a polite audience, even where the conclufive ftab is not seen, than the fame act performed in their prefence, when it is occafioned by violent and unpremeditated paffion, as fuddenly repented of as committed. I heartily agree with Addison *, that no part of this incident ought to have been reprefented, but referved for a narrative, with every alleviating circumftance in favour of the hero. This is the only method to avoid the difficulties that unqualify this incident for representation, a deliberate murder on the one hand, and on the other a violent action performed on the ftage, which must roufe the spectator from his dream of reality.

A few words upon the dialogue, which ought to be fo conducted as to be a true reprefentation of nature. I talk not here of the fentiments, nor of the language; for thefe come under different heads: I talk of what properly belongs to dialogue-writing; where every fingle fpeech, fhort or long, ought to arife from what is faid by the former speaker, and furnish matter for what comes after, till the end of the fcene. In this view, the whole fpeeches, from first to last, represent so many links, all connected together in one regular chain. No author, ancient or modern, poffeffes the art of dialogue equal to Shakespear. Dryden, in this particular, may justly be placed as his oppofite: he frequently introduces three or four perfons fpeaking upon

Spectator, N° 44:

the

the fame subject, each throwing out his own fentiments separately, without regarding what is faid by the reft; take for an example the first fcene of Aurenzebe: fometimes he makes a number club in relating an event, not to a ftranger, fuppofed ignorant of it, but to one another, for the fake merely of fpeaking: of which notable fort of dialogue, we have a fpecimen in the first fcene of the first part of the Conquest of Granada. In the second part of the fame tragedy, fcene second, the King, Abenamar, and Zulema, make their separate observations, like so many foliloquies, upon the fluctuating temper of the mob: a dialogue fo uncouth, puts one in mind of two fhepherds in a pastoral, excited by a prize to pronounce verfes alternately, each in praise of his own mistress.

The bandying fentiments in this manner, befide an unnatural air, has another bad effect: it stays the course of the action, because it is not productive of any confequence. In Congreve's comedies, the action is often fufpended to make way for a play of wit. But of this more particularly in the chapter immediately following.

No fault is more common among writers, than to prolong a fpeech after the impatience of the perfon to whom it is addreffed ought to prompt him or her to break in. Confider only how the impatient actor is to behave in the mean time. To exprefs his impatience in violent action with

out

out interrupting, would be unnatural; and yet to diffemble his impatience by appearing cool where he ought to be highly inflamed, would be no less unnatural.

Rhyme being unnatural and difguftful in dialogue, is happily banished from our theatre: the only wonder is that it ever found admittance, especially among a people accustomed to the more manly freedom of Shakespear's dialogue. By banishing rhyme, we have gained fo much as never once to dream that there can be any further improvement. And yet, however fuitable blank verfe may be to elevated characters and warm paffions, it must appear improper and affected in the mouths of the lower fort. Why then fhould it be a rule, that every fcene in tragedy must be in blank verfe? Shakespear, with great judgement, has followed a different rule; which is, to intermix profe with verfe, and only to employ the latter where the importance or dignity of the fubject requires it. Familiar thoughts and ordinary facts ought to be expreffed in plain language; and if it appear not ridiculous to hear a footman deliver a fimple meffage in blank verfe, a vail must be drawn over the ridiculous appearance by the force of cuftom. In fhort, that variety of characters and of fituations, which is the life of a play, requires not only a fuitable variety in the fentiments, but also in the diction.

CHAP.

398

T

CHA P. XXIII.

THE THREE UNITIES.

HE firft chapter accounts for the pleafure we have in a chain of connected facts. In hiftories of the world, of a country, of a people, this pleasure is but faint; because the connections are flight or obfcure. We find more entertainment in biography, where the incidents are connected by their relation to one perfon, who makes a figure, and commands our attention. But the greatest entertainment of the kind, is in the hiftory of a fingle event, fuppofing it interefting; and the reafon is, that the facts and circumstances are connected by the strongest of all relations, that of cause and effect: a number of facts that give birth to each other form a delightful train; and we have great mental enjoyment in our progress from the beginning to the end.

But this fubject merits a more particular difcuffion. When we confider the chain of causes and effects in the material world, independent of purpose, defign, or thought, we find a number of incidents in fucceffion, without beginning, middle, or end: every thing that happens is, in different respects, both a caufe and an effect; be

ing the effect of what goes before, and the cause of what follows: one incident may affect us more, another lefs; but all of thein, important and trivial, are fo many links in the univerfal chain: the mind, in viewing thefe incidents, cannot reft or fettle ultimately upon any one; but is carried along in the train without any clofe.

But when the intellectual world is taken under view, in conjunction with the material, the fcene is varied. Man acts with deliberation, will, and choice: he aims at fome end, glory, for example, or riches, or conqueft, the procuring happiness to individuals or to his country in general: he propofes means, and lays fchemes to attain the end propofed. Here is recognised a capital end or event, connected with fubordinate events or incidents by the relation of caufation. In running over a series of subordinate events, we cannot rest upon any one; because they are presented to us as means only, leading to fome end but we reft with fatisfaction upon the ultimate event; because there, the purpose or aim of the chief perfon or perfons, is completed, and brought to a final conclufion. This indicates the beginning, the middle, and the end, of what Ariftotle calls an entire action *. The story naturally begins with defcribing thofe circumstances, which move the diftinguished perfon to form a

*Poet. cap. 6. See also cap. 7.

plan,