Yet Lucretius laughs at a foolish lover, even for excusing the imperfections of his mistress Nigra μελίχροος est, immunda et fatida άκοσμος Balba loqui non quit, rpavλigei; muta pudens est, etc. But to drive it ad Ethiopem cygnum is not to be endured. I leave him to interpret this by the benefit of his French version on the other side, and without further considering him, than I have the rest of my illiterate censors, whom I have disdained to answer, because they are not qualified for judges. It remains that I acquaint the reader, that I have endeavoured in this play to follow the practice of the ancients, who, as Mr Rymer has judiciously observed, are and ought to be our masters. Horace likewise gives it for a rule in his art of poetry Vos exemplaria Græca Nocturnâ versate manu, versate diurnâ. Yet, though their models are regular, they are too little for English tragedy; which requires to be built in a larger compass. I could give an instance in the Oedipus Tyrannus, which was the masterpiece of Sophocles; but I reserve it for a more fit occasion, which I hope to have hereafter. In my style, I have professed to imitate the divine Shakespeare; which that I might perform more freely, I have disencumbered myself from rhyme. Not that I condemn my former way, but that this is more proper to my present purpose. I hope I need not to explain myself, that I have not copied my author servilely: Words and phrases must of necessity receive a change in succeeding ages; but it is almost a miracle that much of his language remains so pure; and that he who began dramatic poetry amongst us, untaught by any, and as Ben Jonson tells us, without learning, should by the force of his own genius perform so much, that in a manner he has left no praise for any who come after him. The occasion is fair, and the subject would be pleasant to handle the difference of styles betwixt him and Fletcher, and wherein, and how far they are both to be imitated. But since I must not be over-confident of my own performance after him, it will be prudence in me to be silent. Yet, I hope, I may affirm, and without vanity, that, by imitating him, I have excelled myself throughout the play; and particularly, that I prefer the scene betwixt Antony and Ventidius in the first act, to anything which I have written in this kind. PROLOGUE WHAT flocks of critics hover here to-day, 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. I could name more: a wife, and mistress too; Now, poets, if your fame has been his care, Let those find fault whose wit's so very small, For change, become their next poor tenant's guests; Drink hearty draughts of ale from plain brown bowls, For once, may venture to do penance here. Serapion P ACT I SCENE I.-The Temple of Isis Enter SERAPION, MYRIS, Priests of Isis ORTENTS and prodigies have grown so frequent, So unexpected, and so wondrous fierce, That the wild deluge overtook the haste Even of the hinds that watched it: Men and beasts On the utmost margin of the water-mark. Then, with so swift an ebb the flood drove backward, Sea horses floundering in the slimy mud, Tossed up their heads, and dashed the ooze about them. Enter ALEXAS behind them MYR. Avert these omens, Heaven! SERAP. Last night, between the hours of twelve and one, In a lone aisle of the temple while I walked, A whirlwind rose, that, with a violent blast, Cried, Egypt is no more! My blood ran back, ALEX. And dreamed you this? or did invent the story, To frighten our Egyptian boys withal, [Showing himself. And train them up, betimes, in fear of priesthood? SERAP. My lord, I saw you not, Nor meant my words should reach your ears; but what I uttered 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 further. ALEX. 'Tis not fit it should; Nor would the times now bear it, were it true. SERAP. Our faint Egyptians pray for Antony; |