he hero of the poem ought not to be a character of
perfect virtue, for then he could not, without injustice, be made
unhappy; nor yet altogether wicked, because he could not then be
pitied. I have therefore steered the middle course; and have drawn
the character of Antony as favourably as Plutarch, Appian, and Dion
Cassius would give me leave; the like I have observed in Cleopatra.
That which is wanting to work up the pity to a greater height, was
not afforded me by the story; for the crimes of love, which they both
committed, were not occasioned by any necessity, or fatal ignorance,
but were wholly voluntary; since our passions are, or ought to be,
within our power. The fabric of the play is regular enough, as to
the inferior parts of it; and the unities of time, place, and action,
more exactly observed, than perhaps the English theatre requires.
Particularly, the action is so much one, that it is the only one of
the kind without episode, or underplot; every scene in the tragedy
conducing to the main design, and every act concluding with a turn
of it. The greatest error in the contrivance seems to be in the
person of Octavia; for, though I might use the privilege of a poet,
to introduce her into Alexandria, yet I had not enough considered,
that the compassion she moved to herself and children was destructive
to that which I reserved for Antony and Cleopatra; whose mutual love
being founded upon vice, must lessen the favour of the audience to
them, when virtue and innocence were oppressed by it. And, though
I justified Antony in some measure, by making Octavia's departure to
proceed wholly from herself; yet the force of the first machine still
remained; and the dividing of pity, like the cutting of a river into
many channels, abated the strength of the natural stream. But this
is an objection which none of my critics have urged against me; and
therefore I might have let it pass, if I could have resolved to have
been partial to myself. The faults my enemies have found are rather
cavils concerning little and not essential decencies; which a master
of the ceremonies may decide betwixt us. The French poets,
I confess, are strict observers of these punctilios: They would not,
for example, have suffered Cleopatra and Octavia to have met; or,
if they had met, there must have only passed betwixt them some cold
civilities, but no eagerness of repartee, for fear of offending
against the greatness of their characters, and t