What after passed
Was far from the Ventanna where I sate,
But you were near, and can the truth relate.
Was far from the Ventanna where I sate,
But you were near, and can the truth relate.
Dryden - Complete
seems to have sunk
with his good fortune, there is no reason to question his having
merited the compliment in the text. The Duke of Buckingham, in his
memoirs, has borne witness to the intrepidity with which he
encountered the dangers of his desperate naval actions with the
Dutch. Captain Carlton, who was also an eye-witness of his
deportment on that occasion, says, that while the balls were flying
thickly around, the Duke of York was wont to rub his hands, and
exclaim chearfully to his captain, "Spragge, Spragge, they follow
us fast. "
3. When General Lockhart commanded the troops of the Protector in
Flanders, the Duke of York was a volunteer in the Spanish army, and
was present at the defeat, which the latter received before
Dunkirk, 17th of June, 1658.
4. The defeat of the Dutch off Harwich, 3d June, 1665, in which their
Admiral, Obdam, was blown up, eighteen of their ships taken, and
fourteen destroyed.
5. The author seems to refer to the burning of the English ships at
Chatham, by the Dutch Admiral De Ruyter.
OF
HEROIC PLAYS.
AN ESSAY.
Whether heroic verse ought to be admitted into serious plays, is not
now to be disputed: it is already in possession of the stage, and I
dare confidently affirm, that very few tragedies, in this age, shall
be received without it. All the arguments which are formed against it,
can amount to no more than this, that it is not so near conversation
as prose, and therefore not so natural. But it is very clear to all
who understand poetry, that serious plays ought not to imitate
conversation too nearly. If nothing were to be raised above that
level, the foundation of poetry would be destroyed. And if you once
admit of a latitude, that thoughts may be exalted, and that images and
actions may be raised above the life, and described in measure without
rhyme, that leads you insensibly from your own principles to mine: you
are already so far onward of your way, that you have forsaken the
imitation of ordinary converse. You are gone beyond it; and to
continue where you are, is to lodge in the open fields, betwixt two
inns. You have lost that which you call natural, and have not acquired
the last perfection of art. But it was only custom which cozened us so
long; we thought, because Shakespeare and Fletcher went no farther,
that there the pillars of poetry were to be erected; that, because
they excellently described passion without rhime, therefore rhime was
not capable of describing it. But time has now convinced most men of
that error. It is indeed so difficult to write verse, that the
adversaries of it have a good plea against many, who undertook that
task, without being formed by art or nature for it. Yet, even they who
have written worst in it, would have written worse without it: They
have cozened many with their sound, who never took the pains to
examine their sense. In fine, they have succeeded; though, it is true,
they have more dishonoured rhime by their good success, than they have
done by their ill. But I am willing to let fall this argument: It is
free for every man to write, or not to write, in verse, as he judges
it to be, or not to be, his talent; or as he imagines the audience
will receive it.
For heroic plays, in which only I have used it without the mixture of
prose, the first light we had of them, on the English theatre, was
from the late Sir William D'Avenant. It being forbidden him in the
rebellious times to act tragedies and comedies, because they contained
some matter of scandal to those good people, who could more easily
dispossess their lawful sovereign, than endure a wanton jest, he was
forced to turn his thoughts another way, and to introduce the examples
of moral virtue, writ in verse, and performed in recitative music. The
original of this music, and of the scenes which adorned his work, he
had from the Italian operas; but he heightened his characters, as I
may probably imagine, from the example of Corneille and some French
poets. In this condition did this part of poetry remain at his
majesty's return; when, growing bolder, as being now owned by a public
authority, he reviewed his "Siege of Rhodes," and caused it be acted
as a just drama. But as few men have the happiness to begin and finish
any new project, so neither did he live to make his design perfect:
There wanted the fulness of a plot, and the variety of characters to
form it as it ought; and, perhaps, something might have been added to
the beauty of the style. All which he would have performed with more
exactness, had he pleased to have given us another work of the same
nature. For myself and others, who come after him, we are bound, with
all veneration to his memory, to acknowledge what advantage we
received from that excellent groundwork which he laid: And, since it
is an easy thing to add to what already is invented, we ought all of
us, without envy to him, or partiality to ourselves, to yield him the
precedence in it.
Having done him this justice, as my guide, I may do myself so much, as
to give an account of what I have performed after him. I observed
then, as I said, what was wanting to the perfection of his "Siege of
Rhodes;" which was design, and variety of characters. And in the midst
of this consideration by mere accident, I opened the next book that
lay by me, which was "Ariosto," in Italian; and the very first two
lines of that poem gave me light to all I could desire;
_Le donne, i cavalier, l'arme, gli amori,
Le cortesie, l'audaci imprese io canto,_ &c.
For the very next reflection which I made was this, that an heroic
play ought to be an imitation, in little, of an heroic poem; and,
consequently, that love and valour ought to be the subject of it. Both
these Sir William D'Avenant had begun to shadow; but it was so, as
first discoverers draw their maps, with headlands, and promontories,
and some few outlines of somewhat taken at a distance, and which the
designer saw not clearly. The common drama obliged him to a plot well
formed and pleasant, or, as the ancients call it, one entire and great
action. But this he afforded not himself in a story, which he neither
filled with persons, nor beautified with characters, nor varied with
accidents. The laws of an heroic poem did not dispense with those of
the other, but raised them to a greater height, and indulged him a
farther liberty of fancy, and of drawing all things as far above the
ordinary proportion of the stage, as that is beyond the common words
and actions of human life; and, therefore, in the scanting of his
images and design, he complied not enough with the greatness and
majesty of an heroic poem.
I am sorry I cannot discover my opinion of this kind of writing,
without dissenting much from his, whose memory I love and honour. But
I will do it with the same respect to him, as if he were now alive,
and overlooking my paper while I write. His judgment of an heroic poem
was this: "That it ought to be dressed in a more familiar and easy
shape; more fitted to the common actions and passions of human life;
and, in short, more like a glass of nature, shewing us ourselves in
our ordinary habits and figuring a more practicable virtue to us, than
was done by the ancients or moderns. " Thus he takes the image of an
heroic poem from the drama, or stage poetry; and accordingly intended
to divide it into five books, representing the same number of acts;
and every book into several cantos, imitating the scenes which compose
our acts.
But this, I think, is rather a play in narration, as I may call it,
than an heroic poem. If at least you will not prefer the opinion of a
single man to the practice of the most excellent authors, both of
ancient and latter ages. I am no admirer of quotations; but you shall
hear, if you please, one of the ancients delivering his judgment on
this question; it is Petronius Arbiter, the most elegant, and one of
the most judicious authors of the Latin tongue; who, after he had
given many admirable rules for the structure and beauties of an epic
poem, concludes all in these following words:--
_"Non enim res gestæ versibus comprehendendæ sunt, quod longe melius
historici faciunt: sed, per ambages deorumque ministeria,
præcipitanaus est liber spiritus, ut potius furentis animi vaticinatio
appareat, quam religiosæ orationis, sub testibus, fides. "_
In which sentence, and his own essay of a poem, which immediately he
gives you, it is thought he taxes Lucan, who followed too much the
truth of history, crowded sentences together, was too full of points,
and too often offered at somewhat which had more of the sting of an
epigram, than of the dignity and state of an heroic poem. Lucan used
not much the help of his heathen deities: There was neither the
ministry of the gods, nor the precipitation of the soul, nor the fury
of a prophet (of which my author speaks), in his _Pharsalia_; he
treats you more like a philosopher than a poet, and instructs you in
verse, with what he had been taught by his uncle Seneca in prose. In
one word, he walks soberly afoot, when he might fly. Yet Lucan is not
always this religious historian. The oracle of Appius and the
witchcraft of Erictho, will somewhat atone for him, who was, indeed,
bound up by an ill-chosen and known argument, to follow truth with
great exactness. For my part, I am of opinion, that neither Homer,
Virgil, Statius, Ariosto, Tasso, nor our English Spencer, could have
formed their poems half so beautiful, without those gods and spirits,
and those enthusiastic parts of poetry, which compose the most noble
parts of all their writings. And I will ask any man who loves heroic
poetry (for I will not dispute their tastes who do not), if the ghost
of Polydorus in Virgil, the Enchanted Wood in Tasso, and the Bower of
Bliss in Spencer (which he borrows from that admirable Italian) could
have been omitted, without taking from their works some of the
greatest beauties in them. And if any man object the improbabilities
of a spirit appearing, or of a palace raised by magic; I boldly answer
him, that an heroic poet is not tied to a bare representation of what
is true, or exceeding probable; but that he may let himself loose to
visionary objects and to the representation of such things, as,
depending not on sense, and therefore not to be comprehended by
knowledge, may give him a freer scope for imagination. It is enough
that, in all ages and religions, the greatest part of mankind have
believed the power of magic, and that there are spirits or spectres
which have appeared. This, I say, is foundation enough for poetry; and
I dare farther affirm, that the whole doctrine of separated beings,
whether those spirits are incorporeal substances, (which Mr Hobbes,
with some reason, thinks to imply a contradiction) or that they are a
thinner and more aërial sort of bodies, (as some of the fathers have
conjectured) may better be explicated by poets than by philosophers or
divines. For their speculations on this subject are wholly poetical;
they have only their fancy for their guide; and that, being sharper in
an excellent poet, than it is likely it should in a phlegmatic, heavy
gownman, will see farther in its own empire, and produce more
satisfactory notions on those dark and doubtful problems.
Some men think they have raised a great argument against the use of
spectres and magic in heroic poetry, by saying they are unnatural; but
whether they or I believe there are such things, is not material; it
is enough that, for aught we know, they may be in nature; and whatever
is, or may be, is not properly unnatural. Neither am I much concerned
at Mr Cowley's verses before "Gondibert," though his authority is
almost sacred to me: It is true, he has resembled the old epic poetry
to a fantastic fairy-land; but he has contradicted himself by his own
example: For he has himself made use of angels and visions in his
"Davideis," as well as Tasso in his "Godfrey. "
What I have written on this subject will not be thought a digression
by the reader, if he please to remember what I said in the beginning
of this essay, that I have modelled my heroic plays by the rules of an
heroic poem. And if that be the most noble, the most pleasant, and the
most instructive way of writing in verse, and withal the highest
pattern of human life, as all poets have agreed, I shall need no other
argument to justify my choice in this imitation. One advantage the
drama has above the other, namely, that it represents to view what the
poem only does relate; and, _Segnius irritant animum demissa per
aures, quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus_, as Horace tells us.
To those who object my frequent use of drums and trumpets, and my
representations of battles, I answer, I introduced them not on the
English stage: Shakespeare used them frequently; and though Jonson
shews no battle in his "Catiline," yet you hear from behind the scenes
the sounding of trumpets, and the shouts of fighting armies. But, I
add farther, that these warlike instruments, and even their
presentations of fighting on the stage, are no more than necessary to
produce the effects of an heroic play; that is, to raise the
imagination of the audience and to persuade them, for the time, that
what they behold on the theatre is really performed. The poet is then
to endeavour an absolute dominion over the minds of the spectators;
for, though our fancy will contribute to its own deceit, yet a writer
ought to help its operation: And that the Red Bull has formerly done
the same, is no more an argument against our practice, than it would
be for a physician to forbear an approved medicine, because a
mountebank has used it with success.
Thus I have given a short account of heroic plays. I might now, with
the usual eagerness of an author, make a particular defence of this.
But the common opinion (how unjust soever) has been so much to my
advantage, that I have reason to be satisfied, and to suffer with
patience all that can be urged against it.
For, otherwise, what can be more easy for me, than to defend the
character of Almanzor, which is one great exception that is made
against the play? 'Tis said, that Almanzor is no perfect pattern of
heroic virtue, that he is a contemner of kings, and that he is made to
perform impossibilities.
I must therefore avow, in the first place, from whence I took the
character. The first image I had of him, was from the Achilles of
Homer; the next from Tasso's Rinaldo, (who was a copy of the former)
and the third from the Artaban of Monsieur Calpranede, who has
imitated both. The original of these, Achilles, is taken by Homer for
his hero; and is described by him as one, who in strength and courage
surpassed the rest of the Grecian army; but, withal, of so fiery a
temper, so impatient of an injury, even from his king and general,
that when his mistress was to be forced from him by the command of
Agamemnon, he not only disobeyed it, but returned him an answer full
of contumely, and in the most opprobrious terms he could imagine; they
are Homer's words which follow, and I have cited but some few amongst
a multitude.
[Greek: Oinobares, kynos ommat' echôn, kradiên d' elaphoio. ]
--Il. a. v. 225.
[Greek: Dêmoboros basileus,] &c. --Il. a. v. 231.
Nay, he proceeded so far in his insolence, as to draw out his sword,
with intention to kill him;
[Greek: Elketo d' ek koleoio mega xiphos. ]
--Il. a. v. 194.
and, if Minerva had not appeared, and held his hand, he had executed
his design; and it was all she could do to dissuade him from it. The
event was, that he left the army, and would fight no more. Agamemnon
gives his character thus to Nestor;
[Greek: All' hod' anêr ethelei peri pantôn emmenai allôn,
Pantôn men krateein ethelei, pantessi d' anassein. ]
--Il. a. v. 287, 288
and Horace gives the same description of him in his Art of Poetry.
_--Honoratum si fortè reponis Achillem,
Inpiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer,
Jura neget sibi nata, nihil non arroget armis. _
Tasso's chief character, Rinaldo, was a man of the same temper; for,
when he had slain Gernando in his heat of passion, he not only refused
to be judged by Godfrey, his general, but threatened that if he came
to seize him, he would right himself by arms upon him; witness these
following lines of Tasso:
_Venga egli, o mundi, io terrò fermo il piede:
Giudici fian tra noi la sorte, e l'arme;
Fera tragedia vuol che s'appresenti,
Per lor diporto, alle nemiche genti. _
You see how little these great authors did esteem the point of honour,
so much magnified by the French, and so ridiculously aped by us. They
made their heroes men of honour; but so, as not to divest them quite
of human passions and frailties: they content themselves to shew you,
what men of great spirits would certainly do when they were provoked,
not what they were obliged to do by the strict rules of moral virtue.
For my own part, I declare myself for Homer and Tasso, and am more in
love with Achilles and Rinaldo, than with Cyrus and Oroondates. I
shall never subject my characters to the French standard, where love
and honour are to be weighed by drams and scruples: Yet, where I have
designed the patterns of exact virtues, such as in this play are the
parts of Almahide, of Ozmyn, and Benzayda, I may safely challenge the
best of theirs.
But Almanzor is taxed with changing sides: and what tie has he on him
to the contrary? He is not born their subject whom he serves, and he
is injured by them to a very high degree. He threatens them, and
speaks insolently of sovereign power; but so do Achilles and Rinaldo,
who were subjects and soldiers to Agamemnon and Godfrey of Bulloigne.
He talks extravagantly in his passion; but, if I would take the pains
to quote an hundred passages of Ben Jonson's Cethegus, I could easily
shew you, that the rhodomontades of Almanzor are neither so irrational
as his, nor so impossible to be put in execution; for Cethegus
threatens to destroy nature, and to raise a new one out of it; to kill
all the senate for his part of the action; to look Cato dead; and a
thousand other things as extravagant he says, but performs not one
action in the play.
But none of the former calumnies will stick; and, therefore, it is at
last charged upon me, that Almanzor does all things; or if you will
have an absurd accusation, in their nonsense who make it, that he
performs impossibilities: they say, that being a stranger, he appeases
two fighting factions, when the authority of their lawful sovereign
could not. This is indeed the most improbable of all his actions, but
it is far from being impossible. Their king had made himself
contemptible to his people, as the history of Granada tells us; and
Almanzor, though a stranger, yet was already known to them by his
gallantry in the Juego de torros, his engagement on the weaker side,
and more especially by the character of his person and brave actions,
given by Abdalla just before; and, after all, the greatness of the
enterprise consisted only in the daring, for he had the king's guards
to second him: But we have read both of Cæsar, and many other
generals, who have not only calmed a mutiny with a word, but have
presented themselves single before an army of their enemies; which
upon sight of them has revolted from their own leaders, and come over
to their trenches. In the rest of Almanzor's actions you see him for
the most part victorious; but the same fortune has constantly attended
many heroes, who were not imaginary. Yet, you see it no inheritance to
him; for, in the first place, he is made a prisoner; and, in the last,
defeated, and not able to preserve the city from being taken. If the
history of the late Duke of Guise be true, he hazarded more, and
performed not less in Naples, than Almanzor is feigned to have done in
Granada.
I have been too tedious in this apology; but to make some
satisfaction, I will leave the rest of my play exposed to the
criticks, without defence.
The concernment of it is wholly passed from me, and ought to be in
them who have been favourable to it, and are somewhat obliged to
defend their opinions That there are errors in it, I deny not;
_Ast opere in tanto fas est obrepere somnum. _
But I have already swept the stakes: and, with the common good fortune
of prosperous gamesters, can be content to sit quietly; to hear my
fortune cursed by some, and my faults arraigned by others; and to
suffer both without reply.
ON
MR DRYDEN'S PLAY,
THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.
The applause I gave among the foolish crowd
Was not distinguished, though I clapped aloud:
Or, if it had, my judgment had been hid:
I clapped for company, as others did.
Thence may be told the fortune of your play;
Its goodness must be tried another way.
Let's judge it then, and, if we've any skill,
Commend what's good, though we commend it ill.
There will be praise enough; yet not so much,
As if the world had never any such:
Ben Johnson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Shakespeare, are,
As well as you, to have a poet's share.
You, who write after, have, besides, this curse,
You must write better, or you else write worse.
To equal only what was writ before,
Seems stolen, or borrowed from the former store.
Though blind as Homer all the ancients be,
'Tis on their shoulders, like the lame, we see.
Then not to flatter th' age, nor flatter you,
(Praises, though less, are greater when they're true,)
You're equal to the best, out-done by you;
Who had out-done themselves, had they lived now.
VAUGHAN[1].
Footnote:
1. John, Lord Vaughan, eldest surviving son of Richard, Earl of
Carbery.
PROLOGUE
TO THE FIRST PART,
SPOKEN BY
MRS ELLEN GWYN,
IN A BROAD-BRIMMED HAT, AND WAIST-BELT. [1]
This jest was first of the other house's making,
And, five times tried, has never failed of taking;
For 'twere a shame a poet should be killed
Under the shelter of so broad a shield.
This is that hat, whose very sight did win ye
To laugh and clap as though the devil were in ye.
As then, for Nokes, so now I hope you'll be
So dull, to laugh once more for love of me.
I'll write a play, says one, for I have got
A broad-brimmed hat, and waist-belt, towards a plot.
Says the other, I have one more large than that.
Thus they out-write each other--with a hat!
The brims still grew with every play they writ;
And grew so large, they covered all the wit.
Hat was the play; 'twas language, wit, and tale:
Like them that find meat, drink, and cloth in ale.
What dulness do these mongrel wits confess,
When all their hope is acting of a dress!
Thus, two the best comedians of the age
Must be worn out, with being blocks o' the stage;
Like a young girl, who better things has known,
Beneath their poet's impotence they groan.
See now what charity it was to save!
They thought you liked, what only you forgave;
And brought you more dull sense, dull sense much worse
Than brisk gay nonsense, and the heavier curse.
They bring old iron, and glass upon the stage,
To barter with the Indians of our age.
Still they write on, and like great authors show; }
But 'tis as rollers in wet gardens grow }
Heavy with dirt, and gathering as they go. }
May none, who have so little understood,
To like such trash, presume to praise what's good!
And may those drudges of the stage, whose fate
Is damned dull farce more dully to translate,
Fall under that excise the state thinks fit
To set on all French wares, whose worst is wit.
French farce, worn out at home, is sent abroad;
And, patched up here, is made our English mode.
Henceforth, let poets, ere allowed to write,
Be searched, like duelists before they fight,
For wheel-broad hats, dull honour, all that chaff,
Which makes you mourn, and makes the vulgar laugh:
For these, in plays, are as unlawful arms,
As, in a combat, coats of mail, and charms.
Footnote:
1. There is a vague tradition, that, in this grotesque dress, (for the
brims of the hat were as broad as a cart-wheel,) Nell Gwyn had the
good fortune first to attract the attention of her royal lover.
Where the jest lay, is difficult to discover: it seems to have
originated with the duke of York's players.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
MAHOMET BOABDELIN, _the last king of Granada. _
_Prince_ ABDALLA, _his brother. _
ABDELMELECH, _chief of the Abencerrages. _
ZULEMA, _chief of the Zegrys. _
ABENAMAR, _an old Abencerrago. _
SELIN, _an old Zegry. _
OZMYN, _a brave young Abencerrago, son to Abenamar. _
HAMET, _brother to Zulema, a Zegry. _
GOMEL, _a Zegry. _
ALMANZOR.
FERDINAND, _king of Spain. _
_Duke of_ ARCOS, _his General. _
_Don_ ALONZO D'AGUILAR, _a Spanish Captain. _
ALMAHIDE, _Queen of Granada. _
LYNDARAXA, _Sister of_ ZULEMA, _a Zegry Lady. _
BENZAYDA, _Daughter to_ SELIN.
ESPERANZA, _Slave to the Queen. _
HALYMA, _Slave to_ LYNDARAXA.
ISABELLA, _Queen of Spain. _
_Messengers, Guards, Attendants, Men, and Women. _
SCENE. --_Granada, and the Christian Camp besieging it. _
ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE,
OR, THE
CONQUEST OF GRANADA.
THE FIRST PART.
ACT I. SCENE I.
_Enter_ BOABDELIN, ABENAMAR, ABDELMELECH, _and Guards. _
_Boab. _ Thus, in the triumphs of soft peace, I reign;
And, from my walls, defy the powers of Spain;
With pomp and sports my love I celebrate,
While they keep distance, and attend my state. --
Parent to her, whose eyes my soul enthral, [_To_ ABEN.
Whom I, in hope, already father call,
Abenamar, thy youth these sports has known,
Of which thy age is now spectator grown;
Judge-like thou sit'st, to praise, or to arraign
The flying skirmish of the darted cane:
But, when fierce bulls run loose upon the place,
And our bold Moors their loves with danger grace,
Then heat new-bends thy slacken'd nerves again,
And a short youth runs warm through every vein.
_Aben. _ I must confess the encounters of this day
Warmed me indeed, but quite another way,--
Not with the fire of youth; but generous rage,
To see the glories of my youthful age
So far out-done.
_Abdelm. _ Castile could never boast, in all its pride;
A pomp so splendid, when the lists, set wide,
Gave room to the fierce bulls, which wildly ran
In Sierra Ronda, ere the war began;
Who, with high nostrils snuffing up the wind,
Now stood the champion of the savage kind.
Just opposite, within the circled place,
Ten of our bold Abencerrages race
(Each brandishing his bull-spear in his hand,)
Did their proud jennets gracefully command.
On their steel'd heads their demi-lances wore
Small pennons, which their ladies' colours bore.
Before this troop did warlike Ozmyn go;
Each lady, as he rode, saluting low;
At the chief stands, with reverence more profound,
His well-taught courser, kneeling, touched the ground;
Thence raised, he sidelong bore his rider on,
Still facing, till he out of sight was gone.
_Boab. _ You praise him like a friend; and I confess,
His brave deportment merited no less.
_Abdelm. _ Nine bulls were launched by his victorious arm,
Whose wary jennet, shunning still the harm,
Seemed to attend the shock, and then leaped wide:
Mean while, his dext'rous rider, when he spied
The beast just stooping, 'twixt the neck and head
His lance, with never-erring fury, sped.
_Aben. _ My son did well, and so did Hamet too;
Yet did no more than we were wont to do;
But what the stranger did was more than man.
_Abdelm. _ He finished all those triumphs we began.
One bull, with curled black head, beyond the rest,
And dew-laps hanging from his brawny chest,
With nodding front a while did daring stand,
And with his jetty hoof spurned back the sand;
Then, leaping forth, he bellowed out aloud:
The amazed assistants back each other crowd,
While monarch-like he ranged the listed field;
Some tossed, some gored, some trampling down he killed.
The ignobler Moors from far his rage provoke
With woods of darts, which from his sides he shook.
Mean time your valiant son, who had before
Gained fame, rode round to every Mirador;
Beneath each lady's stand a stop he made,
And, bowing, took the applauses which they paid.
Just in that point of time, the brave unknown
Approached the lists.
_Boab. _ I marked him, when alone
(Observed by all, himself observing none)
He entered first, and with a graceful pride
His fiery Arab dextrously did guide,
Who, while his rider every stand surveyed,
Sprung loose, and flew into an escapade;
Not moving forward, yet, with every bound,
Pressing, and seeming still to quit his ground.
What after passed
Was far from the Ventanna where I sate,
But you were near, and can the truth relate. [_To_ ABDELM.
_Abdelm. _ Thus while he stood, the bull, who saw his foe,
His easier conquests proudly did forego;
And, making at him with a furious bound,
From his bent forehead aimed a double wound.
A rising murmur ran through all the field,
And every lady's blood with fear was chilled:
Some shrieked, while others, with more helpful care,
Cried out aloud,--Beware, brave youth, beware!
At this he turned, and, as the bull drew near,
Shunned, and received him on his pointed spear:
The lance broke short, the beast then bellowed loud,
And his strong neck to a new onset bowed.
The undaunted youth
Then drew; and, from his saddle bending low,
Just where the neck did to the shoulders grow,
With his full force discharged a deadly blow.
Not heads of poppies (when they reap the grain)
Fall with more ease before the labouring swain,
Than fell this head:
It fell so quick, it did even death prevent,
And made imperfect bellowings as it went.
Then all the trumpets victory did sound,
And yet their clangors in our shouts were drown'd.
[_A confused noise within.
Boab. _ The alarm-bell rings from our Alhambra walls,
And from the streets sound drums and ataballes.
[_Within, a bell, drums, and trumpets. _
_Enter a Messenger. _
How now? from whence proceed these new alarms?
_Mess. _ The two fierce factions are again in arms;
And, changing into blood the day's delight,
The Zegrys with the Abencerrages fight;
On each side their allies and friends appear;
The Macas here, the Alabezes there:
The Gazuls with the Bencerrages join,
And, with the Zegrys, all great Gomel's line.
_Boab. _ Draw up behind the Vivarambla place;
Double my guards,--these factions I will face;
And try if all the fury they can bring,
Be proof against the presence of their king. [_Exit_ BOAB.
_The Factions appear: At the head of the Abencerrages,_ OZMYN; _at
the head of the Zegrys,_ ZULEMA, HAMET, GOMEL, _and_ SELIN: ABENAMAR
_and_ ABDELMELECH, _joined with the Abencerrages. _
_Zul. _ The faint Abencerrages quit their ground:
Press them; put home your thrusts to every wound.
_Abdelm. _ Zegry, on manly force our line relies;
Thine poorly takes the advantage of surprise:
Unarmed and much out-numbered we retreat;
You gain no fame, when basely you defeat.
If thou art brave, seek nobler victory;
Save Moorish blood; and, while our bands stand by,
Let two and two an equal combat try.
_Ham. _ 'Tis not for fear the combat we refuse,
But we our gained advantage will not lose.
_Zul. _ In combating, but two of you will fall;
And we resolve we will dispatch you all.
_Ozm. _ We'll double yet the exchange before we die,
And each of ours two lives of yours shall buy.
ALMANZOR _enters betwixt them, as they stand ready to engage. _
_Alm. _ I cannot stay to ask which cause is best;
But this is so to me, because opprest. [_Goes to the Aben. _
_To them_ BOABDELIN _and his guards, going betwixt them. _
_Boab. _ On your allegiance, I command you stay;
Who passes here, through me must make his way;
My life's the Isthmus; through this narrow line
You first must cut, before those seas can join.
What fury, Zegrys, has possessed your minds?
What rage the brave Abencerrages blinds?
If of your courage you new proofs would show,
Without much travel you may find a foe.
Those foes are neither so remote nor few,
That you should need each other to pursue.
Lean times and foreign wars should minds unite;
When poor, men mutter, but they seldom fight.
O holy Alha! that I live to see
Thy Granadines assist their enemy!
You fight the christians' battles; every life
You lavish thus, in this intestine strife,
Does from our weak foundations take one prop,
Which helped to hold our sinking country up.
_Ozm. _ 'Tis fit our private enmity should cease;
Though injured first, yet I will first seek peace.
_Zul. _ No, murderer, no; I never will be won
To peace with him, whose hand has slain my son.
_Ozm. _ Our prophet's curse
On me, and all the Abencerrages light,
If, unprovoked, I with your son did fight.
_Abdelm. _ A band of Zegrys ran within the place,
Matched with a troop of thirty of our race.
Your son and Ozmyn the first squadrons led,
Which, ten by ten, like Parthians, charged and fled.
The ground was strowed with canes where we did meet,
Which crackled underneath our coursers' feet:
When Tarifa (I saw him ride a part)
Changed his blunt cane for a steel-pointed dart,
And, meeting Ozmyn next,--
Who wanted time for treason to provide,--
He basely threw it at him, undefied.
_Ozm. _ [_Shewing his arms. _]
Witness this blood--which when by treason sought,
That followed, sir, which to myself I ought.
_Zul. _ His hate to thee was grounded on a grudge,
Which all our generous Zegrys just did judge:
Thy villain-blood thou openly didst place
Above the purple of our kingly race.
_Boab. _ From equal stems their blood both houses draw,
They from Morocco, you from Cordova.
_Ham. _ Their mongrel race is mixed with Christian breed;
Hence 'tis that they those dogs in prisons feed.
_Abdelm. _ Our holy prophet wills, that charity
Should even to birds and beasts extended be:
None knows what fate is for himself designed;
The thought of human chance should make us kind.
_Gom. _ We waste that time we to revenge should give:
Fall on: let no Abencerrago live.
[_Advancing before the rest of his party. _ ALMANZOR
_advancing on the other side, and describing a
line with his sword. _
_Almanz. _ Upon thy life pass not this middle space;
Sure death stands guarding the forbidden place.
_Gom. _ To dare that death, I will approach yet nigher;
Thus,--wert thou compassed in with circling fire. [_They fight. _
_Boab. _ Disarm them both; if they resist you, kill.
[ALMANZOR, _in the midst of the guards, kills_
GOMEL, _and then is disarmed. _
_Almanz. _ Now you have but the leavings of my will.
_Boab. _ Kill him! this insolent unknown shall fall,
And be the victim to atone you all.
_Ozm. _ If he must die, not one of us will live:
That life he gave for us, for him we give.
_Boab. _ It was a traitor's voice that spoke those words;
So are you all, who do not sheath your swords.
_Zul. _ Outrage unpunished, when a prince is by,
Forfeits to scorn the rights of majesty:
No subject his protection can expect,
Who what he owes himself does first neglect.
_Aben. _ This stranger, sir, is he,
Who lately in the Vivarambla place
Did, with so loud applause, your triumphs grace.
_Boab. _ The word which I have given, I'll not revoke;
If he be brave, he's ready for the stroke.
_Almanz. _ No man has more contempt than I of breath,
But whence hast thou the right to give me death?
Obeyed as sovereign by thy subjects be,
But know, that I alone am king of me.
I am as free as nature first made man,
Ere the base laws of servitude began,
When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
_Boab. _ Since, then, no power above your own you know,
Mankind should use you like a common foe;
You should be hunted like a beast of prey:
By your own law I take your life away.
_Almanz. _ My laws are made but only for my sake;
No king against himself a law can make.
If thou pretend'st to be a prince like me,
Blame not an act, which should thy pattern be.
I saw the oppressed, and thought it did belong
To a king's office to redress the wrong:
I brought that succour, which thou ought'st to bring,
And so, in nature, am thy subjects' king.
_Boab. _ I do not want your counsel to direct
Or aid to help me punish or protect.
_Almanz. _ Thou want'st them both, or better thou would'st know,
Than to let factions in thy kingdom grow.
Divided interests, while thou think'st to sway,
Draw, like two brooks, thy middle stream away:
For though they band and jar, yet both combine
To make their greatness by the fall of thine.
Thus, like a buckler, thou art held in sight,
While they behind thee with each other fight.
_Boab. _ Away, and execute him instantly! [_To his Guards. _
_Almanz. _ Stand off; I have not leisure yet to die.
_To them, enter_ ABDALLA _hastily. _
_Abdal. _ Hold, sir! for heaven's sake hold!
Defer this noble stranger's punishment,
Or your rash orders you will soon repent.
_Boab. _ Brother, you know not yet his insolence.
_Abdal. _ Upon yourself you punish his offence:
If we treat gallant strangers in this sort,
Mankind will shun the inhospitable court;
And who, henceforth, to our defence will come,
If death must be the brave Almanzor's doom?
From Africa I drew him to your aid,
And for his succour have his life betrayed.
_Boab. _ Is this the Almanzor whom at Fez you knew,
When first their swords the Xeriff brothers drew?
_Abdal. _ This, sir, is he, who for the elder fought,
And to the juster cause the conquest brought;
Till the proud Santo, seated on the throne,
Disdained the service he had done to own:
Then to the vanquished part his fate he led;
The vanquished triumphed, and the victor fled.
Vast is his courage, boundless is his mind,
Rough as a storm, and humorous as wind:
Honour's the only idol of his eyes;
The charms of beauty like a pest he flies;
And, raised by valour from a birth unknown,
Acknowledges no power above his own. [BOABDELIN _coming to_ ALMANZOR.
_Boab. _ Impute your danger to our ignorance;
The bravest men are subject most to chance:
Granada much does to your kindness owe;
But towns, expecting sieges, cannot show
More honour, than to invite you to a foe.
_Almanz. _ I do not doubt but I have been to blame:
But, to pursue the end for which I came,
Unite your subjects first; then let us go,
And pour their common rage upon the foe.
_Boab. _ [_to the Factions. _]
Lay down your arms, and let me beg you cease
Your enmities.
_Zul. _ We will not hear of peace,
Till we by force have first revenged our slain.
_Abdelm. _ The action we have done we will maintain.
_Selin. _ Then let the king depart, and we will try
Our cause by arms.
_Zul. _ For us and victory.
_Boab. _ A king entreats you.
_Almanz. _ What subjects will precarious kings regard?
A beggar speaks too softly to be heard:
Lay down your arms! 'tis I command you now.
Do it--or, by our prophet's soul I vow,
My hands shall right your king on him I seize.
Now let me see whose look but disobeys.
_All. _ Long live king Mahomet Boabdelin!
_Almanz. _ No more; but hushed as midnight silence go:
He will not have your acclamations now.
Hence, you unthinking crowd! --
[_The Common People go off on both parties. _
Empire, thou poor and despicable thing,
When such as these make or unmake a king!
_Abdal. _ How much of virtue lies in one great soul, [_Embracing him. _
Whose single force can multitudes controul! [_A trumpet within. _
_Enter a Messenger. _
_Messen. _ The Duke of Arcos, sir,
Does with a trumpet from the foe appear.
_Boab. _ Attend him; he shall have his audience here.
_Enter the Duke of_ ARCOS.
_D. Arcos. _ The monarchs of Castile and Arragon
Have sent me to you, to demand this town.
To which their just and rightful claim is known.
_Boab. _ Tell Ferdinand, my right to it appears
By long possession of eight hundred years:
When first my ancestors from Afric sailed,
In Rodrique's death your Gothic title failed.
_D. Arcos. _ The successors of Rodrique still remain,
And ever since have held some part of Spain:
Even in the midst of your victorious powers,
The Asturias, and all Portugal, were ours.
You have no right, except you force allow;
And if yours then was just, so ours is now.
_Boab. _ 'Tis true from force the noblest title springs;
I therefore hold from that, which first made kings.
_D. Arcos. _ Since then by force you prove your title true,
Ours must be just, because we claim from you.
When with your father you did jointly reign,
Invading with your Moors the south of Spain,
I, who that day the Christians did command,
Then took, and brought you bound to Ferdinand.
_Boab. _ I'll hear no more; defer what you would say;
In private we'll discourse some other day.
_D. Arcos. _ Sir, you shall hear, however you are loth,
That, like a perjured prince, you broke your oath:
To gain your freedom you a contract signed,
By which your crown you to my king resigned,
From thenceforth as his vassal holding it,
And paying tribute such as he thought fit;
Contracting, when your father came to die,
To lay aside all marks of royalty,
And at Purchena privately to live,
Which, in exchange, king Ferdinand did give.
_Boab. _ The force used on me made that contract void.
_D. Arcos. _ Why have you then its benefits enjoyed?
By it you had not only freedom then,
But, since, had aid of money and of men;
And, when Granada for your uncle held,
You were by us restored, and he expelled.
Since that, in peace we let you reap your grain,
Recalled our troops, that used to beat your plain;
And more--
_Almanz.
with his good fortune, there is no reason to question his having
merited the compliment in the text. The Duke of Buckingham, in his
memoirs, has borne witness to the intrepidity with which he
encountered the dangers of his desperate naval actions with the
Dutch. Captain Carlton, who was also an eye-witness of his
deportment on that occasion, says, that while the balls were flying
thickly around, the Duke of York was wont to rub his hands, and
exclaim chearfully to his captain, "Spragge, Spragge, they follow
us fast. "
3. When General Lockhart commanded the troops of the Protector in
Flanders, the Duke of York was a volunteer in the Spanish army, and
was present at the defeat, which the latter received before
Dunkirk, 17th of June, 1658.
4. The defeat of the Dutch off Harwich, 3d June, 1665, in which their
Admiral, Obdam, was blown up, eighteen of their ships taken, and
fourteen destroyed.
5. The author seems to refer to the burning of the English ships at
Chatham, by the Dutch Admiral De Ruyter.
OF
HEROIC PLAYS.
AN ESSAY.
Whether heroic verse ought to be admitted into serious plays, is not
now to be disputed: it is already in possession of the stage, and I
dare confidently affirm, that very few tragedies, in this age, shall
be received without it. All the arguments which are formed against it,
can amount to no more than this, that it is not so near conversation
as prose, and therefore not so natural. But it is very clear to all
who understand poetry, that serious plays ought not to imitate
conversation too nearly. If nothing were to be raised above that
level, the foundation of poetry would be destroyed. And if you once
admit of a latitude, that thoughts may be exalted, and that images and
actions may be raised above the life, and described in measure without
rhyme, that leads you insensibly from your own principles to mine: you
are already so far onward of your way, that you have forsaken the
imitation of ordinary converse. You are gone beyond it; and to
continue where you are, is to lodge in the open fields, betwixt two
inns. You have lost that which you call natural, and have not acquired
the last perfection of art. But it was only custom which cozened us so
long; we thought, because Shakespeare and Fletcher went no farther,
that there the pillars of poetry were to be erected; that, because
they excellently described passion without rhime, therefore rhime was
not capable of describing it. But time has now convinced most men of
that error. It is indeed so difficult to write verse, that the
adversaries of it have a good plea against many, who undertook that
task, without being formed by art or nature for it. Yet, even they who
have written worst in it, would have written worse without it: They
have cozened many with their sound, who never took the pains to
examine their sense. In fine, they have succeeded; though, it is true,
they have more dishonoured rhime by their good success, than they have
done by their ill. But I am willing to let fall this argument: It is
free for every man to write, or not to write, in verse, as he judges
it to be, or not to be, his talent; or as he imagines the audience
will receive it.
For heroic plays, in which only I have used it without the mixture of
prose, the first light we had of them, on the English theatre, was
from the late Sir William D'Avenant. It being forbidden him in the
rebellious times to act tragedies and comedies, because they contained
some matter of scandal to those good people, who could more easily
dispossess their lawful sovereign, than endure a wanton jest, he was
forced to turn his thoughts another way, and to introduce the examples
of moral virtue, writ in verse, and performed in recitative music. The
original of this music, and of the scenes which adorned his work, he
had from the Italian operas; but he heightened his characters, as I
may probably imagine, from the example of Corneille and some French
poets. In this condition did this part of poetry remain at his
majesty's return; when, growing bolder, as being now owned by a public
authority, he reviewed his "Siege of Rhodes," and caused it be acted
as a just drama. But as few men have the happiness to begin and finish
any new project, so neither did he live to make his design perfect:
There wanted the fulness of a plot, and the variety of characters to
form it as it ought; and, perhaps, something might have been added to
the beauty of the style. All which he would have performed with more
exactness, had he pleased to have given us another work of the same
nature. For myself and others, who come after him, we are bound, with
all veneration to his memory, to acknowledge what advantage we
received from that excellent groundwork which he laid: And, since it
is an easy thing to add to what already is invented, we ought all of
us, without envy to him, or partiality to ourselves, to yield him the
precedence in it.
Having done him this justice, as my guide, I may do myself so much, as
to give an account of what I have performed after him. I observed
then, as I said, what was wanting to the perfection of his "Siege of
Rhodes;" which was design, and variety of characters. And in the midst
of this consideration by mere accident, I opened the next book that
lay by me, which was "Ariosto," in Italian; and the very first two
lines of that poem gave me light to all I could desire;
_Le donne, i cavalier, l'arme, gli amori,
Le cortesie, l'audaci imprese io canto,_ &c.
For the very next reflection which I made was this, that an heroic
play ought to be an imitation, in little, of an heroic poem; and,
consequently, that love and valour ought to be the subject of it. Both
these Sir William D'Avenant had begun to shadow; but it was so, as
first discoverers draw their maps, with headlands, and promontories,
and some few outlines of somewhat taken at a distance, and which the
designer saw not clearly. The common drama obliged him to a plot well
formed and pleasant, or, as the ancients call it, one entire and great
action. But this he afforded not himself in a story, which he neither
filled with persons, nor beautified with characters, nor varied with
accidents. The laws of an heroic poem did not dispense with those of
the other, but raised them to a greater height, and indulged him a
farther liberty of fancy, and of drawing all things as far above the
ordinary proportion of the stage, as that is beyond the common words
and actions of human life; and, therefore, in the scanting of his
images and design, he complied not enough with the greatness and
majesty of an heroic poem.
I am sorry I cannot discover my opinion of this kind of writing,
without dissenting much from his, whose memory I love and honour. But
I will do it with the same respect to him, as if he were now alive,
and overlooking my paper while I write. His judgment of an heroic poem
was this: "That it ought to be dressed in a more familiar and easy
shape; more fitted to the common actions and passions of human life;
and, in short, more like a glass of nature, shewing us ourselves in
our ordinary habits and figuring a more practicable virtue to us, than
was done by the ancients or moderns. " Thus he takes the image of an
heroic poem from the drama, or stage poetry; and accordingly intended
to divide it into five books, representing the same number of acts;
and every book into several cantos, imitating the scenes which compose
our acts.
But this, I think, is rather a play in narration, as I may call it,
than an heroic poem. If at least you will not prefer the opinion of a
single man to the practice of the most excellent authors, both of
ancient and latter ages. I am no admirer of quotations; but you shall
hear, if you please, one of the ancients delivering his judgment on
this question; it is Petronius Arbiter, the most elegant, and one of
the most judicious authors of the Latin tongue; who, after he had
given many admirable rules for the structure and beauties of an epic
poem, concludes all in these following words:--
_"Non enim res gestæ versibus comprehendendæ sunt, quod longe melius
historici faciunt: sed, per ambages deorumque ministeria,
præcipitanaus est liber spiritus, ut potius furentis animi vaticinatio
appareat, quam religiosæ orationis, sub testibus, fides. "_
In which sentence, and his own essay of a poem, which immediately he
gives you, it is thought he taxes Lucan, who followed too much the
truth of history, crowded sentences together, was too full of points,
and too often offered at somewhat which had more of the sting of an
epigram, than of the dignity and state of an heroic poem. Lucan used
not much the help of his heathen deities: There was neither the
ministry of the gods, nor the precipitation of the soul, nor the fury
of a prophet (of which my author speaks), in his _Pharsalia_; he
treats you more like a philosopher than a poet, and instructs you in
verse, with what he had been taught by his uncle Seneca in prose. In
one word, he walks soberly afoot, when he might fly. Yet Lucan is not
always this religious historian. The oracle of Appius and the
witchcraft of Erictho, will somewhat atone for him, who was, indeed,
bound up by an ill-chosen and known argument, to follow truth with
great exactness. For my part, I am of opinion, that neither Homer,
Virgil, Statius, Ariosto, Tasso, nor our English Spencer, could have
formed their poems half so beautiful, without those gods and spirits,
and those enthusiastic parts of poetry, which compose the most noble
parts of all their writings. And I will ask any man who loves heroic
poetry (for I will not dispute their tastes who do not), if the ghost
of Polydorus in Virgil, the Enchanted Wood in Tasso, and the Bower of
Bliss in Spencer (which he borrows from that admirable Italian) could
have been omitted, without taking from their works some of the
greatest beauties in them. And if any man object the improbabilities
of a spirit appearing, or of a palace raised by magic; I boldly answer
him, that an heroic poet is not tied to a bare representation of what
is true, or exceeding probable; but that he may let himself loose to
visionary objects and to the representation of such things, as,
depending not on sense, and therefore not to be comprehended by
knowledge, may give him a freer scope for imagination. It is enough
that, in all ages and religions, the greatest part of mankind have
believed the power of magic, and that there are spirits or spectres
which have appeared. This, I say, is foundation enough for poetry; and
I dare farther affirm, that the whole doctrine of separated beings,
whether those spirits are incorporeal substances, (which Mr Hobbes,
with some reason, thinks to imply a contradiction) or that they are a
thinner and more aërial sort of bodies, (as some of the fathers have
conjectured) may better be explicated by poets than by philosophers or
divines. For their speculations on this subject are wholly poetical;
they have only their fancy for their guide; and that, being sharper in
an excellent poet, than it is likely it should in a phlegmatic, heavy
gownman, will see farther in its own empire, and produce more
satisfactory notions on those dark and doubtful problems.
Some men think they have raised a great argument against the use of
spectres and magic in heroic poetry, by saying they are unnatural; but
whether they or I believe there are such things, is not material; it
is enough that, for aught we know, they may be in nature; and whatever
is, or may be, is not properly unnatural. Neither am I much concerned
at Mr Cowley's verses before "Gondibert," though his authority is
almost sacred to me: It is true, he has resembled the old epic poetry
to a fantastic fairy-land; but he has contradicted himself by his own
example: For he has himself made use of angels and visions in his
"Davideis," as well as Tasso in his "Godfrey. "
What I have written on this subject will not be thought a digression
by the reader, if he please to remember what I said in the beginning
of this essay, that I have modelled my heroic plays by the rules of an
heroic poem. And if that be the most noble, the most pleasant, and the
most instructive way of writing in verse, and withal the highest
pattern of human life, as all poets have agreed, I shall need no other
argument to justify my choice in this imitation. One advantage the
drama has above the other, namely, that it represents to view what the
poem only does relate; and, _Segnius irritant animum demissa per
aures, quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus_, as Horace tells us.
To those who object my frequent use of drums and trumpets, and my
representations of battles, I answer, I introduced them not on the
English stage: Shakespeare used them frequently; and though Jonson
shews no battle in his "Catiline," yet you hear from behind the scenes
the sounding of trumpets, and the shouts of fighting armies. But, I
add farther, that these warlike instruments, and even their
presentations of fighting on the stage, are no more than necessary to
produce the effects of an heroic play; that is, to raise the
imagination of the audience and to persuade them, for the time, that
what they behold on the theatre is really performed. The poet is then
to endeavour an absolute dominion over the minds of the spectators;
for, though our fancy will contribute to its own deceit, yet a writer
ought to help its operation: And that the Red Bull has formerly done
the same, is no more an argument against our practice, than it would
be for a physician to forbear an approved medicine, because a
mountebank has used it with success.
Thus I have given a short account of heroic plays. I might now, with
the usual eagerness of an author, make a particular defence of this.
But the common opinion (how unjust soever) has been so much to my
advantage, that I have reason to be satisfied, and to suffer with
patience all that can be urged against it.
For, otherwise, what can be more easy for me, than to defend the
character of Almanzor, which is one great exception that is made
against the play? 'Tis said, that Almanzor is no perfect pattern of
heroic virtue, that he is a contemner of kings, and that he is made to
perform impossibilities.
I must therefore avow, in the first place, from whence I took the
character. The first image I had of him, was from the Achilles of
Homer; the next from Tasso's Rinaldo, (who was a copy of the former)
and the third from the Artaban of Monsieur Calpranede, who has
imitated both. The original of these, Achilles, is taken by Homer for
his hero; and is described by him as one, who in strength and courage
surpassed the rest of the Grecian army; but, withal, of so fiery a
temper, so impatient of an injury, even from his king and general,
that when his mistress was to be forced from him by the command of
Agamemnon, he not only disobeyed it, but returned him an answer full
of contumely, and in the most opprobrious terms he could imagine; they
are Homer's words which follow, and I have cited but some few amongst
a multitude.
[Greek: Oinobares, kynos ommat' echôn, kradiên d' elaphoio. ]
--Il. a. v. 225.
[Greek: Dêmoboros basileus,] &c. --Il. a. v. 231.
Nay, he proceeded so far in his insolence, as to draw out his sword,
with intention to kill him;
[Greek: Elketo d' ek koleoio mega xiphos. ]
--Il. a. v. 194.
and, if Minerva had not appeared, and held his hand, he had executed
his design; and it was all she could do to dissuade him from it. The
event was, that he left the army, and would fight no more. Agamemnon
gives his character thus to Nestor;
[Greek: All' hod' anêr ethelei peri pantôn emmenai allôn,
Pantôn men krateein ethelei, pantessi d' anassein. ]
--Il. a. v. 287, 288
and Horace gives the same description of him in his Art of Poetry.
_--Honoratum si fortè reponis Achillem,
Inpiger, iracundus, inexorabilis, acer,
Jura neget sibi nata, nihil non arroget armis. _
Tasso's chief character, Rinaldo, was a man of the same temper; for,
when he had slain Gernando in his heat of passion, he not only refused
to be judged by Godfrey, his general, but threatened that if he came
to seize him, he would right himself by arms upon him; witness these
following lines of Tasso:
_Venga egli, o mundi, io terrò fermo il piede:
Giudici fian tra noi la sorte, e l'arme;
Fera tragedia vuol che s'appresenti,
Per lor diporto, alle nemiche genti. _
You see how little these great authors did esteem the point of honour,
so much magnified by the French, and so ridiculously aped by us. They
made their heroes men of honour; but so, as not to divest them quite
of human passions and frailties: they content themselves to shew you,
what men of great spirits would certainly do when they were provoked,
not what they were obliged to do by the strict rules of moral virtue.
For my own part, I declare myself for Homer and Tasso, and am more in
love with Achilles and Rinaldo, than with Cyrus and Oroondates. I
shall never subject my characters to the French standard, where love
and honour are to be weighed by drams and scruples: Yet, where I have
designed the patterns of exact virtues, such as in this play are the
parts of Almahide, of Ozmyn, and Benzayda, I may safely challenge the
best of theirs.
But Almanzor is taxed with changing sides: and what tie has he on him
to the contrary? He is not born their subject whom he serves, and he
is injured by them to a very high degree. He threatens them, and
speaks insolently of sovereign power; but so do Achilles and Rinaldo,
who were subjects and soldiers to Agamemnon and Godfrey of Bulloigne.
He talks extravagantly in his passion; but, if I would take the pains
to quote an hundred passages of Ben Jonson's Cethegus, I could easily
shew you, that the rhodomontades of Almanzor are neither so irrational
as his, nor so impossible to be put in execution; for Cethegus
threatens to destroy nature, and to raise a new one out of it; to kill
all the senate for his part of the action; to look Cato dead; and a
thousand other things as extravagant he says, but performs not one
action in the play.
But none of the former calumnies will stick; and, therefore, it is at
last charged upon me, that Almanzor does all things; or if you will
have an absurd accusation, in their nonsense who make it, that he
performs impossibilities: they say, that being a stranger, he appeases
two fighting factions, when the authority of their lawful sovereign
could not. This is indeed the most improbable of all his actions, but
it is far from being impossible. Their king had made himself
contemptible to his people, as the history of Granada tells us; and
Almanzor, though a stranger, yet was already known to them by his
gallantry in the Juego de torros, his engagement on the weaker side,
and more especially by the character of his person and brave actions,
given by Abdalla just before; and, after all, the greatness of the
enterprise consisted only in the daring, for he had the king's guards
to second him: But we have read both of Cæsar, and many other
generals, who have not only calmed a mutiny with a word, but have
presented themselves single before an army of their enemies; which
upon sight of them has revolted from their own leaders, and come over
to their trenches. In the rest of Almanzor's actions you see him for
the most part victorious; but the same fortune has constantly attended
many heroes, who were not imaginary. Yet, you see it no inheritance to
him; for, in the first place, he is made a prisoner; and, in the last,
defeated, and not able to preserve the city from being taken. If the
history of the late Duke of Guise be true, he hazarded more, and
performed not less in Naples, than Almanzor is feigned to have done in
Granada.
I have been too tedious in this apology; but to make some
satisfaction, I will leave the rest of my play exposed to the
criticks, without defence.
The concernment of it is wholly passed from me, and ought to be in
them who have been favourable to it, and are somewhat obliged to
defend their opinions That there are errors in it, I deny not;
_Ast opere in tanto fas est obrepere somnum. _
But I have already swept the stakes: and, with the common good fortune
of prosperous gamesters, can be content to sit quietly; to hear my
fortune cursed by some, and my faults arraigned by others; and to
suffer both without reply.
ON
MR DRYDEN'S PLAY,
THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.
The applause I gave among the foolish crowd
Was not distinguished, though I clapped aloud:
Or, if it had, my judgment had been hid:
I clapped for company, as others did.
Thence may be told the fortune of your play;
Its goodness must be tried another way.
Let's judge it then, and, if we've any skill,
Commend what's good, though we commend it ill.
There will be praise enough; yet not so much,
As if the world had never any such:
Ben Johnson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Shakespeare, are,
As well as you, to have a poet's share.
You, who write after, have, besides, this curse,
You must write better, or you else write worse.
To equal only what was writ before,
Seems stolen, or borrowed from the former store.
Though blind as Homer all the ancients be,
'Tis on their shoulders, like the lame, we see.
Then not to flatter th' age, nor flatter you,
(Praises, though less, are greater when they're true,)
You're equal to the best, out-done by you;
Who had out-done themselves, had they lived now.
VAUGHAN[1].
Footnote:
1. John, Lord Vaughan, eldest surviving son of Richard, Earl of
Carbery.
PROLOGUE
TO THE FIRST PART,
SPOKEN BY
MRS ELLEN GWYN,
IN A BROAD-BRIMMED HAT, AND WAIST-BELT. [1]
This jest was first of the other house's making,
And, five times tried, has never failed of taking;
For 'twere a shame a poet should be killed
Under the shelter of so broad a shield.
This is that hat, whose very sight did win ye
To laugh and clap as though the devil were in ye.
As then, for Nokes, so now I hope you'll be
So dull, to laugh once more for love of me.
I'll write a play, says one, for I have got
A broad-brimmed hat, and waist-belt, towards a plot.
Says the other, I have one more large than that.
Thus they out-write each other--with a hat!
The brims still grew with every play they writ;
And grew so large, they covered all the wit.
Hat was the play; 'twas language, wit, and tale:
Like them that find meat, drink, and cloth in ale.
What dulness do these mongrel wits confess,
When all their hope is acting of a dress!
Thus, two the best comedians of the age
Must be worn out, with being blocks o' the stage;
Like a young girl, who better things has known,
Beneath their poet's impotence they groan.
See now what charity it was to save!
They thought you liked, what only you forgave;
And brought you more dull sense, dull sense much worse
Than brisk gay nonsense, and the heavier curse.
They bring old iron, and glass upon the stage,
To barter with the Indians of our age.
Still they write on, and like great authors show; }
But 'tis as rollers in wet gardens grow }
Heavy with dirt, and gathering as they go. }
May none, who have so little understood,
To like such trash, presume to praise what's good!
And may those drudges of the stage, whose fate
Is damned dull farce more dully to translate,
Fall under that excise the state thinks fit
To set on all French wares, whose worst is wit.
French farce, worn out at home, is sent abroad;
And, patched up here, is made our English mode.
Henceforth, let poets, ere allowed to write,
Be searched, like duelists before they fight,
For wheel-broad hats, dull honour, all that chaff,
Which makes you mourn, and makes the vulgar laugh:
For these, in plays, are as unlawful arms,
As, in a combat, coats of mail, and charms.
Footnote:
1. There is a vague tradition, that, in this grotesque dress, (for the
brims of the hat were as broad as a cart-wheel,) Nell Gwyn had the
good fortune first to attract the attention of her royal lover.
Where the jest lay, is difficult to discover: it seems to have
originated with the duke of York's players.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
MAHOMET BOABDELIN, _the last king of Granada. _
_Prince_ ABDALLA, _his brother. _
ABDELMELECH, _chief of the Abencerrages. _
ZULEMA, _chief of the Zegrys. _
ABENAMAR, _an old Abencerrago. _
SELIN, _an old Zegry. _
OZMYN, _a brave young Abencerrago, son to Abenamar. _
HAMET, _brother to Zulema, a Zegry. _
GOMEL, _a Zegry. _
ALMANZOR.
FERDINAND, _king of Spain. _
_Duke of_ ARCOS, _his General. _
_Don_ ALONZO D'AGUILAR, _a Spanish Captain. _
ALMAHIDE, _Queen of Granada. _
LYNDARAXA, _Sister of_ ZULEMA, _a Zegry Lady. _
BENZAYDA, _Daughter to_ SELIN.
ESPERANZA, _Slave to the Queen. _
HALYMA, _Slave to_ LYNDARAXA.
ISABELLA, _Queen of Spain. _
_Messengers, Guards, Attendants, Men, and Women. _
SCENE. --_Granada, and the Christian Camp besieging it. _
ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE,
OR, THE
CONQUEST OF GRANADA.
THE FIRST PART.
ACT I. SCENE I.
_Enter_ BOABDELIN, ABENAMAR, ABDELMELECH, _and Guards. _
_Boab. _ Thus, in the triumphs of soft peace, I reign;
And, from my walls, defy the powers of Spain;
With pomp and sports my love I celebrate,
While they keep distance, and attend my state. --
Parent to her, whose eyes my soul enthral, [_To_ ABEN.
Whom I, in hope, already father call,
Abenamar, thy youth these sports has known,
Of which thy age is now spectator grown;
Judge-like thou sit'st, to praise, or to arraign
The flying skirmish of the darted cane:
But, when fierce bulls run loose upon the place,
And our bold Moors their loves with danger grace,
Then heat new-bends thy slacken'd nerves again,
And a short youth runs warm through every vein.
_Aben. _ I must confess the encounters of this day
Warmed me indeed, but quite another way,--
Not with the fire of youth; but generous rage,
To see the glories of my youthful age
So far out-done.
_Abdelm. _ Castile could never boast, in all its pride;
A pomp so splendid, when the lists, set wide,
Gave room to the fierce bulls, which wildly ran
In Sierra Ronda, ere the war began;
Who, with high nostrils snuffing up the wind,
Now stood the champion of the savage kind.
Just opposite, within the circled place,
Ten of our bold Abencerrages race
(Each brandishing his bull-spear in his hand,)
Did their proud jennets gracefully command.
On their steel'd heads their demi-lances wore
Small pennons, which their ladies' colours bore.
Before this troop did warlike Ozmyn go;
Each lady, as he rode, saluting low;
At the chief stands, with reverence more profound,
His well-taught courser, kneeling, touched the ground;
Thence raised, he sidelong bore his rider on,
Still facing, till he out of sight was gone.
_Boab. _ You praise him like a friend; and I confess,
His brave deportment merited no less.
_Abdelm. _ Nine bulls were launched by his victorious arm,
Whose wary jennet, shunning still the harm,
Seemed to attend the shock, and then leaped wide:
Mean while, his dext'rous rider, when he spied
The beast just stooping, 'twixt the neck and head
His lance, with never-erring fury, sped.
_Aben. _ My son did well, and so did Hamet too;
Yet did no more than we were wont to do;
But what the stranger did was more than man.
_Abdelm. _ He finished all those triumphs we began.
One bull, with curled black head, beyond the rest,
And dew-laps hanging from his brawny chest,
With nodding front a while did daring stand,
And with his jetty hoof spurned back the sand;
Then, leaping forth, he bellowed out aloud:
The amazed assistants back each other crowd,
While monarch-like he ranged the listed field;
Some tossed, some gored, some trampling down he killed.
The ignobler Moors from far his rage provoke
With woods of darts, which from his sides he shook.
Mean time your valiant son, who had before
Gained fame, rode round to every Mirador;
Beneath each lady's stand a stop he made,
And, bowing, took the applauses which they paid.
Just in that point of time, the brave unknown
Approached the lists.
_Boab. _ I marked him, when alone
(Observed by all, himself observing none)
He entered first, and with a graceful pride
His fiery Arab dextrously did guide,
Who, while his rider every stand surveyed,
Sprung loose, and flew into an escapade;
Not moving forward, yet, with every bound,
Pressing, and seeming still to quit his ground.
What after passed
Was far from the Ventanna where I sate,
But you were near, and can the truth relate. [_To_ ABDELM.
_Abdelm. _ Thus while he stood, the bull, who saw his foe,
His easier conquests proudly did forego;
And, making at him with a furious bound,
From his bent forehead aimed a double wound.
A rising murmur ran through all the field,
And every lady's blood with fear was chilled:
Some shrieked, while others, with more helpful care,
Cried out aloud,--Beware, brave youth, beware!
At this he turned, and, as the bull drew near,
Shunned, and received him on his pointed spear:
The lance broke short, the beast then bellowed loud,
And his strong neck to a new onset bowed.
The undaunted youth
Then drew; and, from his saddle bending low,
Just where the neck did to the shoulders grow,
With his full force discharged a deadly blow.
Not heads of poppies (when they reap the grain)
Fall with more ease before the labouring swain,
Than fell this head:
It fell so quick, it did even death prevent,
And made imperfect bellowings as it went.
Then all the trumpets victory did sound,
And yet their clangors in our shouts were drown'd.
[_A confused noise within.
Boab. _ The alarm-bell rings from our Alhambra walls,
And from the streets sound drums and ataballes.
[_Within, a bell, drums, and trumpets. _
_Enter a Messenger. _
How now? from whence proceed these new alarms?
_Mess. _ The two fierce factions are again in arms;
And, changing into blood the day's delight,
The Zegrys with the Abencerrages fight;
On each side their allies and friends appear;
The Macas here, the Alabezes there:
The Gazuls with the Bencerrages join,
And, with the Zegrys, all great Gomel's line.
_Boab. _ Draw up behind the Vivarambla place;
Double my guards,--these factions I will face;
And try if all the fury they can bring,
Be proof against the presence of their king. [_Exit_ BOAB.
_The Factions appear: At the head of the Abencerrages,_ OZMYN; _at
the head of the Zegrys,_ ZULEMA, HAMET, GOMEL, _and_ SELIN: ABENAMAR
_and_ ABDELMELECH, _joined with the Abencerrages. _
_Zul. _ The faint Abencerrages quit their ground:
Press them; put home your thrusts to every wound.
_Abdelm. _ Zegry, on manly force our line relies;
Thine poorly takes the advantage of surprise:
Unarmed and much out-numbered we retreat;
You gain no fame, when basely you defeat.
If thou art brave, seek nobler victory;
Save Moorish blood; and, while our bands stand by,
Let two and two an equal combat try.
_Ham. _ 'Tis not for fear the combat we refuse,
But we our gained advantage will not lose.
_Zul. _ In combating, but two of you will fall;
And we resolve we will dispatch you all.
_Ozm. _ We'll double yet the exchange before we die,
And each of ours two lives of yours shall buy.
ALMANZOR _enters betwixt them, as they stand ready to engage. _
_Alm. _ I cannot stay to ask which cause is best;
But this is so to me, because opprest. [_Goes to the Aben. _
_To them_ BOABDELIN _and his guards, going betwixt them. _
_Boab. _ On your allegiance, I command you stay;
Who passes here, through me must make his way;
My life's the Isthmus; through this narrow line
You first must cut, before those seas can join.
What fury, Zegrys, has possessed your minds?
What rage the brave Abencerrages blinds?
If of your courage you new proofs would show,
Without much travel you may find a foe.
Those foes are neither so remote nor few,
That you should need each other to pursue.
Lean times and foreign wars should minds unite;
When poor, men mutter, but they seldom fight.
O holy Alha! that I live to see
Thy Granadines assist their enemy!
You fight the christians' battles; every life
You lavish thus, in this intestine strife,
Does from our weak foundations take one prop,
Which helped to hold our sinking country up.
_Ozm. _ 'Tis fit our private enmity should cease;
Though injured first, yet I will first seek peace.
_Zul. _ No, murderer, no; I never will be won
To peace with him, whose hand has slain my son.
_Ozm. _ Our prophet's curse
On me, and all the Abencerrages light,
If, unprovoked, I with your son did fight.
_Abdelm. _ A band of Zegrys ran within the place,
Matched with a troop of thirty of our race.
Your son and Ozmyn the first squadrons led,
Which, ten by ten, like Parthians, charged and fled.
The ground was strowed with canes where we did meet,
Which crackled underneath our coursers' feet:
When Tarifa (I saw him ride a part)
Changed his blunt cane for a steel-pointed dart,
And, meeting Ozmyn next,--
Who wanted time for treason to provide,--
He basely threw it at him, undefied.
_Ozm. _ [_Shewing his arms. _]
Witness this blood--which when by treason sought,
That followed, sir, which to myself I ought.
_Zul. _ His hate to thee was grounded on a grudge,
Which all our generous Zegrys just did judge:
Thy villain-blood thou openly didst place
Above the purple of our kingly race.
_Boab. _ From equal stems their blood both houses draw,
They from Morocco, you from Cordova.
_Ham. _ Their mongrel race is mixed with Christian breed;
Hence 'tis that they those dogs in prisons feed.
_Abdelm. _ Our holy prophet wills, that charity
Should even to birds and beasts extended be:
None knows what fate is for himself designed;
The thought of human chance should make us kind.
_Gom. _ We waste that time we to revenge should give:
Fall on: let no Abencerrago live.
[_Advancing before the rest of his party. _ ALMANZOR
_advancing on the other side, and describing a
line with his sword. _
_Almanz. _ Upon thy life pass not this middle space;
Sure death stands guarding the forbidden place.
_Gom. _ To dare that death, I will approach yet nigher;
Thus,--wert thou compassed in with circling fire. [_They fight. _
_Boab. _ Disarm them both; if they resist you, kill.
[ALMANZOR, _in the midst of the guards, kills_
GOMEL, _and then is disarmed. _
_Almanz. _ Now you have but the leavings of my will.
_Boab. _ Kill him! this insolent unknown shall fall,
And be the victim to atone you all.
_Ozm. _ If he must die, not one of us will live:
That life he gave for us, for him we give.
_Boab. _ It was a traitor's voice that spoke those words;
So are you all, who do not sheath your swords.
_Zul. _ Outrage unpunished, when a prince is by,
Forfeits to scorn the rights of majesty:
No subject his protection can expect,
Who what he owes himself does first neglect.
_Aben. _ This stranger, sir, is he,
Who lately in the Vivarambla place
Did, with so loud applause, your triumphs grace.
_Boab. _ The word which I have given, I'll not revoke;
If he be brave, he's ready for the stroke.
_Almanz. _ No man has more contempt than I of breath,
But whence hast thou the right to give me death?
Obeyed as sovereign by thy subjects be,
But know, that I alone am king of me.
I am as free as nature first made man,
Ere the base laws of servitude began,
When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
_Boab. _ Since, then, no power above your own you know,
Mankind should use you like a common foe;
You should be hunted like a beast of prey:
By your own law I take your life away.
_Almanz. _ My laws are made but only for my sake;
No king against himself a law can make.
If thou pretend'st to be a prince like me,
Blame not an act, which should thy pattern be.
I saw the oppressed, and thought it did belong
To a king's office to redress the wrong:
I brought that succour, which thou ought'st to bring,
And so, in nature, am thy subjects' king.
_Boab. _ I do not want your counsel to direct
Or aid to help me punish or protect.
_Almanz. _ Thou want'st them both, or better thou would'st know,
Than to let factions in thy kingdom grow.
Divided interests, while thou think'st to sway,
Draw, like two brooks, thy middle stream away:
For though they band and jar, yet both combine
To make their greatness by the fall of thine.
Thus, like a buckler, thou art held in sight,
While they behind thee with each other fight.
_Boab. _ Away, and execute him instantly! [_To his Guards. _
_Almanz. _ Stand off; I have not leisure yet to die.
_To them, enter_ ABDALLA _hastily. _
_Abdal. _ Hold, sir! for heaven's sake hold!
Defer this noble stranger's punishment,
Or your rash orders you will soon repent.
_Boab. _ Brother, you know not yet his insolence.
_Abdal. _ Upon yourself you punish his offence:
If we treat gallant strangers in this sort,
Mankind will shun the inhospitable court;
And who, henceforth, to our defence will come,
If death must be the brave Almanzor's doom?
From Africa I drew him to your aid,
And for his succour have his life betrayed.
_Boab. _ Is this the Almanzor whom at Fez you knew,
When first their swords the Xeriff brothers drew?
_Abdal. _ This, sir, is he, who for the elder fought,
And to the juster cause the conquest brought;
Till the proud Santo, seated on the throne,
Disdained the service he had done to own:
Then to the vanquished part his fate he led;
The vanquished triumphed, and the victor fled.
Vast is his courage, boundless is his mind,
Rough as a storm, and humorous as wind:
Honour's the only idol of his eyes;
The charms of beauty like a pest he flies;
And, raised by valour from a birth unknown,
Acknowledges no power above his own. [BOABDELIN _coming to_ ALMANZOR.
_Boab. _ Impute your danger to our ignorance;
The bravest men are subject most to chance:
Granada much does to your kindness owe;
But towns, expecting sieges, cannot show
More honour, than to invite you to a foe.
_Almanz. _ I do not doubt but I have been to blame:
But, to pursue the end for which I came,
Unite your subjects first; then let us go,
And pour their common rage upon the foe.
_Boab. _ [_to the Factions. _]
Lay down your arms, and let me beg you cease
Your enmities.
_Zul. _ We will not hear of peace,
Till we by force have first revenged our slain.
_Abdelm. _ The action we have done we will maintain.
_Selin. _ Then let the king depart, and we will try
Our cause by arms.
_Zul. _ For us and victory.
_Boab. _ A king entreats you.
_Almanz. _ What subjects will precarious kings regard?
A beggar speaks too softly to be heard:
Lay down your arms! 'tis I command you now.
Do it--or, by our prophet's soul I vow,
My hands shall right your king on him I seize.
Now let me see whose look but disobeys.
_All. _ Long live king Mahomet Boabdelin!
_Almanz. _ No more; but hushed as midnight silence go:
He will not have your acclamations now.
Hence, you unthinking crowd! --
[_The Common People go off on both parties. _
Empire, thou poor and despicable thing,
When such as these make or unmake a king!
_Abdal. _ How much of virtue lies in one great soul, [_Embracing him. _
Whose single force can multitudes controul! [_A trumpet within. _
_Enter a Messenger. _
_Messen. _ The Duke of Arcos, sir,
Does with a trumpet from the foe appear.
_Boab. _ Attend him; he shall have his audience here.
_Enter the Duke of_ ARCOS.
_D. Arcos. _ The monarchs of Castile and Arragon
Have sent me to you, to demand this town.
To which their just and rightful claim is known.
_Boab. _ Tell Ferdinand, my right to it appears
By long possession of eight hundred years:
When first my ancestors from Afric sailed,
In Rodrique's death your Gothic title failed.
_D. Arcos. _ The successors of Rodrique still remain,
And ever since have held some part of Spain:
Even in the midst of your victorious powers,
The Asturias, and all Portugal, were ours.
You have no right, except you force allow;
And if yours then was just, so ours is now.
_Boab. _ 'Tis true from force the noblest title springs;
I therefore hold from that, which first made kings.
_D. Arcos. _ Since then by force you prove your title true,
Ours must be just, because we claim from you.
When with your father you did jointly reign,
Invading with your Moors the south of Spain,
I, who that day the Christians did command,
Then took, and brought you bound to Ferdinand.
_Boab. _ I'll hear no more; defer what you would say;
In private we'll discourse some other day.
_D. Arcos. _ Sir, you shall hear, however you are loth,
That, like a perjured prince, you broke your oath:
To gain your freedom you a contract signed,
By which your crown you to my king resigned,
From thenceforth as his vassal holding it,
And paying tribute such as he thought fit;
Contracting, when your father came to die,
To lay aside all marks of royalty,
And at Purchena privately to live,
Which, in exchange, king Ferdinand did give.
_Boab. _ The force used on me made that contract void.
_D. Arcos. _ Why have you then its benefits enjoyed?
By it you had not only freedom then,
But, since, had aid of money and of men;
And, when Granada for your uncle held,
You were by us restored, and he expelled.
Since that, in peace we let you reap your grain,
Recalled our troops, that used to beat your plain;
And more--
_Almanz.
