t indeed to show it in the gestures
of the body, but in the sentiments of the mind. It is, among other
things, from the impertinent figures unskilful dramatists draw of the
characters of men, that youth are bewildered and prejudiced in their
sense of the world, of which they have no notions but what they draw
from books and such representations. Thus talk to a very young man, let
him be of never so good sense, and he shall smile when you speak of
sincerity in a courtier, good sense in a soldier, or honesty in a
politician. The reason of this is, that you hardly see one play wherein
each of these ways of life is not drawn by hands that know nothing of
any one of them: and the truth is so far of the opposite side to what
they paint, that it is more impracticable to live in esteem in Courts
than anywhere else without sincerity. Good sense is the great requisite
in a soldier, and honesty the only thing that can support a politician.
This way of thinking made the gentleman of whom I was just now speaking
say, he was glad any one had taken upon him to depreciate such unnatural
fustian as the tragedy of "Alexander." The character of that prince
indeed was, that he was unequal, and given to intemperance; but in his
sober moments, when he had warm in his imagination the precepts of his
great instructor, he was a pattern of generous thoughts and
dispositions, in opposition to the strongest desires which are incident
to a youth and conqueror. But instead of representing that hero in the
glorious character of generosity and chastity, in his treatment of the
beauteous family of Darius, he is drawn all along as a monster of lust,
or of cruelty; as if the way to raise him to the degree of a hero were
to make his character as little like that of a worthy man as possible.
Such rude and indigested draughts of things are the proper objects of
ridicule and contempt, and depreciating Alexander, as we have him drawn,
is the only way of restoring him to what he was in himself. It is well
contrived of the players to let this part be followed by a true picture
of life, in the comedy called, "The Chances,"[334] wherein Don John and
Constantia are acted to the utmost perfection. There need not be a
greater instance of the force of action than in many incidents of this
play, where indifferent passages, and such that conduce only to the
tacking of the scenes together, are enlivened with such an agreeable
gesture and behaviour, as apparently shows wha