helped in those translations by Scipio the African, and Lælius. And Tasso, the most excelent of modern poets, and whom I reverence next to Virgil, has taken both from Homer many admirable things, which were left untouched by Virgil, and from Virgil himself, where Homer could not furnish him. Yet the bodies of Virgil's and Tasso's poems were their own; and so are all the ornaments of language and elocution in them. The same (if there were any thing commendable in this play) I could say for it. But I will come nearer to our own countrymen. Most of Shakespeare's plays, I mean the stories of them, are to be found in the "Hecatomithi," or "Hundred Novels" of Cinthio. I have myself read in his Italian, that of "Romeo and Juliet," the "Moor of Venice," and many others of them. Beaumont and Fletcher had most of theirs from Spanish novels: Witness "The Chances," "The Spanish Curate," "Rule a Wife and have a Wife," "The Little French Lawyer," and so many others of them as compose the greatest part of their volume in folio. Ben Jonson, indeed, has designed his plots himself; but no man has borrowed so much from the ancients as he has done: and he did well in it, for he has thereby beautified our language.

But these little critics do not well consider what is the work of a poet, and what the graces of a poem: the story is the least part of either: I mean the foundation of it, before it is modelled by the art of him who writes it; who forms it with more care, by exposing only the beautiful parts of it to view, than a skilful lapidary sets a jewel. On this foundation of the story, the characters are raised: and, since no story can afford characters enough for the variety of the English stage, it follows, that it is to be altered and enlarged with new persons,

accidents, and designs, which will almost make it new. When this is done, the forming it into acts. and scenes, disposing of actions and passions into their proper places, and beautifying both with descriptions, similitudes, and propriety of language, is the principal employment of the poet; as being the largest field of fancy, which is the principal quality required in him: for so much the word TOTAs implies. Judgment, indeed, is necessary in him; but it is fancy that gives the life-touches, and the secret graces to it; especially in serious plays, which depend not much on observation. For, to write humour in comedy, (which is the theft of poets from mankind) little of fancy is required; the poet observes only what is ridiculous and pleasant folly, and by judging exactly what is so, he pleases in the representation of it.

But, in general, the employment of a poet is like that of a curious gunsmith, or watchmaker: the iron or silver is not his own; but they are the least part of that which gives the value: the price lies wholly in the workmanship. And he who works dully on a story, without moving laughter in a comedy, or raising concernment in a serious play, is no more to be accounted a good poet, than a gunsmith of the Minories is to be compared with the best workman of the town.

'But I have said more of this than I intended; and more, perhaps, than I needed to have done: I shall but laugh at them hereafter, who accuse me with so little reason; and withal contemn their dulness, who, if they could ruin that little reputation I have got, and which I value not, yet would want both wit and learning to establish their own; or to be remembered in after ages for any thing, but only that which makes them ridiculous in this.

PROLOGUE.

WHEN first our poet set himself to write,
Like a young bridegroom on his wedding-night,
He laid about him, and did so bestir him,
His muse could never lie in quiet for him :
But now his honey-moon is gone and past,
Yet the ungrateful drudgery must last:
And he is bound, as civil husbands do,
To strain himself, in complaisance to you:
To write in pain, and counterfeit a bliss,
Like the faint smacking of an after-kiss.

But

you, like wives ill pleased, supply his want;
Each writing monsieur is a fresh gallant:
And though, perhaps, 'twas done as well before,
Yet still there's something in a new amour.
Your several poets work with several tools,
One gets you wits, another gets you fools:
This pleases you with some by-stroke of wit,
This finds some cranny that was never hit.
But should these janty lovers daily come
To do your work, like your good man at home,
Their fine small-timbered wits would soon decay;
These are gallants but for a holiday.

Others you had, who oftner have appeared,
Whom, for mere impotence, you have cashiered:
Such as at first came on with pomp and glory,
But, overstraining, soon fell flat before ye.
Their useless weight, with patience, long was born,
But at the last you threw them off with scorn.
As for the poet of this present night,

Though now he claims in you a husband's right,
He will not hinder you of fresh delight.
He, like a seaman, seldom will appear;
And means to trouble home but thrice a-year :
That only time from your gallants he'll borrow;
Be kind to-day, and cuckold him to-morrow.

DRAMATIS PERSONE.

WILDBLOOD, } Two young English gentlemen.

BELLAMY,

MASKALL, their servant.

Don ALONZO DE RIBERA, an old Spanish gentleman. Don LOPEZ DE GAMBOA, a young noble Spaniard. Don MELCHOR DE GUZMAN, a gentleman of a great family; but of a decayed fortune.

Donna THEODOSIA,

Donna JACINTHA,

Daughters to Don ALONZO.

Donna AURELIA, their cousin.

BEATRIX, woman and confident to the two Sisters.
CAMILLA, Woman to AURELIA.

Servants to Don LOPEZ and Don ALONZO.

SCENE-Madrid, in the Year 1665.

The Time, the last Evening of the Carnival.