THE AUTHOR'S PREFACE.

TO HIS MUCH HONOURED FRIEND,

MR. HOBBS.

a

SIR, Since you have done me the hondur to allow this poem a daily examination as it was writing, I will presume now it hath attained more length, to give you a longer trouble; that you may yield me as great advantages by censuring the method, as by judging the numbers and the matter. And because you shall pass through this new building with more ease to your disquisition, I will acquaint you, what care I took of my materials, ere I began to work.

But first give me leave (remembring with what difficulty the world can show any heroick poem, that in a perfect glass of nature gives us a familiar and easy view of ourselves) to take notice of those quarrels, which the living have with the dead: and I will (according as all times have applyed their reverence) begin with Homer, who though he seems to me standing upon the poets famous hill, like the eminent sea-mark, by which they have in former ages steered; and though he ought not to be removed from that eminence, lest posterity should presemptuously mistake their course; yet some (sharply observing how his successors have proceeded no farther than a perfection of imitating him) say, that as sea-marks are chiefly useful to coasters, and serve not those who have the ambition of discoverers, that love to sail in untryed seas; so he hath rather proved a guide for those, whose satisfyed wit will not venture beyond the track of others, than to them, who affect a new and remote way of thinking, who esteem It a deficiency and meaness of mind, to stay and depend upon the authority of example.

Some there are, that object that even in the likelyhoods of story (and story, where ever it seems most likely, grows most pleasant) he doth too frequently intermix such fables, as are objects lifted above the eyes of nature; and as he often interrogates his Muse, not as bis rational spirit, but as a familiar, separated from his body, so her replies bring him where be spends time in immortal conver. sation; whilst supernaturally, he doth often advance his men to the quality of gods, and depose his gods to the condition of men.

His successor to fame, (and consequently to censure) is Virgil; whose toils nor vertue cannot free him from the peevishness (or rather curiosity) of divers readers. He is upbraided by some (who perhaps are affected antiquaries, and make priority of time, the measure of excellence) for gaining his renown by imitation of Homer: whilst others (no less bold with that ancient guide) say, he hath so often led him into Heaven, and Hell, till, by conversation with gods and ghosts, he sometimes deprives us of those natural probabilities in story, which are instructive to human life: and others affirm (if it be not irreverence to record their opinion) that even in wit, be seems deficient by many omissions ; as if he had designed a pennance of gravity to himself and to posterity: and by their observing that con

a tinued gravity, methinks they look upon him, as on a musician composing of anthems ; whose excellence consists more in the solemnness, than in the fancy; and upon the body of his work," as on the body of a giant, whose force hath more of strength, than quickness, and of patience, than activity.

But these bold censurers are in danger of so many enemies, as I shall wisely shrink from them; and only observe, that if any disciples of unimitable Virgil can prove so formal, as to esteem wit (as if it were levity) an imputation to the heroic Muse (by which malevolent word, wit, they would disgrace her extraordinary height) yet if those grave judges will be held wise, they must endure the fate of wise

men; who always have but few of their society; for many more than consist of their number (perhaps not having the sullenness to be of it) are taken with those bold flights, and think, 'tis with the Muse (whose noble quarry is men) as with the eagle, who when he soares high stoops more prosperously, and is most certain of his prey. And surely poets (whose business should represent the world's true image often to our view) are not less prudent than painters, who when they draw landscapes entertain not the eye wholly with even prospect, and a continued flat; but (for variety) terminate the sight with lofty hills, whose obscure heads are sometimes in the clouds.

Lucan, who chose to write the greatest actions that ever were allowed to be true (which for fear of contemporary witnesses, obliged him to a very close attendance upon fame) did not observe that such an enterprize rather beseemed an historian, than a poet: for wise poets think it more worthy to seek out truth in the passions, than to record the truth of actions; and practise to describe mankind just as we are persuaded or guided by instinct, not particular persons, as they are lifted, or levelled by the force of fate; it being nobler to contemplate the general history of nature, than a selected diary of fortune and painters are no more than historians, when they draw eminent persons (though they term that drawing to the life) but when by assembling divers figures in a larger volume they draw passions (though they term it but story) then they increase in dignity and become poets.

I have been thus hard to call him to account for the choice of his argument, not merely as it was story, but because the actions he recorded were so eminent, and so near his time, that he could not assist truth, with such ornaments as poets, for useful pleasure, have allowed her; lest the fained complexion might render the true suspected. And now I will leave to others the presumption of measuring his hyperboles, by whose space and height they maliciously take the dimension of wit; and so mistake him in his boiling youth (which had marvellous forces) as we disrelish excellent wine when fuming in the lee.

Statius (with whom we may conclude the old heroics) is as accomptable to some for his obligations to Virgil, as Virgil is to others for what he owes to Homer; and more closely than Virgil waits on Homer, doth Statius attend Virgil, and follows him there also where nature never comes, even into Heaven and Hell: and therefore he cannot escape such as approve the wisdom of the best dramatics; who in representation of examples, believe they prevail most on our manners, when they lay the scene at home in their own country; so much they avoid those remote regions of Heaven and Hell: as if the people (whom they make civil by an easy communication with reason (and familiar reason is that which is called the civility of the stage) were become more discreet than to have their eyes persuaded by the descending of gods in gay clouds, and more manly than to be frighted with the rising of ghosts in smoke.

J

Tasso (who revived the heroic flame after it was many ages quenched) is held, both in time and merit, the first of the moderns; an honour by which he gains not much, because the number he excels must needs be few, which affords but one fit to succeed him; for 1 will yield to their opinion, who permit not Ariosto, no not Du Bartas, in this eminent rank of the heroicks; rather than to make way by their admission for Dante, Marino, and others. Tasso's honour too is chiefly allowed him, where he most endeavors to make Virgil his pattern: and again, when we consider from whom Virgil's spirit is derived, we may observe how rarely human excellence is found; for heroic poesy (which, if exact in itself, yields not to any other human work) flowed but in few, and even those streams descended but from one Grecian spring; and 'tis with original poems, as with the original pieces of painters, whose copies abate the excessive price of the first hand.

But Tasso, though he came late into the world, must have his share in that critical war which never ceases amongst the learned; and he seems most unfortunate, because his errours which are derived from the ancients when examined, grow in a great degree excusable in them, and by, being his, admit no pardon. Such as are his councel assembled in Heaven, his witches' expeditions through the air, and enchanted woods inhabited with ghosts. For though the elder poets (which were then the sacred priests) fed the world with supernatural tales, and so compounded the religion, of pleasure and mystery, (two ingredients which never failed to work upon the people) whilst for the eternity of their chiefs (more refined by education) they surely intended no such vain provision. Yet a christian poet, whose religion little needs the aids of invention, hath less occasion to imitate such fables, as meanly illustrate a probable Heaven, by the fashion and dignity of courts; and make a resemblance of Hell, out of the dreams of frighted women; by which they continue and increase the melancholy mistakes of the people.

Spencer may stand here as the last of this short file of heroic poets; men, whose intellectuals were of so great a making, (though some have thought them liable to those few censures we have mentioned) as perhaps they will, in worthy memory, outlast, even makers of laws, and founders of

empires, and all hut such as must therefore live equally with them, because they have recorded their names. And since we have dared to remember those exceptions, which the curious have against them, it will not be expected I should forget what is objected against Spencer: whose obsolete language we are constrained to mention, though it be grown the most rulgar accusation that is laid to his charge.

Language (which is the only creature of man's creation) hath, like a plant, seasons of Aourishing and decay; like plants, is removed from one soil to another, and by being so transplanted, doth often gather vigour and increase. But as it is false busbandry to graft old branches upon young stocks; so we may wonder that our language (not long before bis time, created out of a confusion of others, and then beginning to flourish like a new plant) shoull (as helps to its increase) receive from his hand new grafts of old withered words. But this vulgar exception shall only have the vulgar excuse; which is, that the unlucky choice of his stanza, hath, by repetition of rhyme, brought him to the necessity of many exploded words.

If we proceed from his language to his argument, we must observe with others, that his noble and most artful hands deserved to be employed upon matter of a more natural, and therefore of a more useful kind. His allegorical story (by many held defective in the connexion) resembling (methinks) a continuance of extraordinary dreams; such as excellent poets, and painters, by being over-studious may have in the beginning of fevers: And those moral visions are just of so much use to human application, as painted history, when with the cousenage of lights it is represented in scenes, by which wo are much less informed than by actions on the stage.

Thus, sir, I have (perbaps) taken pains to make you think me malicious, in observing how far the curious have looked into the errours of others; errours which the natural humour of imitation bath made so like in all (even from Homer to Spencer) as the accusations against the first appear but little more than repetition in every process against the rest; and comparing the resemblance of errour in persons of one generation, to that which is in those of another age; we may find it exceeds not any where, notoriously, the ordinary proportion. Such limits to the progress of every thing (even of worthiness as well as defect) doth imitation give: for whilst we imitate others, we can no more excel them, than he that sails by others maps can make a new discovery: and to imitation, Nature (which is the only. visible power, and operation of God) perhaps doth needfully incline us, to keep us from excesses. For though every man be capable of worthiness and unworthiness (as they are defined by opinion) yet no man is built strong enough to bear the extremities of either, without unloading himself upon others shoulders, even to the weariness of many. If courage be worthiness, yet where it is overgrown into extremes, it becomes as wild and hurtful as ambition; and so what was reverenced for protection, grows to be abhorred for oppression. If learning (which is not knowledge, but a continued sailing by fantastic and uncertain winds towards it) be worthiness, yet it hath bounds in all philosophers; and Nature, that measured those bounds, seems not so partial, as to allow it in any one a much larger extent than in another; as if in our fleshy building, she considered the furniture and the room, alike, and together; for as the compass of diadems commonly fits the whole succession of those kings that wear them; so throughout the whole world, a very few inches may distinguish the circumference of the heads of their subjects: nor need we repine that Nature hath not some favorites, to whom she doth dispepse this treasure, knowledge, with a prodigious liberality. For as there is no one that can be said vastly to exceed all mankind, so divers that have in learning transcended all in some one province, have corrupted many with that great quantity of false gold; and the authority of their stronger science had often served to distract, or pervert their weaker disciples.

And as the qualities which are termed good, are bounded, so are the bad; and likewise limited, as well as gotten by imitation; for amongst those that are extraordinary, either by birth or brain, (for with the usual pride of poets, I pass by common crowds, as negligently as princes move from throngs that are not their own subjects) we cannot find any one'so egregious (admitting cruelty and avarice for the chiefest evils; and errours in government or doctrine, to be the greatest errours) but that divers of former or succeeding times may enter the scales with them, and make the ballance even; though the passion of historians would impose the contrary on our belief; who in dispraise of evil princes are often as unjust and excessive as the common people: for there was never any monàrch so cruel but he had living subjects, nor so avaricious, but that his subjects were richer than himself; nor ever any disease in government so extremely infectious as to make universal anarchy, or any errour in doctrine so strong by the maintainer, but that truth (though it wrestled with her often, and in many places) bath at some season, and on some ground, made her advantages and success apparent: therefore we may conclude, that Nature, for the safety of mankind, hath as well (by dulling and stopping our progress with the constant humour of imitation) given limits to courage and to learning, to wicked

ness and to errour, as it bath ordained the shelves before the shore, to restrain the rage and excesses of the sea.

But I feel (sir) that I am falling into the dangerous fit of a hot writer; for instead of performing the promise which begins this preface, and doth oblige me (after I had given you the judgement of some upon others) to present my self to your censure, I am wandering after new thougbts; but I shall ask your pardon, and return to my undertaking.

My argument I resolved should consist of christian persons; for since religion doth generally beget, and govern manners, I thought the example of their actions would prevail most upon our own, by being derived from the same doctrine and authority; as the particular sects, educated by philosophers, were diligent and pliant to the dictates and fashions of such as derived themselves from the same master; but lazy and froward to those who conversed in other schools: yet all these sects pretended to the same beauty, Vertue; though each did court her more fondly, when she was dressed at their own homes, by the hands of their acquaintance : and so subjects bred under the laws of a prince (though laws differ not much in morality, or priviledge throughout the civil world; being every where made for direction of life, more than for sentences of death) will rather die near that prince, defending those they have been taught, thap live by takiug new from another.

These were partly the reasons why I chose a story of such persons as professed christian religion; but I ought to have been most inclined to it, because the principals of our religion conduce more to explicable vertue, to plain demonstrative justice, and even to honour (if vertue the mother of honour be voluntary, and active in the dark, so as she need not laws to compel her, nor look for witnesses to proclaim her) than any other religion that ever assembled men to divine worship. For that of the Jews doth still consist in a sullen separation of themselves from the rest of human flesh, which is a fantastical pride of their own cleanness, and an uncivil disdain of the imagined contagiousness of others; and at this day, their cantonizing in tribes, and shiness of alliance with neighbours, deserves not the term of mutual love, but rather seems a bestial melancholy of herding in their own walks. That of the ethnicks, like this of Mahomet, consisted in the vain pride of empire, and never enjoined a Jewish separation, but drew all nations together; yet not as their companions of the same species, but as slaves to a yoke: their sanctity was honour, and their honour only an impudent courage, or der. terity in destroying. But christian religion hath the innocence of village neighbourhood, and did anciently in its politics rather promote the interest of mankind than of states; and rather of all states than of one; for particular endeavours only in behalf of our own homs, are signs of a narrow moral education, not of the vast kindness of christian religion, which likewise ordained as well an universal communion of bosoms, as a community of wealth. Such is christian religion in the precepts, and was once so in the practice. But I resolved my poem should represent those of a former age, perceiving it is with the servants of Christ, as with other servants under temporal power, who with all cleanness, and even with officious diligence, perform their duty in their master's sight; but still as he grows longer absent, becomes more slothful, unclean and false. And this, wbo ever compares the present with the primitive times, may too palpably discern.

When I considered the actions which I meant to describe, (those inferring the persons) I was again persuaded rather to choose those of a former age, than the present; and in a century so far removed, as might preserve me from their inproper examinations, who know not the requisites of a poem, por how much pleasure they lose (and even the pleasures of heroic poesy are not unprofitable) who take away the liberty of a poet, and fetter his feet in the shackles of an historian: for why should a poet doubt in story to mend the intrigues of fortune by more delightful conveyances of probable fictions, because austere historians have entered into bond to truth; an obligation which were in poets as foolish and unnecessary as is the bondage of false martyrs, who lie in chains for a mistaken opinion: but by this I would imply, that truth narrative, and past, is the idol of historians, (who worship a dead thing) and truth operative, and by effects continually alive, is the mistress of poets, who hath not her existence in matter, but in reason.

I was likewise more willing to derive my theme from elder times, as thioking it no little mark of skilfulness to coinply with the common infirmity; for men (even of the best education) discover their eyes to be weak, when they look upon the glory of vertue, (which is great actions) and rather endure it at distance than near; being more apt to believe, and love the renown of predecessors, than of contemporaries, whose deeds excelling theirs in their own sight, seem to upbraid them, and are not reverenced as examples of vertue, but envied as the favours of fortune: But to make great actions credible, is the principal art of poets; who, though they avouch the utility of fictions, should not (by altering and subliming story) make use of their priviledge to the detriment of the reader; whose incre.“

dulity (when things are not represented in proportion, doth much allay the rellish of his pity, hope, joy, and other passions: for we may descend) to compare the deceptions in poesie to those of them that professe dexterity of hand which resembles conjuring, and to such we come not with the intention of lawyers to examine the evidence of facts, but are content (if we like the carriage of their feigned motion) to pay for being well deceived.

As in the choice of time, so of place, I have complyed with the weakness of the generallity of men; who think the best objects of their own country so little to the size of those abroad, as if they were shewed them by the wrong end of a prospective: for man (continuing the appetites of his first childhood, till he arrive at his second which is more froward) must be quieted with something that he thinks excellent, which he may call his own; but when le sees the like in other places (not staying to compare them) wrangles at all he has. This leads us to observe the craftiness of the comicks, who are only willing when they describe humour (and humour is the drunkenness of a nation which no sleep can cure) to lay the scene in their own country; as knowing we are (like the son of Noah) so little distasted to behold each other's shame, that we delight to see even that of a father: yet when they would set forth greatness and excellent vertue (which is the theme of tragedy) publickly to the people; they wisely (to avoid the quarrels of neighbourly envy) remove the scene from home. And by their example I travailed too; and Italie (which was once the stage of the world) I have made the theater, where I shew in either sex, some patterns of humane life, that are (perhaps) fit to be followed.

Having told you why I took the actions that should be my argument, from men of our own religion, and given you reasons for the choice of the time and place designed for those actions; 1 must next acquaint you with the schools where they were bred; not meaning the schools where they took their religion, but morality; for I know religion is universally rather inherited than taught; and the most effectual schools of morality are courts and camps: yet towards the first, the people are unquiet through envy; and towards the other through fear; and always jealous of both for injustice, which is the natural scandal cast upon authority and great force. They look upon the outward glory or blaze of courts, as wilde beasts in dark nights stare on their hunters' torches; but though the expences of courts (whereby they shine) is that consuming glory in which the people think their liberty is wasted, (for wealth is their liberty and loved by them even to jealousie (being themselves a courser sort of princes, apter to take than to pay) yet courts (I mean all abstracts of the multitude; either by king or assemblies) are not the schools where men are bred to oppression, but the temples where sometimes oppressors take sanctuary; a safety which our reason must allow them. For the ancient laws of sanctuary (derived from God) provided chiefly for actions that proceeded from necessity; and who can imagine less than a necessity of oppressing the people, since they are never willing either to buy their peace, or to pay for war?

Nor are camps the schools of wicked destroyers, more than the inns of court (being the nursery of judges) are the schools of murderers; for as judges are avengers of private men against private robbers; so are armies the avengers of the publick against publique invaders, either civil or forraign, and invaders are robbers, though more in countenance than those of the high-way, because of their number. Nor is there other difference between armies when they move towards sieges or battail, and judges moving in their circuit (during the danger of extraordinary malefactors) with the guards of the county; but that the latter is a less army, and of less discipline. If any man can yet doubt of the necessary use of armies, let him study that which was anciently called a monster, the multitude, (for wolves are commonly harmless when they are met alone, but very uncivil in herds) and he will not find that all his kindred by Adam are so tame and gentle as those lovers that were bred in Arcadia; or to reform his opinion, let him ask why (during the utmost age of history) eities have been at the charge of defensive walls, and why fortification hath been practiced so long, till it is grown an art?

I may now believe I have usefully taken from courts and camps, the patterns of such as will be fit to be imitated by the most necessary men; and the most necessary men are those who become principal by prerogative of blood, (which is seldom unassisted with education) or by greatness of minde, which in exact definition is vertue. The common crowd (of whom we are hopeless) we desert, being rather to be corrected by laws (where precept is accompanied with punishment) than to be taught by poesie; for few have arrived at the skil of Orpheus, or at his good fortune, whom we may suppose to have met with extraordinary Grecian beasts, when so succesfully he reclaimed them with his harp. Nor is it needful that heroick poesie should be levelled to the reach of common men: for if the examples it presents prevail upon their chiefs, the delight of imitation (which we hope we have proved to be as effectual to good as to evil) will rectifie by the rules which those chiefs establish of their own lives, the lives of all that behold them; for the example of life, doth as much surpass the force of precept, as life doth exceed death.

VOL. VI.

Да