imprisoned hours, and then were heard no more. Dryden had evidently looked with somewhat of admiration or affection to the poetry of Davenant, and notwithstanding the ridicule of the wits, and with the confession of much that is absurd, and more that is tedious, Gondibert1 is the work of a man of powerful intellect, and fine genius; it is full of fanciful images, ingenious reflections, and majestic sentiments: Hobbes has praised its vigour and beauty of expression. Davenant indeed, in all his poetry, throws out gleams of loftier and brighter creations, pathetic touches, sweet pensive meditations, imaginative and visionary fancies, and lines that run along the keen edge of curious thoughts, such as commanded the attention of Dryden beyond any other poet of the age, and such as long after Pope was not too proud to transplant into the most impassioned, and the most imaginative of all his productions. This early style of Dryden, or Davenant, is chiefly faulty, because the authors have not the courage, or inclination to reject an ingenious allusion, however remote, or a brilliant thought, however superfluous. Hence the surface of their poetry glitters 1 I am glad to support my humble opinion by the great authority of the author of Marmion; Sir Walter Scott says, 'Gondibert incurred, when first published, more ridicule, and in latter times more neglect than its merits deserve; an Epic poem in elegiac stanzas must always be tedious, because no structure of verse is more unfavourable to narrative, than that which almost peremptorily requires each sentence to be restricted, or protracted to four lines; but the liveliness of Davenant's imagination has illuminated even the dreary path which he has chosen, and perhaps few poems afford more instances of vigorous conception and even felicity of expression than the neglected Gondibert.' Scott's Dryden, vol. iii. p. 97; and Life of Dryden, vol. i. p. 48. with similes,1 is crowded with learned analogies, and surrounded with unnecessary illustrations; whatever is subtle, laboured, and unusual, is forced into the subject. The interest of the story is encumbered with imagery, and the progress of the narrative impeded by reflection. Davenant himself confesses, that Poetical excellence consists in the laborious and lucky resultances of thought, having towards its excellence as well a happiness as care, and not only the luck and labour, but also the dexterity of thought, rounding the world like a sun with unimaginable motion, and bringing swiftly home to the memory universal surveys.' The restoration of the monarchy now opened the gates of the theatre, the latest echoes of whose walls had been called forth by Shirley's muse and which the narrow prejudices, and dark religion of the Puritans, considered as one of the practices offensive to God, and not to be endured by a serious and godly people. Dryden soon availed himself of this new channel to profit and fame. The first play (he says) I undertook, was the Duke of Guise, as the fairest way which the act of indemnity had then left us of setting forth the rise of the late rebellion, and of exposing the villanies of it upon the stage, to precaution posterity against the like errors. His friends however considered his first essay as not wrought with sufficient art to ensure success, and it was in consequence laid aside for some years. 1 Now here she must make a simile, where's the necessity of that, Mr. Bayes? Because she's surprised. That is a general rule, you must ever make a simile when you are surprised, 'tis a new way of writing. Rehearsal, act i. sc. 3. Dryden's first attempt at dramatic poetry, or rather his first play that was exhibited, was the 'Wild Gallant.' It was probably produced on the stage the 5th February,1 1662-3. The want of success was, perhaps, compensated by the favorable influence of the celebrated Countess of Castlemaine, afterwards the Duchess of Cleveland. More than once, Charles commanded it to be performed before him; it was more distinguished for the smartness of its repartee than for the skilfulness of the plot, and its 'prize fights of wit' have been ridiculed in the Rehearsal. There is in the Wild Gallant a strange improbability of incident, and a bustling intrigue taken from the Spanish drama. The character of Isabella is immodest and loose. The absurdity of the gross deceit attempted to be passed on Lord Nonsuch probably turned the fate of the play. Seven years afterwards, when it was corrected and revised, that this part was not omitted nor remodelled is surprising. Constance's marriage, 1 On the 19th November, 1662, Dryden was elected a fellow of the Royal Society, which is supposed to show his early reputation for knowledge. Cowley and Denham were also admitted into it. See Birch's Hist. of the R. Society, i. 125, 127. 2 Dryden addressed some sprightly and gallant verses to her on her encouraging this play, Scott's ed. vol. xi. p. 18. Hẹ compares her influence to the virtue of Cato: 'But you have done what Cato could not do,' which is very true; for she slept with Charles II. the very first night he arrived in London, nathless, our poet says, Your power you never use, but for defence 8 In the scene betwixt Prince Prettyman and Tom Thimble Bibber, being the original of the latter personage. Some part of the character of 'Trice' is imitated from that of Carlo, in Jonson's 'Every Man out of his Humour.' under the character of Fortune, has been properly reprehended as unnatural and grotesque. The second prologue is very indecent, and the looseness of the dialogue offensive; but this is a fault pervading most of Dryden's plays. It has been vainly attempted to turn the blame from the poet to the audience, though it has been urged by his critics and by himself—that those who live to please, must please to live.' I wish that so heavy a charge had met with a better exculpation. Having failed in his first attempts at comedy, which he discovered 'was the most difficult part of dramatic poetry,' Dryden's next performance was a tragi-comedy, called the Rival Ladies,1 which was publicly exhibited in the winter of 1 This play was with propriety dedicated to the Earl of Orrery, himself the first writer of rhyming plays after the Restoration. The flatness and insipidity of his language is ridiculed in Timon, a Satyr. Buckingham's Works, i. p. 163. Half-wit cries up my Lord of Orrery. Ah! how well Mustapha and Zanger die; -And which is worse, if any worse can be, He never said one word of it to me.' There's luscious poetry, you'd swear 'twas prose, In Mustapha, p. 105, Solyman says, (Sol.) Forgive her, Heaven!-here-take my handkercher, Dispatch-why do you pause?—(Rox)—forgive her, Sir. The play of the Black Prince was spoken by the genius of England, holding a trident in one hand, and a sword in the other. Lines similar to the following often occur: You know, when to the wars of France I went, Herod says to Solemus, This storm which thou hast rais'd, dost thou not dread? Look on me-look-have I not stared thee dead? 6 1663. The tragic scenes of the play are written in rhyme,1 while the lighter are formed into blank verse. Dryden has earnestly defended his practice with arguments, rather ingenious than convincing; for, if admitted, they would censure or condemn not only some of the finest passages in our old Cothurnal scenes,' but the system on which their poetry was founded, and the end which it aspired to attain; but in truth, our heroic verse in rhyme is most adverse to the exhibition of dramatic passion, or powerful and changing emotion. It leads the poet into long unbroken declamation, and totally precludes the abrupt transitions and bold rapid movements, by which true and strong feeling is declared. Nothing is left for the genius of the actor, in look, in gesture, in the eloquence of silence to supply; or for the imagination of the audience to assist; nothing to strike on the chords of association in our mind; nothing imperfect and halfdrawn that calls upon the fancy to fill up the unfinished picture, and gives it a share in the creations of the poet. Here surely lies much of the fascination of poetry. At the first breath heard from the enchanted horn, when touched by the lips of genius, all becomes Tamar. Permit me first, Madam, to dress your wound. Queen. It is a scratch, and is already bound. In this moving manner the noble author goes through a folio volume, and receives the highest commendations from Mr. N. Tate. In his Comedy of Mr. Anthony, there was a duel between Mr. Nokes and Mr. Angel; one came armed with a blunderbuss, and the other with a bow and arrows. 1 The dedication to Lord Orrery is composed in a strain of laboured and ingenious flattery; there are two mistakes in it, one relating to Gorboduc, the other, that Shakespeare invented blank verse. He praises Waller, Denham, and Davenant, and defends rhyming verse. |