John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  This way of writing in Verse, they have onely left free to us; our age is arriv’d to a perfection in it, which they never knew; and which (if we may guess by what of theirs we have seen in Verse (as in the Faithful Shepherdess, and Sad Shepherd:) ’tis probable they never could have reach’d. For the Genius of every Age is different; and though ours excel in this, I deny not but that to imitate Nature in that perfection which they did in Prose, is a greater commendation then to write in verse exactly. As for what you have added, that the people are not generally inclin’d to like this way; if it were true, it would be no wonder, that betwixt the shaking off an old habit, and the introducing of a new, there should be difficulty. Do we not see them stick to Hopkins and Sternholds Psalmes, and forsake those of David, I mean Sandys his Translation of them? If by the people you understand the multitude, the hoi polloi. ’Tis no matter what they think; they are sometimes in the right, sometimes in the wrong; their judgment is a meer Lottery. Est ubi plebs rectè putat, est ubi peccat. Horace sayes it of the vulgar, judging Poesie. But if you mean the mix’d audience of the populace, and the Noblesse, I dare confidently affirm that a great part of the latter sort are already favourable to verse; and that no serious Playes written since the Kings return have been more kindly receiv’d by them, then the Seige of Rhodes, the Mustapha, the Indian Queen, and Indian Emperour.

  But I come now to the inference of your first Argument. You said the Dialogue of Playes is presented as the effect of sudden thought, but no man speaks suddenly, or ex tempore in Rhyme: And you inferr’d from thence, that Rhyme, which you acknowledge to be proper to Epique Poesie cannot equally be proper to Dramatick, unless we could suppose all men born so much more then Poets, that verses should be made in them, not by them.

  It has been formerly urg’d by you, and confess’d by me, that since no man spoke any kind of verse ex tempore, that which was nearest Nature was to be preferr’d. I answer you therefore, by distinguishing betwixt what is nearest to the nature of Comedy, which is the imitation of common persons and ordinary speaking, and what is nearest the nature of a serious Play: this last is indeed the representation of Nature, but ’tis Nature wrought up to an higher pitch. The Plot, the Characters, the Wit, the Passions, the Descriptions, are all exalted above the level of common converse, as high as the imagination of the Poet can carry them, with proportion to verisimility. Tragedy we know is wont to image to us the minds and fortunes of noble persons, and to portray these exactly, Heroick Rhime is nearest Nature, as being the noblest kind of modern verse.

  Indignatur enim privatis, & prope socco.

  Dignis carminibus narrari coena Thyestæ. (Sayes Horace.)

  And in another place,

  Essutire leveis indigna tragoedia versus.

  Blank Verse is acknowledg’d to be too low for a Poem, nay more, for a paper of verses; but if too low for an ordinary Sonnet, how much more for Tragedy, which is by Aristotle in the dispute betwixt the Epique Poesie and the Dramatick; for many reasons he there alledges ranck’d above it.

  But setting this defence aside, your Argument is almost as strong against the use of Rhyme in Poems as in Playes; for the Epique way is every where interlac’d with Dialogue, or discoursive Scenes; and therefore you must either grant Rhyme to be improper there, which is contrary to your assertion, or admit it into Playes by the same title which you have given it to Poems. For though Tragedy be justly preferr’d above the other, yet there is a great affinity between them as may easily be discover’d in that definition of a Play which Lisideius gave us. The Genus of them is the same, a just and lively Image of human nature, in its Actions, Passions, and traverses of Fortune: so is the end, namely for the delight and benefit of Mankind. The Characters and Persons are still the same, viz. the greatest of both sorts, onely the manner of acquainting us with those Actions, Passions and Fortunes is different. Tragedy performs it viva voce, or by action, in Dialogue, wherein it excels the Epique Poem which does it chiefly by narration, and therefore is not so lively an Image of Humane Nature. However, the agreement betwixt them is such, that if Rhyme be proper for one, it must be for the other. Verse ’tis true is not the effect of sudden thought; but this hinders not that sudden thought may be represented in verse, since those thoughts are such as must be higher then Nature can raise them without premeditation, especially to a continuance of them even out of verse, and consequently you cannot imagine them to have been sudden either in the Poet, or the Actors. A Play, as I had said to be like Nature, is to be set above it; as Statues which are plac’d on high are made greater then the life, that they may descend to the sight in their just proportion.

  Perhaps I have insisted too long upon this objection; but the clearing of it will make my stay shorter on the rest. You tell us Crites, that rhyme appears most unnatural in repartees, or short replyes: when he who answers, (it being presum’d he knew not what the other would say, yet) makes up that part of the verse which was left incompleat, and supplies both the sound and measure of it. This you say looks rather like the confederacy of two, then the answer of one.

  This, I confess, is an objection which is in every ones mouth who loves not rhyme: but suppose, I beseech you, the repartee were made onely in blank verse, might not part of the same argument be turn’d against you? for the measure is as often supply’d there as it is in Rhyme. The latter half of the Hemystich as commonly made up, or a second line subjoyn’d as a reply to the former; which any one leaf in Johnson’s Playes will sufficiently clear to you. You will often find in the Greek Tragedians, and in Seneca, that when a Scene grows up in the warmth of repartees (which is the close sighting of it) the latter part of the Trimeter is supply’d by him who answers; and yet it was never observ’d as a fault in them by any of the Ancient or Modern Criticks. The case is the same in our verse as it was in theirs; Rhyme to us being in lieu of quantity to them. But if no latitude is to be allow’d a Poet, you take from him not onely his license of quidlibet audendi, but you tie him up in a straighter compass then you would a Philosopher. This is indeed Musas colere severiores: You would have him follow Nature, but he must follow her on foot: you have dismounted him from his Pegasus. But you tell us this supplying the last half of a verse, or adjoyning a whole second to the former, looks more like the design of two then the answer of one. Suppose we acknowledge it: how comes this confederacy to be more displeasing to you then in a Dance which is well contriv’d? You see there the united design of many persons to make up one Figure: after they have seperated themselves in many petty divisions, they rejoyn one by one into a gross: the confederacy is plain amongst them; for chance could never produce any thing so beautiful, and yet there is nothing in it that shocks your sight. I acknowledg the hand of Art appears in repartee, as of necessity it must in all kind of verse. But there is also the quick and poynant brevity of it (which is an high imitation of Nature in those sudden gusts of passion) to mingle with it: and this joyn’d with the cadency and sweetness of the Rhyme, leaves nothing in the soul of the hearer to desire. ’Tis an Art which appears; but it appears onely like the shadowings of Painture, which being to cause the rounding of it, cannot be absent; but while that is consider’d they are lost: so while we attend to the other beauties of the matter, the care and labour of the Rhyme is carry’d from us, or at least drown’d in its own sweetness, as Bees are sometimes bury’d in their Honey. When a Poet has found the repartee, the last perfection he can add to it, is to put it into verse. However good the thought may be; however apt the words in which ’tis couch’d, yet he finds himself at a little unrest while Rhyme is wanting: he cannot leave it till that comes naturally, and then is at ease, and sits down contented.

  From Replies, which are the most elevated thoughts of Verse, you pass to the most mean ones; those which are common with the lowest of houshold conversation. In these, you say, the Majesty of Verse suffers. You instance in the calling of a servant, or commanding a door to be shut in rhyme. This, Crites, is a good observation of yours, but no argument: for it proves no more but that
such thoughts should be wav’d, as often as may be, by the address of the Poet. But suppose they are necessary in the places where he uses them, yet there is no need to put them into rhime. He may place them in the beginning of a Verse, and break it off, as unfit, when so debas’d for any other use: or granting the worst, that they require more room then the Hemystich will allow; yet still there is a choice to be made of the best words, and least vulgar (provided they be apt) to express such thoughts. Many have blam’d Rhyme in general, for this fault, when the Poet, with a little care, might have redress’d it. But they do it with no more justice, then if English Poesie should be made ridiculous for the sake of the Water Poet’s Rhymes. Our language is noble, full and significant; and I know not why he who is Master of it may not cloath ordinary things in it as decently as the Latine; if he use the same diligence in his choice of words.

  Delectus verborum Origo est Eloquentiæ.

  It was the saying of Julius Cæsar, one so curious in his, that none of them can be chang’d but for a worse. One would think unlock the door was a thing as vulgar as could be spoken; and yet Seneca could make it sound high and lofty in his Latine. ——

  Reserate clusos Regii postes Laris.

  But I turn from this exception, both because it happens not above twice or thrice in any Play that those vulgar thoughts are us’d; and then too (were there no other Apology to be made, yet) the necessity of them (which is alike in all kind of writing) may excuse them. Besides that the great eagerness and præcipitation with which they are spoken makes us rather mind the substance then the dress; that for which they are spoken, rather then what is spoke. For they are alwayes the effect of some hasty concernment, and something of consequence depends upon them.

  Thus, Crites, I have endeavour’d to answer your objections; it remains onely that I should vindicate an Argument for Verse, which you have gone about to overthrow. It had formerly been said, that the easiness of blank verse, renders the Poet too luxuriant; but that the labour of Rhyme bounds and circumscribes an over-fruitful fancy, The sence there being commonly confin’d to the couplet, and the words so order’d that the Rhyme naturally follows them, not they the Rhyme. To this you answer’d, that it was no Argument to the question in hand, for the dispute was not which way a man may write best: but which is most proper for the subject on which he writes.

  First, give me leave, Sir, to remember you that the Argument against which you rais’d this objection, was onely secondary: it was built upon this Hypothesis, that to write in verse was proper for serious Playes. Which supposition being granted (as it was briefly made out in that discourse, by showing how verse might be made natural) it asserted, that this way of writing was an help to the Poets judgment, by putting bounds to a wilde overflowing Fancy. I think therefore it will not be hard for me to make good what it was to prove: But you add, that were this let pass, yet he who wants judgment in the liberty of his fancy, may as well show the defect of it when he is confin’d to verse: for he who has judgment will avoid errours, and he who has it not, will commit them in all kinds of writing.

  This Argument, as you have taken it from a most acute person, so I confess it carries much weight in it. But by using the word Judgment here indefinitely, you seem to have put a fallacy upon us: I grant he who has Judgment, that is, so profound, so strong, so infallible a judgment, that he needs no helps to keep it alwayes pois’d and upright, will commit no faults either in rhyme or out of it. And on the other extream, he who has a judgment so weak and craz’d that no helps can correct or amend it, shall write scurvily out of Rhyme, and worse in it. But the first of these judgments is no where to be found, and the latter is not fit to write at all. To speak therefore of judgment as it is in the best Poets; they who have the greatest proportion of it, want other helps than from it within. As for example, you would be loth to say, that he who was indued with a sound judgment had no need of History, Geography, or Moral Philosophy, to write correctly. Judgment is indeed the Master-workman in a Play: but he requires many subordinate hands, many tools to his assistance. And Verse I affirm to be one of these: ’Tis a Rule and line by which he keeps his building compact and even, which otherwise lawless imagination would raise either irregularly or loosly. At least if the Poet commits errours with this help, he would make greater and more without it: ’tis (in short) a slow and painfull, but the surest kind of working. Ovid whom you accuse for luxuriancy in Verse, had perhaps been farther guilty of it had he writ in Prose. And for your instance of Ben. Johnson, who you say, writ exactly without the help of Rhyme; you are to remember ’tis onely an aid to a luxuriant Fancy, which his was not: As he did not want imagination, so none ever said he had much to spare. Neither was verse then refin’d so much to be an help to that Age as it is to ours. Thus then the second thoughts being usually the best, as receiving the maturest digestion from judgment, and the last and most mature product of those thoughts being artful and labour’d verse, it may well be inferr’d, that verse is a great help to a luxuriant Fancy, and this is what that Argument which you oppos’d was to evince.

  Neander was pursuing this Discourse so eagerly, that Eugenius had call’d to him twice or thrice ere he took notice that the Barge stood still, and that they were at the foot of Somerset-Stairs, where they had appointed it to land. The company were all sorry to separate so soon, though a great part of the evening was already spent; and stood a while looking back upon the water, which the Moon-beams play’d upon, and made it appear like floating quick-silver: at last they went up through a crowd of French people who were merrily dancing in the open air, and nothing concern’d for the noise of Guns which had allarm’d the Town that afternoon. Walking thence together to th Piazze they parted there; Eugenius and Lysideius to some pleasant appointment they had made, and Crites and Neander to their several Lodgings.

  FINIS.

  HIS MAJESTIES DECLARATION DEFENDED

  DECLARATION

  DEFENDED:

  In a LETTER to a Friend.

  BEING AN

  ANSWER

  TO A

  Seditious Pamphlet,

  CALLED

  A LETTER from a Person of Quality to his Friend:

  CONCERNING

  The Kings late Declaration touching the Reasons which moved him to Dissolve

  THE TWO LAST

  PARLIAMENTS

  AT

  WESTMINSTER and OXFORD.

  LONDON: Printed for T. Davies, 1681.

  THE KINGS DECLARATION DEFENDED.

  Sir,

  Since you are pleas’d to require my Opinion of the Kings Declaration, and the Answer to it, which you write me word was sent you lately, I shall obey you the more willingly, because I know you are a lover of the Peace and Quietness of your Country; which the Author of this seditious Pamphlet, is endeavouring to disturb. Be pleas’d to understand then, that before the Declaration was yet published, and while it was only the common news, that such an one there was intended, to justifie the Dissolution of the two last Parliaments; it was generally agreed by the heads of the discontented Party, that this Declaration must be answer’d, and that with all the ingredients of malice which the ablest amongst them could squeeze into it. Accordingly, upon the first appearance of it in Print, five several Pens of their Cabal were set to work; and the product of each having been examin’d, a certain person of Quality appears to have carried the majority of Votes, and to be chosen like a new Matthias, to succeed in the place of their deceas’d Judas.

  He seems to be a man cut out to carry on vigorously the designs of the

  Phanatique Party, which are manifestly in this Paper, to hinder the

  King, from making any good impression on his Subjects, by giving them

  all possible satisfaction.

  And the reason of this undertaking is manifest, for if once the goodness and equity of the Prince comes to be truly understood by the People, the Authority of the Faction is extinguish’d; and the well meaning crowd who are misled, will no longer gape after the specious names of Religi
on and Liberty; much like the folly of the Jews, expecting a Messiah still to come, whose History has been written sixteen hundred years ago.

  Thus much in general: I will now confider the Cavils of my Author against the Declaration.

  He tells us, in the first place, That the Declaration seems to him as a forerunner of another Parliament to be speedily call’d: And indeed to any man in his right sences, it can seem no other; for ’tis the business of its three last Paragraphs to inform the People, that no irregularities in Parliament can make the King out of love with them: but that he looks upon them as the best means for healing the distempers of the publick, and for preservation of the Monarchy.

  Now if this seems clearly to be the Kings intention, I would ask what need there was of the late Petition from the City, for another Parliament; unless they had rather seem to extort it from his Majesty, than to have it pass for his own gracious action? The truth is, there were many of the Loyal Party absent at that Common Council: and the whole strength of the other Faction was united; for it is the common failing of honest men to trust too much in the goodness of their cause; and to manage it too negligently. But there is a necessity incumbent on such as oppose the establish’d Government, to make up with diligence, what they want in the justice of their undertaking. This was the true and only reason why the majority of Votes was for the Petition: but if the business had not been carried by this surprise, My Lord Mayor might have only been troubled to have carried the Addresses of Southwark, &c. of another nature: without his offering them with one hand, and the City Petition with the other; like the Childrens play of, This Mill grinds Pepper and Spice; that Mill grinds Ratts and Mice.