The Conquest OF GRANADA BY THE SPANIARDS: In Two Parts. Acted at the Theater-Royall.
Written by IOHN DRYDEN Servant to His Majesty.
In the SAVOY, Printed by T. N. for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold at the Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange. 1672.
To His ROYAL HIGHNESS The DUKE.
HEroique Poesie has alwayes been sacred to Princes and to Heroes. Thus Virgil inscrib'd his Aeneids to Augustus Caesar; and, of latter Ages, Tasso and Ariosto dedicated their Poems to the house of Est. 'Tis, 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 feign'd Heroe inflames the [Page] true: and the dead vertue animates the living. Since, therefore, the World is govern'd by precept and Example; and both these can onely have influence from those persons who are above us, that kind of Poesy which excites to vertue the greatest men, is of greatest use to humane kind.
'Tis from this consideration, that I have presum'd to dedicate to your Royal Highness these faint representations of your own worth and valour in Heroique 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 vertue, and as they are the highest returns which mankind can make them for it.
And certainly, if ever Nation were oblig'd either by the conduct, the personal 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 continu'd Series of Heroique Actions: which you began so early that you were no sooner nam'd in the world, but it was with praise and Admiration. Even the first blossomes of your youth paid us all that could be expected from a ripening manhood. While you practis'd but the rudiments of War you out-went all other Captains: and have since found none to surpass, but your self alone. the opening of your [Page] glory was like that of light: you shone to us from afar; and disclos'd your first beams on distant Nations. yet so, that the lustre of them was spred abroad, and reflected brightly on your native Country. You were then an honour to it, when it was a reproach to it self: and, when the fortunate Usurper sent his arms to Flanders, many of the adverse party were vanquish'd by your fame, e're they try'd your valour. the report of it drew over to your Ensigns whole Troops and Companies of converted Rebels: and made them forsake successfull wickedness to follow an oppress'd and exil'd vertue. your reputation wag'd war with the Enemies of your royal family, even within their trenches; and the more obstinate, or more guilty of them, were forc'd to be spyes 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 Rebells were not able to sustain your arms: where you charg'd in person you were a Conqueror: 'tis true they afterwards recover'd 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 remain'd victorious: and that Army, which was broken by your valour, became a terror to those for whom they conquer'd. [Page] Then it was that at the cost of other Nations you inform'd and cultivated that Valour which was to defend your native Country, and to vindicate its honour from the insolence of our incroaching Neighbours. When the Hollanders, not contented to withdraw themselves from the obedience which they ow'd their lawful Sovereign, affronted those by whose Charity they were first protected: and, (being swell'd up to a preheminence of Trade, by a supine negligence on our side, and a sordid parsimony on their own,) dar'd to dispute the Soveraignty of the Seas; the eyes of three Nations were then cast on you: and, by the joynt 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 yet a greater by your courage. Neither did the success deceive our hopes and expectations. the most glorious victory which was gain'd by our Navy in that war, was in that first engagement: wherein, even by the confession of our enemies, who ever palliate their own losses, and diminish our advantages, your absolute triumph was acknowledg'd. you conquer'd at the Hague as intirely as at London. and the return of a shatter'd Fleet, without an Admiral, left not the most impudent among them the least pretence for a false bon-fire, or a dissembled day of publick Thanks-giving. All our atchievements against them afterwards, though we sometimes conquer'd [Page] 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 concern'd when you were absent: and would not employ his utmost vigour for a less important stake than the life and honor of a Royal Admiral.
And, if since that memorable day, you have had leisure to enjoy in peace the fruits of so glorious a reputation, 'twas occasion onely has been wanting to your courage; for, that can never be wanting to occasion. the same ardor still incites you to Heroique actions: and the same concernment for all the interests of your King and Brother, continue to give you restless nights, and a generous emulation for your own glory. you are still meditating on new labours for your self, and new triumphs for the Nation. and when our former enemies again provoke us, you will again solicite 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 vanquish'd. Let our Enemies make their boast of a surprise; as the Samnites did of a successful stratagem: but the Furcae Caudinae will never be forgiv'n till they are reveng'd. I have alwaies observ'd in your Royal [Page] Highness an extream concernment for the honour of your Country 'tis a passion common to you with a Brother, the most excellent of Kings: aud in your two persons, are eminent the Characters which Homer has given us of Heroique vertue: 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 tryal of my self how I shall be able to transmit you to Posterity. I have form'd a Heroe, I confess, not absolutely perfect: but of an excessive and overboyling courage. but Homer and Tasso are my precedents. both the Greek and the Italian Poet had well consider'd that a tame Heroe who never transgresses the bounds of moral vertue, would shine but dimly in an Epick 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 excentrique vertue is the more exact Image of humane life, because he not wholy exempted from its frailties. such a person is Almanzor: whom I present, [Page] with all humility, to the Patronage of your Royal Highness. I design'd 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 beautifull; though that beauty be not regular. they are of the number of those amiable imperfections which we see in Mistrisses▪ 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 conquer'd enemies; and to protect them in distress; and above all, an inviolable faith in this affection. This, Sir, I have briefly shaddow'd to your Royal Highness, that you may not be asham'd of that Heroe whose protection you undertake. Neither would I dedicate him to so illustrious a name, if I were conscious to my self that he did or said any thing, which was wholy unworthy of it. However, since it is not just that your Royal Highness shou'd defend or own, what, possibly, may be my errour, I bring before you this accus'd 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, condemn'd. 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 [Page] Highness, as to a Soveraign Tribunal. Heroes shou'd onely be judg'd by Heroes; because they onely are capable of measuring great and Heroick actions by the rule and standard of their own. If Almanzor has fail'd in any point of Honor, I must therein acknowledge that he deviates from your Royal Highness, who are the patern of it. But, if at any time he fulfils the parts of personal Vallour and of conduct, of a Souldier, and of a General; or, if I could yet give him a Character more advantagious than what he has; of the most unshaken friend, the greatest of Subjects, and the best of Masters, I shou'd then draw to all the world, a true resemblance of your worth and vertues; at least as farr as they are capable of being copied, by the mean abilities of
OF HEROIQUE PLAYES. An Essay.
WHether Heroique verse ought to be admitted into serious Playes, is not now to be disputed: 'tis already in possession of the Stage: and I dare confidently affirm, that very few Tragedies, in this Age, shall be receiv'd without it. All the arguments, which are form'd 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 Playes ought not to imitate Conversation too nearly. If nothing were to be rais'd above that level, the foundation of Poetry would be destroy'd. and, if you once admit of a Latitude, that thoughts may be exalted, and that Images and Actions may be rais'd above the life, and describ'd 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 field, betwixt two Inns. Yon have lost that which you call natural, and have not acquir'd the last perfection of Art. But it was onely custome which cozen'd [Page] us so long: we thought, because Shakespear and Fletcher went no farther, that there the Pillars of Poetry were to be erected. That, because they excellently describ'd Passion without Rhyme, therefore Rhyme was not capable of describing it. but time has now convinc'd most men of that Error. 'Tis indeed, so difficult to write verse, that the Adversaries of it have a good plea against many who undertake that task, without being form'd by Art or Nature for it. Yet, even they who have written worst in it, would have written worse without it. they have cozen'd many with their sound, who never took the pains to examine their sence. In fine, they have succeeded: though 'tis true they have more dishonour'd Rhyme by their good Success than they could have done by their ill. But I am willing to let fall this argument: 'tis free for every man to write, or not to write, in verse, as he judges it to be, or not to be his Tallent; or as he imagines the Audience will receive it.
For Heroick Plays, (in which onely I have us'd 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, becuase they contain'd some matter of Scandal to those good people, who could more easily dispossess their lawful Sovereign than endure a wanton jeast; he was forc'd to turn his thoughts another way: and to introduce the examples of moral vertue, writ in verse, and perform'd in Recitative Musique. The Original of this musick and of the Scenes which adorn'd his work, he had from the Italian Opera's: but he heightn'd 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 Majesties return. When growing bolder, as being now own'd by a publick Authority, he review'd his Siege of Rhodes, and caus'd it to 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, [Page] perhaps, something might have been added to the beauty of the stile. All which he would have perform'd with more exactness had he pleas'd to have given us another work of the same nature. For my self and others, who come after him, we are bound, with all veneration to his memory, to acknowledge what advantage we receiv'd from that excellent ground-work 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 our selves, to yield him the precedence in it.
Having done him this justice, as my guide; I may do my self so much, as to give an account of what I have perform'd after him. I observ'd 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 meer accident, I open'd the next Book that lay by me, which was an Ariosto in Italian; and the very first two lines of that Poem gave me light to all I could desire.
for the very next reflection which I made was this, That an Heroick Play ought to be an imitation, in little of an Heroick 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 out-lines of somewhat taken at a distance, and which the designer saw not clearly. The common Drama oblig'd him to a Plot well-form'd and pleasant, or, as the Antients call'd it, one entire and great Action: but this he afforded not himself in a story, which he neither fill'd with Persons, nor beautified with Characters, nor varied with Accidents. The Laws of an Heroick Poem did not dispence with those of the other, but rais'd them to a greater height: and indulg'd him a farther liberty of Fancy, and of drawing all things as far above the ordinary proportion of the Stage, [Page] as that is beyond the common words and actions of humane life: and therefore, in the scanting of his Images, and design, he comply'd not enough with the greatness and Majesty of an Heroick 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 Heroick Poem was this, That it ought to be dress'd in a more familiar and easy shape: more fitted to the common actions and passions of humane life: and, in short, more like a glass of Nature, showing us our selves in our ordinary habits: and figuring a more practicable vertue to us, then was done by the Antients or Moderns: thus he takes the Image of an Heroick 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 Canto's, imitating the Scenes which compose our Acts.
But this, I think, is rather Play in Narration (as I may call it) than an Heroick Poem. If at least you will not prefer the opinion of a single man to the practice of the most excellent Authors both of Antient 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: 'tis Petronius Arbiter, the most elegant, and one of the most judicious Authors of the Latine tongue: who, after he had given many admirable rules, for the structure, and beauties of an Epick Poem, concludes all in these following words:
Non enim res gestae versibus comprehendae sunt; quod longè melius Historici faciunt: sed, perambages, Deorumque ministeria, praecipitandus est liber Spiritus, ut potius furentis animi vaticinatio appareat, quam religiosae orationis, sub testibus, fides.
In which sentence, and in his own Essay of a Poem, which immediately he gives you, it is thought he taxes Lucan; who follow'd too much the truth of history, crowded Sentences [Page] together, was too full of points, and too often offer'd at somewhat which had more of the sting of an Epigram, than of the dignity and state of an Heroick Poem. Lucan us'd 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 Vncle Seneca, in Prose. In one word, he walks soberly, a foot, when he might fly. Yet Lucan is not alwayes this Religious historian. the Oracle of Appius, and the witchcraft of Erictho will somewhat attone 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 form'd their Poems half so beautiful, without those Gods and Spirits, and those Enthusiastick parts of Poetry, which compose the most noble parts of all their writings. and I will ask any man who loves Heroick 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 rais'd by Magick, I boldly answer him, that an Heroick Poet is not ty'd 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 sence, and therefore not to be comprehended by knowledge, may give him a freer scope for imagination. 'Tis enough that in all ages and Religions, the greatest part of mankind have believ'd the power of Magick, and that there are Spirits, or Spectres, which have appear'd. 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 [Page] Mr. Hobbs, with some reason thinks to imply a contradiction,) or that they are a thinner and more Aerial sort of bodies (as some of the Fathers have conjectur'd) may better be explicated by Poets, than by Philosophers or Divines. For their speculations on this subject are wholy Poetical; they have onely their fancy for their guide, and that, being sharper in an excellent Poet, than it is likely it should in a phlegmatick, heavy gown-man, will see farther, in its own Empire, and produce more satisfactory notions on those dark and doubtful Problems.
Some men think they have rais'd a great argument against the use of Spectres and Magique in Heroique Poetry, by saying, They are unnatural: but, whether they or I believe there are such things, is not material, 'tis enough that, for ought we know, they may be in Nature: and what ever is or may be, is not properly, unnatural. Neither am I much concern'd at Mr. Cowleys verses before Gondibert; (though his authority is almost sacred to me:) 'Tis true, he has resembled the old Epique Poetry to a fantastique fayery 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 digression by the Reader, if he please to remember what I said in the beginning of this Essay, that I have modell'd my Heroique Playes, by the Rules of an Heroique Poem. And, if that be the most noble, the most pleasant and the most instructive way of writing in verse, and, withall, the highest patern of humane life, as all Poets have agreed, I shall need no other Argument to justifie my choice in this imitation. One advantage the Drama has above the other, namely, that it represents to view, what the Poem onely does relate, and, Segnius irritant animum demissa per aures, Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, as Horace tells us.
To those who object my frequent use of Drums and Trumpets; and my representations of Battels, I answer, I introduc'd them not on the English Stage, Shakespear us'd [Page] them frequently: and, though Jonson shows no Battel 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 the representations of fighting on the Stage, are no more than necessary to produce the effects of an Heroick Play. that is, to raise the imagination of the Audience, and to perswade them, for the time, that what they behold on the Theater is really perform'd. The Poet is, then, to endeavour an absolute dominion over the minds of the Spectators: for, though our fancy will contribute to its own deceipt, 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 approv'd medicine because a Mountebank has us'd it with success.
Thus I have given a short account of Heroick 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 satisfi'd: and to suffer, with patience, all that can be urg'd 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 Heroick vertue: 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 Calprenede: (who has imitated both.) the original of these, ( Achilles) is taken by Homer for his Heroe: and is described by him as one, who in strength and courage surpass'd the rest of the Grecian Army: but, withall, of so fiery a temper, so impatient of an injury, even from his King, and General, that, when his Mistress was to be forc'd from him by the command of Agamemnon, he not onely disobey'd it; but return'd him an answer full of [Page] contumely; and in the most approbrious terms he could imagine. they are Homers words which follow, and I have cited but some few amongst a multitude.
Nay, he proceeded so far in his insolence, as to draw, out his sword, with intention to kill him.
and, if Minerva had not appear'd, and held his hand, he had executed his design; and 'twas all she could do to diswade him from it: the event was that he left the army; and would fight no more. Agamemnon gives his character thus to Nestor.
and Horace gives the same description of him in his Art of Poetry.
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 onely refus'd to be judg'd by Godfrey, his General, but threatn'd, that if he came to seize him, he would right himself by arms upon him: witness these following lines of Tasso.
[Page]You see how little these great Authors did esteem the point of Honour, so much magnified by the French, and so ridiculously ap'd by us. They made their Hero's men of honour; but so, as not to divest them quite of humane passions, and frailties. they contented themselves to show you, what men of great spirits would certainly do, when they were provok'd, not what they were oblig'd to do by the strict rules of moral vertue. for my own part, I declare my self 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 weigh'd by drams and scruples. yet, where I have design'd the patterns of exact vertue, 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 tax'd with changing sides: And what tye has he on him to the contrary? he is not born their Subject whom he serves: and he is injur'd 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 Bulloign. he talks extravagantly in his Passion: but, if I would take the pains to quote an hundred passages of Ben. Johnson'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 sayes, but performs not one Action in the Play.
But none of the former calumnies will stick: and, therefore, 'tis at last charg'd upon me that Almanzor does all things: or if you will have an absurd Accusation, in their non-sence who make it, that he performs impossibilities. they say, that being a stranger he appeases two fighting factions, when the Authority of their Lawful Soverign could not. this is, indeed, the most improbable of all his actions: but, 'tis far from being impossible. Their King had made himself contemptible to his [Page] 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 toros, 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 enterprize consisted onely in the daring: for, he had the Kings guards to second him. but we have read both of Caesar, and many other Generals, who have not onely calm'd 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 Almanzors 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 Part, 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 perform'd not less in Naples, than Almanzor is feign'd 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, expos'd to the Criticks, without defence.
The concernment of it is wholly past from me, and ought to be in them, who have been favorable to it, and are somewhat oblig'd to defend their own opinions. That there are errors in it, I deny not:
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 curst by some, and my faults arraign'd by others, and to suffer both without reply.
On Mr. Dryden's Play, The Conquest of GRANADA.
PROLOGUE to the First Part.
Spoken by Mris. Ellen Guyn in a broad-brim'd hat, and wast belt.
Persons Represented.
- By
- Mahomet Boabdelin, the last King of Granada.
- Mr. Kynaston:
- Prince Abdalla, his Brother.
- Mr. Lydall.
- Abdelmelech, chief of the Abencerrages.
- Mr. Mohun.
- Zulema, chief of the Zegrys.
- Mr. Harris.
- Abenamar, an old Abencerago.
- Mr. Cartwright.
- Selin, an old Zegry.
- Mr. Wintershall.
- Ozmyn a brave young Abencerago, son to Abenamar
- Mr. Beeston.
- Hamet, brother to Zulema, a Zegry.
- Mr. Watson.
- Gomel, a Zegry.
- Mr. Powell.
- Almanzor.
- Mr. Hart.
- Ferdinand, King of Spain.
- Mr. Littlewood.
- Duke of Arcos, his General.
- Mr. Bell.
- Don Alonzo, d' Aguilar; a Spanish Captain.
- By
- Almahide, Queen of Granada.
- Mrs. Ellen. Guyn.
- Lyndaraxa, Sister to Zulema; a Zegry Lady.
- Mrs. Marshall.
- Benzayda, daughter to Selin.
- Mrs. Bowtell.
- Esperanza slave to the Queen.
- Mrs. Reeve.
- Halyma, slave to Lyndaraxa.
- Mrs. Eastland.
- Isabella, Queen of Spain.
- Mrs. Ieames.
Messengers, Guards, Attendants, Men and Women.
The SCENE, in Granada, and the Christian Camp besieging it.
Almanzor and Almabide, Or, The CONQUEST OF Granada. The First Part.
ACT. II.
ACT. III.
ACT. IV.
SCENE II.
ACT. V.
Epilogue.
Epilogue.
Almanzor and Almahide, Or, The CONQUEST OF Granada The Second Part. As it is Acted at the THEATER-ROYAL.
Written by IOHN DRYDEN Servant to His Majesty.
In the SAVOY, Printed by T. N. for Henry Herringman, and are to be sold at the Anchor in the Lower Walk of the New Exchange. 1672.
PROLOGUE To the Second Part, OF THE CONQUEST OF Granada.
Almanzor and Almahide, Or, The CONQUEST OF Granada By the SPANIARDS. The Second Part.
ACT. I.
SCENE A Camp.
SCENE II. The Alhambra.
ACT. II.
SCENE A Wood.
SCENE. The Albayzin.
SCENE, The Alhambra.
ACT. III.
SCENE, The Alhambra.
SCENE The Albayzin.
SCENE The Albayzin.
ACT. IV.
SCENE
SCENE The Albayzin.
SCENE. The Alhambra, or a Gallery.
ACT V.
EPILOGUE to the Second Part of GRANADA.
Defence of the EPILOGUE. Or, An Essay on the Dramatique Poetry of the last Age.
THe promises of Authors, that they will write again, are in effect, a threatning of their Readers with some new impertinence, and they who perform not what they promise, will have their pardon on easy terms. 'Tis from this consideration that I could be glad to spare you the trouble which I am now giving you, of a Preface, if I were not oblig'd by many reasons to write somewhat concerning our present Playes, and those of our predecessors on the English stage. The truth is, I have so farr ingag'd my self in a bold Epilogue to this Play, wherein I have somewhat tax'd the former writing, that it was necessary for me either not to print it, or to show that I could defend it. Yet, I would so maintain my opinion of the present Age, as not to be wanting in my veneration for the past: I would ascribe to dead Authors their just praises, in those things wherein they have excell'd us: and in those wherein we contend [Page 161] with them for the preheminence, I would acknowledge our advantages to the Age, and claim no victory from our wit. This being what I have propos'd to my self, I hope I shall not be thought arrogant when I inquire into their Errors. For, we live in an Age, so Sceptical, that as it determines little, so it takes nothing from Antiquity on trust and I profess to have no other ambition in this Essay, than that Poetry may not go backward, when all other Arts and Sciences are advancing. Whoever censures me for this inquiry, let him hear his Character from Horace:
He favours not dead wits, but hates the living.
It was upbraided to that excellent Poet that he was an enemy to the writings of his Predecessor Lucilius, because he had said, Lucilium luculentum fluere, that he ran muddy: and that he ought to have retrench'd from his Satyrs many unnecessary verses. But Horace makes Lucilius himself to justifie him from the imputation of Envy, by telling you that he would have done the same had he liv'd in an age which was more refin'd.
And, both in the whole course of that Satyr, and in his most admirable Epistle to Augustus, he makes it his business to prove that Antiquity alone is no plea for the excellency of a Poem: but, that one Age learning from another, the last (if we can suppose an equallity of wit in the writers,) has the advantage of knowing more, and better than the former. and this I think is the state of the question in dispute. It is therefore my part to make it clear, that the Language, Wit, and Conversation of our Age are improv'd and refin'd above the last: and then [Page 162] it will not be difficult, to inferr, that our Playes have receiv'd some part of those advantages.
In the first place, therefore, it will be necessary to state, in general, what this refinement is of which we treat: and that I think will not be defin'd amiss: An improvement of our Wit, Language, and Conversation. or, an alteration in them for the better.
To begin with Language. That an Alteration is lately made in ours or since the Writers of the last Age (in which I comprehend Shakespear, Fletcher and Ionson) is manifest. Any man who reads those excellent Poets, and compares their language with what is now written, will see it almost in every line. But, that this is an Improvement of the Language, or an alteration for the better, will not so easily be granted. For many are of a contrary opinion, that the English tongue was then in the height of its perfection; that, from Ionsons time to ours, it has been in a continual declination; like that of the Romans from the Age of Virgil to Statius, and so downward to Claudian: of which, not onely Petronius, but Quintilian himself so much complains, under the person of Secundus, in his famous Dialogue de causis corruptae cloquentiae.
But, to shew that our Language is improv'd; and that those people have not a just value for the Age in which they live, let us consider in what the refinement of a language principally consists: that is, either in rejecting such old words or phrases which are ill sounding, or improper, or in admitting new, which are more proper, more sounding and more significant.
The Reader will easily take notice that when I speak of rejecting improper words and phrases I mention not such as are Antiquated by custome onely: and, as I may say, without any fault of theirs: for in this case the refinement can be but accidental: that is when the words and phrases which are rejected happen to be improper. Neither would I be understood (when I speak of impropriety in Language) either wholly to accuse [Page 163] the last Age, or to excuse the present; and least of all my self. For all writers have their imperfections and failings▪ but I may safely conclude in the general, that our improprieties are less frequent, and less gross than theirs. One Testimony of this is undeniable, that we are the first who have observ'd them. and, certainly, to observe errours is a great step to the correcting of them. But, malice and partiality set apart, let any man who understands English, read diligently the works of Shakespear and Fletcher; and I dare undertake that he will find, in every page either some Solecism of Speech, or some notorious flaw in Sence: and yet these men are reverenc'd when we are not forgiven. That their wit is great and many times their expressions noble, envy it self cannot deny.
but the times were ignorant in which they liv'd. Poetry was then, if not in its infancy among us, at least not arriv'd its vigor and maturity: witness the lameness of their Plots: many of which, especially those which they writ first, (for even that Age refin'd it self in some measure,) were made up of some ridiculous, incoherent story, which, in one Play many times took up the business of an Age. I suppose I need not name Pericles Prince of Tyre, nor the Historical Plays of Shakespear. Besides many of the rest as the Winters Tale, Love's labour lost, Measure for Measure, which were either grounded on impossibilities, or at least, so meanly written, that the Comedy neither caus'd your mirth, nor the serious part your concernment. If I would expatiate on this Subject, I could easily demonstrate that our admir'd Fletcher, who writ after him, neither understood correct Plotting, nor that which they call the Decorum of the Stage. I would not search in his worst Playes for examples: he who will consider his Philaster, his Humorous Lieutenant, his Faithful [Page 164] Shepheardess; and many others which I could name, will find them much below the applause which is now given them. he will see Philaster wounding his Mistriss, and afterwards his Boy, to save himself: Not to mention the Clown who enters immediately, and not only has the advantage of the Combat against the Heroe, but diverts you from your serious concernment, with his ridiculous and absurd Raillery. In his Humorous Lieutenant you find his Demetrius and Leoncius staying in the midst of a routed Army to hear the cold mirth of the Lieutenant: and Demetrius afterwards appearing with a Pistol in his hand, in the next Age to Alexander the Great. And for his Shepheard, he falls twice into the former indecency of wounding Women. but these absurdities, which those Poets committed, may more properly be call'd the Ages fault than theirs. for, besides the want of Education and Learning, (which was their particular unhappiness) they wanted the benefit of converse. but of that, I shall speak hereafter, in a place more proper for it. Their Audiences knew no better: and therefore were satisfy'd with what they brought. Those who call theirs the Golden Age of Poetry, have only this reason for it, that they were then content with Acorns, before they knew the use of Bread: or that [...] was become a Proverb. They had many who admir'd them, and few who blam'd them. and, certainly, a severe Critique is the greatest help to a good Wit. he does the Office of a Friend, while he designs that of an Enemy: and his malice keeps a Poet within those bounds, which the Luxuriancy of his Fancy would tempt him to overleap.
But it is not their Plots which I meant, principally to tax: I was speaking of their Sence and Language. and I dare almost challenge any man to show me a page together, which is correct in both. As for Ben. Iohnson, I am loath to name him, because he is a most Judicsous Writer; yet he very often falls into these errors. And I once more beg the Readers pardon, for accusing him or them. [Page 165] Onely let him consider that I live in an age where my least faulrs are severely censur'd: and that I have no way left to extenuate my failings but my showing as great in those whom we admire.
I cast my eyes but by chance on Catiline; and in the three or four first pages, found enough to conclude that Iohnson writ not correctly.
In reading some bombast speeches of Macbeth, which are not to be understood, he us'd to say that it was horrour. and I am much afraid that this is so.
The Sence is here extreamly perplex'd: and I doubt the word They is false Grammar.
A Synchoesis, or ill placing of words, of which Tully so much complains in Oratory.
The Preposition in the end of the sentence; a common fault with him, and which I have but lately observ'd in my own writings.
Here are both the former faults: for, besides that the Preposition unto, is plac'd last in the verse, and at the half period, and is redundant, there is the former Synchoesis, in the words ( The Sword nor Surfeits) which in construction ought to have been plac'd before the other.
Catiline sayes of Cethegus, that for his sake he would
To go on upon, is onely to go on twice. to give fire at face of a full cloud, was not understood in his own time: (and stand his ire) besides the antiquated word ire there is the Article His, which makes false construction: and Giving fire at the face of a cloud, is a perfect image of shooting, however it came to be known in those daies to Catiline.
Ones in the plural Number: but that is frequent with him; for he sayes, not long after.
They redundant.
[Page 167] His is ill Syntax with Heaven: and by Unfear'd he means Unaffraid. words of a quite contrary signification.
He perpetually uses Ports for Gates: which is an affected error in him, to introduce Latine by the loss of the English Idiom: as in the Translation of Tully's Speeches he usually does.
Well placing of Words for the sweetness of pronunciation was not known till Mr. Waller introduc'd it: and therefore 'tis not to be wonder'd if Ben. Iohnson has many such lines as these ‘But being bred up in his father's needy fortunes, Brought up in's sister's Prostitution, &c.’
But meaness of expression one would think not to be his error in a Tragedy, which ought to be more high and sounding than any other kind of Poetry and yet amongst many others in Catiline I find these four lines together:
Be there is false English, for are: though the Rhyme hides it.
But I am willing to close the Book, partly out of veneration to the Author, partly out of weariness to pursue an argument which is so fruitful in so small a compass. And what correctness, after this, can be expected from Shakespear or from Fletcher, who wanted that Learning and Care which Iohnson had? I will therefore spare my own trouble of inquiring into their faults: who had they liv'd now, had doubtless written more correctly. I suppose it will be enough for me to affirm (as I think I safely may) that these and the like errors which I tax'd in the most correct of the last Age, are such, into which [Page 168] we doe not ordinarily fall. I think few of our present Writers would have left behind them such a line as this,
But that gross way of two Comparatives was then, ordinary: and therefore more pardonable in Iohnson.
As for the other part of refining, which consists in receiving new Words and Phrases, I shall not insist much on it. 'Tis obvious that we have admitted many: some of which we wanted, and▪ therefore our Language is the richer for them: as it would be by importation of Bullion: others are rather Ornamental than Necessary; yet by their admission, the Language is become more courtly: and our thoughts are better drest. These are to be found scatter'd in the Writers of our Age: and it is not my business to collect them. They who have lately written with most care, have, I believe, taken the Rule of Horace for their guide; that is, not to be too hasty in receiving of Words: but rather to stay till Custome has made them familiar to us,
For I cannot approve of their way of refining, who corrupt our English Idiom by mixing it too much with French: that is a Sophistication of Language, not an improvement of it: a turning English into French, rather than a refining of English by French. We meet daily with those Fopps, who value themselves on their Travelling, and pretend they cannot express their meaning in English, because they would put off to us some French Phrase of the last Edition: without considering that, for ought they know, we have a better of our own; but these are not the men who are to refine us: their Tallent is to prescribe Fashions, not Words: at best they are onely serviceable to a Writer, so as Ennius was to Virgil. He may. Aurum ex stercore colligere. for 'tis hard if, amongst [Page 169] many insignificant Phrases, there happen not something worth preserving: though they themselves, like Indians, know not the value of their own Commodity.
There is yet another way of improving Language, which Poets especially have practic'd in all Ages: that is by applying receiv'd words to a new Signification. and this I believe, is meant by Horace, in that Precept which is so variously constru'd by Expositors:
And, in this way, he himself had a particular happiness: using all the Tropes, and particularly Metaphors, with that grace which is observable in his Odes: where the Beauty of Expression is often greater than that of thought. as in that one example, amongst an infinite number of others; Et vultus nimium lubricus aspici.
And therefore though he innovated little, he may justly be call'd a great Refiner of the Roman Tongue. This choice of words, and height'ning of their natural signification, was observ'd in him by the Writers of the following Ages: for Petronius says of him, & Horatii curiosa faelicitas. By this graffing, as I may call it, on old words, has our Tongue been Beautified by the three fore-mention'd Poets, Shakespear, Fletcher and Iohnson: whose Excellencies I can never enough admire. and in this, they have been follow'd especially by Sir Iohn Suckling and Mr. Waller, who refin'd upon them. neither have they, who now succeed them, been wanting in their endeavours to adorn our Mother Tongue: but it is not so lawful for me to praise my living Contemporaries, as to admire my dead Predecessors.
I should now speak of the Refinement of Wit: but I have been so large on the former Subject that I am forc'd to contract my self in this. I will therefore onely observe to you, that the wit of the last Age, was yet [Page 170] more incorrect than their language. Shakespear, who many times has written better than any Poet, in any Language, is yet so far from writing Wit always, or expressing that Wit according to the Dignity of the Subject, that he writes in many places, below—the dullest Writer of ours, or of any precedent Age. Never did any Author precipitate himself from such heights of thought to so low expressions, as he often does. He is the very Ianus of Poets; he wears, almost every where two faces▪ and you have scarce begun to admire the one, e're you despise the other. Neither is the Luxuriance of Fletcher, (which his friends have tax'd in him,) a less fault than the carelessness of Shakespear. He does not well always, and, when he does, he is a true Englishman; he knows not when to give over. If he wakes in one Scene he commonly slumbers in another: And if he pleases you in the first three Acts, he is frequently so tir'd with his labor, that he goes heavily in the fourth and, sinks under his burden in the fifth.
For Ben. Iohnson, the most judicious of Poets, he always writ properly; and as the Character requir'd: and I will not contest farther with my Friends who call that Wit. It being very certain, that even folly it self, well represented, is Wit in a larger signification: and that there is Fancy, as well as Judgement in it; though not so much or noble: because all Poetry being imitation, that of Folly is a lower exercise of Fancy, though perhaps as difficult as the other: for 'tis a kind of looking downward in the Poet; and representing that part of Mankind which is below him.
In these low Characters of Vice and Folly, lay the excellency of that inimitable Writer: who, when at any time, he aim'd at Wit, in the stricter sence, that is Sharpness of Conceit, was forc'd either to borrow from the Ancients, as, to my knowledge he did very much from Plautus: or, when he trusted himself alone, often fell into meanness of expression. Nay, he was not free from the lowest and most groveling kind of Wit, which we [Page 171] call clenches; of which, Every Man in his Humour, is infinitely full. and, which is worse, the wittiest persons in the Drama speak them. His other Comedies are not exempted from them: will you give me leave to name some few? Asper, in which Character he personates himself, (and he neither was, nor thought himself a fool.) exclaiming against the ignorant Judges of the Age, speaks thus.
And presently after
I mar'le whose wit 'twas to put a Prologue in yond Sackbut's mouth? they might well think he would be out of Tune, and yet you'd play upon him too. Will you have another of the same stamp?
But, it may be you will object that this was Asper, Macilente, or, Carlo Buffone: you shall, therefore, hear him speak in his own person: and, that, in the two last lines, or sting of an Epigram; 'tis Inscribd to Fine Grand: who, he says, was indebted to him for many things, which he reckons there: and concludes thus;
This was then the mode of wit, the vice of the Age and not Ben. Iohnson's. for you see, a little before him, that admirable wit, Sir Philip Sidney, perpetually playing with his words. In his time, I believe, it ascended first into the Pulpit: where (if you will give me leave to clench too) it yet finds the benefit of its Clergy. for they are commonly the first corrupters of Eloquence, [Page 172] and the last reform'd from vicious Oratory: as a famous Italian has observ'd before me, in his Treatise of the Corruption of the Italian Tongue; which he principally ascribes to Priests and preaching Friars.
But, to conclude with what brevity I can; I will only add this in the defence of our present Writers, that if they reach not some excellencies of Ben. Ionson; (which no Age, I am confident, ever shall) yet, at least, they are above that meanness of thought which I have tax'd, and which is frequent in him.
That the wit of this Age is much more Courtly, may easily be prov'd by viewing the Characters of Gentlemen which were written in the last. First, for Ionson, True-Wit in the Silent Woman, was his Master-piece. and True-wit was a Scholar-like kind of man, a Gentleman with an allay of Pedantry: a man who seems mortifi'd to the world, by much reading. The best of his discourse, is drawn, not from the knowledge of the Town, but Books. and, in short, he would be a fine Gentleman, in an University. Shakespear show'd the best of his skill in his Mercutio, and he said himself, that he was forc'd to kill him in the third Act, to prevent being kill'd by him. But, for my part, I cannot find he was so dangerous a person: I see nothing in him but what was so exceeding harmless, that he might have liv'd to the end of the Play, and dy'd in his bed, without offence to any man.
Fletcher's Don Iohn is our onely Bug-bear: and yet, I may affirm, without suspition of flattery, that he now speaks better, and that his Character is maintain'd with much more vigour in the fourth and fifth Acts than it was by Fletcher in the three former. I have alwayes acknowledg'd the wit of our Predecessors, with all the veneration which becomes me, but, I am sure, their wit was not that of Gentlemen, there was ever somewhat that was ill-bred and Clownish in it: and which confest the conversation of the Authors.
And this leads me to the last and greatest advantage of our writing, which proceeds from conversation. In [Page 173] the Age, wherein those Poets liv'd, there was less of gallantry than in ours; neither did they keep the best company of theirs. Their fortune has been much like that of Epicurus, in the retirement of his Gardens: to live almost unknown, and to be celebrated after their decease. I cannot find that any of them were conversant in Courts, except Ben. Ionson: and his genius lay not so much that way, as to make an improvement by it. greatness was not, then, so easy of access, nor conversation so free as now it is. I cannot, therefore, conceive it any insolence to affirm, that, by the knowledge, and pattern of their wit, who writ before us, and by the advantage of our own conversation, the discourse and Raillery of our Comedies excell what has been written by them. and this will be deny'd by none, but some few old fellows who value themselves on their acquaintance with the Black-Friars: who, because they saw their Playes, would pretend a right to judge ours. The memory of these grave Gentlemen is their only Plea for being Wits. they can tell a story of Ben. Ionson, and perhaps have had fancy enough to give a supper in Apollo that they might be call'd his Sons: and because they were drawn in to be laught at in those times, they think themselves now sufficiently intitled to laugh at ours. Learning I never saw in any of them, and wit no more than they could remember. In short, they were unlucky to have been bred in an unpolish'd Age, and more unlucky to live to a resin'd one. They have lasted beyond their own, and are cast behind ours: and not contented to have known little at the age of twenty, they boast of their ignorance at threescore.
Now, if any ask me, whence it is that our conversation is so much refin'd? I must freely, and without flattery, ascribe it to the Court: and, in it, particularly to the King; whose example gives a law to it. His own mis-fortunes and the Nations, afforded him an opportunity, which is rarely allow'd to Sovereign Princes, I mean of travelling, and being conversant in the most polish'd Courts of Europe; and, thereby, of cultivating a Spirit, which was [Page 174] form'd by Nature, to receive the impressions of a gallant and generous education. At his return, he found a Nation lost as much in Barbarism as in Rebellion. and as the excellency of his Nature forgave the one, so the excellency of his manners reform'd the other. the desire of imitating so great a pattern, first waken'd the dull and heavy spirits of the English, from their natural reserv'dness: loosen'd them, from their stiff forms of conversation; and made them easy and plyant to each other in discourse. Thus, insensibly, our way of living became more free: and the fire of the English wit, which was before stifled under a constrain'd melancholy way of breeding, began first to display its force: by mixing the solidity of our Nation, with the air and gayety of our neighbours. This being granted to be true, it would be a wonder, if the Poets, whose work is imitation, should be the onely persons in three Kingdoms, who should not receive advantage by it: or, if they should not more easily imitate the wit and conversation of the present age, than of the past.
Let us therefore admire the beauties and the heights of Shakespear, without falling after him into a carelesness and (as I may call it) a Lethargy of thought, for whole Scenes together. Let us imitate, as we are able, the quickness and easiness of Fletcher, without proposing him as a pattern to us, either in the redundancy of his matter, or the incorrectness of his language. Let us admire his wit and sharpness of conceit; but, let us at the same time acknowledge that it was seldome so fix'd, and made proper to his characters, as that the same things might not be spoken by any person in the Play. let us applaud his Scenes of Love; but, let us confess that he understood not either greatness or perfect honour in the parts of any of his women. In fine, let us allow, that he had somuch fancy, as when he pleas'd he could write wit: but that he wanted so much Judgment as seldome to have written humour; or describ'd a pleasant folly. Let us ascribe to Ionson the height and accuracy of Judgment, [Page 175] in the ordering of his Plots, his choice of characters, and maintaining what he had chosen, to the end. but let us not think him a perfect pattern of imitation; except it be in humour: for Love, which is the foundation of all Comedies in other Languages, is scarcely mention'd in any of his Playes. and for humour it self, the Poets of this Age will be more wary than to imitate the meanness of his persons. Gentlemen will now be entertain'd with the follies of each other: and though they allow Cob and Tib to speak properly, yet they are not much pleas'd with their Tankard or with their Raggs: And, surely, their conversation can be no jest to them on the Theatre, when they would avoid it in the street.
To conclude all, let us render to our Predecessors what is their due, without confineing our selves to a servile imitation of all they writ: and, without assuming to our selves the Title of better Poets, let us ascribe to the gallantry and civility of our age the advantage which we have above them; and to our knowledge of the customs and manners of it, the happiness we have to please beyond them.