear!Be calm and gentle now.

Nept. and{Be calm, ye great parents of the floods and the springs,Amph.{While each Nereid and Triton plays, revels, and sings.

Ocean.Confine the roaring winds, and weWill soon obey you cheerfully.

Chorus{Tie up the winds, and we'll obey;ofTrit.{Upon the floods we'll sing and play,& Ner.{And celebrate a Halcyon day.[Here the Dancers mingle with the Singers, and perform a dance.

Nept.Great nephew, Æolus, make no noise,Muzzle your roaring boys.[Æolusappears.

Amph.Let 'em not bluster to disturb our ears,Or strike these noble passengers with fears.

Nept.Afford 'em only such an easy gale,As pleasantly may swell each sail.

Amph.While fell sea-monsters cause intestine jars,This empire you invade by foreign wars.

Nept.But you shall now be still,And shall obey my Amphitrite's will.

Æolus{You I'll obey, who at one stroke can make,descends{With your dread trident, the whole earth to quake.Come down, my blusterers, swell no more,Your stormy rage give o'er.[Winds from the four corners appear.

Let all black tempests cease,And let the troubled ocean rest:Let all the sea enjoy as calm a peace,As where the halcyon builds her quiet nest.To your prisons below,Down, down you must go:You in the earth's entrails your revels may keep;But no more till I call shall you trouble the deep.[Winds fly down.

Now they are gone, all stormy wars shall cease;Then let your trumpeters proclaim a peace.

Amph.Tritons, my sons, your trumpets sound,And let the noise from neighbouring shores rebound.

Chorus.Sound a calm.Sound a calm.Sound a calm.a calm.Sound a calm.

[Here the Tritons, at every repeat ofSound a calm, changing their figure and postures, seem to sound their wreathed trumpets made of shells.

A symphony of music, like trumpets, to which four Tritons dance.

Nept.See, see, the heavens smile; all your troubles are past,Your joys, by black clouds, shall no more be o'ercast.Amph.On this barren isle ye shall lose all your fears,Leave behind all your sorrows, and banish your cares.Both.{And your loves and your lives shall in safety enjoy;{No influence of stars shall your quiet destroy.Chorus{And your loves, &c.of all.{No influence, &c.[Here the Dancers mingle with the Singers.Ocean.We'll safely convey you to your own happy shore,And your's and your country's soft peace will restore.Tethys.To treat you, blest lovers, as you sail on the deep,The Tritons and sea-nymphs their revels shall keep.Both.{On the swift dolphins' backs they shall sing and shall play;{They shall guard you by night, and delight you by day.ChorusOn the swift, &c.of all.And shall guard, &c.[Here the Dancers mingle with the Singers.[A dance of twelve Tritons.

Nept.See, see, the heavens smile; all your troubles are past,Your joys, by black clouds, shall no more be o'ercast.

Amph.On this barren isle ye shall lose all your fears,Leave behind all your sorrows, and banish your cares.

Both.{And your loves and your lives shall in safety enjoy;{No influence of stars shall your quiet destroy.

Chorus{And your loves, &c.of all.{No influence, &c.[Here the Dancers mingle with the Singers.

Ocean.We'll safely convey you to your own happy shore,And your's and your country's soft peace will restore.

Tethys.To treat you, blest lovers, as you sail on the deep,The Tritons and sea-nymphs their revels shall keep.

Both.{On the swift dolphins' backs they shall sing and shall play;{They shall guard you by night, and delight you by day.

ChorusOn the swift, &c.of all.And shall guard, &c.[Here the Dancers mingle with the Singers.

[A dance of twelve Tritons.

Mir.What charming things are these?

Dor.What heavenly power is this?

Prosp.Now, my Ariel, be visible,And let the rest of your aërial trainAppear, and entertain them with a song,And then farewell, my long-loved Ariel.

—Changes to the Rising Sun, and a number of Aërial Spirits in the Air;Arielflying from the Sun, advances towards the Pit.

Alon.Heaven! What are these we see?

Prosp.They are spirits, with which the air aboundsIn swarms, but that they are not subjectTo poor feeble mortal eyes.

Anto.O wondrous skill!

Gonz.O power divine!

Ariel,and the rest, sing the following Song.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I;In a cowslip's bed I lie;There I couch when owls do cry.On the swallow's wings I fly,After summer merrily.Merrily, merrily shall I live now,Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

Song ended,Arielspeaks, hovering in the air.

Ariel.My noble master!May theirs and your blest joys never impair!And for the freedom I enjoy in air.And for the freedom I enjoy in air.I will be still your Ariel, and waitOn airy accidents that work for fate.Whatever shall your happiness concern,From your still faithful Ariel you shall learn.Prosp.Thou hast been always diligent and kind.Farewell, my long-loved Ariel! thou shalt findI will preserve thee ever in my mind.Henceforth this isle to the afflicted beA place of refuge, as it was to me:The promises of blooming spring live here,And all the blessings of the ripening year.On my retreat let heaven and nature smile,And ever flourish the Enchanted Isle.[Exeunt.

Gallants, by all good signs it does appear,That sixty-seven's a very damning year,For knaves abroad, and for ill poets here.Among the muses there's a general rot,The rhiming monsieur, and the Spanish plot:Defy or court, all's one, they go to pot.The ghosts of poets walk within this place,And haunt us actors wheresoe'er we pass,In visions bloodier than King Richard's was.For this poor wretch, he has not much to say,But quietly brings in his part o'th' play,And begs the favour to be damned to-day,He sends me only like a sheriff's man here,To let you know the malefactor's near,And that he means to die,en cavalier.For, if you should be gracious to his pen,The example will prove ill to other men,And you'll be troubled with them all again.

OR, THE

COMEDY.

DUKE OF NEWCASTLE,[G]

ONE OF HIS MAJESTY'SMOST HONOURABLE PRIVY COUNCIL, AND OF THEMOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE GARTER,&c.

MAY IT PLEASE YOUR GRACE,

Amongst those few persons of wit and honour, whose favourable opinion I have desired, your own virtue, and my great obligations to your grace, have justly given you the precedence. For what could be more glorious to me, than to have acquired some part of your esteem, who are admired and honoured by all good men; who have been, for so many years together,the pattern and standard of honour to the nation; and whose whole life has been so great an example of heroic virtue, that we might wonder how it happened into an age so corrupt as ours, if it had not likewise been a part of the former. As you came into the world with all the advantages of a noble birth and education, so you have rendered both yet more conspicuous by your virtue. Fortune, indeed, has perpetually crownedyour undertakings with success, but she has only waited on your valour, not conducted it. She has ministered to your glory like a slave, and has been led in triumph by it; or, at most, while honour led you by the hand to greatness, fortune only followed to keep you from sliding back in the ascent. That, which Plutarch accounted her favour to Cymon and Lucullus, was but her justice to your grace; and, never to have been overcome where you led in person, as it was more than Hannibal could boast, so it was all that Providence could do for that party, which it had resolved to ruin. Thus, my lord, the last smiles of victory were on your arms; and, everywhere else declaring for the rebels, she seemed to suspend herself, and to doubt, before she took her flight, whether she were able wholly to abandon that cause, for which you fought[H].

But the greatest trials of your courage and constancywere yet to come: Many had ventured their fortunes, and exposed their lives to the utmost dangers for their king and country, who ended their loyalty with the war; and, submitting to the iniquity of the times, chose rather to redeem their former plenty, by acknowledging an usurper, than to suffer with an unprofitable fidelity (as those meaner spirits called it) for their lawful sovereign. But, as I dare not accuse so many of our nobility, who were content to accept their patrimonies from the clemency of the conqueror, and to retain only a secret veneration for their prince, amidst the open worship which they were forced to pay to the usurper, who had dethroned him; so, I hope, I may have leave to extol that virtue which acted more generously; and which was not satisfied with an inward devotion to monarchy, but produced itself to view, and asserted the cause by open martyrdom. Of these rare patterns of loyalty, your grace was chief: Those examples you could not find, you made. Some few Cato's there were with you, whose invincible resolution could not be conquered by that usurping Cæsar. Your virtue opposed itself to his fortune, and overcame it, by not submitting to it. The last and most difficult enterprize he had to effect, when he had conquered three nations, was to subdue your spirit; and he died weary of that war, and unable to finish it.

In the mean time, you lived more happily in your exile, than the other on his throne. Your loyalty made you friends and servants amongst foreigners; and you lived plentifully without a fortune; for you lived on your own desert and reputation. The glorious name of the valiant and faithful Newcastle, was a patrimony which could never be exhausted.

Thus, my lord, the morning of your life was clear and calm; and,though it was afterwards overcast, yet, in that general storm, you were never without a shelter. And now you are happily arrived to the evening of a day, as serene as the dawn of it was glorious; but such an evening as, I hope, and almost prophecy, is far from night: 'Tis the evening of a summer's sun, which keeps the day-light long within the skies. The health of your body is maintained by the vigour of your mind: Neither does the one shrink from the fatigue of exercise, nor the other bend under the pains of study. Methinks, I behold in you another Caius Marius, who, in the extremity of his age, exercised himself almost every morning in the Campus Martius, amongst the youthful nobility of Rome. And afterwards in your retirements, when you do honour to poetry, by employing part of your leisure in it, I regard you as another Silius Italicus, who, having passed over his consulship with applause, dismissed himself from business, and from the gown, and employed his age, amongst the shades, in the reading and imitation of Virgil.

In which, lest any thing should be wanting to your happiness, you have, by a rare effect of fortune, found, in the person of your excellent lady, not only a lover, but a partner of your studies; a lady whom our age may justly equal with the Sappho of the Greeks, or the Sulpitia of the Romans; who, by being taken into your bosom, seems to be inspired with your genius; and, by writing the history of your life[I], in so masculine a style, has already placed you in the number of theheroes. She has anticipated that great portion of fame, which envy often hinders a living virtue from possessing; which would, indeed, have been given to your ashes, but with a later payment; and of which you could have no present use, except it were by a secret presage of that which was to come, when you were no longer in a possibility of knowing it. So that if that were a praise, or satisfaction to the greatest of emperors, which the most judicious of poets gives him—

Præsenti tibi maturos largimur honores, &c.

that the adoration, which was not allowed to Hercules and Romulus till after death, was given to Augustus living, then certainly it cannot be denied, but that your grace has received a double satisfaction: the one, to see yourself consecrated to immortality while you are yet alive; the other, to have your praises celebrated by so dear, so just, and so pious an historian.

It is the consideration of this that stops my pen; though I am loth to leave so fair a subject, which gives me as much field as poetry could wish, and yet no more than truth can justify. But to attempt any thing of a panegyric, were to enterprize on your lady's right; and to seem to affect those praises, which none but the duchess of Newcastle can deserve, when she writes the actions of her lord. I shall, therefore, leave that wider space, and contract myself to those narrow bounds, which best become my fortune and employment.

I am obliged, my lord, to return you not only my own acknowledgments, but to thank you in the names of former poets; thenamesof Jonson and D'Avenant[J]seem to require it from me, that those favours, which you placed on them, and which theywanted opportunity to own in public, yet might not be lost to the knowledge of posterity, with a forgetfulness unbecoming of the Muses, who are the daughters of memory. And give me leave, my lord, to avow so much of vanity, as to say, I am proud to be their remembrancer: For, by relating how gracious you have been to them, and are to me, I, in some measure, join my name with theirs: And the continued descent of your favours to me is the best title which I can plead for my succession. I only wish, that I had as great reason to be satisfied with myself, in the return of our common acknowledgments, as your grace may justly take in the conferring them: For I cannot but be very sensible, that the present of an ill comedy, which I here make you, is a very unsuitable way of giving thanks for them, who, themselves, have written so many better. This pretends to nothing more, than to be a foil to those scenes, which are composed by the most noble poet of our age and nation; and to be set as a water-mark of the lowest ebb, to which the wit of my predecessor has sunk, and run down in me. But, though all of them have surpassed me in the scene, there is one part of glory, in which I will not yield to any of them: I mean, my lord, that honour and veneration which they had for you in their lives; and which I preserve after them, more holily than thevestal fires were maintained from age to age; but with a greater degree of heat, and of devotion, than theirs, as being with more respect and passion than they ever were,

YourGrace'sMost obliged, most humble,and most obedient Servant,John Dryden.

Our author acknowledges, that this play of "The Mock Astrologer" is founded on "Le feint Astrologue," by the younger Corneille, which he, in his turn, had imitated from "El Astrologo fingido" of Calderon. But Dryden has also laid Moliere under contribution. Most part of the quarrelling scene betwixt Wildblood and Jacintha, in the fourth act, is literally copied from that betwixt Lucile Eraste, Marinette, and Gros René, in "Le Depit Amoureux." The absurd loquacity of Don Alonzo, and his friend's mode of silencing him, by ringing a bell in his ears, is imitated from the scene betwixt Albert and Metaphraste, in the same play; and, it must be allowed, it is an expedient which might be more decently resorted to against an inundation of nonsense from a pedantic schoolmaster, as in Moliere, than to stop the mouth of a noble old Spaniard, the uncle of Don Lopez' mistress. The play itself is more lively than most of Dryden's comedies. Wildblood and Jacintha are far more pleasant than their prototypes, Celadon and Florimel; and the Spanish bustle of the plot is well calculated to keep up the attention. The character of Aurelia was perhaps suggested by the "Precieuses Ridicules" of Moliere, but cannot, with any justice, be said to be copied from them. The Preface contains some excellent remarks on the old comedy. There is also an elaborate defence, the first our poet deigned to make, against the charge of plagiarism. On this point he quotes the words of Charles II., who had only desired, that they, who accused Dryden of theft, would steal him such plays as Dryden's: And he vindicates the right of an author to take his plot where he could best find it, in history or romance, providing that the conduct and disposition of the action, with the dialogue, character, and poetical ornaments, were original. Our author's use of the terms and technical phrases of judicial astronomy intimate his acquaintance with that pretended science, in which he is known to have placed some confidence.

The "Mock Astrologer" appears to have been acted and published in 1668.

THE

I had thought, reader, in this preface, to have written somewhat concerning the difference betwixt the plays of our age, and those of our predecessors, on the English stage: To have shewn in what parts of dramatic poesy we were excelled by Ben Jonson, I mean, humour, and contrivance of comedy; and in what we may justly claim precedence of Shakespeare and Fletcher, namely in heroic plays: But this design I have waved on second considerations; at least, deferred it till I publish The Conquest of Granada, where the discourse will be more proper. I had also prepared to treat of the improvement of our language since Fletcher's and Jonson's days, and consequently of our refining the courtship, raillery, and conversation of plays: But as I am willing to decline that envy which I should draw on myself from some oldopiniatrejudges of the stage, so likewise I am prest in time so much that I have not leisure, at present, to go through with it. Neither, indeed, do I value a reputation gained from comedy, so far as to concern myself about it, any more than I needs must in my own defence: For I think it, in its own nature, inferior to all sorts ofdramatick writing. Low comedy especially requires, on the writer's part, much of conversation with the vulgar, and much of ill nature in the observation of their follies. But let all men please themselves according to their several tastes: That which is not pleasant to me, may be to others who judge better: And, to prevent an accusation from my enemies, I am sometimes ready to imagine, that my disgust of low comedy proceeds not so much from my judgment as from my temper; which is the reason why I so seldom write it; and that when I succeed in it, (I mean so far as to please the audience) yet I am nothing satisfied with what I have done; but am often vexed to hear the people laugh, and clap, as they perpetually do, where intended them no jest; while they let pass the better things, without taking notice of them. Yet even this confirms me in my opinion of slighting popular applause, and of contemning that approbation which those very people give, equally with me, to the zany of a mountebank; or to the appearance of an antick on the theatre, without wit on the poet's part, or any occasion of laughter from the actor, besides the ridiculousness of his habit and his grimaces.

But I have descended, before I was aware, from comedy to farce; which consists principally of grimaces. That I admire not any comedy equally with tragedy, is, perhaps, from the sullenness of my humour; but that I detest those farces, which are now the most frequent entertainments of the stage, I am sure I have reason on my side. Comedy consists, though of low persons, yet of natural actions and characters; I mean such humours, adventures, and designs, as are to be found and met with in the world. Farce, on the other side, consists of forced humours, and unnatural events. Comedy presents us with theimperfections of human nature: Farce entertains us with what is monstrous and chimerical. The one causes laughter in those who can judge of men and manners, by the lively representation of their folly or corruption: The other produces the same effect in those who can judge of neither, and that only by its extravagances. The first works on the judgment and fancy; the latter on the fancy only: There is more of satisfaction in the former kind of laughter, and in the latter more of scorn. But, how it happens, that an impossible adventure should cause our mirth, I cannot so easily imagine. Something there may be in the oddness of it, because on the stage it is the common effect of things unexpected, to surprise us into a delight: and that is to be ascribed to the strange appetite, as I may call it, of the fancy; which, like that of a longing woman, often runs out into the most extravagant desires; and is better satisfied sometimes with loam, or with the rinds of trees, than with the wholesome nourishments of life. In short, there is the same difference betwixt farce and comedy, as betwixt an empirick, and a true physician: Both of them may attain their ends; but what the one performs by hazard, the other does by skill. And as the artist is often unsuccessful, while the mountebank succeeds; so farces more commonly take the people than comedies. For, to write unnatural things, is the most probable way of pleasing them, who understand not nature. And a true poet often misses of applause, because he cannot debase himself to write so ill as to please his audience.

After all, it is to be acknowledged, that most of those comedies, which have been lately written, have been allied too much to farce: And this must of necessity fall out, till we forbear the translation ofFrench plays: For their poets, wanting judgment to make or to maintain true characters, strive to cover their defects with ridiculous figures and grimaces. While I say this, I accuse myself as well as others: And this very play would rise up in judgment against me, if I would defend all things I have written to be natural: But I confess I have given too much to the people in it, and am ashamed for them as well as for myself, that I have pleased them at so cheap a rate. Not that there is any thing here which I would not defend to an ill-natured judge; (for I despise their censures, who I am sure would write worse on the same subject:) but, because I love to deal clearly and plainly, and to speak of my own faults with more criticism, than I would of another poet's. Yet I think it no vanity to say, that this comedy has as much of entertainment in it, as many others which have been lately written: And, if I find my own errors in it, I am able, at the same time, to arraign all my contemporaries for greater. As I pretend not that I can write humour, so none of them can reasonably pretend to have written it as they ought. Jonson was the only man, of all ages and nations, who has performed it well; and that but in three or four of his comedies: The rest are but acrambe bis cocta;the same humours a little varied and written worse. Neither was it more allowable in him, than it is in our present poets, to represent the follies of particular persons; of which many have accused him.Parcere personis, dicere de vitiis, is the rule of plays. And Horace tells you, that the old comedy amongst the Grecians was silenced for the too great liberties of the poets:

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