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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works Of John Dryden, Volume 4 (of 18)
by John Dryden

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
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Title: The Works Of John Dryden, Volume 4 (of 18)
Almanzor And Almahide, Marriage-a-la-Mode, The Assignation

Author: John Dryden

Commentator: Walter Scott


Release Date: March 13, 2005 [EBook #15349]

Language: English


*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF JOHN DRYDEN ***




Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Fred Robinson and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team.









THE

WORKS

OF

JOHN DRYDEN,

NOW FIRST COLLECTED

_IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES. _



ILLUSTRATED

WITH NOTES,

HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY,

AND

A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,

BY

WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.



VOL. IV.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET,

BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.


1808.


* * * * *


CONTENTS

OF

VOLUME FOURTH.

Almanzor and Almahide, or the Conquest of Granada by the Spaniards, a
Tragedy, Part First
Epistle Dedicatory to the Duke of York
Of Heroic Plays, an Essay
Part II
Defence of the Epilogue; or an Essay on the Dramatic Poetry of
the last Age


Marriage-a-la-Mode, a Comedy
Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Rochester


The Assignation, or Love in a Nunnery, a Comedy
Epistle Dedicatory to Sir Charles Sedley, Bart.


* * * * *


ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE:

OR, THE

CONQUEST OF GRANADA

BY THE

_SPANIARDS. _

A TRAGEDY.


_--Major rerum mihi nascitur ordo;
Majus opus moveo. _
VIRG. ÆNEID.




THE CONQUEST OF GRANADA.


This play,--for the two parts only constitute an entire drama betwixt
them,--seems to have been a favourite with Dryden, as well as with the
public. In the Essay upon Heroic Plays, as well as in the dedication,
the character of Almanzor is dwelt upon with that degree of
complacency which an author experiences in analyzing a successful
effort of his genius. Unquestionably the gross improbability of a
hero, by his single arm, turning the tide of battle as he lists, did
not appear so shocking in the age of Dryden, as in ours. There is no
doubt, that, while personal strength and prowess were of more
consequence than military skill and conduct, the feats of a single man
were sometimes sufficient to determine the fate of an engagement, more
especially when exerted by a knight, sheathed in complete mail,
against the heartless and half-armed mass, which constituted the
feudal infantry. Those, who have perused Barbour's History of Robert
Bruce, Geoffrey de Vinsauf's account of the wars of Richard Coeur de
Lion, or even the battles detailed by Froissart and Joinville, are
familiar with instances of breaches defended, and battles decided, by
the prowess of a single arm. The leader of a feudal army was expected
by his followers not only to point out the path to victory but to lead
the way in person. It is true, that the military art had been changed
in this particular long before the days of Dryden. Complete armour was
generally laid aside; fire-arms had superseded the use of the lance
and battle-axe; and, above all, the universal institution of standing
armies had given discipline and military skill their natural and
decisive superiority over untaught strength, and enthusiastic valour.
But the memory of what had been, was still familiar to the popular
mind, and preserved not only by numerous legends and traditions, but
also by the cast of the fashionable works of fiction. It is, indeed,
curious to remark, how many minute remnants of a system of ancient
manners can be traced long after it has become totally obsolete. Even
down to the eighteenth century, the portrait of every soldier of rank
was attired in complete armour, though, perhaps, he never saw a suit
of mail excepting in the Tower of London; and on the same principle of
prescriptive custom, Addison was the first poet who ventured to
celebrate a victorious general for skill and conduct, instead of such
feats as are appropriated to Guy of Warwick, or Bevis of Hampton. The
fashion of attributing mighty effects to individual valour being thus
prevalent, even in circumstances when every one knew the supposition
to be entirely gratuitous, the same principle, with much greater
propriety, continued to be applied in works of fiction, where the
scene was usually carried back to times in which the personal strength
of a champion really had some efficacy. It must be owned, however,
that the authors of the French romances carried the influence of
individual strength and courage beyond all bounds of modesty and
reason. In the Grand Cyrus, Artamenes, upon a moderate computation,
exterminates with his own hand, in the course of the work, at least a
hundred thousand fighting men. These monstrous fictions, however,
constituted the amusement of the young and the gay[1], in the age of
Charles II. , and from one of these very books Dryden admits his having
drawn, at least in part, the character of his Moorish warrior. The
public was, therefore, every way familiarised with such chivalrous
exploits as those of Almanzor; and if they did not altogether command
the belief, at least they did not revolt the imagination, of an
audience: And this must certainly be admitted as a fair apology for
the extravagance of his heroic achievements.

But, it is not only the actual effects of Almanzor's valour, which
appear to us unnatural, but also the extraordinary principles and
motives by which those exertions are guided. Here also, we must look
back to the Gothic romances, and to those of Scudery and Calprenede.
In fact, the extravagance of sentiment is no less necessary than the
extravagance of achievement to constitute a true knight errant; and
such is Almanzor. Honour and love were the sole deities worshipped by
this extraordinary race, who, though their memory and manners are
preserved chiefly in works of fiction, did once exist in real life,
and actually conducted armies, and governed kingdoms, upon principles
as strained and hyperbolical as those of the Moorish champion. If
Almanzor, at the command of his mistress, aids his hated rival to the
destruction of his own hopes, he only discharges the duty of a good
knight, who was bound to sacrifice himself, and all his hopes and
wishes, at the slightest command of her, to whom he had vowed his
service, and who, in the language of chivalry, was to him as the soul
is to the body. The reader may recollect the memorable invasion of
England by James IV. of Scotland, in which he hazarded and actually
lost his own life, and the flower of his nobility, because the queen
of France, who called him her knight, had commanded him to march three
miles on English ground for her sake.

Less can be said to justify the extravagant language in which Almanzor
threatens his enemies, and vaunts his own importance. This is not
common in the heroes of romance, who are usually as remarkable for
their modesty of language as for their prowess; and still more seldom
does, in real life, a vain-glorious boaster vindicate by his actions
the threats of his tongue. It is true, that men of a fervent and
glowing character are apt to strain their speech beyond the modesty of
ordinary conversation, and display, in their language, the fire which
glows in their bosoms; but the subject of their effusions is usually
connected not with their own personal qualities, or feats, but with
some extraneous object of their pursuit, or admiration. Thus, the
burst of Hotspur concerning the pursuit of honour paints his
enthusiastic character; but it would be hard to point out a passage
indicating that exuberant confidence in his own prowess, and contempt
of every one else, so liberally exhibited by Almanzor. Instances of
this defect are but too thickly sown through the piece; for example
the following rant.

If from thy hands alone my death can be,
I am immortal, and a God to thee.
If I would kill thee now, thy fate's so low,
That I must stoop ere I can give the blow.
But mine is fixed so far above thy crown,
That all thy men,
Piled on thy back, can never pull it down.
But, at my ease, thy destiny I send,
By ceasing from this hour to be thy friend.
Like heaven, I need but only to stand still;
And, not concurring to thy life, I kill.
Thou canst no title to my duty bring;
I am not thy subject, and my soul's thy king.
Farewell! When I am gone,
There's not a star of thine dare stay with thee:
I'll whistle thy tame fortune after me;
And whirl fate with me wheresoe'er I fly,
As winds drive storms before them in the sky.

This curious passage did not escape the malicious criticism of Settle,
who, besides noticing the extravagant egotism of the hero, questions,
with some probability, whether Abdalla would have chosen to scale
Almanzor's fate, at the risque of the personal consequences of having
all his men piled on his own back. In the same scene, Almanzor is so
unreasonable as to tell his rival,

--Thou shalt not dare
To be so impudent as to despair.

And again,

What are ten thousand subjects, such as they?
If I am scorned, I'll take myself away.

Dryden's apology for these extravagancies seems to be, that Almanzor
is in a passion. But, although talking nonsense is a common effect of
passion, it seems hardly one of those consequences adapted to shew
forth the character of a hero in theatrical representation.

It must be owned, however, that although the part of Almanzor contains
these and other bombastic passages, there are many also which convey
what the poet desired to represent--the aspirations of a mind so
heroic as almost to surmount the bonds of society and even the very
laws of the universe, leaving us often in doubt whether the vehemence
of the wish does not even disguise the impossibility of its
accomplishment.

Good heaven! thy book of fate before me lay,
But to tear out the journal of this day.
Or, if the order of the world below
Will not the gap of one whole day allow,
Give me that minute when she made her vow.
That minute, even the happy from their bliss might give,
And those, who live in grief, a shorter time would live.
So small a link, if broke, the eternal chain
Would, like divided waters, join again.
It wonnot be; the fugitive is gone,
Pressed by the crowd of following minutes on:
That precious moment's out of nature fled,
And in the heap of common rubbish laid,
Of things that once have been, and now decayed.

In the less inflated parts, the ideas are usually as just, as
ingenious and beautiful; for example.

No; there is a necessity in fate.
Why still the brave bold man is fortunate;
He keeps his object ever full in sight,
And that assurance holds him firm and right.
True, 'tis a narrow path that leads to bliss, }
But right before there is no precipice; }
Fear makes men look aside, and then their footing miss. }

The character of Almanzor is well known as the original of Drawcansir,
in "The Rehearsal," into whose mouth parodies of some of Dryden's most
extravagant flights have been put by the duke of Buckingham.
Shaftesbury also, whose family had smarted under Dryden's satire,
attempts to trace the applause bestowed on the "Conquest of Granada"
to what he calls "the correspondence and relation between our _Royal
Theatre_ and popular _Circus_, or _Bear-Garden_. For, in the former of
these assemblys, 'tis undeniable that, at least, the two upper
regions, or galleries, contain such spectators as indifferently
frequent each place of sport. So that 'tis no wonder we hear such
applause resounded on the victories of an _Almanzor_, when the same
parties had possibly no later than the day before bestowed their
applause as freely on the victorious _Butcher_, the hero of another
stage. " _Miscellaneous Reflections. Miscell. 5. _

The other personages of the drama sink into Lilliputians, beside
the gigantic Almanzor, although the under plot of the loves of
Ozmyn and Benzayda is beautiful in itself, and ingeniously managed.
The virtuous Almahide is a fit object for the adoration of
Almanzor; but her husband is a poor pageant of royalty. As
for Lyndaraxa, her repeated and unparalleled treachery can only be
justified by the extreme imbecility of her lovers.

The plot of the play is, in part, taken from history. During
the last years of its existence, Granada, the poor remnant of the
Moorish empire in Spain, was torn to pieces with intestine discord,
and assailed without by the sword of the Christians. The history
of the civil wars of Granada, affirmed to be translated into Spanish
from the Arabian, gives a romantic, but not altogether fabulous
account of their discord. But a romance in the French taste,
called Almahide, seems to have been the chief source from which
our author drew his plot.

In the conduct of the story there is much brilliancy of event. The
reader, or spectator, is never allowed to repose on the scene before
him; and although the changes of fortune are too rapid to be either
probable, or altogether pleasing, yet they arrest the attention by
their splendour and importance, and interest us in spite of our more
sober judgment. The introduction of the ghost of Almanzor's mother
seems to have been intended to shew how the hero could support even an
interview with an inhabitant of the other world. At least, the
professed purpose of her coming might have been safely trusted to the
virtue of Almahide, and her power over her lover. It afforded an
opportunity, however, to throw in some fine poetry, of which Dryden
has not failed to avail himself. Were it not a peculiar attribute of
the heroic drama, it might be mentioned as a defect, that during the
siege of the last possession of the Spanish Moors, by an enemy hated
for his religion, and for his success, the principle of patriotism is
hardly once alluded to through the whole piece. The fate, or the
wishes, of Almahide, Lyndaraxa, and Benzayda, are all that interest
the Moorish warriors around them, as if the Christian was not
thundering at their gates, to exterminate at once their nation and
religion. Indeed, so essentially necessary are the encouragements of
beauty to military achievement, that we find queen Isabella ordering
to the field of battle a _corps de reserve_ of her maids of honour to
animate the fighting warriors with their smiles, and counteract the
powerful charms of the Moorish damsels. Nor is it an inferior fault,
that, although the characters are called Moors, there is scarce any
expression, or allusion, which can fix the reader's attention upon
their locality, except an occasional interjection to Alha, or Mahomet.

If, however, the reader can abstract his mind from the qualities now
deemed essential to a play, and consider the Conquest of Granada as a
piece of romantic poetry, there are few compositions in the English
language, which convey a more lively and favourable display of the
magnificence of fable, of language, and of action, proper to that
style of composition. Amid the splendid ornaments of the structure we
lose sight of occasional disproportion and incongruity; and, at an
early age particularly, there are few poems which make a more deep
impression upon the imagination, than the Conquest of Granada.

The two parts of this drama were brought out in the same season,
probably in winter, 1669, or spring, 1670. They were received with
such applause, that Langbaine conceives their success to have been the
occasion of Dryden's undervaluing his predecessors in dramatic
writing. The Conquest of Granada was not printed till 1672.


Footnote:
1. There is something ludicrous in the idea of a beauty, or a
gallant, of that gay and licentious court poring over a work of
five or six folio volumes by way of amusement; but such was the
taste of the age, that Fynes Morison, in his precepts to
travellers, can "think no book better for his pupils' discourse
than Amadis of Gaule; for the knights errant and the ladies of
court do therein exchange courtly speeches. "




TO

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS

THE

DUKE[1].


SIR,

Heroic poesy has always been sacred to princes, and to heroes. Thus
Virgil inscribed his Æneids to Augustus Cæsar; and of latter ages,
Tasso and Ariosto dedicated their poems to the house of Este. It is
indeed but justice, that the most excellent and most profitable kind
of writing should be addressed by poets to such persons, whose
characters have, for the most part, been the guides and patterns of
their imitation; and poets, while they imitate, instruct. The feigned
hero inflames the true; and the dead virtue animates the living.
Since, therefore, the world is governed by precept and example, and
both these can only have influence from those persons who are above
us; that kind of poesy, which excites to virtue the greatest men, is
of the greatest use to human kind.

It is from this consideration, that I have presumed to dedicate to
your royal highness these faint representations of your own worth and
valour in heroick poetry: Or, to speak more properly, not to dedicate,
but to restore to you those ideas, which in the more perfect part of
my characters I have taken from you. Heroes may lawfully be delighted
with their own praises, both as they are farther incitements to their
virtue, and as they are the highest returns which mankind can make
them for it.

And certainly, if ever nation were obliged, either by the conduct, the
personal[2] valour, or the good fortune of a leader, the English are
acknowledging, in all of them, to your royal highness. Your whole life
has been a continued series of heroick actions; which you began so
early, that you were no sooner named in the world, but it was with
praise and admiration. Even the first blossoms of your youth paid us
all that could be expected from a ripening manhood. While you
practised but the rudiments of war, you out-went all other captains;
and have since found none to surpass, but yourself alone. The opening
of your glory was like that of light: You shone to us from afar; and
disclosed your first beams on distant nations: Yet so, that the lustre
of them was spread abroad, and reflected brightly on your native
country. You were then an honour to it, when it was a reproach to
itself. When the fortunate usurper sent his arms to Flanders, many of
the adverse party were vanquished by your fame, ere they tried your
valour. [3] The report of it drew over to your ensigns whole troops and
companies of converted rebels, and made them forsake successful
wickedness, to follow an oppressed and exiled virtue. Your reputation
waged war with the enemies of your royal family, even within their
trenches; and the more obstinate, or more guilty of them, were forced
to be spies over those whom they commanded, lest the name of York
should disband that army, in whose fate it was to defeat the
Spaniards, and force Dunkirk to surrender. Yet, those victorious
forces of the rebels were not able to sustain your arms. Where you
charged in person you were a conqueror. It is true, they afterwards
recovered courage; and wrested that victory from others which they had
lost to you; and it was a greater action for them to rally, than it
was to overcome. Thus, by the presence of your royal highness, the
English on both sides remained victorious and that army, which was
broken by your valour, became a terror to those for whom they
conquered. Then it was, that at the cost of other nations you informed
and cultivated that valour, which was to defend your native country,
and to vindicate its honour from the insolence of our encroaching
neighbours. When the Hollanders, not contented to withdraw themselves
from the obedience which they owed their lawful sovereign, affronted
those by whose charity they were first protected; and, being swelled
up to a pre-eminence of trade, by a supine negligence on our side, and
a sordid parsimony on their own, dared to dispute the sovereignty of
the seas, the eyes of three nations were then cast upon you; and by
the joint suffrage of king and people, you were chosen to revenge
their common injuries; to which, though you had an undoubted title by
your birth, you had a greater by your courage. Neither did the success
deceive our hopes and expectations: The most glorious victory which
was gained by our navy in that war, was in the first engagement;
wherein, even by the confession of our enemies, who ever palliate
their own losses, and diminish our advantages, your absolute triumph
was acknowledged: You conquered at the Hague, as entirely as at
London; and the return of a shattered fleet, without an admiral, left
not the most impudent among them the least pretence for a false
bonfire, or a dissembled day of public thanksgiving. All our
achievements against them afterwards, though we sometimes conquered,
and were never overcome, were but a copy of that victory, and they
still fell short of their original: somewhat of fortune was ever
wanting, to fill up the title of so absolute a defeat; or perhaps the
guardian angel of our nation was not enough concerned when you were
absent, and would not employ his utmost vigour for a less important
stake, than the life and honour of a royal admiral.

And if, since that memorable day,[4] you have had leisure to enjoy in
peace the fruits of so glorious a reputation; it was occasion only has
been wanting to your courage, for that can never be wanting to
occasion. The same ardour still incites you to heroick actions, and
the same concernment for all the interests of your king and brother
continues to give you restless nights, and a generous emulation for
your own glory. You are still meditating on new labours for yourself,
and new triumphs for the nation; and when our former enemies again
provoke us, you will again solicit fate to provide you another navy to
overcome, and another admiral to be slain. You will then lead forth a
nation eager to revenge their past injuries; and, like the Romans,
inexorable to peace, till they have fully vanquished. Let our enemies
make their boast of a surprise,[5] as the Samnities did of a
successful stratagem; but the _Furcæ Caudinæ_ will never be forgiven
till they are revenged. I have always observed in your royal highness
an extreme concernment for the honour of your country; it is a passion
common to you with a brother, the most excellent of kings; and in your
two persons are eminent the characters which Homer has given us of
heroick virtue; the commanding part in Agamemnon, and the executive in
Achilles. And I doubt not from both your actions, but to have abundant
matter to fill the annals of a glorious reign, and to perform the part
of a just historian to my royal master, without intermixing with it
any thing of the poet.

In the mean time, while your royal highness is preparing fresh
employments for our pens, I have been examining my own forces, and
making trial of myself, how I shall be able to transmit you to
posterity. I have formed a hero, I confess, not absolutely perfect,
but of an excessive and over-boiling courage; but Homer and Tasso are
my precedents. Both the Greek and the Italian poet had well
considered, that a tame hero, who never transgresses the bounds of
moral virtue, would shine but dimly in an epic poem; the strictness of
those rules might well give precepts to the reader, but would
administer little of occasion to the writer. But a character of an
eccentrick virtue is the more exact image of human life, because he is
not wholly exempted from its frailties; such a person is Almanzor,
whom I present, with all humility, to the patronage of your royal
highness. I designed in him a roughness of character, impatient of
injuries, and a confidence of himself, almost approaching to an
arrogance. But these errors are incident only to great spirits; they
are moles and dimples, which hinder not a face from being beautiful,
though that beauty be not regular; they are of the number of those
amiable imperfections which we see in mistresses, and which we pass
over without a strict examination, when they are accompanied with
greater graces. And such in Almanzor are a frank and noble openness of
nature, an easiness to forgive his conquered enemies, and to protect
them in distress; and, above all, an inviolable faith in his
affection.

This, sir, I have briefly shadowed to your royal highness, that you
may not be ashamed of that hero, whose protection you undertake.
Neither would I dedicate him to so illustrious a name, if I were
conscious to myself that he did or said any thing which was wholly
unworthy of it. However, since it is not just that your royal highness
should defend or own what possibly may be my error, I bring before you
this accused Almanzor in the nature of a suspected criminal. By the
suffrage of the most and best he already is acquitted; and by the
sentence of some, condemned.
But as I have no reason to stand to the
award of my enemies, so neither dare I trust the partiality of my
friends: I make my last appeal to your royal highness, as to a
sovereign tribunal. Heroes should only be judged by heroes; because
they only are capable of measuring great and heroick actions by the
rule and standard of their own. If Almanzor has failed in any point of
honour, I must therein acknowledge that he deviates from your royal
highness, who are the pattern of it. But if at any time he fulfils the
parts of personal valour, and of conduct, of a soldier, and of a
general; or, if I could yet give him a character more advantageous
than what he has, of the most unshaken friend, the greatest of
subjects, and the best of masters, I should then draw to all the world
a true resemblance of your worth and virtues; at least, as far as they
are capable of being copied by the mean abilities of,

SIR,

Your royal highness's
Most humble, and
Most obedient servant,
JOHN DRYDEN.


Footnotes:
1. James Duke of York, afterwards James II.

2. Although the valour of the unfortunate James II. 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.