124. Militiae quamquam piger et malus,] The observation has much grace, as referring to himself, who had acquired no credit, as a soldier, in the civil wars of his country.—We have an example of this misalliance between the poetic and military character, recorded in the history of our own civil wars, which may be just worth mentioning. Sir P. Warwick, speaking of the famous Earl of Newcastle, observes—“his edge had too much of the razor in it, for he had a tincture of a romantic spirit, and had the misfortune to have somewhat of the Poet in him; so as he chose Sir William Davenant, an eminent good poet, and loyal gentleman, to be lieutenant-general of his ordnance. This inclination of his own, and such kind of witty society (to be modest in the expressions of it) diverted many councils, and lost many opportunities, which the nature of that affair, this great man had now entered into, required.” Memoirs, p. 235.
132. Castis cum pueris, &c.] We have, before, taken notice, how properly the poet, for the easier and more successful introduction of his apology, assumed the person urbani, parcentis viribus. We see him here, in that of Rhetoris atque Poetae. For admonished, as it were, by the rising dignity of his subject, which led him from the moral, to speak of the religious uses of poetry, he insensibly drops the badineur, and takes an air, not of seriousness only, but of solemnity. This change is made with art. For the attention is carried from the uses of poetry, in consoling the unhappy, by the easiest transition imaginable, to the still more solemn application of it to the offices of piety. And its use is, to impress on the mind a stronger sense of the weight of the poet’s plea, than could have been expected from a more direct and continued declamation. For this is the constant and natural effect of knowing to pass from gay to severe, with grace and dignity.
169. Sed habet Comoedia tanto plus oneris, quanto veniae minus.] Tragedy, whose intention is to affect, may secure what is most essential to its kind, though it fail in some minuter resemblances of nature: Comedy, proposing for its main end exact representation, is fundamentally defective, if it do not perfectly succeed in it. And this explains the ground of the poet’s observation, that Comedy hath veniae minus; for he is speaking of the draught of the manners only, in which respect a greater indulgence is very deservedly shewn to the tragic than comic writer. But though Tragedy hath thus far the advantage, yet in another respect its laws are more severe than those of Comedy; and that is in the conduct of the fable. It may be asked then, which of the two dramas is, on the whole, most difficult. To which the answer is decisive. For Tragedy, whose end is the Pathos, produces it by action, while Comedy produces its end, the Humourous, by Character. Now it is much more difficult to paint manners, than to plan action; because that requires the philosopher’s knowledge of human nature; this, only the historian’s knowledge of human events.
It is true, in one sense, the tragic muse has veniae minus; for though grave and pleasant scenes may be indifferently represented, or even mixed together, in comedy, yet, in tragedy, the serious and solemn air must prevail throughout. Indeed, our Shakespear has violated this rule, as he hath, upon occasion, almost every other rule, of just criticism: Whence, some writers, taking advantage of that idolatrous admiration which is generally professed for this great poet, and nauseating, I suppose, the more common, though juster, forms of literary composition, have been for turning his very transgression of the principles of common sense, into a standing precept for the stage. “It is said, that, if comedy may be wholly serious, why may not tragedy now and then be indulged in being gay?” If these critics be in earnest in putting this question, they need not wait long for an answer. The end of comedy being to paint the manners, nothing hinders (as I have shewn at large in the dissertation on the provinces of the drama) but “that it may take either character of pleasant or serious, as it chances, or even unite them both in one piece:” But the end of tragedy being to excite the stronger passions, this discordancy in the subject breaks the flow of those passions, and so prevents, or lessens at least, the very effect which this drama primarily intends. “It is said, indeed, that this contrast of grave and pleasant scenes, heightens the passion:” if it had been said that it heightens the surprize, the observation had been more just. Lastly, “we are told, that this is nature, which generally blends together the ludicrous, and the sublime.” But who does not know
That art is nature to advantage dress’d;
and that to dress out nature to advantage in the present instance, that is, in a composition whose laws are to be deduced from the consideration of its end, these characters are to be kept by an artist, perfectly distinct?
However this restraint upon tragedy does not prove that, upon the whole, it has plus oneris. All I can allow, is, that either drama has weight enough in all reason, for the ablest shoulders to sustain.