John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  THE TEMPEST

  OR, THE ENCHANTED ISLAND

  In this alteration of the “Tempest,” Dryden acknowledges his obligation to Sir William Davenant, whom he extols for his quick and piercing imagination. Sir William was the son of an inn-keeper in Oxford, whose house was frequented by our immortal Shakespeare; and hence an ill-founded tradition ascribed to him a paternal interest in young Davenant: But this slander on Shakespeare’s moral character has been fully refuted in the Prolegomena to Johnson and Steevens’ edition of his plays. Davenant was appointed poet laureat upon the death of Ben Jonson. During the civil wars, he distinguished himself on the royal side, was lieutenant-general of ordnance to the earl of Newcastle, and was knighted by Charles at the siege of Gloucester. He was afterwards much trusted by Henrietta, the queen-dowager; and was finally made prisoner by an English man of war, in attempting to convey a colony of loyalists to Virginia. After a long captivity in the Tower, he was liberated through the intercession of the lord-keeper, Whitelocke; the wisest and most temperate of the counsellors of the ruling power. Through his countenance, Sir William was protected, or connived at, in bringing forward certain interludes and operas, even during the rigid sway of fanaticism. After the restoration, he became manager of a company of players, called the duke of York’s servants, in distinction to the king’s company, which was directed by Killigrew. He introduced upon the stage much pomp in dress, scenery, and decoration, as if to indemnify the theatrical muses for the poor shifts to which they had been reduced during the usurpation. Sir William Davenant died in 1668, at the age of 63.

  “Gondibert,” his greatest performance, incurred, when first published, more ridicule, and in latter times more neglect, than its merits deserve. An epic poem, in elegiac stanzas, must always be tedious, because no structure of verse is more unfavourable to narration than that which almost peremptorily requires each sentence to be restricted, or protracted, to four lines. But the liveliness of Davenant’s imagination, which Dryden has pointed out as his most striking attribute, has illuminated even the dull and dreary path which he has chosen; and perhaps few poems afford more instances of vigorous conceptions, and even felicity of expression, than the neglected “Gondibert.”

  The alteration of the Tempest was Davenant’s last work; and it seems to have been undertaken, chiefly, with a view to give room for scenical decoration. Few readers will think the play much improved by the introduction of the sea-language, which Davenant had acquired during the adventurous period of his life. Nevertheless, the ludicrous contest betwixt the sailors, for the dukedom and viceroyship of a barren island, gave much amusement at the time, and some of the expressions were long after proverbial[D]. Much cannot be said for Davenant’s ingenuity, in contrasting the character of a woman, who had never seen a man, with that of a man, who had never seen a woman, or in inventing a sister monster for Caliban. The majestic simplicity of Shakespeare’s plan is injured by thus doubling his characters; and his wild landscape is converted into a formal parterre, where “each alley has its brother.” In sketching characters drawn from fancy, and not from observation, the palm of genius must rest with the first inventor; others are but copyists, and a copy shews no where to such disadvantage as when placed by the original. Besides, although we are delighted with the feminine simplicity of Miranda, it becomes unmanly childishness in Hippolito; and the premature coquetry of Dorinda is disgusting, when contrasted with the maidenly purity that chastens the simplicity of Shakespeare’s heroine. The latter seems to display, as it were by instinct, the innate dignity of her sex; the former, to shew, even in solitude, the germ of those vices, by which, in a voluptuous age, the female character becomes degraded. The wild and savage character of Caliban is also sunk into low and vulgar buffoonery.

  Dryden has not informed us of the share he had in this alteration: It was probably little more than the care of adapting it to the stage. The prologue is one of the most masterly tributes ever paid at the shrine of Shakespeare.

  From the epilogue, the Tempest appears to have been acted in 1667. Although Dryden was under engagements to the king’s company, this play was performed by the duke’s servants, probably because written in conjunction with Davenant, their manager. It was not published until 1670.

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE.

  PROLOGUE.

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

  ACT I.

  ACT II.

  ACT III.

  ACT IV.

  ACT V.

  EPILOGUE.

  PREFACE.

  The writing of prefaces to plays was probably invented by some very ambitious poet, who never thought he had done enough: Perhaps by some ape of the French eloquence, which uses to make a business of a letter of gallantry, an examen of a farce; and, in short, a great pomp and ostentation of words on every trifle. This is certainly the talent of that nation, and ought not to be invaded by any other. They do that out of gaiety, which would be an imposition[E] upon us.

  We may satisfy ourselves with surmounting them in the scene, and safely leave them those trappings of writings, and flourishes of the pen, with which they adorn the borders of their plays, and which are indeed no more than good landscapes to a very indifferent picture. I must proceed no farther in this argument, lest I run myself beyond my excuse for writing this. Give me leave, therefore, to tell you, reader, that I do not set a value on any thing I have written in this play, but out of gratitude to the memory of Sir William Davenant, who did me the honour to join me with him in the alteration of it.

  It was originally Shakespeare’s; a poet for whom he had particularly a high veneration, and whom he first taught me to admire. The play itself had formerly been acted with success in the Black Friars: And our excellent Fletcher had so great a value for it, that he thought fit to make use of the same design, not much varied, a second time. Those, who have seen his “Sea-Voyage,” may easily discern that it was a copy of Shakespeare’s “Tempest:” The storm, the desert island, and the woman who had never seen a man, are all sufficient testimonies of it. But Fletcher was not the only poet who made use of Shakespeare’s plot: Sir John Suckling, a professed admirer of our author, has followed his footsteps in his “Goblins;” his Regmella being an open imitation of Shakespeare’s Miranda, and his spirits, though counterfeit, yet are copied from Ariel. But Sir William Davenant, as he was a man of a quick and piercing imagination, soon found that somewhat might be added to the design of Shakespeare, of which neither Fletcher nor Suckling had ever thought: And, therefore, to put the last hand to it, he designed the counter-part to Shakespeare’s plot, namely, that of a man who had never seen a woman; that by this means those two characters of innocence and love might the more illustrate and commend each other. This excellent contrivance he was pleased to communicate to me, and to desire my assistance in it. I confess, that from the very first moment it so pleased me, that I never writ any thing with more delight. I must likewise do him that justice to acknowledge, that my writing received daily his amendments; and that is the reason why it is not so faulty, as the rest which I have done, without the help or correction of so judicious a friend. The comical parts of the sailors were also of his invention, and, for the most part, his writing, as you will easily discover by the style. In the time I writ with him, I had the opportunity to observe somewhat more nearly of him, than I had formerly done, when I had only a bare acquaintance with him: I found him then of so quick a fancy, that nothing was proposed to him, on which he could not suddenly produce a thought, extremely pleasant and surprising: and those first thoughts of his, contrary to the old Latin proverb, were not always the least happy. And as his fancy was quick, so likewise were the products of it remote and new. He borrowed not of any other; and his imagination’s were such as could not easily enter into any other man. His corrections were sober and judicious: and he corrected his own writings much more severely than those of another man, bestowing twice the time and labour in polishing, which he used in invention. It had perhaps been easy enough for me to
have arrogated more to myself than was my due, in the writing of this play, and to have passed by his name with silence in the publication of it, with the same ingratitude which others have used to him, whose writings he hath not only corrected, as he hath done this, but has had a greater inspection over them, and sometimes added whole scenes together, which may as easily be distinguished from the rest, as true gold from counterfeit, by the weight. But, besides the unworthiness of the action, which deterred me from it, (there being nothing so base as to rob the dead of his reputation,) I am satisfied I could never have received so much honour, in being thought the author of any poem, how excellent soever, as I shall from the joining my imperfections with the merit and name of Shakespeare and Sir William Davenant.

  John Dryden.

  December 1. 1669.

  PROLOGUE.

  As when a tree’s cut down, the secret root Lives under ground, and thence new branches shoot; So, from old Shakespeare’s honoured dust, this day Springs up and buds a new-reviving play: Shakespeare, who (taught by none) did first impart To Fletcher wit, to labouring Jonson art. He, monarch-like, gave those, his subjects, law; And is that nature which they paint and draw. Fletcher reached that which on his heights did grow, Whilst Jonson crept, and gathered all below. This did his love, and this his mirth, digest: One imitates him most, the other best. If they have since outwrit all other men, ’Tis with the drops which fell from Shakespeare’s pen, The storm, which vanished on the neighbouring shore, Was taught by Shakespeare’s Tempest first to roar. That innocence and beauty, which did smile In Fletcher, grew on this enchanted isle. But Shakespeare’s magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he. I must confess ’twas bold, nor would you now That liberty to vulgar wits allow, Which works by magic supernatural things: But Shakespeare’s power is sacred as a king’s. Those legends from old priesthood were received, And he then writ, as people then believed. But if for Shakespeare we your grace implore, We for our theatre shall want it more: Who, by our dearth of youths, are forced to employ One of our women to present a boy; And that’s a transformation, you will say, Exceeding all the magic in the play. Let none expect, in the last act, to find Her sex transformed from man to womankind. Whate’er she was before the play began, All you shall see of her is perfect man. Or, if your fancy will be farther led To find her woman — it must be a-bed.

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

  Alonzo, Duke of Savoy, and Usurper of the Dukedom of Mantua.

  Ferdinand, his Son.

  Prospero, right Duke of Milan.

  Antonio, his Brother, Usurper of the Dukedom.

  Gonzalo, a Nobleman of Savoy.

  Hippolito, one that never saw woman, right Heir of the Dukedom of Mantua.

  Stephano, Master of the Ship.

  Mustacho, his Mate.

  Trincalo, Boatswain.

  Ventoso, a Mariner.

  Several Mariners.

  A Cabin-Boy.

  Miranda, }

  } Daughters to Prospero, that never saw man.

  Dorinda, }

  Ariel, an airy Spirit, Attendant on Prospero.

  Several Spirits, Guards to Prospero.

  Caliban, }

  } Two Monsters of the Isle.

  Sycorax, }

  his Sister.

  ACT I.

  SCENE I.

  The front of the stage is opened, and the band of twenty-four violins, with the harpsicals and theorbos which accompany the voices, are placed between the pit and the stage. While the overture is playing, the curtain rises, and discovers a new frontispiece, joined to the great pilasters, on each side of the stage. This frontispiece is a noble arch, supported by large wreathed columns of the Corinthian order; the wreathings of the columns are beautified with roses wound round them, and several Cupids flying about them. On the cornice, just over the capitals, sits on either side a figure, with a trumpet in one hand, and a palm in the other, representing Fame. A little farther, on the same cornice, on each side of a compass-pediment, lie a lion and a unicorn, the supporters of the royal arms of England. In the middle of the arch are several angels, holding the king’s arms, as if they were placing them in the midst of that compass-pediment. Behind this is the scene, which represents a thick cloudy sky, a very rocky coast, and a tempestuous sea in perpetual agitation. This tempest (supposed to be raised by magick) has many dreadful objects in it, as several spirits in horrid shapes flying down amongst the sailors, then rising and crossing in the air. And when the ship is sinking, the whole house is darkened, and a shower of fire falls upon them. This is accompanied with lightning, and several claps of thunder, to the end of the storm.

  Enter Mustacho and Ventoso.

  Vent. What a sea comes in!

  Must. A foaming sea; we shall have foul weather.

  Enter Trincalo.

  Trinc. The scud comes against the wind, ‘twill blow hard.

  Enter Stephano.

  Steph. Boatswain!

  Trinc. Here, master, what say you?

  Steph. Ill weather; let’s off to sea.

  Must. Let’s have sea room enough, and then let it blow the devil’s head off.

  Steph. Boy! Boy!

  Enter Cabin Boy.

  Boy. Yaw, yaw, here, master.

  Steph. Give the pilot a dram of the bottle.

  [Exeunt Stephano and boy.

  Enter Mariners, and pass over the stage.

  Trinc. Bring the cable to the capstorm.

  Enter Alonso, Antonio, and Gonzalo.

  Alon. Good boatswain, have a care; where’s the master? Play the men.

  Trinc. Pray keep below.

  Anto. Where’s the master, boatswain?

  Trinc. Do you not hear him? You hinder us: Keep your cabins, you help the storm.

  Gonz. Nay, good friend, be patient.

  Trinc. Ay, when the sea is: Hence! what care these roarers for the name of duke? To cabin; silence; trouble us not.

  Gonz. Good friend, remember whom thou hast aboard.

  Trinc. None that I love more than myself: You are a counsellor; if you can advise these elements to silence, use your wisdom: if yon cannot, make yourself ready in the cabin for the ill hour. Cheerly, good hearts! out of our way, sirs.

  [Exeunt Trincalo and mariners.

  Gonz. I have great comfort from this fellow; methinks his complexion is perfect gallows: stand fast, good fate, to his hanging; make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own does little advantage us; if he be not born to be hanged, we shall be drowned.

  [Exit.

  Enter Trincalo and Stephano.

  Trinc. Up aloft, lads. Come, reef both topsails.

  Steph. Make haste, let’s weigh, let’s weigh, and off to sea.

  [ExitSteph.

  Enter two Mariners, and pass over the stage.

  Trinc. Hands down! Man your main capstorm.

  Enter Mustacho and Ventoso at the other door.

  Must. Up aloft! and man your seere capstorm.

  Vent. My lads, my hearts of gold, get in your capstorm-bar. Hoa up, hoa up!

  [Exeunt Mustacho and Ventoso.

  Enter Stephano.

  Steph. Hold on well! hold on well! Nip well there; quarter-master, get’s more nippers.

  [Exit Steph.

  Enter two Mariners, and pass over again.

  Trinc. Turn out, turn out all hands to capstorm. You dogs, is this a time to sleep? Lubbord. Heave together, lads.

  [Trincalo whistles.

  [Exeunt Mustacho and Ventoso.

  Must. within. Our vial’s broke.

  Vent. within. ’Tis but our vial-block has given way. Come, heave, lads! we are fixed again. Heave together, bullies.

  Enter Stephano.

  Steph. Cut down the hammocks! cut down the hammocks! come, my lads: Come, bullies, chear up! heave lustily. The anchor’s apeak.

  Trinc. Is the anchor apeak?

  Steph. Is a weigh! is a weigh.

  Trinc. Up aloft, my lads, upon the fore-castle; cut the anchor, cut him.


  All within. Haul catt, haul catt, haul catt, haul: Haul catt, haul. Below.

  Steph. Aft, aft, and loose the mizen!

  Trinc. Get the mizen-tack aboard. Haul aft mizen-sheet.

  Enter Mustacho.

  Must. Loose the main-top sail!

  Steph. Let him alone, there’s too much wind.

  Trinc. Loose fore-sail! haul aft both sheets! trim her right before the wind. Aft! aft! lads, and hale up the mizen here.

  Must. A mackrel-gale, master.

  Steph. within. Port hard, port! the wind veers forward, bring the tack aboard-port is. Starboard, starboard, a little steady; now steady, keep her thus, no nearer you cannot come, ‘till the sails are loose.

  Enter Ventoso.

  Vent. Some hands down: The guns are loose.

  [Exit Must.

  Trinc. Try the pump, try the pump.

  [Exit Vent.

  Enter Mustacho at the other door.

  Must. O master! six foot water in hold.

  Steph. Clap the helm hard aweather! flat, flat, flat-in the fore-sheet there.

  Trinc. Over-haul your fore-bowling.

  Steph. Brace in the larboard.

  [Exit.

  Trinc. A curse upon this howling, [A great cry within.] They are louder than the weather.

  Enter Antonio and Gonzalo.

  Yet again, what do you here? Shall we give over, and drown? Have you a mind to sink?

  Gonz. A pox on your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, uncharitable dog.

  Trinc. Work you then, and be poxed.

  Anto. Hang, cur, hang, you whorson insolent noise-maker! We are less afraid to be drowned than you are.

  Trinc. Ease the fore-brace a little.

  [Exit.