The Works of John Dryden, Vol. II by istorical, Critical, and Explanatory, and a Life of the Author,

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The
Works
Of
John Dryden,

Now First Collected
_In Eighteen Volumes_.

Illustrated
With Notes,
Historical, Critical, And Explanatory,
And
A Life Of The Author,
By
Walter Scott, Esq.

VOL. II.
1808.

CONTENTS
OF
VOLUME SECOND.

Dedication of Mr Congreve's edition of Dryden's
Dramatic Works to the Duke of Newcastle

The Wild Gallant, a Comedy
Preface

The Rival Ladies, a Tragi-comedy
Dedication to the Earl of Orrery

The Indian Queen, a Tragedy

The Indian Emperor, or the Conquest of Mexico by the Spaniards
Dedication to the Duchess of Monmouth and Buccleuch
Defence of an Essay of Dramatic Poesy
Connection of the Indian Emperor to the Indian Queen

Secret Love, or the Maiden Queen
Preface

THE
WORKS
OF
JOHN DRYDEN.

VOL. II.

ADVERTISEMENT.

_Mr Congreve's edition of Dryden's dramatic works, in six volumes
12mo, printed for Tonson in 1735, has been chiefly resorted to for the
text of the Plays in the present edition, although the assistance
of the older copies, in quarto and folio, has been called in, where
difficulties occurred, or improvements were obvious. The preliminary
Dissertations, Dedications, and Prefaces, have been corrected from the
excellent edition of Mr Malone. Congreve appears deeply to have felt
the bequest, left him by his great predecessor, when, "just abandoning
the ungrateful stage" he made it his intreaty, that his successor
would be kind to his remains. Considerable pains have been bestowed
by the present editor in correcting the text. The notes are limited
to the explanation of such passages, as the fashion in language, in
manners, or in literature, has, in the space of a century, rendered
doubtful or obscure._

DEDICATION TO MR CONGREVE'S EDITION OF
DRYDEN'S DRAMATIC WORKS.

TO
HIS GRACE
THE
DUKE OF NEWCASTLE[1],
LORD CHAMBERLAIN OF HIS MAJESTY'S HOUSEHOLD
_&c_.

[Footnote 1: Thomas Pelham, Duke of Newcastle. No satire ever can
convey such bitter reproof as the high-strained eulogy of this
dedication. This great and wealthy man unblushingly received
Congreve's tribute of praise and gratitude, for his munificence in
directing a splendid monument to be raised over Dryden's remains. But
the incense of the dedicator was wasted on a block, more insensible
than his Grace's workmen could have dug from the quarry. Neither pride
nor shame could induce the Duke to accomplish what vanity had led him
voluntarily to propose; and the dedication, instead of producing a
tomb in honour of Dryden, will remain itself an eternal monument of
the patron's disgrace.]

My Lord,
It is the fortune of this edition of the dramatic works of the late
Mr Dryden, to come into the world at a time, when your Grace has just
given order for erecting, at your own expense, a noble monument to his
memory.

This is an act of generosity, which has something in it so very
uncommon, that the most unconcerned and indifferent persons must be
moved with it. How much more must all such be affected by it, who had
any due regard for the personal merits of the deceased, or are capable
of any taste and distinction for the remains and elegant labours of
one of the greatest men, that our nation has produced!

That, which distinguisheth actions of pure and elevated generosity,
from those of a mixed and inferior nature, is nothing else but the
absolutely disinterested views of the agent.

My Lord, this being granted, in how fair a light does your munificence
stand? A munificence to the memory, to the ashes, of a man whom you
never saw--whom you never can see; and who, consequently, never could,
by any personal obligation, induce you to do this deed of bounty; nor
can he ever make you any acknowledgment for it, when it shall be done.

It is evident, your Grace can have acted thus from no other motive
but your pure regard to merit; from your entire love for learning; and
from that accurate taste and discernment, which, by your studies, you
have so early attained to in the politer arts.

And these are the qualities, my Lord, by which you are more
distinguished, than by all those other uncommon advantages, with which
you are attended. Your great disposition, your great ability to be
beneficent to mankind, could by no means answer that end, if you were
not possessed of a judgment to direct you in the right application and
just distribution of your good offices.

You are now in a station, by which you necessarily preside over the
liberal arts, and all the practisers and professors of them. Poetry is
more particularly within your province; and with very good reason
may we hope to see it revive and flourish under your influence and
protection.

What hopes of reward may not the living deserver entertain, when
even the dead are sought out for, and their very urns and ashes made
partakers of your liberality?

As I have the honour to be known to you, my Lord, and to have been
distinguished by you by many expressions and instances of your
goodwill towards me, I take a singular pleasure to congratulate you
upon an action so entirely worthy of you. And as I had the happiness
to be very conversant, and as intimately acquainted with Mr Dryden as
the great disproportion in our years could allow me to be, I hope it
will not be thought too assuming in me, if, in love to his memory, and
in gratitude for the many friendly offices, and favourable instructions,
which, in my early youth, I received from him, I take upon me to make
this public acknowledgment to your Grace, for so public a testimony,
as you are pleased to give to the world, of that high esteem, in which
you hold the performances of that eminent man.

I can, in some degree, justify myself for so doing, by a citation of a
kind of right to it, bequeathed to me by him. And it is, indeed, upon
that pretension, that I presume even to make a dedication of these his
works to you.

In some very elegant, though very partial, verses, which he did me the
honour to write to me, he recommended it to me to _be kind to his
remains_[2].

[Footnote 2: These are the affecting lines referred to.

Already I am worn with cares and age,
And just abandoning th' ungrateful stage;
Unprofitably kept at heaven's expense,
I live a rent-charge on his providence.
But you, whom every muse and grace adorn,
Whom I foresee to better fortune born,
Be kind to my remains; and, O! defend,
Against your judgment, your departed friend:
Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue,
But shade those laurels which descend to you;
And take, for tribute, what these lines express:
You merit more, nor could my love do less.

_Epistle to_ MR CONGREVE]

I was then, and have been ever since, most sensibly touched with that
expression; and the more so, because I could not find in myself the
means of satisfying the passion which I felt in me, to do something
answerable to an injunction laid upon me in so pathetic and so
amicable a manner.

You, my Lord, have furnished me with ample means of acquitting myself,
both of my duty and obligation to my departed friend. What kinder
office lies in me to do to these, his most valuable and imperishable
remains, than to commit them to the protection, and lodge them under
the roof, of a patron, whose hospitality has extended itself even to
his dust?

If I would permit myself to run on in the way which so fairly opens
itself before me, I should tire your Grace with reiterated praises and
acknowledgments; and I might possibly (notwithstanding my pretended
right so to do) give some handle to such, who are inclinable to
censure, to tax me of affectation and officiousness, in thanking you,
more than comes to my share, for doing a thing, which is, in truth, of
a public consideration, as it is doing an honour to your country. For
so unquestionably it is, to do honour to him, who was an honour to it.

I have but one thing to say, either to obviate or to answer such
an objection, if it shall be made to me, which is, that I loved Mr
Dryden.

I have not touched upon any other public honour or bounty, done by you
to your country. I have industriously declined entering upon a theme
of so extensive a nature; and of all your numerous and continual
largesses to the public, I have only singled out this, as what most
particularly affected me. I confess freely to your Grace, I very much
admire all those other donations, but I much more love this; and I
cannot help it, if I am naturally more delighted with any thing that
is amiable, than with any thing that is wonderful.

Whoever shall censure me, I dare be confident, you, my Lord, will
excuse me for any thing that I shall say with due regard to a
gentleman, for whose person I had as just an affection as I have
an admiration of his writings. And indeed Mr Dryden had personal
qualities to challenge both love and esteem from all who were truly
acquainted with him.

He was of a nature exceedingly humane and compassionate; easily
forgiving injuries, and capable of a prompt and sincere reconciliation
with them who had offended him.

Such a temperament is the only solid foundation of all moral virtues
and sociable endowments. His friendship, where he professed it,
went much beyond his professions; and I have been told of strong and
generous instances of it by the persons themselves who received them,
though his hereditary income was little more than a bare competency.

As his reading had been very extensive, so was he very happy in a
memory, tenacious of every thing that he had read. He was not more
possessed of knowledge than he was communicative of it. But then his
communication of it was by no means pedantic, or imposed upon the
conversation; but just such, and went so far, as, by the natural turns
of the discourse in which he was engaged, it was necessarily promoted
or required. He was extreme ready and gentle in his correction of
the errors of any writer, who thought fit to consult him; and full as
ready and patient to admit of the reprehension of others, in respect
of his own oversight or mistakes. He was of very easy, I may say, of
very pleasing access; but something slow, and, as it were, diffident
in his advances to others. He had something in his nature, that
abhorred intrusion into any society whatsoever. Indeed, it is to be
regretted, that he was rather blameable in the other extreme; for,
by that means, he was personally less known, and, consequently,
his character might become liable both to misapprehensions and
misrepresentations.

To the best of my knowledge and observation, he was, of all the men
that ever I knew, one of the most modest, and the most easily to
be discountenanced in his approaches either to his superiors or his
equals.

I have given your Grace this slight sketch of his personal character,
as well to vindicate his memory, as to justify myself for the love
which I bore to his person; and I have the rather done it, because I
hope it may be acceptable to you to know, that he was worthy of the
distinction you have shewn him, as a man, as well as an author.

As to his writings, I shall not take upon me to speak of them: For to
say little of them would not be to do them right; and to say all that
I ought to say, would be to be very voluminous. But I may venture to
say, in general terms, that no man hath written in our language
so much, and so various matter, and in so various manners so well.
Another thing I may say very peculiar to him, which is, that his parts
did not decline with his years, but that he was an improving writer
to his last, even to near seventy years of age, improving even in
fire and imagination, as well as in judgment; witness his Ode on St
Cecilia's Day, and his Fables, his latest performances.

He was equally excellent in verse and in prose. His prose had all the
clearness imaginable, together with all the nobleness of expression;
all the graces and ornaments proper and peculiar to it, without
deviating into the language or diction of poetry. I make this
observation, only to distinguish his style from that of many poetical
writers, who, meaning to write harmoniously in prose, do, in truth,
often write mere blank verse.

I have heard him frequently own with pleasure, that if he had any
talent for English prose, it was owing to his having often read the
writings of the great Archbishop Tillotson.

His versification and his numbers he could learn of no body; for he
first possessed those talents in perfection in our tongue. And they,
who have best succeeded in them since his time, have been indebted
to his example; and the more they have been able to imitate him, the
better have they succeeded.

As his style in prose is always specifically different from his
style in poetry, so, on the other hand, in his poems, his diction is,
wherever his subject requires it, so sublimely and so truly poetical,
that its essence, like that of pure gold, cannot be destroyed. Take
his verses and divest them of their rhymes, disjoint them in their
numbers, transpose their expressions, make what arrangement and
disposition you please of his words, yet shall there eternally be
poetry, and something which will be found incapable of being resolved
into absolute prose; an incontestible characteristic of a truly
poetical genius.

I will say but one word more in general of his writings, which is,
that what he has done in any one species, or distinct kind, would have
been sufficient to have acquired him a great name. If he had written
nothing but his prefaces, or nothing but his songs or his prologues,
each of them would have entitled him to the preference and distinction
of excelling in his kind.

But I have forgot myself; for nothing can be more unnecessary than an
attempt to say any thing to your Grace in commendation of the writings
of this great poet; since it is only to your knowledge, taste, and
approbation of them, that the monument, which you are now about to
raise to him, is owing. I will, therefore, my Lord, detain you no
longer by this epistle; and only entreat you to believe, that it is
addressed to your Grace from no other motive than a sincere regard to
the memory of Mr Dryden, and a very sensible pleasure which I take
in applauding an action, by which you are so justly and so singularly
entitled to a dedication of his labours, though many years after his
death, and even though most of them were produced by him many years
before you were born. I am, with the greatest respect,

MY LORD,

Your Grace's most obedient,

And most humble servant,

WILLIAM CONGREVE.

THE
WILD GALLANT,
A COMEDY.

THE WILD GALLANT.

The Editor may be pardoned in bestowing remarks upon Dryden's plays,
only in proportion to their intrinsic merit, and to the attention
which each has excited, either at its first appearance, or when the
public attention has been since directed towards them. In either point
of view, little need be said on the "Wild Gallant." It was Dryden's
first theatrical production, and its reception by no means augured
his future pre-eminence in literature; nor was it more than tolerated,
when afterwards revived under the sanction of his increasing fame.
It was brought upon the stage in February 1662-3, according to the
conjecture of Mr Malone, who observes, that the following lines in the
prologue.

It should have been but one continued song;
Or, at the least, a dance of three hours long;

must refer to D'Avenant's opera, called the "Siege of Rhodes,"
acted in 1662; and that the expression, "in plays, he finds, you love
_mistakes_," alludes to the blunders of Teague, an Irish footman,
in Sir Robert Howard's play of the "Committee." The "Wild Gallant" was
revived and published in 1669, with a new prologue and epilogue, and
some other alterations, not of a nature, judging from the prologue, to
improve the morality of the piece. That the play had but indifferent
success in the action, the poet himself has informed us, with the
qualifying addition, that it more than once was the divertisement
of Charles II., by his own command. This honourable distinction it
probably acquired by the influence of the Countess of Castlemaine,
then the royal favourite, to whom Dryden addresses some verses on
her encouraging this play.--See Vol. XI p. 18.--The plot is borrowed
avowedly from the Spanish, and partakes of the unnatural incongruity,
common to the dramatic pieces of that nation, as also of the bustle
and intrigue, with which they are usually embroiled. Few modern
audiences would endure the absurd grossness of the deceit practised on
Lord Nonsuch in the fourth act; nor is the plot of Lady Constance, to
gain her lover, by marrying him in the disguise of a heathen divinity,
more grotesque than unnatural.--Yet, in the under characters, some
liveliness of dialogue is maintained; and the reader may be amused
with particular scenes, though, as a whole, the early fate of the play
was justly merited.

These passages, in which the plot stands still, while the spectators
are entertained with flippant dialogue and repartee, are ridiculed in
the scene betwixt Prince Prettyman and Tom Thimble in the Rehearsal;
the facetious Mr Bibber being the original of the latter personage.
The character of Trice, at least his whimsical humour of drinking,
playing at dice by himself, and quarrelling as if engaged with a
successful gamester, is imitated from the character of Carlo, in
Jonson's "Every Man out of his Humour," who drinks with a supposed
companion, quarrels about the pledge, and tosses about the cups and
flasks in the imaginary brawl. We have heard similar frolics related
of a bon-vivant of the last generation, inventor of a game called
_solitaire_, who used to complain of the hardship of drinking by
himself, because the _toast came too often about_.

The whole piece seems to have been intended as a sacrifice to popular
taste; and, perhaps, our poet only met a deserved fate, when he
stooped to sooth the depraved appetite, which his talents enabled him
to have corrected and purified. Something like this feeling may be
interred from the last lines of the second epilogue:

Would you but change, for serious plot and verse,
This motley garniture of fool and farce;
Nor scorn a mode, because 'tis taught at home,
Which dues, like vests,[A] our gravity become;
Our poet yields you should this play refuse,
As tradesmen by the change of fashions lose,
With some content, their fripperies of France,
In hope it may their staple trade advance.

[Footnote A: This seems to allude to the Polish dress, which, upon
his restoration, Charles wished to introduce into Britain. It was not
altered for the French, till his intimacy with that court was cemented
by pecuniary dependence.]

In the prologue, the author indulges himself in a display of the terms
of astrology, of which vain science he was a believer and a student.

PREFACE.

It would be a great impudence in me to say much of a comedy, which has
had but indifferent success in the action. I made the town my judges,
and the greater part condemned it: after which, I do not think it
my concernment to defend it with the ordinary zeal of a poet for his
decried poem. Though Corneille is more resolute in his preface before
his _Pertharite_[A], which was condemned more universally than
this; for he avows boldly, that, in spite of censure, his play was
well and regularly written; which is more than I dare say for mine.
Yet it was received at court; and was more than once the divertisement
of his Majesty, by his own command; but I have more modesty than to
ascribe that to my merit, which was his particular act of grace. It
was the first attempt I made in dramatic poetry; and, I find since, a
very bold one, to begin with comedy, which is the most difficult
part of it. The plot was not originally my own; but so altered by me,
(whether for the better or worse I know not) that whoever the author
was, he could not have challenged a scene of it. I doubt not but you
will see in it the uncorrectness of a young writer; which is yet but a
small excuse for him, who is so little amended since. The best apology
I can make for it, and the truest, is only this, that you have, since
that time, received with applause, as bad, and as uncorrect plays from
other men.

[Footnote A: "Le succes de cette tragedie a ete si malheureux, que
pour m'epargner le chagrin de m'en souvenir, je n'en dirai presque
rien.--J'ajoute ici malgre sa disgrace, que les sentimens en sont
assez vifs et nobles, les vers assez bien tournes, et que la facon
dont le sujet s'explique dans la premiere scene ne manque pas
d'artifice."

_Examen de Pertharite_.]

PROLOGUE,

WHEN IT WAS FIRST ACTED.

Is it not strange to hear a poet say,
He comes to ask you, how you like the play?
You have not seen it yet: alas! 'tis true;
But now your love and hatred judge, not you:
And cruel factions (bribed by interest) come,
Not to weigh merit, but to give their doom.
Our poet, therefore, jealous of th' event,
And (though much boldness takes) not confident,
Has sent me, whither you, fair ladies, too,
Sometimes upon as small occasions, go;
And, from this scheme, drawn for the hour and day,
Bid me enquire the fortune of his play.

_The curtain drawn discovers two Astrologers; the prologue is
presented to them_.

_1 Astrol. reads_, A figure of the heavenly bodies in their
several Apartments, Feb. the 5th, half-an-hour after three afternoon,
from whence you are to judge the success of a new play, called the
Wild Gallant.

_2 Astrol_. Who must judge of it, we, or these gentlemen? We'll
not meddle with it, so tell your poet. Here are, in this house, the
ablest mathematicians in Europe for his purpose.

They will resolve the question, ere they part.
_1 Att_. Yet let us judge it by the rules of art;
First Jupiter, the ascendant's lord disgraced,
In the twelfth house, and near grim Saturn placed,
Denote short life unto the play:--
_2 Ast_. --Jove yet,
In his apartment Sagittary, set
Under his own root, cannot take much wrong.
_1 Ast_. Why then the life's not very short, nor long;
_2 Ast_. The luck not very good, nor very ill;
_Prole_. That is to say, 'tis as 'tis taken still.
_1 Ast_. But, brother, Ptolemy the learned says,
'Tis the fifth house from whence we judge of plays.
Venus, the lady of that house, I find
Is Peregrine; your play is ill-designed;
It should have been but one continued song,
Or, at the least, a dance of three hours long.
_Ast_. But yet the greatest mischief does remain,
The twelfth apartment bears the lords of Spain;
Whence I conclude, it is your author's lot,
To be endangered by a Spanish plot.
_Prolo_. Our poet yet protection hopes from you,
But bribes you not with any thing that's new;
Nature is old, which poets imitate,
And, for wit, those, that boast their own estate,
Forget Fletcher and Ben before them went,
Their elder brothers, and that vastly spent;
So much, 'twill hardly be repair'd again,
Not, though supplied with all the wealth of Spain,
This play is English, and the growth your own;
As such, it yields to English plays alone.
He could have wish'd it better for your sakes,
But that, in plays, he finds you love mistakes:
Besides, he thought it was in vain to mend,
What you are bound in honour to defend;
That English wit, howe'er despised by some,
Like English valour, still may overcome.

PROLOGUE,

WHEN REVIVED.

As some raw squire, by tender mother bred,
'Till one-and-twenty keeps his maidenhead;
(Pleased with some sport, which he alone does find;
And thinks a secret to all humankind;)
'Till mightily in love, yet half afraid,
He first attempts the gentle dairy maid:
Succeeding there, and, led by the renown
Of Whetston's park, he comes at length to town;
Where entered, by some school-fellow or friend,
He grows to break glass windows in the end:
His valour too, which with the watch began,
Proceeds to duel, and he kills his man.
By such degrees, while knowledge he did want,
Our unfledged author writ a Wild Gallant.
He thought him monstrous lewd, (I lay my life)
Because suspected with his landlord's wife;
But, since his knowledge of the town began,
He thinks him now a very civil man;
And, much ashamed of what he was before,
Has fairly play'd him at three wenches more.
'Tis some amends his frailties to confess;
Pray pardon him his want of wickedness:
He's towardly, and will come on apace;
His frank confession shows he has some grace.
You baulked him when he was a young beginner,
And almost spoiled a very hopeful sinner;
But if once more you slight his weak endeavour,
For aught I know, he may turn tail forever;

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

Lord NONSUCH, _an old rich humorous lord_.
Justice TRICE, _his neighbour_.
Mr LOVEBY, _the Wild Gallant_.
Sir TIMOROUS, _a bashful knight_.
FAILER, } _hangers-on of_ Sir TIMOROUS.
BURR, }
BIBBER, _a tailor_.
SETSTONE, _a jeweller_.

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