Confusion worse confounded; and Heav'n-gates Pour'd out by millions her victorious bands, 1000 Pursuing. I upon my frontiers here Weak'ning the scepter of old Night: first Your dungeon, stretching far and wide beneath; Now lately Heav'n and Earth, another world Hung o'er my realm, link'd in a golden chain To that side Heav'n from whence your legions fell. If that way be your walk, you have not far; So much the nearer danger. Go, and speed! Havoc, and spoil, and ruin, are my gain." He ceas'd; and Satan staid not to reply, ΙΟΙΟ TRAGEDY: ALL FOR LOVE THE drama is generally a representation of conflict. The conflict may be between. two individuals or two factions with opposing interests, ambitions, or desires. Again, it may be between an individual and fate, or between an individual and some established custom or moral law. And at times it may be a conflict within the individual, between duty and inclination, for example. When the hero or chief character in a play triumphs over the forces that are opposed to him, we have, technically, comedy; when he succumbs, we have tragedy. All for Love (acted 1677) is Dryden's version of the story of Antony and Cleopatra. It is the tragedy of a man who cannot make the necessary decision between his clear duty and his infatuation for a woman. It treats, of course, the same theme as in Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, but Dryden's play is much more than a mere revision of Shakespeare's. It is an independent handling of the story. The action is simplified, the number of characters greatly reduced, and the conception of the two main figures is quite different. Structurally All for Love is the better play, and in it the reader is more sympathetically disposed towards Cleopatra and her lover than in Shakespeare's version. John Dryden (1631-1700) is the outstanding figure in English literature at the close of the seventeenth century. He was at the same time poet, dramatist, critic, satirist, and translator. His poetry is occasionally fine, and his critical essays are historically important; but he is best known as the author of several vigorous political satires in verse and numerous plays. The latter fall for the most part into two groups: Restoration comedies and 'heroic plays.' The former are comedies which reflect the spirit and the moral tone of the age which followed the restoration of Charles II to the throne of England. They treat questionable situations with a freedom that is the greater because it is a reaction from the restraint of the puritan régime. Ethically they are thoroughly unsound. The latter are plays of exaggerated character, sentiment, and action, generally written in the heroic couplet (see below, p. 362). All for Love belongs to neither of these groups, but is a return to an earlier and less artificial form of tragedy. In many ways it is Dryden's best claim to remembrance as a dramatist. JOHN DRYDEN (1631-1700) ALL FOR LOVE; OR, THE WORLD WELL LOST PROLOGUE What flocks of critics hover here to-day, As vultures wait on armies for their prey, All gaping for the carcase of a play! With croaking notes they bode some dire event, And follow dying poets by the scent. Ours gives himself for gone; y' have watched your time: He fights this day unarmed, without his rhyme, And brings a tale which often has been told, As sad as Dido's and almost as old. He's somewhat lewd, but a well-meaning mind; Weeps much, fights little, but is wond'rous kind. In short, a pattern, and companion fit, Both (to be plain) too good for most of you The wife well-natured, and the mistress true. Now, poets, if your fame has been his care, Allow him all the candor you can spare. They've need to show that they can think at all. Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow; He who would search for pearls, must dive below. Fops may have leave to level all they can, As pigmies would be glad to lop a man. Half-wits are fleas, so little and so light, We scarce could know they live, but that they bite. But, as the rich, when tired. with daily feasts, For change, become their next poor tenant's guests, Drink hearty draughts of ale from plain brown bowls, And snatch the homely rasher from the coals: So you, retiring from much better cheer, For once may venture to do penance here. And since that plenteous autumn now is past, Whose grapes and peaches have indulged your taste, Take in good part, from our poor poet's board, • wrinkled ACT I SCENE I. The Temple of Isis (Enter SERAPION, MYRIS, Priests of Isis) Serap. Portents and prodigies are grown so frequent That they have lost their name. Our fruitful Nile Flow'd ere the wonted season, with a torrent So unexpected, and so wondrous fierce, That the wild deluge overtook the haste Ev'n of the hinds that watch'd it: Men and beasts Were borne above the tops of trees that grew On th' utmost margin of the water-mark. Then, with so swift an ebb the flood drove backward, It slipt from underneath the scaly herd: Here monstrous phocae1 panted on the shore; Forsaken dolphins there with their broad tails Lay lashing the departing waves: hard by 'em, Sea horses, floundering in the slimy mud, Toss'd up their heads and dashed the ooze about 'em. (Enter ALEXAS behind them) Myr. Avert these omens, Heav'n! Serap. Last night, between the hours of twelve and one, In a lone aisle o' th' temple while I walk'd, A whirlwind rose that, with a violent blast, Shook all the dome: the doors around me clapt; The iron wicket, that defends the vault, Where the long race of Ptolemies is laid, Burst open and disclos'd the mighty dead. From out each monument, in order placed, 1 seals An armed ghost start up; the boy-king last Rear'd his inglorious head. A peal of groans Then follow'd, and a lamentable voice Cried, Egypt is no more! My blood ran back, My shaking knees against each other knock'd; On the cold pavement down I fell entranc'd, And so unfinish'd left the horrid scene. Alex. (Showing himself) And dream'd you this? or did invent the story. To frighten our Egyptian boys withal, And train 'em up betimes in fear of priesthood? Serap. My lord, I saw you not, Nor meant my words should reach your ears; but what I utter'd was most true. Alex. A foolish dream, Bred from the fumes of indigested feasts, And holy luxury. Serap. I know my duty: This goes no farther. Alex. 'Tis not fit it should; Nor would the times now bear it, were it true. All southern, from yon hills, the Roman camp Hangs o'er us black and threatening, like a storm Just breaking on our heads. Serap. Our faint Egyptians pray for Antony; But in their servile hearts they own Octavius. Myr. Why then does Antony dream. out his hours, And tempts not fortune for a noble day, Which might redeem what Actium lost? Alex. He thinks 'tis past recovery. Scrap. Yet the foe Seems not to press the siege. Alex. Oh, there's the wonder. Maecenas and Agrippa, who can 1 most With Cæsar, are his foes. His wife Octavia, Driv'n from his house, solicits her revenge; And Dolabella, who was once his friend, Upon some private grudge now seeks his ruin: Yet still war seems on either side to sleep. Serap. 'Tis strange that Antony, for some days past, Has not beheld the face of Cleopatra; But here, in Isis' temple, lives retir'd, And makes his heart a prey to black despair. Alex. 'Tis true; and we much fear he hopes by absence To cure his mind of love. Serap. If he be vanquish'd, Or make his peace, Egypt is doom'd to be A Roman province; and our plenteous harvests Must then redeem the scarceness of their soil. While Antony stood firm, our Alexandria Rivall'd proud Rome (dominion's other seat), And Fortune striding, like a vast Colossus, Could fix an equal foot of empire here. Alex. Had I my wish, these tyrants of all nature, Who lord it o'er mankind, should perish, perish, Each by the other's sword; but, since our will Is lamely follow'd by our power, we must Depend on one, with him to rise or fall. Serap. How stands the queen affected? Alex. Oh, she dotes, She dotes, Serapion, on this vanquish'd man, And winds herself about his mighty ruins; Whom would she yet forsake, yet yield him up, This hunted prey, to his pursuer's hands, She might preserve us all: but 'tis in vain. 1 can accomplish This changes my designs, this blasts my counsels, And makes me use all means to keep him here, Whom I could wish divided from her arms Far as the earth's deep centre. Well, you know The state of things; no more of your ill omens And black prognostics; labor to confirm The people's hearts. (Enter VENTIDIUS, talking aside with a Gentleman of ANTONY'S) Serap. These Romans will o'erhear us. But, who's that stranger? By his warlike port, His fierce demeanor and erected look, Alex. Oh, 'tis Ventidius, Our emp❜ror's great lieutenant in the East, Who first show'd Rome that Parthia could be conquer'd. When Antony return'd from Syria last, He left this man to guard the Roman frontiers. Serap. You seem to know him well. first, When Cleopatra there met Antony: A braver Roman never drew a sword; Firm to his prince, but as a friend, not slave. He ne'er was of his pleasures; but presides O'er all his cooler hours, and morning counsels: In short the plainness, fierceness, rugged virtue Of an old true-stampt Roman lives in him. His coming bodes I know not what of ill To our affairs. Withdraw, to mark him better, |