To begin with me. He gives me the compellation of "The Author of a Dramatic Essay"; which is a little Discourse in dialogue, for the most part borrowed from the observations of others. Therefore, that I may not be wanting to him in civility, I return his compliment, by calling him, "The Author of The Duke of LERMA."
But, that I may pass over his salute, he takes notice [p. 575] of my great pains to prove "Rhyme as natural in a serious Play; and more effectual than Blank Verse" [p. 561]. Thus, indeed, I did state the question, but he tells me, I pursue that which I call natural, in a wrong application; for 'tis not the question whether Rhyme or not Rhyme be best or most natural for a serious Subject; but what is nearest the nature of that it represents.
If I have formerly mistaken the question; I must confess my ignorance so far, as to say I continue still in my mistake. But he ought to have proved that I mistook it; for 'tis yet but gratis dictum. I still shall think I have gained my point, if I can prove that "Rhyme is best or most natural for a serious Subject."
As for the question, as he states it, "Whether Rhyme be nearest the nature of what it represents"; I wonder he should think me so ridiculous as to dispute whether Prose or Verse be nearest to ordinary conversation?
It still remains for him, to prove his Inference, that, Since Verse is granted to be more remote than Prose from ordinary conversation; therefore no serious Plays ought to be writ in Verse: and when he clearly makes that good, I will acknowledge his victory as absolute as he can desire it.
The question now is, which of us two has mistaken it? And if it appear I have not, the World will suspect what gentleman that was, who was allowed to speak twice in Parliament, because he had not yet spoken to the question [p. 576]: and, perhaps, conclude it to be the same, who (as 'tis reported) maintained a contradiction in terminis, in the face of three hundred persons.
But to return to Verse. Whether it be natural or not in Plays, is a problem which is not demonstrable, of either side. 'Tis enough for me, that he acknowledges that he had rather read good Verse than Prose [p. 575]: for if all the enemies of Verse will confess as much, I shall not need to prove that it is natural. I am satisfied, if it cause Delight; for Delight is the chief, if not the only end of Poesy. Instruction can be admitted but in the second place; for Poesy only instructs as it delights.
'Tis true, that to Imitate Well is a Poet's work: but to affect the soul, and excite the passions, and, above all, to move Admiration [wondering astonishment] (which is the Delight of serious Plays), a bare Imitation will not serve. The converse [conversation] therefore, which a Poet is to imitate, must be heightened with all the arts and ornaments of Poesy; and must be such as, strictly considered, could never be supposed [to be] spoken by any, without premeditation.
As for what he urges, that, A Play will still be supposed to be a composition of several persons speaking ex tempore; and that good verses are the hardest things, which can be imagined, to be so spoken_ [p. 575]: I must crave leave to dissent from his opinion, as to the former part of it. For, if I am not deceived, A Play is supposed to be the work of the Poet, imitating or representing the conversation of several persons: and this I think to be as clear, as he thinks the contrary.
But I will be bolder, and do not doubt to make it good, though a paradox, that, One great reason why Prose is not to be used in serious Plays is because it is too near the nature of converse [conversation]. There may be too great a likeness. As the most skilful painters affirm there may be too near a resemblance in a picture. To take every lineament and feature is not to make an excellent piece, but to take so much only as will make a beautiful resemblance of the whole; and, with an ingenious flattery of Nature, to heighten the beauties of some parts, and hide the deformities of the rest. For so, says HORACE—