ACT V. SCENE I.

_Enter_ GRIPUS _and_ PHÆDRA. GRIPUS _has the Goblet in his hand_.

_Phæd._ You will not be so base to take it from me?

_Grip._ 'Tis my proper chattel; and I'll seize my own, in whatever hands I find it.

_Phæd._ You know I only showed it you, to provoke your generosity, that you might out-bid your rival with a better present.

_Grip._ My rival is a thief; and I'll indite you for a receiver of stolen goods.

_Phæd._ Thou hide-bound lover!

_Grip._ Thou very mercenary mistress!

_Phæd._ Thou most mercenary magistrate!

_Grip._ Thou seller of thyself!

_Phæd._ Thou seller of other people: thou weather-cock of government; that, when the wind blows for the subject, pointest to privilege; and when it changes for the sovereign, veerest to prerogative[9]!

_Grip._ Will you compound, and take it as my present?

_Phæd._ No; but I'll send thy rival to force it from thee.

_Grip._ When a thief is rival to his judge, the hangman will soon decide the difference.

[_Exit_ PHÆDRA.

_Enter_ MERCURY, _with two Swords_.

_Merc._ [_Bowing._] Save your good lordship.

_Grip._ From an impertinent coxcomb: I am out of humour, and am in haste; leave me.

_Merc._ 'Tis my duty to attend on your lordship, and to ease you of that undecent burden.

_Grip._ Gold was never any burden to one of my profession.

_Merc._ By your lordship's permission, Phædra has sent me to take it from you.

_Grip._ What, by violence?

_Merc._ [_still bowing._] No; but by your honour's permission, I am to restore it to her, and persuade your lordship to renounce your pretensions to her.

_Grip._ Tell her flatly, I will neither do one, nor t'other.

_Merc._ O my good lord, I dare pass my word for your free consent to both.----Will your honour be pleased to take your choice of one of these?

_Grip._ Why, these are swords: what have I to do with them?

_Merc._ Only to take your choice of one of them, which your lordship pleases; and leave the other to your most obedient servant.

_Grip._ What, one of these ungodly weapons? Take notice, I'll lay you by the heels, sirrah: this has the appearance of an unlawful bloody challenge.

_Merc._ You magistrates are pleased to call it so, my lord; but with us swordmen, it is an honourable invitation to the cutting of one another's throats.

_Grip._ Be answered; I have no throat to cut. The law shall decide our controversy.

_Merc._ By your permission, my lord, it must be dispatched this way.

_Grip._ I'll see thee hanged before I give thee any such permission, to dispatch me into another world.

_Merc._ At the least, my lord, you have no occasion to complain of my want of respect to you. You will neither restore the goblet, nor renounce Phædra: I offer you the combat; you refuse it; all this is done in the forms of honour: It follows, that I am to affront, cudgel you, or kick you, at my own arbitrement; and, I suppose, you are too honourable not to approve of my proceeding.

_Grip._ Here is a new sort of process, that was never heard of in any of our courts.

_Merc._ This, my good lord, is law in short-hand, without your long preambles, and tedious repetitions that signify nothing but to squeeze the subject: therefore, with your lordship's favour, I begin.

[_Fillips him under the chin._

_Grip._ What is this for?

_Merc._ To give you an occasion of returning me a box o' the ear; that so all things may proceed methodically.

_Grip._ I put in no answer, but suffer a non-suit.

_Merc._ No, my lord; for the costs and charges are to be paid: will you please to restore the cup?

_Grip._ I told thee, no.

_Merc._ Then from your chin, I must ascend to your lordship's ears.

_Grip._ Oh, oh, oh, oh!--Wilt thou never leave lugging me by the ears?

_Merc._ Not till your lordship will be pleased to hear reason. [_Pulling again._

_Grip._ Take the cup, and the devil give thee joy on't.

_Merc._ [_Still holding him._] And your lordship will farther be graciously pleased, to release all claims, titles, and actions whatsoever, to Phædra: you must give me leave to add one small _memento_ for that too. [_Pulling him again._

_Grip._ I renounce her; I release her.

_Enter_ PHÆDRA.

_Merc._ [_To her._] Phædra, my lord has been pleased to be very gracious, without pushing matters to extremity.

_Phæd._ I overheard it all; but give me livery and seisin of the goblet, in the first place.

_Merc._ There is an act of oblivion should be passed too.

_Phæd._ Let him begin to remember quarrels, when he dares; now I have him under my girdle, I'll cap verses with him to the end of the chapter.

_Enter_ AMPHITRYON, _and Guards_.

_Amph._ [_To_ GRIPUS.] At the last I have got possession without your lordship's warrant.--Phædra, tell Alcmena I am here.

_Phæd._ I'll carry no such lying message: you are not here, and you cannot be here; for, to my knowledge, you are above with my lady, in the chamber.

_Amph._ All of a piece, and all witchcraft!--Answer me precisely: dost thou not know me for Amphitryon?

_Phæd._ Answer me first: did you give me a diamond and a purse of gold?

_Amph._ Thou knowest I did not.

_Phæd._ Then, by the same token, I know you are not the true Amphitryon: if you are he, I am sure I left you in bed with your own wife. Now you had best stretch out a leg, and feel about for a fair lady.

_Amph._ I'll undo this enchantment with my sword, and kill the sorcerer.--Come up, gentlemen, and follow me. [_To the Guards._

_Phæd._ I'll save you the labour, and call him down to confront you, if you dare attend him. [_Exit_ PHÆDRA.

_Merc._ [_Aside._] Now the spell is ended, and Jupiter can enchant no more; or else Amphitryon had not entered so easily. [GRIPUS _is stealing off_.]--Whither now, Gripus? I have business for you: if you offer to stir, you know what follows.

_Enter_ JUPITER, _followed by_ TRANIO _and_ POLIDAS.

_Jup._ Who dares to play the master in my house? What noise is this that calls me from above, Invades my soft recess and privacy, And, like a tide, breaks in upon my love?

_Amph._ O heavens, what's this I see?

_Tran._ What prodigy!

_Pol._ How! two Amphitryons!

_Grip._ I have beheld the appearance of two suns, But still the false was dimmer than the true; Here, both shine out alike.

_Amph._ This is a sight, that, like the gorgon's head, Runs through my limbs, and stiffens me to stone. I need no more inquire into my fate; For what I see resolves my doubts too plain.

_Tran._ Two drops of water cannot be more like.

_Pol._ They are two very sames.

_Merc._ Our Jupiter is a great comedian, he counterfeits most admirably: sure his priests have copied their hypocrisy from their master. [_Aside._

_Amph._ Now I am gathered back into myself: My heart beats high, and pushes out the blood, [_Drawing his sword._ To give me just revenge on this impostor. If you are brave, assist me--not one stirs! [_To the Guards._ What, are all bribed to take the enchanter's part? 'Tis true, the work is mine; and thus----

[_Going to rush upon_ JUPITER; _and is held by_ TRANIO _and_ POLIDAS.

_Pol._ It must not be.

_Jup._ Give him his way; I dare the madman's worst: But still take notice, that it looks not like The true Amphitryon, to fly out at first To brutal force: it shews he doubts his cause, Who dares not trust his reason to defend it.

_Amph._ Thou base usurper of my name and bed! [_Struggling._

No less than thy heart's blood can wash away The affronts I have sustained.

_Tran._ We must not suffer So strange a duel, as Amphitryon To fight against himself.

_Pol._ Nor think we wrong you, when we hold your hands: We know our duty to our general; We know the ties of friendship to our friend; But who that friend, or who that general is, Without more certain proofs, betwixt you two, Is hard to be distinguished, by our reason; Impossible, by sight.

_Amph._ I know it, and have satisfied myself; I am the true Amphitryon.

_Jup._ See again, He shuns the certain proofs; and dares not stand Impartial judgment, and award of right. But, since Alcmena's honour is concerned, Whom, more than heaven, and all the world, I love, This I propose, as equal to us both:-- Tranio and Polidas, be you assistants; The guards be ready to secure the impostor, When once so proved, for public punishment; And Gripus, be thou umpire of the cause.

_Amph._ I am content: let him proceed to examination.

_Grip._ On whose side would you please that I should give the sentence? [_Aside to_ MERC.

_Merc._ Follow thy conscience for once; but not to make a custom of it neither, nor to leave an evil precedent of uprightness to future judges. [_Aside._]--'Tis a good thing to have a magistrate under correction: your old fornicating judge dares never give sentence against him that knows his haunts.

_Pol._ Your lordship knows I was master of Amphitryon's ship; and desire to know of him, what passed, in private, betwixt us two at his landing, when he was just ready to engage the enemy?

_Grip._ Let the true Amphitryon answer first.

_Jup. and Amph. together._ My lord, I told him----

_Grip._ Peace, both of you:--'Tis a plain case they are both true; for they both speak together: but, for more certainty, let the false Amphitryon speak first.

_Merc._ Now they are both silent.

_Grip._ Then 'tis plain, on the other side, that they are both false Amphitryons.

_Merc._ Which Amphitryon shall speak first?

_Grip._ Let the cholerick Amphitryon speak; and let the peaceable hold his peace.

_Amph._ [_To Polid._] You may remember that I whispered you, not to part from the stern one single moment.

_Polid._ You did so.

_Grip._ No more words then: I proceed to sentence.

_Jup._ 'Twas I that whispered him; and he may remember I gave him this reason for it, that, if our men were beaten, I might secure my own retreat.

_Polid._ You did so.

_Grip._ Now again he is as true as the other.

_Tran._ You know I was paymaster: what directions did you give me the night before the battle?

_Grip._ To which of the you's art thou speaking?

_Merc._ It should be a double u; but they have no such letter in their tongue. [_Aside._

_Amph._ I ordered you to take particular care of the great bag.

_Grip._ Why this is demonstration.

_Jup._ The bag, that I recommended to you, was of tygers-skin; and marked Beta.

_Grip._ In sadness, I think they are both jugglers: here is nothing, and here is nothing; and then _hiccius doccius_, and they are both here again.

_Tran._ You peaceable Amphitryon, what money was there in that bag?

_Jup._ The sum, in gross, amounted just to fifty Attick talents.

_Tran._ To a farthing.

_Grip._ Paugh: Obvious, obvious.

_Amph._ Two thousand pieces of gold were tied up in a handkerchief, by themselves.

_Tran._ I remember it.

_Grip._ Then it is dubious again.

_Jup._ But the rest was not all silver; for there were just four thousand brass half-pence.

_Grip._ Being but brass, the proof is inconsiderable: if they had been silver, it had gone on your side.

_Amph._ Death and hell, you will not persuade me, that I did not kill Pterelas? [_To_ JUPITER.

_Jup._ Nor you me, that I did not enjoy Alcmena?

_Amph._ That last was poison to me.---- [_Aside._ Yet there's one proof thou canst not counterfeit: In killing Pterelas, I had a wound Full in the brawny part of my right arm, Where still the scar remains:--now blush, impostor; For this thou canst not show. [_Bares his arm, and shows the scar, which they all look on._

_Omnes._ This is the true Amphitryon.

_Jup._ May your lordship please----

_Grip._ No, sirrah, it does not please me: hold your tongue, I charge you, for the case is manifest.

_Jup._ By your favour then, this shall speak for me.

[_Bares his arm, and shows it._

_Tran._ 'Tis just in the same muscle.

_Polid._ Of the same length and breadth; and the scar of the same blueish colour.

_Grip._ [_To Jup._] Did not I charge you not to speak? 'twas plain enough before; and now you have puzzled it again.

_Amph._ Good gods, how can this be!

_Grip._ For certain there was but one Pterelas; and he must have been in the plot against himself too; for he was killed first by one of them, and then rose again out of respect to the other Amphitryon, to be killed twice over.

_Enter_ ALCMENA, PHÆDRA, _and_ BROMIA.

_Alcm._ No more of this; it sounds impossible

[_Turning to_ PHÆDRA _and_ BROMIA.

That two should be so like, no difference found.

_Phæd._ You'll find it true.

_Alcm._ Then where's Alcmena's honour and her fame? Farewell my needless fear, it cannot be: This is a case too nice for vulgar sight; But let me come, my heart will guide my eyes To point, and tremble to its proper choice.

[_Seeing_ AMPHITRYON, _goes to him_.

There neither was, nor is, but one Amphitryon; And I am only his.-- [_Goes to take him by the hand._

_Amph._ Away, adultress! [_Pushing her away from him._

_Jup._ My gentle love, my treasure, and my joy, Follow no more that false and foolish fire, That would mislead thy fame to sure destruction! Look on thy better husband, and thy friend, Who will not leave thee liable to scorn, But vindicate thy honour from that wretch, Who would by base aspersions blot thy virtue.

Alcm. [_Going to him, who embraces her._] I was indeed mistaken; thou art he! Thy words, thy thoughts, thy soul is all Amphitryon. The impostor has thy features, not thy mind; The face might have deceived me in my choice, Thy kindness is a guide that cannot err.

_Amph._ What! in my presence to prefer the villain? O execrable cheat!--I break the truce; And will no more attend your vain decisions: To this, and to the gods, I'll trust my cause. [_Is rushing upon_ JUPITER, _and is held again_.

_Jup._ Poor man, how I contemn those idle threats! Were I disposed, thou might'st as safely meet The thunder launched from the red arm of Jove,--Nor Jove need blush to be Alcmena's champion. But in the face of Thebes she shall be cleared; And what I am, and what thou art, be known.-- Attend, and I will bring convincing proofs.

_Amph._ Thou would'st elude my justice, and escape: But I will follow thee through earth and seas; Nor hell shall hide thee from my just revenge.

_Jup._ I'll spare thy pains. It shall be quickly seen, Betwixt us two, who seeks, and who avoids.-- Come in, my friends,--and thou, who seem'st Amphitryon-- That all, who are in doubt, may know the true.

[JUPITER _re-enters the house; with him_ AMPHITRYON ALCMENA, POLIDAS, TRANIO, _and Guards_.

_Merc._ Thou, Gripus, and you, Bromia, stay with Phædra: [_To_ GRIPUS _and_ BROMIA, _who are following_. Let their affairs alone, and mind we ours, Amphitryon's rival shall appear a god: But know beforehand, I am Mercury; Who want not heaven, while Phædra is on earth.

_Brom._ But, an't please your lordship, is my fellow Phædra to be exalted into the heavens, and made a star?

_Phæd._ When that comes to pass, if you look up a-nights, I shall remember old kindness, and vouch-safe to twinkle on you.

_Enter_ SOSIA, _peeping about him; and, seeing_ MERCURY, _is starting back_.

_Sos._ Here he is again; and there's no passing by him into the house, unless I were a sprite, to glide in through the key-hole. I am to be a vagabond, I find.

_Merc._ Sosia, come back.

_Sos._ No, I thank you; you may whistle me long enough; a beaten dog has always the wit to avoid his master.

_Merc._ I permit thee to be Sosia again.

_Sos._ 'Tis an unfortunate name, and I abandon it: he that has an itch to be beaten, let him take it up for Sosia;--What have I said now! I mean for me; for I neither am nor will be Sosia.

_Merc._ But thou may'st be so in safety; for I have acknowledged myself to be god Mercury.

_Sos._ You may be a god, for aught I know; but the devil take me if ever I worship you, for an unmerciful deity as you are.

_Merc._ You ought to take it for an honour to be drubbed by the hand of a divinity.

_Sos._ I am your most humble servant, good Mr God; but, by the faith of a mortal, I could well have spared the honour that you did me. But how shall I be sure that you will never assume my shape again?

_Merc._ Because I am weary of wearing so villainous an outside.

_Sos._ Well, well; as villainous as it is, here's old Bromia will be contented with it.

_Brom._ Yes, now I am sure that I may chastise you safely, and that there's no god lurking under your appearance.

_Sos._ Ay; but you had best take heed how you attempt it; for, as Mercury has turned himself into me, so I may take the toy into my head, and turn myself into Mercury, that I may swinge you off condignly.

_Merc._ In the mean time, be all my witnesses, that I take Phædra for my wife of the left hand; that is, in the nature of a lawful concubine.

_Phæd._ You shall pardon me for believing you, for all you are a god; for you have a terrible ill name below; and I am afraid you'll get a footman, instead of a priest, to marry us.

_Merc._ But here's Gripus shall draw up articles betwixt us.

_Phæd._ But he's damnably used to false conveyancing. Well, be it so; for my counsel shall over-look them before I sign--Come on, Gripus, that I may have him under black and white.

[_Here_ GRIPUS _gets ready pen, ink, and paper_.

_Merc._ With all my heart, that I may have thee under black and white hereafter.

_Phæd._ [_To_ GRIPUS.] Begin, begin--Heads of articles to be made, &c. betwixt Mercury, god of thieves----

_Merc._ And Phædra, queen of gypsies.----_Imprimis_, I promise to buy and settle upon her an estate, containing nine thousand acres of land, in any part of Boeotia, to her own liking.

_Phæd._ Provided always, that no part of the said nine thousand acres shall be upon, or adjoining to, Mount Parnassus; for I will not be fobbed off with a poetical estate.

Merc. _Memorandum_, that she be always constant to me, and admit of no other lover.

Phæd. _Memorandum_, unless it be a lover that offers more; and that the constancy shall not exceed the settlement.

Merc. _Item_, that she shall keep no male servants in her house: _Item_, no rival lap-dog for a bedfellow: _Item_, that she shall never pray to any of the gods.

_Phæd._ What, would you have me an atheist?

_Merc._ No devotion to any he-deity, good Phædra.

_Brom._ Here's no provision made for children yet.

_Phæd._ Well remembered, Bromia; I bargain that my eldest son shall be a hero, and my eldest daughter a king's mistress.

_Merc._ That is to say, a blockhead, and a harlot, Phædra.

_Phæd._ That's true; but who dares call them so? Then, for the younger children--But now I think on't, we'll have no more, but Mass and Miss; for the rest would be but chargeable, and a burden to the nation.

_Merc._ Yes, yes; the second shall be a false prophet: he shall have wit enough to set up a new religion, and too much wit to die a martyr for it.

_Phæd._ O what had I forgot? there's pin-money, and alimony, and separate maintenance, and a thousand things more to be considered, that are all to be tacked to this act of settlement.

_Sos._ I am a fool, I must confess; but yet I can see as far into a mill-stone as the best of you. I have observed, that you women-wits are commonly so quick upon the scent, that you often over-run it: now I would ask of Madam Phædra, that in case Mr Heaven there should be pleased to break these articles, in what court of judicature she intends to sue him?

_Phæd._ The fool has hit upon't:--Gods, and great men, are never to be sued, for they can always plead privilege of peerage; and therefore for once, monsieur, I'll take your word; for, as long as you love me, you'll be sure to keep it: and, in the mean time, I shall be gaining experience how to manage some rich cully; for no woman ever made her fortune by a wit.

_It thunders; and the company within doors_, AMPHITRYON, ALCMENA, POLIDAS, _and_ TRANIO, _all come running out, and join with the rest, who were on the stage before_.

_Amph._ Sure 'tis some god; he vanished from our sight, And told us, we should see him soon return.

_Alcm._ I know not what to hope, nor what to fear. A simple error is a real crime, And unconsenting innocence is lost.

_A second peal of Thunder. After which_, JUPITER _appears in a Machine_.

_Jup._ Look up, Amphitryon, and behold, above, The impostor god, the rival of thy love; In thy own shape see Jupiter appear, And let that sight secure thy jealous fear. Disgrace, and infamy, are turned to boast; No fame, in Jove's concurrence, can be lost: What he enjoys, he sanctifies from vice, And, by partaking, stamps into a price, 'Tis I who ought to murmur at my fate, Forced by my love my godhead to translate; When on no other terms I could possess, But by thy form, thy features, and thy dress. To thee were given the blessings that I sought, Which else, not all the bribes of heaven had bought, Then take into thy arms thy envied love, And, in his own despite, triumph o'er Jove.

_Merc._ Amphitryon and Alcmena both stand mute, and know not how to take it. [_Aside._

_Sos._ Our sovereign lord Jupiter is a sly companion; he knows how to gild a bitter pill. [_Aside._

_Jup._ From this auspicious night shall rise an heir, Great like his sire, and like his mother fair: Wrongs to redress, and tyrants to disseize; Born for a world that wants a Hercules. Monsters, and monster-men he shall engage, And toil, and struggle, through an impious age. Peace to his labours shall at length succeed; } And murmuring men, unwilling to be freed, } Shall be compelled to happiness, by need. } [JUPITER _is carried back to Heaven_.

_Omnes._ We all congratulate Amphitryon.

_Merc._ Keep your congratulations to yourselves, gentlemen. 'Tis a nice point, let me tell you that; and the less that's said of it the better. Upon the whole matter, if Amphitryon takes the favour of Jupiter in patience, as from a god, he's a good heathen.

_Sos._ I must take a little extraordinary pains to-night, that my spouse may come even with her lady, and produce a squire to attend on young Hercules, when he goes out to seek adventures; that, when his master kills a man, he may stand ready to pick his pockets, and piously relieve his aged parents.--Ah, Bromia, Bromia, if thou hadst been as handsome and as young as Phædra!--I say no more, but somebody might have made his fortunes as well as his master, and never the worse man neither.

For, let the wicked world say what they please, The fair wife makes her husband live at ease: The lover keeps him too; and but receives, Like Jove, the remnants that Amphitryon leaves. 'Tis true, the lady has enough in store, To satisfy those two, and eke two more: In fine, the man, who weighs the matter fully, Would rather be the cuckold than the cully. [_Exeunt._

EPILOGUE,

SPOKEN BY PHÆDRA.

I'm thinking, (and it almost makes me mad) How sweet a time those heathen ladies had. Idolatry was even their Gods' own trade: They worshipped the fine creatures they had made. Cupid was chief of all the deities; And love was all the fashion, in the skies. When the sweet nymph held up the lily hand, Jove was her humble servant at command; The treasury of heaven was ne'er so bare, But still there was a pension for the fair. In all his reign, adultery was no sin; For Jove the good example did begin. Mark, too, when he usurped the husband's name, How civilly he saved the lady's fame. The secret joys of love he wisely hid; But you, sirs, boast of more than e'er you did. You teaze your cuckolds, to their face torment 'em; But Jove gave his new honours to content him, And, in the kind remembrance of the fair, On each exalted son bestowed a star. For these good deeds, as by the date appears, His godship flourished full two thousand years. At last, when he and all his priests grew old, } The ladies grew in their devotion cold; } And that false worship would no longer hold. } Severity of life did next begin; And always does, when we no more can sin. That doctrine, too, so hard in practice lies, That the next age may see another rise. Then, pagan gods may once again succeed: } And Jove, or Mars, be ready, at our need, } To get young godlings; and so mend our breed. }

KING ARTHUR:

OR,

THE BRITISH WORTHY.

A

DRAMATIC OPERA.

* * * * *

----_hîc alta theatris Fundamenta locant,--scenis decora alta futuris._ VIRG. Æn. 1.

_Purpurea intexti tollant aulæa Britanni._ Georg. 3.

----_Tanton' placuit concurrere motu, Jupiter, æterna gentes in pace futuris!_ Æneid. 12.

----_Et celebrare domestica facta._ HOR.

KING ARTHUR.

The Seventeenth century was still familiar with

----Whate'er resounds, In fable or romance, of Uther's son, Begirt with British and Armoric knights.

Fired by the splendid fictions which romancers had raised on the basis of Geoffrey of Monmouth and the Welsh traditions, Milton had designed the exploits of King Arthur for the subject of his lofty epic strain. What we have lost, in his abandoning the theme, can only be estimated by the enthusiastic tone into which he always swells, when he touches upon the "shores of old romance." The sublime glow of his imagination, which delighted in painting what was beyond the reach of human experience; the dignity of his language, formed to express the sentiments of heroes and of immortals; his powers of describing alike the beautiful and terrible; above all, the justice with which he conceived and assigned to each supernatural agent a character as decidedly peculiar, as lesser poets have given to their human actors, would have sent him forth to encounter such a subject with gigantic might. Whoever has ventured, undeterred by their magnitude, upon the old romances of "Lancelot du Lac," "Sir Tristrem," and others, founded on the achievements of the Knights of the Round Table, cannot but remember a thousand striking Gothic incidents, worthy subjects of the pen of Milton. What would he not have made of the adventure of the Ruinous Chapel, the Perilous Manor, the Forbidden Seat, the Dolorous Wound, and many others susceptible of being described in the most sublime poetry! Even when that sun had set, Arthur had yet another chance for immortality; for Dryden repeatedly expressed his intention to found an epic poem upon his history. Our poet, it may be guessed, was too much in the trammels of French criticism, to have ventured upon a style of composition allied to the Gothic romance. His poem would probably have been formed upon the model of the ancients, which, although more classical and correct, might have wanted the force, which reality of painting and description never fails to give to epic narrative. Arthur, in such a poem, would, like Rinaldo, have reminded us of Achilles; and the sameness of a copy would have been substituted for the spirit of a characteristic original. But, had Dryden executed his intended plan, we should have found picturesque narrative detailed in the most manly and majestic verse, and interspersed with lessons teaching us to know human life, maxims proper to guide it, and sentiments which ought to adorn it. In the Knight's Tale, and in Dryden's other narrative poems, we see enough to induce us to regret the sordid negligence, or avarice, which withheld from him the means of decent support, while employed upon the promised task. But Arthur, as a sort of counterpoise to his extravagant reputation during the middle ages, was doomed, in the seventeenth century, to be reluctantly abandoned by Milton and Dryden; and to be celebrated by the pen of Blackmore.

It is probable, that, when Dryden abandoned all thoughts of a larger work, he adapted the intended subject to the following opera, and converted the Genii of the kingdoms, by whom the supernatural machinery of the epic was to have been conducted, into the lighter and simpler device of airy and earthy spirits, whose idea the Rosicrucian philosophy had long rendered popular and familiar. There is no attempt to avail himself of any fragments of Arthur's romantic renown. He is not, in this drama, the formidable possessor of Excalibar, and the superior of the chivalry of the Round Table; nor is Merlin the fiend-born necromancer, of whom antiquity related and believed so many wonders. They are the prince and magician of a beautiful fairy tale, the story of which, abstracted from the poetry, might have been written by Madame D'Aunois. At the same time, the obvious advantages of an appeal to the ancient prejudices, which our author has neglected, are supplied from the funds of his own genius. The incidents, being intended more for the purpose of displaying machinery, and introducing music and dances, than with any reference to the rules of the drama, are abundantly fantastic and extravagant; but the poet has supported them with wonderful address. The blindness of Emmeline, and the innocence with which she expresses her conception of visible objects, gives her character an interest often wanting in what may be called the heroine of a play, whose perfections generally raise her so far beyond mere mortal excellence, as to render superfluous all human sympathy. The scene in which Emmeline recovers her sight, when well represented, never fails to excite the most pleasing testimony of interest and applause. The machinery is simple, and well managed: the language and ministry of Grimbald, the fierce earthy dæmon, are painted with some touches which arise even to sublimity. The conception of Philidel, a fallen angel, retaining some of the hue of heaven, who is touched with repentance, and not without hope of being finally received, is an idea, so far as I know, altogether original. Klopstock has since introduced a similar character into sacred poetry[10]. The principal incident in "King Arthur" is copied, in almost every circumstance, from the adventures of Rinaldo in the haunted grove on Mount Olivet[11], which makes also the subject of an Italian opera.

From what is mentioned in the author's preface, we may conceive the disadvantages under which "King Arthur" was finally brought forward. It was written originally for the conclusion of the reign of Charles II, and the political masque of "Albion and Albanius" was often rehearsed before him, as the prologue to "King Arthur." We may therefore conclude, that the piece, as originally written, had a strong political tendency, and probably abounded with these ingenious parallels, by which Dryden, with dexterity far exceeding that of every other writer, could draw, from remote or distant events, a moral directly applicable to those of his own time. But the Revolution, while it ruined our author's prospects, imposed a cautious restraint upon his muse; and therefore, as he himself states, he was obliged to deprive his play of many beauties, not to offend the present times, or displease a government by which he had hitherto been protected, or at least endured. Thus, our author was obliged to convert an ingenious, and probably highly poetical political drama, into a mere fairy tale, as totally divested as possible of any meaning beyond extravagant adventure. How much the drama must have suffered in this transformation is easy to judge, from the spirit with which all Dryden's political pieces are composed; and from recollecting with what reluctance he must have gone through alterations, that were to deprive the play of what was intended to have been its principal merit. This is the disadvantage of which the poet had already complained:

How can he show his manhood, when you bind him To box, like boys, with one hand tied behind him? This is plain levelling of wit, in which The poor has all the advantage, not the rich.

The blockhead stands excused for want of sense, And wits turn blockheads in their own defence.

_Prologue to Amphitryon._

Under all these disadvantages, "King Arthur" was received with great applause, at its first appearance; was often repeated, and continues to be occasionally represented, being the only one of Dryden's numerous plays which has retained possession of the stage. Some part of its success was doubtless owing to the music, of which Dr Burney gives the following account in his "History of Music:"

"Of the music in "King Arthur," I shall say but little, as it has been lately revived, well performed, and printed. If ever it could, with truth, be said of a composer, that he had _devancé son siecle_, Purcell is entitled to that praise; as there are movements in many of his works which a century has not injured, particularly the duet in "King Arthur," "Two Daughters of this Aged Stream," and "Fairest Isle, all Isles excelling," which contain not a single passage that the best composers of the present times, if it presented itself to their imagination, would reject." vol. iii. p. 492.

The dances, which were composed by the famous Priest, did not disgrace the music and poetry; and the company, according to Downes, were well rewarded for the time and expence they had bestowed on "King Arthur."

This opera was acted and printed in 1691.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 8: The author alludes to some popular tales of the day, or perhaps of former; but the editor confesses himself unable to trace the reference.]

[Footnote 9: The infamous Scroggs, and several of Charles the Second's judges, had huffed, and roared, and ranted, and domineered, over the unfortunate victims, who suffered for the Popish Plot; and had been equally partial to prerogative, when the king's party attained a decided ascendancy.]

[Footnote 10: The author acknowledges, with gratitude, the opinion of his "first and best patroness, the duchess of Monmouth," which, to the author of "Absalom and Achitophel," must have excited a strange mixture of recollections and emotions. The judgment of that accomplished lady alleged the fairy kind of writing, which depends only on the force of imagination, as the grounds for liking a piece which has that chiefly to recommend it.]

[Footnote 11: Tasso's "Gierusaleme Liberata."]

TO THE

MARQUIS OF HALIFAX[12].

* * * * *

MY LORD,

This poem was the last piece of service which I had the honour to do for my gracious master King Charles II.; and, though he lived not to see the performance of it on the stage, yet the Prologue to it, which was the opera of "Albion and Albanius," was often practised before him at Whitehall, and encouraged by his royal approbation. It was indeed a time which was proper for triumph, when he had overcome all those difficulties which, for some years, had perplexed his peaceful reign: but, when he had just restored his people to their senses, and made the latter end of his government of a piece with the happy beginning of it, he was on the sudden snatched away from the blessings and acclamations of his subjects, who arrived so late to the knowledge of him, that they had but just time enough to desire him longer, before they were to part with him for ever. Peace be with the ashes of so good a king! Let his human frailties be forgotten, and his clemency and moderation (the inherent virtues of his family) be remembered with a grateful veneration by three kingdoms, through which he spread the blessings of them. And, as your lordship held a principal place in his esteem, and, perhaps, the first in his affection, during his latter troubles, the success which accompanied those prudent counsels cannot but reflect an honour on those few who managed them, and wrought out, by their faithfulness and diligence, the public safety. I might dilate on the difficulties which attended that undertaking, the temper of the people, the power, arts and interest of the contrary party, but those are all of them invidious topics,--they are too green in our remembrance, and he, who touches on them, _Incedit per ignes suppositos cineri doleso._ But, without reproaching one side to praise another, I may justly recommend to both those wholesome counsels, which, wisely administered, and as well executed, were the means of preventing a civil war, and of extinguishing a growing fire which was just ready to have broken forth among us. So many wives, who have yet their husbands in their arms; so many parents, who have not the number of their children lessened; so many villages, towns and cities, whose inhabitants are not decreased, their property violated, or their wealth diminished,--are yet owing to the sober conduct, and happy results of your advice. If a true account may be expected by future ages from the present, your lordship will be delivered over to posterity in a fairer character than I have given; and be read, not in the preface of a play, (whose author is not vain enough to promise immortality to others, or to hope it for himself,) but in many pages of a chronicle, filled with praises of your administration. For, if writers be just to the memory of King Charles II., they cannot deny him to have been an exact knower of mankind, and a perfect distinguisher of their talents. It is true, his necessities often forced him to vary his counsellors and councils, and sometimes to employ such persons in the management of his affairs, who were rather fit for his present purpose than satisfactory to his judgment: but where it was choice in him, not compulsion, he was master of too much good sense to delight in heavy conversation; and whatever his favourites of state might be, yet those of his affection were men of wit[13]. He was easy with these, and complied only with the former. But in the latter part of his life, which certainly required to be most cautiously managed, his secret thoughts were communicated but to few, and those selected of that sort who were _amici omnium horarum_, able to advise him in a serious consult, where his honour and safety were concerned, and afterwards capable of entertaining him with pleasant discourse, as well as profitable. In this maturest part of his age, when he had been long seasoned with difficulties and dangers, and was grown to a niceness in his choice, as being satisfied how few could be trusted,--and, of those who could be trusted, how few could serve him,--he confined himself to a small number of bosom friends, amongst whom the world is much mistaken if your lordship was not first.

If the rewards which you received for those services were only honours, it rather shewed the necessities of the times, than any want of kindness in your royal master; and, as the splendour of your fortune stood not in need of being supported by the Crown, so likewise, in being satisfied without other recompence, you showed yourself to be above a mercenary interest, and strengthened that power which bestowed those titles on you; which, truly speaking, were marks of acknowledgement more than favour.

But, as a skilful pilot will not be tempted out to sea in suspected weather, so have you wisely chosen to withdraw yourself from public business, when the face of heaven grew troubled, and the frequent shifting of the winds foreshewed a storm. There are times and seasons when the best patriots are willing to withdraw their hands from the commonwealth, as Phocion, in his latter days, was observed to decline the management of affairs; or as Cicero, (to draw the similitude more home) left the pulpit for Tusculum, and the praise of oratory for the sweet enjoyments of a private life; and, in the happiness of those retirements, has more obliged posterity by his moral precepts, than he did the republic in quelling the conspiracy of Catiline. What prudent man would not rather follow the example of his retreat, than stay, like Cato, with a stubborn unseasonable virtue, to oppose the torrent of the people, and at last be driven from the market-place by a riot of a multitude, uncapable of counsel, and deaf to eloquence? There is likewise a portion of our lives, which every wise man may justly reserve to his own peculiar use, and that without defrauding his native country. A Roman soldier was allowed to plead the merit of his services for his dismission at such an age; and there was but one exception to that rule, which was, an invasion from the Gauls. How far that may work with your lordship, I am not certain, but I hope it is not coming to the trial[14].

In the mean time, while the nation is secured from foreign attempts by so powerful a fleet, and we enjoy, not only the happiness, but even the ornaments of peace, in the divertisement of the town, I humbly offer you this trifle, which, if it succeed upon the stage, is like to be the chiefest entertainment of our ladies and gentlemen this summer. When I wrote it, seven years ago, I employed some reading about it, to inform myself out of Beda, Bochartus and other authors, concerning the rites and customs of the heathen Saxons; as I also used the little skill I have in poetry to adorn it[15]. But, not to offend the present times, nor a government which has hitherto protected me, I have been obliged so much to alter the first design, and take away so many beauties from the writing, that it is now no more what it was formerly, than the present ship of the Royal Sovereign, after so often taking down and altering, is the vessel it was at the first building. There is nothing better than what I intended, but the music; which has since arrived to a greater perfection in England than ever formerly; especially passing through the artful hands of Mr Purcell, who has composed it with so great a genius, that he has nothing to fear but an ignorant, ill-judging audience. But the numbers of poetry and vocal music are sometimes so contrary, that, in many places, I have been obliged to cramp my verses, and make them rugged to the reader, that they may be harmonious to the hearer; of which I have no reason to repent me, because these sorts of entertainments are principally designed for the ear and eye; and therefore, in reason, my art, on this occasion, ought to be subservient to his. And, besides, I flatter myself with an imagination, that a judicious audience will easily distinguish betwixt the songs wherein I have complied with him, and those in which I have followed the rules of poetry, in the sound and cadence of the words. Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, there is somewhat still remaining of the first spirit with which I wrote it; and though I can only speak by guess, of what pleased my first and best patroness the Duchess of Monmouth in the reading, yet I will venture my opinion, by the knowledge I have long had of her Grace's excellent judgment and true taste of poetry, that the parts of the airy and earthy spirits, and that fairy kind of writing which depends only upon the force of imagination, were the grounds of her liking the poem, and afterwards of her recommending it to the Queen. I have likewise had the satisfaction to hear, that her majesty has graciously been pleased to peruse the manuscript of this opera, and given it her royal approbation. Poets, who subsist not but on the favour of sovereign princes, and of great persons, may have leave to be a little vain, and boast of their patronage, who encourage the genius that animates them; and therefore, I will again presume to guess, that her majesty was not displeased to find in this poem the praises of her native country, and the heroic actions of so famous a predecessor in the government of Great Britain as King Arthur.

All this, my lord, I must confess, looks with a kind of insinuation, that I present you with somewhat not unworthy your protection; but I may easily mistake the favour of her majesty for her judgment: I think I cannot be deceived in thus addressing to your lordship, whom I have had the honour to know, at that distance which becomes me, for so many years. It is true, that formerly I have shadowed some part of your virtues under another name; but the character, though short and imperfect, was so true, that it broke through the fable, and was discovered by its native light[16]. What I pretend by this dedication, is an honour which I do myself to posterity, by acquainting them, that I have been conversant with the first persons of the age in which I lived; and thereby perpetuate my prose, when my verses may possibly be forgotten, or obscured by the fame of future poets. Which ambition, amongst my other faults and imperfections, be pleased to pardon, in,

MY LORD,

Your Lordship's most obedient servant,

JOHN DRYDEN.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 12: We have often occasion, in these notes, to mention the Marquis of Halifax. He was originally Sir George Saville, Baronet; but, being early characterized by unmatched dexterity in political intrigue, he successively attained the rank of Viscount, Earl, and, in 1682, Marquis of Halifax. He acted alternately for the people against the Crown, and for the Crown against the people; for he delighted in nice and delicate strokes of policy, and in balancing, by a slight but well-applied exertion, the sinking against the rising faction. Hence he was accounted the head of the little faction called Trimmers; and hence his counsels became particularly acceptable to Charles II., whose administration he guided, as Lord Privy Seal, during the last years of that monarch's life. The king had no mind that the high-flying tories should attain an absolute predominance; for he feared his brother, who had placed himself at their head, and he loved Monmouth, who was the object of their most violent hatred. Still less could he be supposed to favour the whigs, whose ranks contained many determined republicans. A minister, therefore, whose ingenious and versatile councils could enable him to check the triumph of the tories, without too much encouraging the whigs, was a treasure to him,--and just such a minister was Halifax. Our author therefore dedicates to him, with great propriety, a piece written for Charles, when Halifax was his favourite minister; and the subjects of eulogium are chosen with Dryden's usual felicity. Some allowance must doubtless be made, for the indispensible obligation which compelled a dedicator to view the conduct of his patron on the favourable side. Such an unfortunate wight cannot be reasonably tied down to uniformity of sentiment in different addresses. The character of Dryden's immediate patron was always his cue for praise: if he stood forward against a predominant party, he was necessarily Cato, the most virtuous of men; if he yielded to the torrent, he was Phocion or Cicero, and Cato was a fool to him. With the few grains of allowance which his situation required, Dryden's praise of Halifax is an honest panegyric. It is certain, his wisdom prevented a civil war in the last years of the reign of Charles, and indirectly led the way to a bloodless revolution. The age in which he lived was therefore so far indebted to him, as our author has elegantly said, for the lives of husbands and of children, for property unviolated, and wealth undiminished. Nor does the present owe him less; for, when is it that a government, erected by a party successful in civil dissention, does not far exceed their just, and even their original pretensions? The parties had each founded their plea and their pretensions upon sacred and integral parts of the constitution, as the contending factions of the Jews occupied, the one the temple, and the other the palace of Jerusalem. In a civil war, one bulwark or other must have fallen with the party which it sheltered; and it was only the Revolution of 1688, which, leaving both whig and tory in full strength, compelled them mutually to respect the constitutional vantage-ground assumed by each other.]

[Footnote 13: Lord Halifax was unquestionably a man of wit; and we have some tolerable bon mots of his, handed down by his contemporaries. Burnet says, "The liveliness of his imagination was always too hard for his judgment. A severe jest was preferred by him to all arguments whatever; and he was endless in consultations; for when, after much discourse, a point was settled, if he could find a new jest to make even that which was suggested by himself ridiculous, he could not hold, but would study to raise the credit of his wit, though it made others call his judgment in question." We may not, perhaps, refine too far in supposing, that the bishop was not always able to estimate the policy of this subtle statesman. It was more frequently his wish to avoid taking decisive steps than to recommend them; and what could more effectually retard violent councils than the conduct remarked by Burnet, or what argument would have weighed with Charles II. like a keen jest?]

[Footnote 14: The Roman veterans were dismissed after twenty years service; a regulation equally politic and humane. In 1691 a French invasion, in behalf of King James, appeared not improbable.]

[Footnote 15: We cannot trace the result of this study any where but in the song of the Saxon priests; and it did not surely require much reading to glean up the names of the Saxon deities, which are almost the only traits of national manners exhibited through the drama.]

[Footnote 16: Under that of Jotham in "Absalom and Achitophel."]

PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN BY MR BETTERTON.

Sure there's a dearth of wit in this dull town, When silly plays so savourily go down; As, when clipped money passes, 'tis a sign A nation is not over-stocked with coin. Happy is he, who, in his own defence, Can write just level to your humble sense; Who higher than your pitch can never go; And, doubtless, he must creep, who writes below. So have I seen, in hall of knight, or lord, A weak arm throw on a long shovel-board; He barely lays his piece, bar rubs and knocks, Secured by weakness not to reach the box[17]. A feeble poet will his business do, } Who, straining all he can, comes up to you: } For, if you like yourselves, you like him too. } An ape his own dear image will embrace; An ugly beau adores a hatchet face: So, some of you, on pure instinct of nature, Are led, by kind, to admire your fellow creature. In fear of which, our house has sent this day, To insure our new-built vessel, called a play; No sooner named, than one cries out,--These stagers Come in good time, to make more work for wagers. The town divides, if it will take or no; } The courtiers bet, the cits, the merchants too; } A sign they have but little else to do. } Bets, at the first, were fool-traps; where the wise, Like spiders, lay in ambush for the flies: But now they're grown a common trade for all, } And actions by the new-book rise and fall; } Wits, cheats, and fops, are free of wager-hall. } One policy as far as Lyons carries; Another, nearer home, sets up for Paris. Our bets, at last, would even to Rome extend, But that the pope has proved our trusty friend. Indeed, it were a bargain worth our money, Could we insure another Ottoboni[18]. Among the rest there are a sharping set, That pray for us, and yet against us bet. Sure heaven itself is at a loss to know If these would have their prayers be heard, or no: For, in great stakes, we piously suppose, Men pray but very faintly they may lose. Leave off these wagers; for, in conscience speaking, The city needs not your new tricks for breaking: And if you gallants lose, to all appearing, You'll want an equipage for volunteering; While thus, no spark of honour left within ye, When you should draw the sword, you draw the guinea.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 17: The ancient game of shovel-board was played by sliding pieces of money along a smooth table, something on the principle of billiards. The allusion seems to be the same as if a modern poet had said, that a feeble player at billiards runs no risk of pocketing his own ball. The reader will find a variety of passages concerning this pastime in the notes of the various commentators upon a passage in the "Merry Wives of Windsor," where Slender enumerates among the contents of his pocket, when picked by Pistol, "two Edward shovel-boards," that is, two broad shillings of Edward VI. used for playing at this game. In some old halls the shovel-board table is still preserved, and sometimes used.]

[Footnote 18: Cardinal Ottoboni, a Venetian by birth, succeeded to the tiara on the death of Innocent XI., and assumed the name of Alexander VIII. He was, like his predecessor, an enemy to France, and maintained the privileges of the Holy See, both in the point of the regale, and in refusing to grant bulls to those French bishops who had signed the formulary of 1682, by which the Pope was declared fallible, and subject to the decrees of a general council. His death took place during the congress of 1690. It was therefore a recent event when this play was first represented, and the disposition of his successor, towards the French or Imperial Courts, was matter of anxious speculation to the politicians of the day.]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

_King_ ARTHUR. OSWALD, _King of_ KENT, _a Saxon, and a Heathen_. CONON, _Duke of_ CORNWALL, _Tributary to King_ ARTHUR. MERLIN, _a famous Enchanter_. OSMOND, _a Saxon Magician, and a Heathen_. AURELIUS, _Friend to_ ARTHUR. ALBANACT, _Captain of_ ARTHUR'S _Guards_. GUILLIMAR, _Friend to_ OSWALD.

EMMELINE, _Daughter of_ CONON. MATILDA, _her Attendant_. PHILIDEL, _an Airy Spirit_. GRIMBALD, _an Earthy Spirit_. _Officers and Soldiers, Singers and Dancers._

_SCENE--Kent._

KING ARTHUR,

OR, THE

BRITISH WORTHY.