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    THE

    WORKS

    OF

    JOHN DRYDEN,

    NOW FIRST COLLECTED

    _IN EIGHTEEN VOLUMES_.

    ILLUSTRATED

    WITH NOTES,

    HISTORICAL, CRITICAL, AND EXPLANATORY,

    AND

    A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR,

    BY

    WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.

    VOL. VIII.

    LONDON:

    PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET,

    BY JAMES BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.

    1808.




CONTENTS

OF

VOLUME EIGHTH.


                                                                 PAGE.
    Amphitryon, or the Two Sosias, a Comedy,                        1

    Epistle Dedicatory to Sir William Leveson Gower, Bart.          7

    King Arthur, or the British Worthy, a Dramatic Opera,         107

    Epistle Dedicatory to the Marquis of Halifax,                 113

    Cleomenes, the Spartan Hero, a Tragedy,                       181

    Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Rochester,                  191

    Preface,                                                      196

    The Life of Cleomenes, translated from
    Plutarch by Mr Thomas Creech,                                 207

    Love Triumphant, or Nature will prevail, a Tragi-comedy,      331

    Epistle Dedicatory to the Earl of Salisbury,                  337

    Prologue, Song, Secular Masque, and Epilogue, written for
    the Pilgrim, revived for Dryden's benefit in 1700,            437




AMPHITRYON:

OR

THE TWO SOSIAS.

A COMEDY.

    _Egregiam verò laudem, et spolia ampla refertis,
    Una dolo <DW37>ûm si fæmina victa duorum est._      VIRG.




AMPHITRYON.


Plautus, the venerable father of Roman comedy, who flourished during
the second Punic war, left us a play on the subject of Amphitryon,
which has had the honour to be deemed worthy of imitation by Moliere
and Dryden. It cannot be expected, that the plain, blunt, and
inartificial stile of so rude an age should bear any comparison with
that of authors who enjoyed the highest advantages of the polished
times, to which they were an ornament. But the merit of having devised
and embodied most of the comic distresses, which have excited laughter
throughout so many ages, is to be attributed to the ancient bard,
upon whose original conception of the plot his successors have made
few and inconsiderable improvements. It is true, that, instead of a
formal _Prologus_, who stepped forth, in the character of Mercury,
and gravely detailed to the audience the plot of the play, Moliere
and Dryden have introduced it in the modern more artificial method,
by the dialogue of the actors in the first scene. It is true, also,
that with great contempt of one of the unities, afterwards deemed so
indispensible by the ancients, Plautus introduces the birth of Hercules
into a play, founded upon the intrigue which occasioned that event.
Yet with all these disadvantages, and that of the rude flatness of
his dialogue,--resting frequently, for wit, upon the most miserable
puns,--the comic device of the two Sosias; the errors into which
the malice of Mercury plunges his unlucky original; the quarrel of
Alcmena with her real husband, and her reconciliation with Jupiter
in his stead; the final confronting of the two Amphitryos; and the
astonishment of the unfortunate general, at finding every proof of his
identity exhibited by his rival,--are all, however rudely sketched,
the inventions of the Roman poet. In one respect it would seem, that
the _jeu de theatre_, necessary to render the piece probable upon
the stage, was better managed in the time of Plautus than in that of
Dryden and Moliere. Upon a modern stage it is evidently difficult to
introduce two pair of characters, so extremely alike as to make it at
all probable, or even possible, that the mistakes, depending upon their
extreme resemblance, could take place. But, favoured by the masks and
costume of the ancient theatre, Plautus contrived to render Jupiter and
Mercury so exactly like Amphitryon and Sosia, that they were obliged
to retain certain marks, supposed to be invisible to the other persons
of the drama, by which the audience themselves might be enabled to
distinguish the gods from the mortals, whose forms they had assumed[1].

The modern poets have treated the subject, which they had from Plautus,
each according to the fashion of his country; and so far did the
correctness of the French stage exceed ours at that period, that the
palm of the comic writing must be, at once, awarded to Moliere. For,
though Dryden had the advantage of the French author's labours, from
which, and from Plautus, he has translated liberally, the wretched
taste of the age has induced him to lard the piece with gratuitous
indelicacy. He is, in general, coarse and vulgar, where Moliere is
witty; and where the Frenchman ventures upon a double meaning, the
Englishman always contrives to make it a single one. Yet although
inferior to Moliere, and accommodated to the gross taste of the
seventeenth century, "Amphitryon" is one of the happiest effusions
of Dryden's comic muse. He has enriched the plot by the intrigue of
Mercury and Phædra; and the petulant interested "Queen of Gipsies," as
her lover terms her, is no bad paramour for the God of Thieves.

In the scenes of a higher cast, Dryden far outstrips both the
French and Roman poet. The sensation to be expressed is not that of
sentimental affection, which the good father of Olympus was not capable
of feeling; but love, of that grosser and subordinate kind which
prompted Jupiter in his intrigues, has been by none of the ancient
poets expressed in more beautiful verse than that in which Dryden has
clothed it, in the scenes between Jupiter and Alcmena. Even Milbourne,
who afterwards attacked our author with such malignant asperity, was
so sensible of the merit of "Amphitryon," that he addressed to the
publisher the following letter and copy of verses, which Mr Malone's
industry recovered from among Mr Tonson's papers.

    "MR TONSON, _Yarmouth, Novemb. 24.--90._

"You'l wonder perhaps at this from a stranger; but ye reason of it
may perhaps abate somewhat of ye miracle, and it's this. On Thursday
the twentyth instant, I receiv'd Mr Drydens AMPHYTRIO: I leave out
the Greeke termination, as not so proper in my opinion, in English.
But to passe that; I liked the play, and read it over with as much of
criticisme and ill nature as ye time (being about one in ye morning,
and in bed,) would permit. Going to sleep very well pleasd, I could
not leave my bed in ye morning without this sacrifice to the authours
genius: it was too sudden to be correct, but it was very honestly
meant, and is submitted to yours and Mr Ds. disposall.

      "Hail, Prince of Witts! thy fumbling Age is past,
    Thy youth and witt and art's renewed at last.
    So on some rock the Joviall bird assays
    Her ore-grown beake, that marke of age, to rayse;
    That done, through yield'ing air she cutts her way,
    And strongly stoops againe, and breaks the trembling prey.
    What though prodigious thunder stripp'd thy brows
    Of envy'd bays, and the dull world allows
    Shadwell should wear them,--wee'll applaud the change;
    Where nations feel it, who can think it strange!
    So have I seen the long-ear'd brute aspire
    To drest commode with every smallest wire;
    With nightrail hung on shoulders, gravely stalke,
    Like bawd attendant on Aurelias walke.
    Hang't! give the <DW2> ingratefull world its will;
    He wears the laurel,--thou deservs't it still.
    Still smooth, as when, adorn'd with youthful pride,
    For thy dear sake the blushing virgins dyed;
    When the kind gods of witt and love combined,
    And with large gifts thy yielding soul refined.
      "Not Phœbus could with gentler words pursue
    His flying Daphne, not the morning dew
    Falls softer than the words of amorous Jove,
    When melting, dying, for Alcmene's love.
      "Yet briske and airy too, thou fill'st the stage,
    Unbroke by fortune, undecayed by age.
    French wordy witt by thine was long surpast;
    Now Rome's thy captive, and by thee wee taste
    Of their rich dayntyes; but so finely drest,
    Theirs was a country meal, thine a triumphant feast.
      "If this to thy necessityes wee ow,
    O, may they greater still and greater grow!
    Nor blame the wish; Plautus could write in chaines,
    Wee'll blesse thy wants, while wee enjoy thy pains.
    Wealth makes the poet lazy, nor can fame,
    That gay attendant of a spritely flame,
    A Dorset or a Wycherly invite,
    Because they feel no pinching wants, to write.
      "Go on! endenizon the Romane slave;
    Let an eternal spring adorne his grave;
    His ghost would gladly all his fame submitt
    To thy strong judgment and thy piercing witt.
    Purged by thy hand, he speaks immortall sense,
    And pleases all with modish excellence.
    Nor would we have thee live on empty praise
    The while, for, though we cann't restore the bays,
    While thou writ'st thus,--to pay thy merites due,
    Wee'll give the claret and the pension too."

Milbourne concludes, by desiring to be supplied with such of our
author's writings, as he had not already, to be sent to Yarmouth in
Norfolk, where he probably had then a living.

"Amphitryon" was produced in the same year with "Don Sebastian;" and
although it cannot be called altogether an original performance, yet it
contains so much original writing as to shew, that our author's vein
of poetry was, in his advanced age, distinguished by the same rapid
fluency, as when he first began to write for the stage.

This comedy was acted and printed in 1690. It was very favourably
received; and continued long to be what is called a stock-play.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: This caution is given by Mercury in the prologue.

    "Nunc internosse ut vos possitis facilius,
    Ego has habebo hic usque in petaso pinnulas,
    Tum meo patri autem torulus inerit aureus
    Sub petaso: Id signum Amphitruoni non erit.
    Ea signa nemo horumce familiarium
    Videri poterit; verum vos videbitis."]




TO

THE HONOURABLE

SIR WILLIAM LEVESON GOWER,

BARONET.[2]


There is one kind of virtue which is inborn in the nobility, and indeed
in most of the ancient families of this nation; they are not apt to
insult on the misfortunes of their countrymen. But you, sir, I may
tell it without flattery, have grafted on this natural commiseration,
and raised it to a nobler virtue. As you have been pleased to honour
me, for a long time, with some part of your esteem, and your good
will; so, in particular, since the late Revolution, you have increased
the proofs of your kindness to me; and not suffered the difference of
opinions, which produce such hatred and enmity in the brutal part of
human kind, to remove you from the settled basis of your good nature,
and good sense. This nobleness of yours, had it been exercised on an
enemy, had certainly been a point of honour, and as such I might have
justly recommended it to the world; but that of constancy to your
former choice, and the pursuance of your first favours, are virtues
not over-common amongst Englishmen. All things of honour have, at
best, somewhat of ostentation in them, and self-love; there is a pride
of doing more than is expected from us, and more than others would
have done. But to proceed in the same track of goodness, favour, and
protection, is to shew that a man is acted by a thorough principle: it
carries somewhat of tenderness in it, which is humanity in a heroical
degree; it is a kind of unmoveable good-nature; a word which is
commonly despised, because it is so seldom practised. But, after all,
it is the most generous virtue, opposed to the most degenerate vice,
which is that of ruggedness and harshness to our fellow-creatures.

It is upon this knowledge of you, sir, that I have chosen you, with
your permission, to be the patron of this poem. And as, since this
wonderful Revolution, I have begun with the best pattern of humanity,
the Earl of Leicester, I shall continue to follow the same method, in
all to whom I shall address; and endeavour to pitch on such only, as
have been pleased to own me, in this ruin of my small fortune; who,
though they are of a contrary opinion themselves, yet blame not me for
adhering to a lost cause; and judging for myself, what I cannot chuse
but judge, so long as I am a patient sufferer, and no disturber of the
government. Which, if it be a severe penance, as a great wit has told
the world, it is at least enjoined me by myself: and Sancho Pança, as
much fool as I, was observed to discipline his body no farther than he
found he could endure the smart.

You see, sir, I am not entertaining you like Ovid, with a lamentable
epistle from Pontus: I suffer no more than I can easily undergo; and so
long as I enjoy my liberty, which is the birth-right of an Englishman,
the rest shall never go near my heart. The merry philosopher is more to
my humour than the melancholic; and I find no disposition in myself to
cry, while the mad world is daily supplying me with such occasions of
laughter. The more reasonable sort of my countrymen have shewn so much
favour to this piece, that they give me no doubt of their protection
for the future.

As you, sir, have been pleased to follow the example of their goodness,
in favouring me; so give me leave to say that I follow yours, in this
dedication to a person of a different persuasion. Though I must confess
withal, that I have had a former encouragement from you for this
address; and the warm remembrance of your noble hospitality to me, at
Trentham[3], when some years ago I visited my friends and relations
in your country, has ever since given me a violent temptation to this
boldness.

It is true, were this comedy wholly mine, I should call it a trifle,
and perhaps not think it worth your patronage; but, when the names of
Plautus and Moliere are joined in it, that is, the two greatest names
of ancient