t
may want, it is free at least from the grossness of those faults I
mentioned: what credit it has gained upon the stage, I value no
farther than in reference to my profit, and the satisfaction I had, in
seeing it represented with all the justness and gracefulness of
action. But, as it is my interest to please my audience, so it is my
ambition to be read: that I am sure is the more lasting and the nobler
design: for the propriety of thoughts and words, which are the hidden
beauties of a play, are but confusedly judged in the vehemence of
action: all things are there beheld, as in a hasty motion, where the
objects only glide before the eye, and disappear. The most discerning
critic can judge no more of these silent graces in the action, than he
who rides post through an unknown country can distinguish the
situation of places, and the nature of the soil. The purity of phrase,
the clearness of conception and expression, the boldness maintained to
majesty, the significancy and sound of words, not strained into
bombast, but justly elevated; in short, those very words and thoughts,
which cannot be changed, but for the worse, must of necessity escape
our transient view upon the theatre; and yet, without all these, a
play may take. For, if either the story move us, or the actor help the
lameness of it with his performance, or now and then a glittering beam
of wit or passion strike through the obscurity of the poem, any of
these are sufficient to effect a present liking, but not to fix a
lasting admiration; for nothing but truth can long continue; and time
is the surest judge of truth. I am not vain enough to think that I
have left no faults in this, which that touchstone will not discover;
neither, indeed, is it possible to avoid them in a play of this
nature. There are evidently two actions in it; but it will be clear to
any judicious man, that with half the pains I could have raised a play
from either of them; for this time I satisfied my humour, which was to
tack two plays together; and to break a rule for the pleasure of
variety. The truth is, the audience are grown weary of continued
melancholy scenes; and I dare venture to prophecy, that few tragedies,
except those in verse, shall succeed in this age, if they are not
lightened with a course of mirth; for the feast is too dull and solemn
without the fiddles. But how difficult a task this is, will soon be
tried; for a several genius is required to either way; and, without
b