fire as only one entire arch of fire from this to the other side 100 the bridge, and in a bow up the hill for an arch of above a mile long it made me weep to see it. and all on fire and flaming at once; flames made, and the cracking of houses at their ruin. So home with a sad heart.

The churches, houses, and a horrid noise the

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Farewell!

(From Diary)

May 31, 1669. Thus ends all that I doubt I shall ever be able to do with my own eyes in the keeping of my Journal, I being not able to do it any longer, having done now so long as to undo my eyes almost every time that I take a pen in my hand; and therefore, whatever comes of it, I must forbear: 5 and therefore resolve from this time forward to have it kept by my people in long-hand, and must be contented to set down no more than is fit for them and all the world to know; or if there be any thing, I must endeavour to keep a margin in my book open, to add here and there a note in short-hand 10 with my own hand. And so I betake myself to that course, which is almost as much as to see myself go into my grave; for which, and all the discomforts that will accompany my being blind, the God prepare me! S. P.

JOHN DRYDEN

Preface to Dryden and Davenant's "The Tempest " The writing of prefaces to plays was probably invented by some very ambitious poet, who never thought he had enough; perhaps by some ape of the French eloquence, which uses to make a business of a letter of gallantry an examen of a farce; and, in short, a great pomp and ostentation of words on every 5 trifle. This is certainly the talent of that nation, and ought

not to be invaded by any other. They do that out of gaiety which would be an imposition upon us.

We may satisfy our selves with surmounting them in the 10 scene, and safely leave them those trappings of writing and flourishes of the pen with which they do adorn the borders of their plays, and which are indeed no more than good landscapes to a very indifferent picture. I must proceed no further in this argument, lest I run my self beyond my excuse for writing 15 this. Give me leave therefore to tell you, reader, that I do it not to set a value on anything I have written in this play, but out of gratitude to the memory of Sir William Davenant, who did me the honour to join me with him in the alteration of it.

20 It was originally Shakespear's, a poet for whom he had particularly a high veneration, and whom he first taught me to admire. The play itself had formerly been acted with great success in the Blackfriars; and our excellent Fletcher had so great a value for it that he thought fit to make use of 25 the same design, not much varied, a second time. Those who have seen his Sea-Voyage, may easily discern that it was a copy of Shakespear's Tempest: the storm, the desert island, and the woman who had never seen a man, are all sufficient testimonies of it. But Fletcher was not the only poet who 30 made use of Shakespear's plot: Sir John Suckling, a professed admirer of our author, has followed his footsteps in his Goblins; his Rogmella being an open imitation of Shakespear's Miranda, and his spirits, though counterfeit, yet are copied from Ariel.

35 But Sir William Davenant, as he was a man of quick and piercing imagination, soon found that somewhat might be added to the design of Shakespear of which neither Fletcher nor Suckling had ever thought; and therefore to put the last hand to it, he designed the counterpart to Shakespear's 40 plot, namely, that of a man who had never seen a woman;

that by this means those two characters of innocence and love might the more illustrate and commend each other. This excellent contrivance he was pleased to communicate to me, and to desire my assistance in it. I confess, that from the very first moment it so pleased me, that I never 45 writ anything with more delight. I must likewise do him that justice to acknowledge that my writing received daily his amendments, and that is the reason why it is not so faulty as the rest which I have done without the help or correction of so judicious a friend. The comical part of the 50 sailors were also of his invention and for the most part his writing, as you will easily discover by the style.

In the time I writ with him, I had the opportunity to observe somewhat more nearly of him than I had formerly done, when I had only a bare acquaintance with him. I 55 found him then of so quick a fancy, that nothing was proposed to him on which he could not suddenly produce a thought extremely pleasant and surprising; and those first thoughts of his, contrary to the old Latin proverb, were not always the least happy. And as his fancy was quick, so likewise 60 were the products of it remote and new. He borrowed not of any other; and his imaginations were such as could not easily enter into any other man. His corrections were sober and judicious; and he corrected his own writings much more severely than those of another man, bestowing twice the 65 time and labour in polishing which he used in invention.

It had perhaps been easy enough for me to have arrogated more to my self than was my due, in the writing of this play, and to have passed by his name with silence in the publication of it with the same ingratitude which others have used 70 to him, whose writings he hath not only corrected, as he hath done this, but has had a greater inspection over them, and sometimes added whole scenes together, which may as easily be distinguished from the rest as true gold from coun

75 terfeit by the weight. But besides the unworthiness of the action which deterred me from it (there being nothing so base as to rob the dead of his reputation) I am satisfied I could never have received so much honour, in being thought the author of any poem, how excellent soever, as I shall 80 from the joining my imperfections with the merit and name of Shakespear and Sir William Davenant.

Mac Flecknoe

All human things are subject to decay,
And, when fate summons, monarchs must obey.
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
Was called to empire, and had governed long;
In prose and verse, was owned without dispute,
Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute.
This aged prince, now flourishing in peace,
And blest with issue of a large increase,
Worn out with business, did at length debate
To settle the succession of the state;
And, pondering which of all his sons was fit
To reign and wage immortal war with wit,
Cried, ""Tis resolved, for Nature pleads that he
Should only rule who most resembles me.

Shadwell alone my perfect image bears,

Mature in dulness from his tender years;
Shadwell alone of all my sons is he

Who stands confirmed in full stupidity.

The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
But Shadwell never deviates into sense.
Some beams of wit on other souls may fall,
Strike through, and make a lucid interval;
But Shadwell's genuine night admits no ray,
His rising fogs prevail upon the day.
Besides, his goodly fabric fills the eye

And seems designed for thoughtless majesty,

35

Thoughtless as monarch oaks that shade the plain,
And, spread in solemn state, supinely reign.
Heywood and Shirley were but types of thee,
Thou last great prophet of tautology.

Even I, a dunce of more renown than they,
Was sent before but to prepare thy way,
And coarsely clad in Norwich drugget came
To teach the nations in thy greater name.

This is thy province, this thy wondrous way,
New humors to invent for each new play:
This is that boasted bias of thy mind,
By which one way to dulness 'tis inclined,
Which makes thy writings lean on one side still,
And, in all changes, that way bends thy will.
Nor let thy mountain belly make pretence
Of likeness; thine's a tympany of sense.
A tun of man in thy large bulk is writ,
But sure thou art but a kilderkin of wit.
Like mine, thy gentle numbers feebly creep;
Thy tragic muse gives smiles; thy comic, sleep.
With whate'er gall thou set'st thyself to write,
Thy inoffensive satires never bite;

In thy felonious heart though venom lies,

It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies.

Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame

In keen iambics, but mild anagram.

Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command
Some peaceful province in Acrostic Land.

There thou mayest wings display and altars raise,
And torture one poor word ten thousand ways;
Or, if thou wouldst thy different talents suit,
Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute."
He said, but his last words were scarcely heard,
For Bruce and Longville had a trap prepared,
And down they sent the yet declaiming bard.

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