LETTER. I.
On the Genius and Writings of Shake⯑ſpear.
To Mr. [...]

I Here ſend you the Tragedy of Coriola⯑nus, which I have alter'd from the Ori⯑ginal of Shakeſpear, and with it a ſhort Account of the Genius and Writings of that Author, both which you deſired me to ſend to you the laſt time I had the good For⯑tune to ſee you. But I ſend them both upon this condition, that you will with your uſual Sincerity tell me your Sentiments both of the Poem and of the Criticiſm.

Shakeſpear was one of the greateſt Ge⯑nius's that the World e'er ſaw for the Tra⯑gick Stage. Tho'he lay under greater Diſ⯑advantages [2] than any of his Succeſſors, yet had he greater and more genuine Beauties than the beſt and greateſt of them. And what makes the brighteſt Glory of his Cha⯑racter, thoſe Beauties were entirely his own, and owing to the Force of his own Nature; whereas his Faults were owing to his Edu⯑cation, and to the Age that he liv'd in. One may ſay of him as they did of Homer, that he had none to imitate, and is himſelf inimi⯑table. His Imaginations were often as juſt, as they were bold and ſtrong. He had a na⯑tural Diſcretion which never cou'd have been taught him, and his Judgment was ſtrong and penetrating. He ſeems to have wanted nothing but Time and Leiſure for Thought, to have found out thoſe Rules of which he appears ſo ignorant. His Characters are al⯑ways drawn juſtly, exactly, graphically, ex⯑cept where he fail'd by not knowing Hiſtory or the Poetical Art. He has for the moſt part more fairly diſtinguiſh'd them than any of his Succeſſors have done, who have fal⯑ſified them, or confounded them, by making Love the predominant Quality in all. He had ſo fine a Talent for touching the Paſſions, and they are ſo lively in him, and ſo truly in Nature, that they often touch us more without their due Preparations, than thoſe of other Tragick Poets, who have all the Beauty of Deſign and all the Advantage of [3] Incidents. His Maſter-Paſſion was Terror, which he has often mov'd ſo powerfully and ſo wonderfully, that we may juſtly con⯑clude, that if he had had the Advantage of Art and Learning, he wou'd have ſurpaſs'd the very beſt and ſtrongeſt of the Ancients. His Paintings are often ſo beautiful and ſo lively, ſo graceful and ſo powerful, eſpeci⯑ally where he uſes them in order to move Terror; that there is nothing perhaps more accompliſh'd in our Engliſh Poetry. His Sen⯑timents for the moſt part in his beſt Trage⯑dies, are noble, generous, eaſie and natural, and adapted to the Perſons who uſe them. His Expreſſion is in many Places good and pure after a hundred Years; ſimple tho' ele⯑vated, graceful tho' bold, and eaſy tho' ſtrong. He ſeems to have been the very Original of our Engliſh Tragical Harmony; that is the Harmony of Blank Verſe, diverſi⯑fyed often by Diſſyllable and Triſſyllable Ter⯑minations. For that Diverſity diſtinguiſhes it from Heroick Harmony, and bringing it nearer to common Uſe, makes it more pro⯑per to gain Attention, and more fit for Action and Dialogue. Such Verſe we make when we are writing Proſe; we make ſuch Verſe in common Converſation.

If Shakeſpear had theſe great Qualities by Nature, what would he not have been, if he had join'd to ſo happy a Genius Learning [4] and the Poetical Art. For want of the lat⯑ter our Author has ſometimes made groſs Miſtakes in the Characters which he has drawn from Hiſtory, againſt the Equality and Conveniency of Manners of his Drama⯑tical Perſons. Witneſs Menenius in the fol⯑lowing Tragedy, whom he has made an er⯑rant Buffoon, which is a great Abſurdity. For he might as well have imagin'd a grave majeſtick Jack-Pudding, as a Buffoon in a Roman Senator. Aufidius the General of the Volſcians is ſhewn a baſe and a profligate Villain. He has offended againſt the Equa⯑lity of the Manners even in his Hero him⯑ſelf. For Coriolanus who in the firſt part of the Tragedy is ſhewn ſo open, ſo frank, ſo violent, and ſo magnanimous, is repreſented in the latter part by Aufidius which is con⯑tradicted by no one, a flattering, fawning, cringing, inſinuating Traytor.

For want of this Poetical Art, Shakeſpear has introduced things into his Tragedies, which are againſt the Dignity of that noble Poem, as the Rabble in Julius Caeſar, and that in Coriolanus; tho' that in Coriolanus of⯑fends not only againſt the Dignity of Trage⯑dy, but againſt the Truth of Hiſtory like⯑wiſe, and the Cuſtoms of Ancient Rome, and the Majeſty of the Roman People, as we ſhall have occaſion to ſhew anon.

[5] For want of this Art, he has made his Incidents leſs moving, leſs ſurprizing, and leſs wonderful. He has been ſo far from ſeeking thoſe fine Occaſions to move with which an Action furniſh'd according to Art would have furniſh'd him; that he ſeems rather to have induſtriouſly avoi⯑ded them. He makes Coriolanus upon his Sentence of Baniſhment, take his leave of his Wife and his Mother out of ſight of the Audience, and ſo has purpoſely as it were avoided a great occaſion to move.

If we are willing to allow, that Shake⯑ſpear by ſticking to the bare Events of Hiſto⯑ry, has mov'd more than any of his Succeſ⯑ſors, yet his juſt Admirers muſt confeſs, that if he had had the Poetical Art, he would have mov'd ten times more. For 'tis impoſſible that by a bare Hiſtorical Play he could move ſo much as he would have done by a Fable.

We find that a Romance entertains the ge⯑nerality of Mankind with more Satisfaction than Hiſtory, if they read only to be enter⯑tertain'd; but if they read Hiſtory thro' Pride or Ambition, they bring their Paſſions along with them, and that alters the caſe. Nothing is more plain than that even in an Hiſtorical Relation ſome Parts of it, and ſome Events, pleaſe more than others. And there⯑fore a Man of Judgment, who ſees why they [6] do ſo, may in forming a Fable, and diſpo⯑ſing an Action, pleaſe more than an Hiſto⯑rian can do. For the juſt Fiction of a Fable moves us more than an Hiſtorical Relation can do for the two following Reaſons: Firſt by reaſon of the Communication and mutual Dependence of its Parts. For if Paſſion ſprings from Motion, then the Obſtruction of that Motion or a counter Motion muſt obſtruct and check the Paſſion: And there⯑fore an Hiſtorian and a Writer of Hiſtorical Plays paſſing from Events of one nature to Events of another nature without a due Pre⯑paration, muſt of neceſſity ſtifle and confound one Paſſion by another. The ſecond Rea⯑ſon why the Fiction of a Fable pleaſes us more, than an Hiſtorical Relation can do, is, becauſe in an Hiſtorical Relation we ſel⯑dom are acquainted with the true Cauſes of Events, whereas in a feign'd Action which is duly conſtituted, that is, which has a juſt beginning, thoſe Cauſes always appear. For 'tis obſervable, that both in a Poetical Fiction and an Hiſtorical Relation, thoſe E⯑vents are the moſt entertaining, the moſt ſur⯑prizing, and the moſt wonderful, in which Providence moſt plainly appears. And 'tis for this Reaſon that the Author of a juſt Fable, muſt pleaſe more than the Writer of an Hiſtorical Relation. The Good muſt ne⯑ver fail to proſper, and the Bad muſt be al⯑ways [7] puniſh'd: Otherwiſe the Incidents, and particularly the Cataſtrophe which is the grand Incident, are liable to be imputed ra⯑ther to Chance, than to Almighty Conduct and to Sovereign Juſtice. The want of this impartial Diſtribution of Juſtice makes the Coriolanus of Shakeſpear to be without Mo⯑ral. 'Tis true indeed Coriolanus is kill'd by thoſe Foreign Enemies with whom he had openly ſided againſt his Country, which ſeems to be an Event worthy of Providence, and would look as if it were contriv'd by in⯑finite Wiſdom, and executed by ſupreme Juſtice, to make Coriolanus a dreadful Exam⯑ple to all, who lead on Foreign Enemies to the Invaſion of their native Country; if there were not ſomething in the Fate of the other Characters, which gives occaſion to doubt of it, and which ſuggeſts to the Scep⯑tical Reader that this might happen by acci⯑dent. For Aufidius the principal Murderer of Coriolanus, who in cold Blood gets him aſſaſſinated by Ruffians, inſtead of leaving him to the Law of the Country, and the Juſtice of the Volſcian Senate, and who com⯑mits ſo black a Crime, not by any erroneous Zeal, or a miſtaken Publick Spirit, but thro' Jealouſy, Envy, and inveterate Malice; this Aſſaſſinator not only ſurvives, and ſurvives unpuniſh'd, but ſeems to be rewarded for ſo deteſtable an Action; by engroſſing all thoſe [8] Honours to himſelf which Coriolanus before had ſhar'd with him. But not only Aufidius, but the Roman Tribunes, Sicinius and Bru⯑tus, appear to me to cry aloud for Poetick Vengeance. For they are guilty of two Faults, neither of which ought to go unpu⯑niſh'd: The firſt in procuring the Baniſh⯑ment of Coriolanus. If they were really jea⯑lous, that Coriolanus had a Deſign on their Liberties, when he ſtood for the Conſulſhip, it was but juſt that they ſhould give him a Repulſe; but to get the Champion and De⯑fender of their Country baniſh'd upon a pre⯑tended Jealouſy was a great deal too much, and could proceed from nothing but that Ha⯑tred and Malice which they had conceiv'd againſt him, for oppoſing their Inſtitution. Their ſecond Fault lay in procuring this Sentence by indirect Methods, by exaſpera⯑ting and inflaming the People by Artifices and Inſinuations, by taking a baſe Advantage of the Open-heartedneſs and Violence of Corio⯑lanus, and by oppreſſing him with a Sophi⯑ſtical Argument, that he aim'd at Sovereign⯑ty, becauſe he had not deliver'd into the Publick Treaſury the Spoils which he had taken from the Antiates. As if a Deſign of Sovereignty could be reaſonably concluded from any one Act; or any one could think of bringing to paſs ſuch a Deſign, by eter⯑nally favouring the Patricians, and diſobli⯑ging [9] the Populace. For we need make no doubt, but that it was among the young Pa⯑tricians, that Coriolanus diſtributed the Spoils which were taken from the Antiates; where⯑as nothing but careſſing the Populace could enſlave the Roman People, as Caeſar after⯑wards very well ſaw and experienc'd. So that this Injuſtice of the Tribunes was the original Cauſe of the Calamity which after⯑wards befel their Country, by the Invaſion of the Volſcians, under the Conduct of Co⯑riolanus. And yet theſe Tribunes at the end of the Play like Aufidius remain unpuniſh'd. But indeed Shakeſpear has been wanting in the exact Diſtribution of Poetical Juſtice not only in his Coriolanus, but in moſt of his beſt Tragedies, in which the Guilty and the Innocent periſh promiſcuouſly; as Duncan and Banquo in Mackbeth, as likewiſe Lady Mac⯑duffe and her Children; Deſdemona in Othel⯑lo; Cordelia, Kent, and King Lear, in the Tragedy that bears his Name; Brutus and Porcia in Julius Caeſar, and young Hamlet in the Tragedy of Hamlet. For tho' it may be ſaid in Defence of the laſt, that Hamlet had a Deſign to kill his Uncle who then reign'd; yet this is juſtify'd by no leſs than a Call from Heaven, and raiſing up one from the Dead to urge him to it. The Good and the Bad then periſhing promiſcuouſly in the beſt of Shakeſpear's Tragedies, there can be ei⯑ther [10] none or very weak Inſtruction in them: For ſuch promiſcuous Events call the Go⯑vernment of Providence into Queſtion, and by Scepticks and Libertines are reſolv'd into Chance. I humbly conceive therefore that this want of Dramatical Juſtice in the Tra⯑gedy of Coriolanus, gave occaſion for a juſt Alteration, and that I was oblig'd to ſacri⯑fice to that Juſtice Aufidius and the Tribunes, as well as Coriolanus.

Thus have we endeavour'd to ſhew, that for want of the Poetical Art, Shakeſpear lay under very great Diſadvantages. At the ſame time we muſt own to his Honour, that he has often perform'd Wonders without it, in ſpight of the Judgment of ſo great a Man as Horace.

But from this very Judgment of Horace we may juſtly conclude, that Shakeſpear would have wonderfully ſurpaſs'd himſelf, if Art had been join'd to Nature. There never was a greater Genius in the World than Virgil: He was one who ſeems to have been born for this glorious End, that the Roman Muſe might exert in him the utmoſt Force of her [11] Poetry: And his admirable and divine Beau⯑ties are manifeſtly owing to the happy Con⯑federacy of Art and Nature. It was Art that contriv'd that incomparable Deſign of the Aeneis, and it was Nature that executed it. Could the greateſt Genius that ever was in⯑fus'd into Earthly Mold by Heaven, if it had been unguided and unaſſiſted by Art, have taught him to make that noble and wonderful Uſe of the Pythagorean Tranſmi⯑gration, which he makes in the Sixth Book of his Poem? Had Virgil been a circular Poet, and cloſely adher'd to Hiſtory, how could the Romans have been tranſported with that inimitable Epiſode of Dido, which brought a-freſh into their Minds the Car⯑thaginian War, and the dreadful Hannibal? When 'tis evident that that admirable Epi⯑ſode is ſo little owing to a faithful obſer⯑vance of Hiſtory, and the exact order of Time, that 'tis deriv'd from a very bold but judicious Violation of theſe; it being un⯑deniable that Dido liv'd almoſt 300 Years after Aeneas. Yet is it that charming Epi⯑ſode that makes the chief Beauties of a third Part of the Poem. For the Deſtruction of Troy it ſelf which is ſo divinely related, is ſtill more admirable by the Effect it produ⯑ces, which is the Paſſion of Dido.

I ſhould now proceed to ſhew under what Diſadvantages Shakeſpear lay for want of [12] being converſant with the Ancients. But I have already writ a long Letter, and am de⯑ſirous to know how you reliſh what has been already ſaid before I go any farther: For I am unwilling to take more Pains be⯑fore I am ſure of giving you ſome Pleaſure. I am,

LETTER II.
On the Genius and Writings of Shake⯑ſpear.
To Mr. [...]

UPON the Encouragement I have re⯑ceiv'd from you, I ſhall proceed to ſhew under what Diſadvantages Shakeſpear lay for want of being converſant with the Ancients. But becauſe I have lately been in ſome Converſation, where they would not allow, but that he was acquainted with the Ancients, I ſhall endeavour to make it appear that he was not; and the ſhewing that in the Method in which I pretend to convince the Reader of it, will ſufficiently prove, what Inconveniences he lay under, and what Errors he committed for want of being con⯑verſant with them. But here we muſt di⯑ſtinguiſh between the ſeveral kinds of Ac⯑quaintance: A Man may be ſaid to be ac⯑quainted with another who never was but twice in his Company; but that is at the beſt a ſuperficial Acquaintance, from which neither very great Pleaſure nor Pro⯑fit can be deriv'd. Our buſineſs is here to [14] ſhew, that Shakeſpear had no familiar Ac⯑quaintance with the Graecian and Roman Au⯑thors. For if he was familiarly converſant with them, how comes it to paſs that he wants Art? Is it that he ſtudied to know them in other things; and neglected that only in them, which chiefly tends to the Advancement of the Art of the Stage? Or is it that he wanted Diſcernment, to ſee the Juſtneſs and the Greatneſs, and the Harmo⯑ny of their Deſigns, and the Reaſonableneſs of thoſe Rules upon which thoſe Deſigns are founded? Or how come his Succeſſors to have that Diſcernment which he wanted, when they fall ſo much below him in other things? How comes he to have been guilty of the groſſeſt faults in Chronology, and how come we to find out thoſe faults? In his Tragedy of Troylus and Creſſida, he in⯑troduces Hector ſpeaking of Ariſtotle, who was born a thouſand Years after the Death of Hector. In the ſame Play mention is made of Milo, which is another very great fault in Chronology. Alexander is mention'd in Coriolanus, tho' that Conqueror of the Ori⯑ent liv'd above Two hundred Years after him. In this laſt Tragedy he has miſtaken the ve⯑ry Names of his Dramatick Perſons, if we give Credit to Livy. For the Mother of Coriolanus in the Roman Hiſtorian is Vettu⯑ria, and the Wife is Volumnia. Whereas in [15] Shakeſpear the Wife is Virgilia, and the Mo⯑ther Volumnia. And the Volſcian General in Shakeſpear is Tullus Aufidius, and Tullus At⯑tius in Livy. How comes it that he takes Plutarch's Word, who was by Birth a Grae⯑cian for the Affairs of Rome, rather than that of the Roman Hiſtorian, if ſo be that he had read the Latter? Or what Reaſon can be given for his not reading him, when he wrote upon a Roman Story, but that in Shakeſpear's Time there was a Tranſlation of Plutarch, and there was none of Livy? If Shakeſpear was familiarly converſant with the Roman Authors, how came he to intro⯑duce a Rabble into Coriolanus, in which he offended not only againſt the Dignity of Tra⯑gedy, but the Truth of Fact, the Authority of all the Roman Writers, the Cuſtoms of Ancient Rome, and the Majeſty of the Ro⯑man People? By introducing a Rabble into Julius Caeſar, he only offended againſt the Dignity of Tragedy. For that part of the People who ran about the Streets upon great Feſtivals, or publick Calamities, or publick Rejoicings, or Revolutions in Government, are certainly the Scum of the Populace. But the Perſons who in the Time of Corio⯑lanus, roſe in Vindication of their juſt Rights, and extorted from the Patricians the Inſtitu⯑tion of the Tribunes of the People, and the Perſons by whom afterwards Coriolanus was [16] tried, were the whole Body of the Roman People to the Reſerve of the Patricians, which Body included the Roman Knights, and the wealthy ſubſtantial Citizens, who were as different from the Rabble as the Pa⯑tricians themſelves, as qualify'd as the latter to form a right Judgment of Things, and to contemn the vain Opinions of the Rabble. So at leaſt Horace eſteems them, who very well knew his Countrymen.

Where we ſee the Knights and the ſubſtan⯑tial Citizens, are rank'd in an equal Degree of Capacity with the Roman Senators, and are equally diſtinguiſh'd from the Rabble.

If Shakeſpear was ſo converſant with the Ancients, how comes he to have introduc'd ſome Characters into his Plays, ſo unlike what they are to be found in Hiſtory? In the Character of Menenius in the following Tragedy, he has doubly offended againſt that Hiſtorical Reſemblance. For firſt whereas Menenius was an eloquent Perſon, Shake⯑ſpear has made him a downright Buffoon. And how is it poſſible for any Man to con⯑ceive a Ciceronian Jack-pudding? Never was [17] any Buffoon eloquent, or wiſe, or witty, or vertuous. All the good and ill Qualities of a Buffoon are ſumm'd up in one word, and that is a Buffoon. And ſecondly, whereas Shakeſpear has made him a Hater and Con⯑temner, and Vilifyer of the People, we are aſſur'd by the Roman Hiſtorian that Mene⯑nius was extremely popular. He was ſo very far from oppoſing the Inſtitution of the Tribunes, as he is repreſented in Shakeſpear, that he was chiefly inſtrumental in it. Af⯑ter the People had deſerted the City, and ſat down upon the ſacred Mountain, he was the chief of the Delegates whom the Senate deputed to them, as being look'd upon to be the Perſon who would be moſt agrea⯑ble to them. In ſhort this very Menenius both liv'd and dy'd ſo very much their Favourite, that dying poor he had pom⯑pous Funerals at the Expence of the Roman People.

Had Shakeſpear read either Saluſt or Ci⯑cero, how could he have made ſo very lit⯑tle of the firſt and greateſt of Men, as that Caeſar ſhould be but a Fourth-rate Actor in his own Tragedy? How could it have been that ſeeing Caeſar, we ſhould aſk for Caeſar? That we ſhould aſk, where is his unequall'd Greatneſs of Mind, his unbounded Thirſt of Glory, and that victorious Eloquence, with which he triumph'd over the Souls [18] of both Friends and Enemies, and with which he rivall'd Cicero in Genius as he did Pompey in Power? How fair an Occa⯑ſion was there to open the Character of Cae⯑ſar in the firſt Scene between Brutus and Caſſius? For when Caſſius tells Brutus that Caeſar was but a Man like them, and had the ſame natural Imperfections which they had, how natural had it been for Brutus to reply, that Caeſar indeed had their Imper⯑fections of Nature, but neither he nor Caſ⯑ſius had by any means the great Qualities of Caeſar: Neither his Military Vertue nor Science, nor his matchleſs Renown, nor his unparallell'd Victories, his unwearied Boun⯑ty to his Friends, nor his Godlike Clemen⯑cy to his Foes, his Beneficence, his Muni⯑ficence, his Eaſineſs of Acceſs to the mea⯑neſt Roman, his indefatigable Labours, his incredible Celerity, the Plauſibleneſs if not Juſtneſs of his Ambition, that knowing him⯑ſelf to be the greateſt of Men, he only ſought occaſion to make the World confeſs him ſuch. In ſhort, if Brutus, after enu⯑merating all the wonderful Qualities of Cae⯑ſar, had reſolv'd in ſpight of them all to ſacrifice him to publick Liberty, how had ſuch a Proceeding heighten'd the Vertue and the Character of Brutus? But then in⯑deed it would have been requiſite that Cae⯑ſar upon his appearance ſhould have made [19] all this good. And as we know no Princi⯑ple of human Action but human Sentiment only, Caeſar who did greater Things, and had greater Deſigns than the reſt of the Ro⯑mans, ought certainly to have outſhin'd by many Degrees all the other Characters of his Tragedy. Caeſar ought particularly to have juſtified his Actions, and to have heigh⯑ten'd his Character, by ſhewing that what he had done, he had done by Neceſſity; that the Romans had loſt their Agrarian, loſt their Rotation of Magiſtracy, and that conſequently nothing but an empty Shadow of publick Liberty remain'd. That the Gracchi had made the laſt noble but unſuc⯑ceſsful Efforts, for the reſtoring the Com⯑monwealth, that they had fail'd for want of arbitrary irreſiſtible Power, the Reſtoration of the Agrarian requiring too vaſt a Retroſpect to be done without it; that the Govern⯑ment, when Caeſar came to publick Affairs, was got into the Hands of a few, and that thoſe few were factious, and were conten⯑ding among themſelves, and if you will pardon ſo mean an Expreſſion, ſcrambling as it were for Power: That Caeſar was re⯑duc'd to the Neceſſity of ruling or himſelf obeying a Maſter; and that apprehending that another would exerciſe the ſupreme Command, without that Clemency and Mo⯑deration which he did, he had rather cho⯑ſen [20] to rule than to obey. So that Caeſar was faulty not ſo much in ſeizing upon the Sovereignty, which was become in a man⯑ner neceſſary, as in not re-eſtabliſhing the Commonwealth, by reſtoring the Agrarian and the Rotation of Magiſtracies, after he had got abſolute and uncontroulable Power. And if Caeſar had ſeiz'd upon the Sove⯑reignty only with a View of re-eſtabliſhing Liberty, he had ſurpaſs'd all Mortals in Godlike Goodneſs as much as he did in the reſt of his aſtoniſhing Qualities. I muſt confeſs, I do not remember that we have any Authority from the Roman Hiſtorians which may induce us to believe, that Cae⯑ſar had any ſuch Deſign. Nor if he had had any ſuch View, could he, who was the moſt ſecret, the moſt prudent, and the moſt diſcerning of Men, have diſcover'd it, before his Parthian Expedition was over, for fear of utterly diſobliging his Veterans. And Caeſar believ'd that Expedition neceſſa⯑ry for the Honour and Intereſt of the State, and for his own Glory.

But of this we may be ſure that two of the moſt diſcerning of all the Romans, and who had the deepeſt Inſight into the Soul of Caeſar, Saluſt and Cicero, were not with⯑out Hopes that Caeſar would really re-eſta⯑bliſh Liberty, or elſe they would not have attack'd him upon it; the one in his Ora⯑tion [21] for Marcus Marcellus, the other in the Second Part of that little Treatiſe De Re⯑publicâ ordinandâ, which is addreſs'd to Cae⯑ſar. Haec igitur tibi reliqua pars, ſays Ci⯑cero, Hic reſtat Actus, in hoc elaborandum eſt, ut Rempublicam conſtituas, eâ (que) tu in primis compoſitâ, ſumma Tranquillitate & o⯑tio perfruare. Cicero therefore was not without Hope that Caeſar would re-eſtabliſh the Commonwealth; and any one who at⯑tentively peruſes that Oration of Cicero, will find that that Hope was reaſonably grounded, upon his knowledge of the great Qualities of Caeſar, his Clemency, his Be⯑neficence, his admirable Diſcernment; and that avoidleſs Ruine in which the whole Empire would be ſoon involv'd, if Caeſar did not effect this. Saluſt urges it ſtill more home to him and with greater vehe⯑mence; he has recourſe to every Motive that may be thought to be powerful over ſo great a Soul. He exhorts him by the Memory of his matchleſs Conqueſts, not to ſuffer the invincible Empire of the Roman People to be devour'd by Time, or to be torn in pieces by Diſcord; one of which would ſoon and infallibly happen, if Liber⯑ty was not reſtor'd.

He introduces his Country and his Pro⯑genitors urging him in a noble Proſopopeia, by all the mighty Benefits which they had [22] conferr'd upon him, with ſo little Pains of his own, not to deny them that juſt and ea⯑ſy Requeſt of the Reſtoration of Liberty. He adjures him by thoſe Furies which will eternally haunt his Soul upon his impious Refuſal: He implores him by the foreſight of thoſe diſmal Calamities, that horrible Slaughter, thoſe endleſs Wars, and that un⯑bounded Devaſtation, which will certainly fall upon Mankind, if the Reſtoration of Liberty is prevented by his Death, or his incurable Sickneſs: And laſtly, he entreats him by his Thirſt of immortal Glory, that Glory in which he now has Rivals, if he has not Equals; but which, if he re-eſta⯑bliſhes Liberty, will be acknowledg'd by conſenting Nations to have neither Equal nor Second.

I am apt to believe that if Shakeſpear had been acquainted with all this, we had had from him quite another Character of Caeſar than that which we now find in him. He might then have given us a Scene ſomething like that which Corneille has ſo happily us'd in his Cinna; ſomething like that which really happen'd between Auguſtus, Mecaenas and Agrippa. He might then have intro⯑duc'd Caeſar, conſulting Cicero on the one ſide, and on the other Anthony, whether he ſhould retain that abſolute Sovereignty, which he had acquir'd by his Victory, or [23] whether he ſhould re-eſtabliſh and immorta⯑lize Liberty. That would have been a Scene, which might have employ'd the fi⯑neſt Art and the utmoſt force of a Writer. That had been a Scene in which all the great Qualities of Caeſar might have been diſplay'd. I will not pretend to determine here how that Scene might have been turn'd, and what I have already ſaid on this Sub⯑ject, has been ſpoke with the utmoſt Cau⯑tion and Diffidence. But this I will ven⯑ture to ſay, that if that Scene had been ma⯑nag'd ſo, as, by the powerful Motives em⯑ploy'd in it, to have ſhaken the Soul of Caeſar, and to have left room for the leaſt Hope, for the leaſt Doubt, that Caeſar would have re-eſtabliſh'd Liberty, after his Par⯑thian Expedition; and if this Converſation had been kept ſecret till the Death of Cae⯑ſar, and then had been diſcover'd by An⯑thony, then had Caeſar fall'n, ſo belov'd and lamented by the Roman People, ſo pitied and ſo bewail'd even by the Conſpirators themſelves, as never Man fell. Then there would have been a Cataſtrophe the moſt dreadful and the moſt deplorable that ever was beheld upon the Tragick Stage. Then had we ſeen the nobleſt of the Conſpirators curſing their temerarious Act, and the moſt apprehenſive of them, in dreadful expectation of thoſe horrible Calamities, which fell up⯑on [24] the Romans after the Death of Caeſar. But, Sir, when I write this to you, I write it with the utmoſt Deference to the extraordi⯑nary Judgment of that great Man, who ſome Years ago, I hear, alter'd the Julius Caeſar. And I make no doubt but that his fine Diſ⯑cernment, and the reſt of his great Quali⯑ties have amply ſupply'd the Defects which are found in the Character of Shakeſpear's Caeſar.

I ſhould here anſwer an Argument, by which ſome People pretend to prove, and eſpecially thoſe with whom I lately con⯑vers'd, that Shakeſpear was converſant with the Ancients. But beſides that the Poſt is about to be gone, I am heartily tir'd with what I have already writ, and ſo doubtleſs are you; I ſhall therefore defer the reſt to the next opportunity, and remain

LETTER III.
On the Writings and Genius of Shake⯑ſpear.
To Mr. [...]

I Come now to the main Argument, which ſome People urge to prove that Shake⯑ſpear was converſant with the Ancients. For there is, ſay they, among Shakeſpear's Plays, one call'd The Comedy of Errors, which is undeniably an Imitation of the Menechmi of Plautus. Now Shakeſpear, ſay they, be⯑ing converſant with Plautus, it undeniably follows that he was acquainted with the Ancients; becauſe no Roman Author could be hard to him who had conquer'd Plautus. To which I anſwer, that the Errors which we have mention'd above are to be accoun⯑ted for no other way, but by the want of knowing the Ancients, or by downright want of Capacity. But nothing can be more ab⯑ſurd or more unjuſt than to impute it to want of Capacity. For the very Sentiments of Shakeſpear alone are ſufficient to ſhew, that he had a great Underſtanding: And therefore we muſt account ſome other way [26] for his Imitation of the Menechmi. I re⯑member to have ſeen among the Tranſla⯑tions of Ovid's Epiſtles printed by Mr. Ton⯑ſon, an Imitation of that from Oenone to Paris, which Mr. Dryden tells us in his Pre⯑face to thoſe Epiſtles was imitated by one of the Fair Sex who underſtood no Latin, but that ſhe had done enough to make thoſe bluſh who underſtood it the beſt. There are at this day ſeveral Tranſlators, who as Hudibraſs has it,

I will not affirm that of Shakeſpear; I be⯑lieve he was able to do what Pedants call conſtrue, but that he was able to read Plau⯑tus without Pain and Difficulty I can never believe. Now I appeal to you, Sir, what time he had between his Writing and his Acting, to read any thing that could not be read with Eaſe and Pleaſure. We ſee that our Adverſaries themſelves acknowledge, that if Shakeſpear was able to read Plautus with Eaſe, nothing in Latinity could be hard to him. How comes it to paſs then, that he has given us no Proofs of his fa⯑miliar Acquaintance with the Ancients, but this Imitation of the Menechmi, and a Ver⯑ſion of two Epiſtles of Ovid? How comes [27] it that he had never read Horace of a ſupe⯑riour Merit to either, and particularly his Epiſtle to the Piſo's, which ſo much concern'd his Art? Or if he had read that Epiſtle, how comes it that in his Troylus and Creſſi⯑da [we muſt obſerve by the way, that when Shakeſpear wrote that Play, Ben John⯑ſon had not as yet tranſlated that Epiſtle] he runs counter to the Inſtructions which Horace has given for the forming the Cha⯑racter of Achilles?

Where is the Impiger, the Iracundus, or the Acer, in the Character of Shakeſpear's Achilles? Who is nothing but a drolling, lazy, conceited, overlooking Coxcomb; ſo far from being the honour'd Achilles, the E⯑pithet that Homer, and Horace after him give him, that he is deſervedly the Scorn and the Jeſt of the reſt of the Characters, even to that Buffoon Therſites.

Tho' Shakeſpear ſucceeded very well in Comedy, yet his principal Talent and his chief Delight was Tragedy. If then Shake⯑ſpear was qualify'd to read Plautus with Eaſe, he could read with a great deal more Eaſe the Tranſlations of Sophocles and Eu⯑ripides. [28] And tho' by theſe Tranſlations he would not have been able to have ſeen the charming colouring of thoſe great Maſters, yet would he have ſeen all the Harmony and the Beauty of their great and their juſt Deſigns. He would have ſeen enough to have ſtirr'd up a noble Emulation in ſo ex⯑alted a Soul as his. How comes it then that we hear nothing from him, of the Oe⯑dipus, the Electra, the Antigone of Sophocles, of the Iphigenia's, the Oreſtes, the Medea, the Hecuba of Euripides? How comes it that we ſee nothing in the Conduct of his Pieces, that ſhews us that he had the leaſt Acquaintance with any of theſe great Ma⯑ſter-pieces? Did Shakeſpear appear to be ſo nearly touch'd with the Affliction of He⯑cuba for the Death of Priam, which was but daub'd and bungled by one of his Coun⯑trymen, that he could not forbear introdu⯑cing it as it were by Violence into his own Hamlet, and would he make no Imitation, no Commendation, not the leaſt mention of the unparallell'd and inimitable Grief of the Hecuba of Euripides? How comes it, that we find no Imitation of any ancient Play in this but the Menechmi of Plautus? How came he to chuſe a Comick preferably to the Tragick Poets? Or how comes he to chuſe Plautus preferably to Terence, who is ſo much more juſt, more graceful, more [29] regular, and more natural? Or how comes he to chuſe the Menechmi of Plautus, which is by no means his Maſter-piece before all his other Comedies? I vehemently ſuſpect that this Imitation of the Menechmi, was either from a printed Tranſlation of that Comedy which is loſt, or ſome Verſion in Manuſcript brought him by a Friend, or ſent him perhaps by a Stranger, or from the original Play it ſelf recommended to him, and read to him by ſome learned Friend. In ſhort, I had rather account for this, by what is not abſurd than by what is, or by a leſs Abſurdity than by a grea⯑ter. For nothing can be more wrong than to conclude from this that Shakeſpear was converſant with the Ancients; which con⯑tradicts the Teſtimony of his Contemporary, and his familiar Acquaintance Ben Johnſon, and of his Succeſſor Milton;

And of Mr. Dryden after them both; and which deſtroys the moſt glorious Part of Shakeſpear's Merit immediately. For how can he be eſteem'd equal by Nature, or ſu⯑perior to the Ancients, when he falls ſo far ſhort of them in Art, tho' he had the Ad⯑vantage of knowing all that they did before [30] him? Nay it debaſes him below thoſe of common Capacity, by reaſon of the Errors which we mention'd above. Therefore he who allows that Shakeſpear had Learning and a familiar Acquaintance with the An⯑cients, ought to be look'd upon as a De⯑tractor from his extraordinary Merit, and from the Glory of Great Britain. For whe⯑ther is it more honourable for this Iſland to have produc'd a Man, who without ha⯑ving any Acquaintance with the Ancients, or any but a ſlender and a ſuperficial one, appears to be their Equal or their Superior by the Force of Genius and Nature, or to have bred one who know⯑ing the Ancients, falls infinitely ſhort of them in Art, and conſequently in Nature it ſelf? Great Britain has but little Reaſon to boaſt of its Natives Education, ſince the ſame that they had here, they might have had in another place. But it may juſtly claim a very great ſhare in their Nature and Genius; ſince theſe depend in a great mea⯑ſure on the Climate; and therefore Horace in the Inſtruction which he gives for the forming the Characters, adviſes the noble Romans for whoſe Inſtruction he chiefly writes to conſider whether the Dramatick Perſon whom they introduce is

Thus, Sir, I have endeavour'd to ſhew un⯑der what great Diſadvantages Shakeſpear lay, for want of the Poetical Art, and for want of being converſant with the Ancients.

But beſides this, he lay under other very great Inconveniencies. For he was neither Maſter of Time enough to conſider, cor⯑rect, and poliſh what he wrote, to alter it, to add to it, and to retrench from it, nor had he Friends to conſult upon whoſe Ca⯑pacity and Integrity he could depend. And tho' a Perſon of very good Judgment, may ſucceed very well without conſulting his Friends, if he takes time enough to correct what he writes; yet even the greateſt Man that Nature and Art can conſpire to accom⯑pliſh, can never attain to Perfection, with⯑out either employing a great deal of time, or taking the Advice of judicious Friends. Nay, 'tis the Opinion of Horace, that he ought to do both.

Now we know very well that Shakeſpear was an Actor, at a Time, when there were [32] ſeven or eight Companies of Players in the Town together, who each of them did their utmoſt Endeavours to get the Audi⯑ences from the reſt, and conſequently that our Author was perpetually call'd upon, by thoſe who had the Direction and Manage⯑ment of the Company to which he belong'd, for new Pieces which might be able to ſup⯑port them, and give them ſome Advantage over the reſt. And 'tis eaſy to judge what time he was Maſter of, between his labo⯑rious Employment of Acting, and his con⯑tinual Hurry of Writing. As for Friends, they whom in all likelihood Shakeſpear con⯑ſulted moſt, were two or three of his Fel⯑low-Actors, becauſe they had the Care of publiſhing his Works committed to them. Now they, as we are told by Ben Johnſon in his Diſcoveries were extremely pleas'd with their Friend for ſcarce ever making a Blot; and were very angry with Ben, for ſaying he wiſh'd that he had made a thou⯑ſand. The Misfortune of it is, that Horace was perfectly of Ben's mind.

And ſo was my Lord Roſcommon.

Theſe Friends then of Shakeſpear were not qualify'd to adviſe him. As for Ben John⯑ſon, beſides that Shakeſpear began to know him late, and that Ben was not the moſt communicative Perſon in the World of the Secrets of his Art; he ſeems to me to have had no right Notion of Tragedy. Nay, ſo far from it, that he who was indeed a very great Man, and who has writ Comedies, by which he has born away the Prize of Co⯑medy both from Ancients and Moderns, and been an Honour to Great Britain; and who has done this without any Rules to guide him, except what his own incomparable Talent dictated to him; This extraordina⯑ry Man has err'd ſo groſsly in Tragedy, of which there were not only ſtated Rules, but Rules which he himſelf had often read, and had even tranſlated, that he has cho⯑ſen two Subjects, which according to thoſe very Rules, were utterly incapable of ex⯑citing either Compaſſion or Terror for the principal Characters, which yet are the chief Paſſions that a Tragick Poet ought to endeavour to excite. So that Shakeſpear having neither had Time to correct, nor [34] Friends to conſult, muſt neceſſarily have frequently left ſuch faults in his Writings, for the Correction of which either a great deal of Time or a judicious and a well na⯑tur'd Friend is indiſpenſably neceſſary.

There is more than one Example of every kind of theſe Faults in the Tragedies of Shakeſpear, and even in the Coriolanus. There are Lines that are utterly void of that celeſtial Fire, of which Shakeſpear is ſometimes Maſter in ſo great a Degree. And conſequently there are Lines that are ſtiff and forc'd, and harſh and unmuſical, tho' Shakeſpear had naturally an admirable Ear for the Numbers. But no Man ever was very muſical who did not write with Fire, and no Man can always write with Fire, unleſs he is ſo far Maſter of his Time, as to expect thoſe Hours when his Spirits are warm and volatile. Shakeſpear muſt therefore ſometimes have Lines which are neither ſtrong nor graceful? For who [35] ever had Force or Grace that had not Spi⯑rit? There are in his Coriolanus among a great many natural and admirable Beauties, three or four of thoſe Ornaments which Horace would term ambitious; and which we in Engliſh are apt to call Fuſtian or Bombaſt. There are Lines in ſome Places which are very obſcure, and whole Scenes which ought to be alter'd.

I have, Sir, employ'd ſome Time and Pains, and that little Judgment which I have acquir'd in theſe Matters by a long and a faithful reading both of Ancients and Mo⯑derns, in adding, retrenching and altering ſe⯑veral Things in the Coriolanus of Shakeſpear, but with what Succeſs I muſt leave to be de⯑termin'd by you. I know very well that you will be ſurpriz'd to find, that after all that I have ſaid in the former part of this Let⯑ter, againſt Shakeſpear's introducing the Rab⯑ble into Coriolanus, I have not only retain'd in the ſecond Act of the following Tragedy the Rabble which is in the Original, but deviated more from the Roman Cuſtoms than Shakeſpear had done before me. I de⯑ſire you to look upon it as a voluntary Fault and a Treſpaſs againſt Conviction: 'Tis one of thoſe Things which are ad Populum Pha⯑lerae, and by no means inſerted to pleaſe ſuch Men as you.

[36] Thus, Sir, have I laid before you a ſhort but impartial Account of the Beauties and Defects of Shakeſpear, with an Intention to make theſe Letters publick if they are ap⯑prov'd by you; to teach ſome People to di⯑ſtinguiſh between his Beauties and his De⯑fects, that while they imitate the one, they may with Caution avoid the other [there be⯑ing nothing of more dangerous Contagion to Writers, and eſpecially to young ones than the Faults of great Maſters] and while with Milton they applaud the great Qualities which Shakeſpear had by Nature, they may follow his wiſe Example, and form themſelves as he aſſures us, that he himſelf did, upon the Rules and Writings of the Ancients.

Sir, if ſo candid and able a Judge as your⯑ſelf ſhall happen to approve of this Eſſay in the main, and to excuſe and correct my Er⯑rors, that Indulgence and that Correction will not only encourage me to make theſe Letters publick, but will enable me to bear the Reproach of thoſe, who would fix a Brand, even upon the juſteſt Criticiſm, as the Effect of Envy and ill Nature; as if there could poſſibly be any ill Nature in the doing Juſtice, or in the endeavouring to ad⯑vance a very noble and a very uſeful Art, and conſequently to prove beneficent to Mankind. As for thoſe who may accuſe [37] me of the want of a due Veneration for the Merit of an Author of ſo eſtabliſh'd a Re⯑putation as Shakeſpear, I ſhall beg leave to tell them, that they chuſe the wrongeſt time that they could poſſibly take for ſuch an Accuſa⯑tion as that. For I appeal to you, Sir, who ſhews moſt Veneration for the Memory of Shakeſpear, he who loves and admires his Charms and makes of them one of his chief Delights, who ſees him and reads him over and over and ſtill remains unſatiated, and who mentions his Faults for no other Rea⯑ſon but to make his Excellency the more con⯑ſpicuous, or he who pretending to be his blind Admirer, ſhews in Effect the utmoſt Contempt for him, preferring empty effemi⯑nate Sound to his ſolid Beauties and manly Graces, and deſerting him every Night for an execrable Italian Ballad, ſo vile that a Boy who ſhould write ſuch lamentable Dogrel, would be turn'd out of Weſtminſter-School for a deſperate Blockhead, too ſtupid to be corrected and amended by the harſheſt Diſcipline of the Place. I am,

To the SPECTATOR upon his Paper on the 16th of April.

YOU know, Mr. Spectator, that Eſquire Bickerſtaff attack'd the Sharpers with Succeſs; but Shadwell is of Opinion that your Bully with his Box and his falſe Dice is an honeſter Fellow than the Rhetorical Author, who makes uſe of his Tropes and Figures which are his High and his Low⯑runners, to cheat us at once of our Money and of our Intellectuals.

I would not have you think, Mr. Specta⯑tor, that this Reflection is directed to you: 'Tis only intended againſt one or two of your Correſpondents, and particularly the Inns-of⯑Court-man, who, as you told us in your Se⯑cond Paper ſupplies you with moſt of your Criticiſm: who ſeems to me ſo little to un⯑derſtand the Province that he has underta⯑ken, that you would do well to adviſe him to do by you as he has done by his Father, and make a Bargain in the groſs with ſome honeſt Fellow to anſwer all your Occaſions. Which wholeſome Advice if he proves too obſtinate or too proud to take; I am confi⯑dent [39] at leaſt that he is too gallant a Perſon to take it ill if once a Week or once a Fort⯑night I ſhould ſhew ſo much Preſumption as to cauſe a Writ of Error to be iſſued out to reverſe his Temple-Judgment.

I cannot wonder that Criticiſm ſhould de⯑generate ſo vilely at a time when Poetry and Acting are ſunk ſo low. For as Hobbes has obſerv'd, that as often as Reaſon is againſt a Man, a Man will be againſt Reaſon; ſo as often as the Rules are againſt an Author, an Author will be againſt the Rules. Men firſt write fooliſh ridiculous Tragedies, which ſhock all the Rules of Reaſon and Philoſo⯑phy, and then they make fooliſh extravagant Rules to fit thoſe fooliſh Plays. 'Tis impoſ⯑ſible that your Gentleman of the Inns-of⯑Court could have ſent you ſo much wrong Senſe as there is in your Paper of the 16^th, if he had not formerly writ an abſurd Tra⯑gedy. There are as many Bulls and Blun⯑ders, and Contradictions in it almoſt as there are Lines, and all deliver'd with that inſo⯑lent and that bluſt'ring Air, which uſually attends upon Error, and Deluſion, while Truth, like the Deity that inſpires it, comes calmly and without noiſe.

To ſet a few of his Errors in their pro⯑per Light, he tells us in the beginning of that Paper, That the Engliſh Writers of [40] Tragedy are poſſeſs'd with a Notion, that when they repreſent a vertuous or innocent Perſon in Diſtreſs, they ought not to leave him 'till they have deliver'd him out of his Trouble, and made him triumph over his Enemies.

But, Mr. Spectator, is this peculiar to the Engliſh Writers of Tragedy? Have not the French Wri⯑ters of Tragedy the ſame Notion? Does not Ra⯑cine tell us, in the Preface to his Iphigenia,that it would have been horrible to have defil'd the Stage with the Murther of a Princeſs ſo vir⯑tuous and ſo lovely as was Iphigenia.

But your Correſpondent goes on, This Error, ſays he, with an inſolent and dog⯑matick Air, they have been led into by a ridiculous Doctrine in modern Criticiſm, that they are oblig'd to an equal Diſtribution of Re⯑wards and Puniſhments, and an impartial Exe⯑cution of poetical Juſtice.

But who were the firſt who eſtabliſh'd this Rule he is not able to tell. I take it for granted, that a Man who is ingenuous e⯑nough to own his Ignorance, is willing to be inſtructed. Let me tell him then, that the firſt who eſtabliſh'd this ridiculous Do⯑ctrine of modern Criticiſm, was a certain modern Critick, who liv'd above two thouſand Years ago; and who tells us ex⯑preſly in the thirteenth Chapter of his criti⯑cal Spectator, which Pedants call his Poetick, [41] That ſince a Tragedy, to have all the Beauty of which it is capable, ought to be Implex and not Simple, (by the way, Mr. Spectator, you muſt bear with this critical Cant, as we do with your Speculations and Lucubrations) and ought to move Compaſſion and Terror, for we have already ſhewn that the exciting theſe Paſſions is the proper Effect of a tragical Imi⯑tation, it follows neceſſarily, that we muſt not chooſe a very good Man, to plunge him from a proſperous Condition into Adverſity, for inſtead of moving Compaſſion and Terrour, that on the contrary would create Horrour, and be deteſted by all the World.

And does not the ſame deluded Philoſo⯑pher tell us in the very ſame Chapter, that the Fable to which he gives the ſecond Pre⯑ference, is that which has a double Conſtitu⯑tion, and which ends by a double Cataſtrophe; a Cataſtrophe favourable to the Good, and fatal to the Wicked. Is not here, Mr. Spe⯑ctator, a very formal Recommendation of the impartial and exact Execution of poetical Ju⯑ſtice? Thus Ariſtotle was the firſt who eſta⯑bliſh'd this ridiculous Doctrine of modern Criticiſm, but Mr. Rymer was the firſt who introduc'd it into our native Language; who notwithſtanding the Rage of all the Poeta⯑ſters of the Times, whom he has exaſperated by opening the Eyes of the Blind that they [42] may ſee their Errors, will always paſs with impartial Poſterity for a moſt learned, a moſt judicious, and a moſt uſeful Critick. Now is not your Correſpondent a profound and a learned Perſon? and ought he not to own himſelf oblig'd to me for this notable piece of Erudition?

But he goes on in his dictatorian way, This Rule, ſays he, whoever eſtabliſh'd it, has, I am ſure, no Foundation in Nature, in Rea⯑ſon, and in the Practice of the Ancients. But what will this dogmatick Perſon ſay now, when we ſhew him that this contemptible Doctrine of poetical Juſtice is not only foun⯑ded in Reaſon and Nature, but is it ſelf the Foundation of all the Rules, and ev'n of Tra⯑gedy itſelf? For what Tragedy can there be without a Fable? or what Fable without a Moral? or what Moral without poetical Ju⯑ſtice? What Moral, where the Good and the Bad are confounded by Deſtiny, and periſh alike promiſcuouſly. Thus we ſee this Do⯑ctrine of poetical Juſtice is more founded in Reaſon and Nature than all the reſt of the poetical Rules together. For what can be more natural, and more highly reaſonable, than to employ that Rule in Tragedy, with⯑out which that Poem cannot exiſt? Well! but the Practice of the Ancients is againſt this poetical Juſtice! What always, Mr. Spectator! [43] will your Correſpondent have the Aſſurance to affirm that? No, but ſometimes: Why then ſometimes the Ancients offended againſt Reaſon and Nature. And who ever believ'd that the Ancients were without Fault, or brought Tragedy to its Perfection. But I ſhall take another Opportunity to ſhew that the Practice of the Ancients, in all their Ma⯑ſter-pieces, is exactly according to this fun⯑damental Rule. I have not time to do that in this ſhort Letter, becauſe that would ne⯑ceſſarily oblige me to ſhew that poetical Ju⯑ſtice is of a much larger Extent than this profound Critick imagines; but yet I ſhall give the diſcerning Reader a hint of it in that which follows.

Poetical Juſtice, ſays your Correſpon⯑dent, has no Foundation in Nature and Reaſon, becauſe we find that good and evil happen alike to all Men on this ſide the Grave. In anſwer to which he muſt give me leave to tell him, that this is not only a very falſe but a very dan⯑gerous Aſſertion; that we neither know what Men really are, nor what they really ſuffer.

'Tis not always that we know Men's Crimes, but how ſeldom do we know their Paſſions, and eſpecially their darling Paſſions? And as Paſ⯑ſion is the Occaſion of infinitely more Diſ⯑order in the World than Malice, [for where one Man falls a Sacrifice to inveterate Malice [44] a thouſand become Victims to Revenge and Ambition; and whereas Malice has ſome⯑thing that ſhocks human Nature, Paſſion is pleaſingly catching and contagious.] Can any thing be more juſt, than that that Providence which governs the World ſhould puniſh Men for indulging their Paſſions, as much as for obeying the Dictates of their moſt envenom'd Hatred and Malice?

Thus you ſee, for ought we know, Good and Evil does not happen alike to all Men on this ſide the Grave. Becauſe 'tis for the moſt part, by their Paſſions, that Men offend; and 'tis by their Paſſions, for the moſt part, that they are puniſh'd. But this is certain, that the more Virtue a Man has the more he commands his Paſſions; but the Virtuous a⯑lone command them. The Wicked take the utmoſt Care to diſſemble and conceal them; for which reaſon we neither know what our Neighbours are, nor what they really ſuffer. Man is too finite, too ſhallow, and too emp⯑ty a Creature to know another Man through⯑ly, to know the Creature of an infinite Crea⯑tor; but dramatical Perſons are Creatures of which a Poet is himſelf the Creator. And tho' a Mortal is not able to know the Al⯑mighty's Creatures, he may be allow'd to know his own; to know the utmoſt Extent of their Guilt, and what they ought to ſuf⯑fer; [45] nay, he muſt be allow'd not only to know this himſelf, but to make it manifeſt and unqueſtionable to all his Readers and Hearers. The Creatures of a poetical Crea⯑tor have no Diſſimulation and no Reſerve. We ſee their Paſſions in all their height, and in all their Deformity; and when they are unfortunate, we are never to ſeek for the Cauſe.

But ſuppoſe I ſhould grant that there is not always an equal Diſtribution of Afflicti⯑on and Happineſs here below. Man is a Creature who was created immortal, and a Creature conſequently that will find a Com⯑penſation in Futurity for any ſeeming Inequa⯑lity in his Dealing here. But the Creatures of a poetical Creator are imaginary and tran⯑ſitory; they have no longer Duration than the Repreſentation of their reſpective Fables; and conſequently, if they offend, they muſt be puniſh'd during that Repreſentation. And therefore we are very far from pretending that poetical Juſtice is an equal Repreſentati⯑on of the Juſtice of the Almighty.

We freely confeſs that 'tis but a very narrow and a very imperfect Type of it; ſo very narrow, and ſo very imperfect, that 'tis forc'd by temporal to repreſent eter⯑nal Puniſhments; and therefore when we ſhew a Man unfortunate in Tragedy, for [46] not reſtraining his Paſſions, we mean that e⯑very one will for ſuch Neglect, unleſs he timely repents, be infallibly puniſh'd by infi⯑nite Juſtice either here or hereafter.

If upon this foot we examine the Trage⯑dies of Sophocles and Euripides, we ſhall find that in their moſt beautiful Pieces, they are impartial Executors of Poetick Juſtice. And 'tis upon this foot that Ariſtotle requires that we ſhould examine them. Your Correſpon⯑dent I muſt confeſs is in the right when he ſays that that Philoſopher declares for Tra⯑gedies, whoſe Cataſtrophes are unhappy with relation to the principal Characters. But then what Inſtructions does he give us for the for⯑ming thoſe principal Characters? We are neither to make them very vertuous Per⯑ſons on the one ſide, that is Perſons who ab⯑ſolutely command their Paſſions, nor on the other ſide Villains who are actuated by in⯑veterate Malice, but ſomething between theſe two, that is to ſay Perſons who neglecting their Paſſions ſuffer them to grow outrageous, and to hurry them to Actions which they would otherwiſe abhor. And that Philoſo⯑pher expreſsly declares as we have ſhewn a⯑bove, that to make a vertuous Man unhap⯑py, that is a Man who abſolutely commands his Paſſions, would create Horror inſtead of Compaſſion, and would be deteſted by all [47] the World. And thus we have ſhewn that Ariſtotle is for Poetical Juſtice, notwithſtan⯑ding that he is for unhappy Cataſtrophes: And ſo one would think was your Correſpon⯑dent. For when he enumerates and com⯑mends ſome Engliſh Tragedies, which have unfortunate Cataſtrophes; there are not two of thoſe which he commends, whoſe princi⯑pal Characters can be ſaid to be innocent, and conſequently there are not two of them where there is not a due Obſervance of poe⯑tical Juſtice.

Thus, Mr. Spectator, I have diſcuſſed the Buſineſs of poetical Juſtice, and ſhewn it to be the Foundation of all Tragedy; and therefore whatever Perſons, whether ancient or modern, have writ Dialogues which they call Tragedies, where this Juſtice is not ob⯑ſerv'd, thoſe Perſons have entertain'd and a⯑mus'd the World with romantick lamentable Tales, inſtead of juſt Tragedies, and of law⯑ful Fables.

'Tis not my Buſineſs at preſent to take a⯑ny farther notice of the Errors of your Cor⯑reſpondent; perhaps I no more approve of Tragi-Comedies, or Tragedies with double Plots, than he does; but I hope he will not take it ill if I put him in mind that ſeveral of the Plays which he recommended before are Tragi-Comedies, and that moſt of them [48] have double Plots. But he is vilely miſtaken if he thinks that Tragi-Comedy is of the Growth of our Engliſh Theatres.

I ſhall take another Opportunity to ſhew him that he is as much miſtaken in what he has ſaid of Humours, as in what he dictates concerning poetical Juſtice.

LETTER to the SPECTATOR upon his Paper on the 24th of April.

I Have read over your Paper of the 24^th with a great deal of Satisfaction, and here return you my Acknowledgments for the Honour you have done me in quoting two of my Verſes with Applauſe. I think my ſelf oblig'd in Gratitude, my worthy Friend, to do as much Honour to your Judgment as you have done to my Imagination; and as you have the Goodneſs to allow me to be an humorous Poet, I am bound in Juſtice to ce⯑lebrate you for a wonderful Critick; and to make it appear that contrary to the Obſervation of the Author of a late Rhapſody, one who has ſhewn himſelf no great Poet may be a prodigious Judge. Indeed the Obſervation of that Author is ſo far from being true, that moſt of the Criticks Ancient and Mo⯑dern have been no Poets, and moſt of the Poets Ancient and Modern have been no Criticks. I cannot find out that any but Homer, and Virgil, and Horace, and Sopho⯑cles, and Euripides among the Ancients were [50] great Criticks. For who can believe that has read them, that Apollonius Rhodius, Non⯑nus, Lucan, Statius, and Silius Italicus ever ſo much as heard that Nature, and the Phi⯑loſophers her Interpreters and Commentators had laid down Rules for an Epick Poem? And who that has read the Moderns could imagine, that moſt of their Dramatick Poets, had ever ſo much as heard that there were ſuch things as the Rules. As Boileau has obſerv'd of the French, that ſome Perſons among them had diſtinguiſh'd themſelves by their Rhimes, who never knew how to di⯑ſtinguiſh Lucan from Virgil; ſo ſome a⯑mong our own Rhimers have been renown'd for verſifying, who never ſo much as knew that Horace and Milton were good Poets. And I can on the other ſide name ſeveral who never diſtinguiſhed themſelves by Poe⯑try, who yet have oblig'd the World with Criticiſms which have been Non-pareillo's, and the very Top-Critick of all thoſe Cri⯑ticks is my worthy Friend the Spectator.

Tho' who the Devil could have ever ex⯑pected to have found my worthy Friend a Critick, after he had treated Criticks with ſo much Contempt in two or three of his Immortal Tatlers, and particularly in the 29^th and the 246^th, where they are pronounc'd to be the ſillieſt of Mortals, [51] Creatures, forſooth, who profeſs Judgment; tho' by the way, Mr Spectator, he who pro⯑feſſes or practiſes Poetry, and does not pro⯑feſs Judgment in it, profeſſes himſelf an Aſs. It was from thoſe Tatlers and one or two more, Mr. Spectator, that I gueſs'd that you had a mortal Averſion to Criticiſm; but now I find plainly that they were none of your own, but were ſent you by two or three damn'd Poets, who are a ſort of Of⯑fenders that have not half the Charity which other Malefactors are wont to ſhew, but bear eternal Malice to their Executioners.

Thus the Invectives againſt Criticks and Criticiſm were other Peoples; you were too wiſe to write any ſuch thing, as knowing that Taſt which declines ſo faſt is only to be reſtor'd and maintain'd by Criticiſm. And therefore inſtead of writing Invectives againſt it, you have oblig'd the World with the thing it ſelf, with Criticiſm upon Criticiſm, and ſuch Criticiſm.—As thoſe Tatlers were the Off-ſpring of ſome certain Poets, which is manifeſt by their inſipid Satyr, like the faint Eagerneſs of Vinegar decay'd: no⯑thing is more clear than that the Criticiſms could be none but yours. For as you may diſcover ex ungue Leonem, & ex pede Her⯑cules, ſo in this Caſe the prodigious Off⯑ſpring ſpeaks and confeſſes the Gigantick Fa⯑ther.

[52] In your very Folio of the 24^th of April, how have you ſhewn the Fineſs of your Diſcernment, and the Profundity of your Penetration, by your Encomium of two Ver⯑ſes of my Tranſlation of the Fourth Satyr of Boileau? Tis now thirty Years ſince I tran⯑ſlated that Satyr, and conſequently was a very Boy at the Time of that Tranſlation; yet from that Time to this the ſtupid Age has been ignorant of the Beauty of that Couplet. How very flegmatick a Wretch have I been, and how illegitimate an Off⯑ſpring of Mr. Bays, not to know any thing of my own Excellence till I heard of it from you?

How little did I imagine when I tranſla⯑ted that Couplet, that the great Critick was then in Embrio who thirty Years afterwards ſhould declare it to be a charming Couplet, by giving it a place in his never dying Spe⯑culations.

I am perfectly convinc'd, my moſt wor⯑thy and moſt ingenious Friend, that we Au⯑thors are as blind and as partial Judges of our own Works, as we are unrighteous ones of other Peoples. I was apt to imagine, be⯑fore I ſubmitted my own Opinion to the de⯑ciſive Authority of your Judgment; that you would have done more for the Credit of my Genius and of your own Diſcernment, [53] by commending the following Verſes of the Fourth Book of the Poem upon the Battel of Ramelies, when you had ſo fair an occa⯑ſion of taking notice of them, as you had at the writing the 56^th Tatler. If I begin the Verſes a little higher than the couching of the Cataracts which is the Subject of the 56^th Tatler, I am confident you will have the Goodneſs to pardon me, and the rather becauſe you diſcover'd more than a common Satisfaction when you were preſent with your Friend Mr. A. at the reading thoſe Verſes in Manuſcript. A celeſtial Spirit viſits the Duke of Marlborough in a Viſion the Night before the Battel of Ramelies, and after he has ſaid ſeveral other things to him goes on thus.

Theſe are the Verſes, my moſt diſcerning Friend, that I thought might have been pre⯑ferr'd to the foremention'd Couplet, eſpeci⯑ally ſince they would as it were have intro⯑duced themſelves, whereas the Couplet is dragg'd in by extreme Violence. But I ſub⯑mit to your infallible Judgment, not in the leaſt ſuſpecting that my worthy Friend can have any Malice in this Affair, and inſert that Couplet in his immortal Speculations only on purpoſe to expoſe me; no, far be it [56] from me to entertain any ſuch Jealouſy of my deareſt Friend, who is ſo good, ſo kind, ſo beneficent, and who has ſo often given himſelf the glorious Title of the Lover and Benefactor of Mankind. Who could ima⯑gine that one who hath given himſelf that glorious Appellation, could e'er be prom⯑pted by Malice or Paſſion, or Intereſt thus ſlily and hypocritically to abuſe one whom he had call'd his Friend?

I have been apt to believe likewiſe, my worthy Friend, that you would have been kinder to your ſelf and to me, if inſtead of commending the foremention'd Couplet you had taken ſome notice of the following Ver⯑ſes which are in my Paraphraſe upon the Te Deum; eſpecially when you had ſo fair an occaſion to mention them as you had at the writing the 119^th Tatler. The Couplet of the tranſlated Satyr was introduced by Violence. But how very naturally would the following Verſes of the Paraphraſe, have been mention'd either before or after the laſt Paragraph of the foremention'd Paper, where a Spirit is introduc'd, who after he has ſpoke of that part of the Creation which is too little for human Sight, comes afterwards to ſpeak of the immenſe Objects of Nature af⯑ter this manner.

Upon the writing this Paragraph, how could you avoid the making mention of Ver⯑ſes which had the very ſame Ideas, and Ver⯑ſes which you had formerly mention'd with Applauſe in private Converſation? I know you will anſwer that you had entirely forgot them, and therefore I take the liberty here to refreſh your Memory. The Angels are introduc'd in that Paraphraſe ſpeaking to [58] God, and ſaying after other things that which follows.

How glad am I that the foremention'd Ver⯑ſes were writ before the above-nam'd Tat⯑lers? Otherwiſe I ſhould have been thought to have borrow'd from my worthy Friend, without making any manner of acknowledg⯑ment, only adding or endeavouring to add to what I borrow'd a little of that Spirit, and Elevation and Magnificence of Expreſ⯑ſion which the Greatneſs of the Hints requir'd.

[59] 'Tis for this Reaſon that I am glad the Verſes were printed ſome Years before the Proſe. For you know, my dear Friend, that a Plagiary in general is but a ſcan⯑dalous Creature, a ſort of a ſpiritual Out⯑law, and ought to be treated as ſuch by all the Members of the Commonwealth of Lear⯑ning. But a Plagiary from living Authors is moſt profligately impudent, and in ſo ſlow and ſplenatick a Nation as ours moſt unjuſt and barbarous. For among us any thing that is admirably good is twenty or thirty Years before it comes to be underſtood. And how infinitely baſe is it in the mean while to de⯑prive an Author of any thing that is va⯑luable in him, and to intercept his coming Praiſe. As Laws are made for the Security of Property, what pity 'tis that there are not ſome enacted for the Security of a Man's Thoughts and Inventions, which alone are properly his. For Land is alienable and Trea⯑ſure is tranſitory, and both muſt at one time or other paſs, either by his own voluntary Act, or by the Violence and Injuſtice of others, or at leaſt by Fate. And therefore nothing is truly and really a Man's own.

[60] 'Tis only a Man's Thoughts and Inventions that are properly his: being alone Things that can never be alienated from him, nei⯑ther by Force nor Perſuaſion, nor by Fate it ſelf; and tho' another may baſely uſurp the Honour of them, yet they muſt for ever rightfully belong to their firſt Inventor. Thus even the richeſt and the happieſt of Men have nothing that is truly and really their own but their Thoughts and Inventions. But Au⯑thors for the moſt part, and eſpecially Poets have nothing that can ſo much as be call'd their own but their Thoughts. 'Tis for thoſe alone, and the Glory which they expect from thoſe that they entirely quit their Pretenſions to Riches, and renounce the Pomps and Va⯑nities of this wicked World; and therefore to endeavour to deprive them of thoſe is ex⯑ceedingly inhuman. What a Joy 'tis to think that the Precedence of Times ſets me free from the Imputation of this Injuſtice? Had I been capable of doing this, and doing it to my worthy Friend, of wronging my deareſt Friend in this manner, who knows how far that Barbarity might have extended it ſelf; I might have proceeded to have upbraided him with ſome weak place in his never-dying Folio's; and having forcibly depriv'd him of his Silver and his Gold, have pelted him with his Braſs and his Copper out of counterfeit [61] Anger or pretended Scorn, becauſe they were of no richer Metal.

But the Caſe of my dear Friend is vaſtly different. You have that Reputation, and the World has that Opinion of your Merit, that they will be ſo far from believing that you have Obligations to a living Author which you have not, that tho' you had really made thus bold with me, it would have been impoſ⯑ſible to have convinc'd above forty or fifty People of it. And here, my dear Friend, at the ſame time that I acknowledge your uncommon Merit, I cannot but congratulate your incom⯑parable Felicity, It being plain that you have got more Reputation in three Years time than Milton has done in fifty Years, or than Shake⯑ſpear has in an hundred. I ſhall therefore ju⯑diciouſly conclude with the generality of your Readers, that you have a Merit paramount to that of all Britiſh Authors both living and dead, and that you have not only more Merit than any one Moraliſt either Ancient or Mo⯑dern, but that if you continue your Paper Three Years longer, you will have as much Merit as they have all together. I am,

YOU tell us in your Fourth Paper, that you know Peoples Thoughts by their Eyes. How apt we are all to imagine fine Things of our ſelves! eſpecially we Au⯑thors, Mr. Spectator. There was a certain Friend of mine, a Squire lately defunct, who made the very ſame boaſt that you do; and yet he recommended a Pettifogger to me for an honeſt Fellow, who diving into my Se⯑crets, betray'd me to thoſe very People with whom he pretended to ſerve me; a Petti⯑fogger thro' whoſe Eyes, even I and ſeveral others who pretend to none of my Friend the Squire's Profundity, can diſcern the working of his miſchievous Thoughts, as plainly as I can ſee the Operations of Bees thro' a Cryſtal Hive.

As ſoon, Mr. Spectator, as I found my ſelf betray'd, I began to enquire into this Fel⯑low's Character, tho' if you were to look be⯑tween his two Eyes, you wou'd ſwear there was no occaſion for it. For, Mr. Spectator, he tells you what he is, when he only looks on you; and uniting in his pettifogging Per⯑ſon both your noble Attributes, is at one [63] and the ſame time Tatler and Spectator. In ſhort, tho' he is an errant Traytor in his Heart, his Face is a plain Dealer, and lets you immediately without Ceremony and with⯑out Reſerve into the inmoſt Secrets of his Soul.

Upon Enquiry I found his Character to be as extraordinary as his Perſon. He is by Po⯑liticks a Jacobite, by Moral Principle a Set⯑ter and a Betrayer, by Religion a Quaker, an utter Foe to all Civil and Religious Cere⯑mony, unleſs it be drinking the Pretender's Health on his Knees, to whom alone of the Race of Men he has been true and faithful: By this one may gueſs that his Education has been very extraordinary. I find upon the moſt curious Enquiry that I have been able to make, that the only Schools that ever he has been at have been ſpunging Houſes and County-Gaols; and that his two Univerſities have been the Fleet and the Queen's-Bench.

I hope, Mr. Spectator, that this Letter may afford you a Hint, for a Lucubration, or a Speculation, or whatever other learned Term you may be pleas'd to give it; which by diſcovering to your Readers the Error and the Frailty of the Squire lately defunct, may convince them how little we know even thoſe with whom we daily converſe. A⯑las our Judgments of one another are empty [64] and ſuperficial, and either built upon vain Appearances, or the Reports of thoſe, who neither truly know us, nor ſpeak what they really think of us, but often traduce us, and miſrepreſent us, in order to comfort or vindi⯑cate, or to ſupport themſelves.

But of all Mankind there are none who know the reſt of Men ſo little as the genera⯑lity of your Authors; for this Pettifogger was ſo fooliſh a Rogue, that any one might ſee thro' him at firſt ſight. And yet my Friend the Squire was ſtark blind to him: By the way, you may know that my Friend the Squire was an Author, as celebrated an Author as you are, Mr. Spectator, a Penny-Folio Author. He got ſome Reputation by his Lucubrations; but had the Fault of moſt Authors who have more Imagination than Judgment, he could not leave off when he was well; not conſidering, Mr. Spectator, that had honeſt Sir Martin left off in time, his Miſtreſs had never made the Diſcovery that Warner play'd and ſung for him. I am

To the SPECTATOR.

I Have a ſhort Caſe of Conſcience to put to you; to You who have eſtabliſh'd your ſelf in the Office of Ductor Dubitantium ge⯑neral. About January laſt I happen'd to have an Obligation to a certain Author, an Obligation that repoſed a Truſt in me which I have ſince diſcharg'd. Being pleas'd with the Frankneſs of this Author's doing this, I reſolv'd upon reading his celebrated Penny⯑Folio's, I mean upon reading them in order. For till then, I had read but here and there one, and none at all of the firſt two Months. The firſt thing that I obſerv'd in them was, that I was endeavour'd to be expos'd and ca⯑lumniated clandeſtinely and perfidiouſly by one who at the ſame time careſs'd me where⯑e'er he ſaw me, and call'd himſelf my Friend, and all this only to ſerve a poor pitiful Turn, which was to eſtabliſh the Opera at the Ex⯑pence of Dramatick Poetry; I ſay of Drama⯑tick Poetry, Mr. Spectator, if it had not been for which, that Author had long ſince been in the Duſt. The Quere is, whether the foreſaid Obligation ought to debar me of the Right of vindicating the Truth and my ſelf. It was not long after this, Mr. Spectator, that [66] the aboveſaid Author repented him ſo far of the Obligation he had laid on me, that he in⯑ſulted and affronted me ſeveral times moſt barbarouſly by a Wretch ſo deſpicable and ſo impotent, that it would have been Cowar⯑dice to have beat him; a Wretch whoſe Cha⯑racter will come enclos'd to you in the ſame Cover with this; and not content with that, en⯑deavour'd once more to expoſe me in his Quo⯑tidian Folio's. The ſecond Quere is, Mr. Specta⯑tor, whether I am not free, now I am got quit of the Obligation which was laid upon me, tho' it had been far greater than it was, to ſhew my juſt Reſentment, which I am about to do by publiſhing three or four modeſt Let⯑ters which I have pick'd and cull'd from the numerous company of thoſe which are more bitter, and which I reſolve to ſuppreſs in or⯑der to ſhew that I have a Soul that is capa⯑ble of remembring Obligations, as well as of revenging Injuries I impatiently expect your Deciſion in this matter! in the mean time it ſeems to me that common Senſe obliges me to believe, that no Man can have an Obligation ſtrong enough laid on him to make him paſs by a Box on the Ear, or the being expos'd in Print, without returning each of th' Affronts in kind. I am