Friends, sit you still, and entertain this troop Where, ere I do resume my present person, [Exit. Cor. How do you like his spirit, Mitis? Mit. I should like it much better, if he were less confident. Cor. Why, do you suspect his merit? Mit. No; but I fear this will procure him much envy. Cor. O, that sets the stronger seal on his desert: if he had no enemies, I should esteem his fortunes most wretched at this instant. Mit. You have seen his play, Cordatus: pray you, how is it? Cor. Faith, sir, I must refrain to judge; only this I can say of it, 'tis strange, and of a particular kind by itself, somewhat like Vetus Comoedia; a work that hath bounteously pleased me; how it will answer the general expectation, I know not. Mit. Does he observe all the laws of comedy in it? Cor. What laws mean you? Mit. Why, the equal division of it into acts and scenes, according to the Terentian manner; his true number of actors; the furnishing of the scene with Grex or Chorus, and that the whole argument fall within compass of a day's business. 1 Art hath an enemy, &c.] Alluding to the old proverb, Ars non habet inimicum nisi ignorantem. Though this may be true, it would come with more propriety from the spectator than the actor; but Jonson knew little of the golden curb which discretion hangs on self-opinion. Cor. O no, these are too nice observations. Mit. They are such as must be received, by your favour, or it cannot be authentic. Cor. Troth, I can discern no such necessity. Cor. No, I assure you, signior. If those laws you speak of had been delivered us ab initio, and in their present virtue and perfection, there had been some reason of obeying their powers; but 'tis extant, that that which we call Comoedia, was at first nothing but a simple and continued song, sung by one only person, till Susario invented a second; after him, Epicharmus a third; Phormus3 and Chionides devised to have four actors, with a prologue and chorus; to which Cratinus, long after, added a fifth and sixth : Eupolis, more ; Aristophanes, more than they; every man in the dignity of his spirit and judgment supplied something. And, though that in him this kind of poem appeared absolute, and fully perfected, yet how is the face of it changed since, in Menander, Philemon, Cecilius, Plautus, and the rest! who have utterly excluded the chorus, altered the property of the persons, their names, and natures, and augmented it with all liberty, ac 2 Cor. No, I assure you, signior, &c.] I have already observed, that the author has afforded no hints to enable us to guess at the person of his friend Cordatus: he has, however, supplied him with a considerable degree of accuracy and learning; and I suspect that few, either on or off the stage, could have furnished, in those days, a better epitome of dramatic history than is here put into his mouth. It must, however, have been caviare to the general. The scholar knows that the first part of this narrative admits of some dispute; a note, however, is not the place to treat of a question which occupies a considerable portion of the profound and acute Dissertation upon Phalaris, by the great Bentley. 3 Upton supposes that Jonson wrote Phormus from "a lapse of memory," and therefore tells us to correct the text into Phormis; but there is no need; Jonson had a better memory than his critic. He well recollected the spelling of Athenæus and Suidas, in whom, particularly in the former, he found most of what he here delivers. cording to the elegancy and disposition of those times wherein they wrote. I see not then, but we should enjoy the same license, or free power to illustrate and heighten our invention, as they did; and not be tied to those strict and regular forms which the niceness of a few, who are nothing but form, would thrust upon us. Mit. Well, we will not dispute of this now: but what's his scene? Cor. Marry, Insula Fortunata, sir. Mit. O, the Fortunate Island: mass, he has bound himself to a strict law there. Cor. Why so? Mit. He cannot lightly alter the scene, without crossing the seas. Cor. He needs not, having a whole island to run through, I think. Mit. No! how comes it then, that in some one play we see so many seas, countries, and kingdoms, passed over with such admirable dexterity? Cor. O, that but shews how well the authors can travel in their vocation, and outrun the apprehension of their auditory. But leaving this, I would they would begin once: this protraction is able to sour the bestsettled patience in the theatre. [The third sounding. Mit. They have answered your wish, sir; they sound. Cor. O, here comes the Prologue. Enter PROLOGUE. Now, sir, if you had staid a little longer, I meant to have spoke your prologue for you, i'faith. Mit. No! how comes it then, &c.] Against this passage, Theobald has written, in the margin of his copy, a flurt on Shakspeare. This jealousy of our great poet, commenced under such respectable auspices, has since become epidemical, and infected almost all his critics. The charge, in the present case, is too absurd for serious notice, or indeed for any notice at all. Prol. Marry, with all my heart, sir, you shall do it yet, and I thank you. [Going. Cor. Nay, nay, stay, stay; hear you? I Prol. You could not have studied to have done me a greater benefit at the instant; for I protest to you, am unperfect, and, had I spoke it, I must of necessity have been out. Cor. Why, but do you speak this seriously? Prol. Seriously! ay, wit's my help, do I; and esteem myself indebted to your kindness for it. Cor. For what? Prol. Why, for undertaking the prologue for me. Cor. How! did I undertake it for you? Prol. Did you! I appeal to all these gentlemen, whether you did or no. Come, come, it pleases you to cast a strange look on't now; but 'twill not serve. Cor. 'Fore me, but it must serve; and therefore speak your prologue. Prol. An I do, let me die poisoned with some venomous hiss, and never live to look as high as the twopenny room again.5 Mit. He has put you to it, sir. [Exit. Cor. 'Sdeath, what a humorous fellow is this! Gentlemen, good faith I can speak no prologue, howsoever his weak wit has had the fortune to make this strong use of me here before you; but I protest— 5 and never live to look as high as the two-penny room again.] The cost of admission to the theatres (such of them, at least, as many of our early dramas were exhibited in) was at this time very moderate. The price of the "best rooms," or boxes, was a shilling; of the lowest places, two-pence; and, as Whalley says, in some play-houses, only a penny. The two-penny room mentioned above was the gallery. Thus Decker: "Pay your two-pence to a player, and you may sit in the gallery." Belman's Night Walk. And Middleton: "One of them is a nip; I took him once in the twopenny gallery, at the Fortune:" The place, however, seems to have been very discreditable, for it is commonly described as the resort of pickpockets and prostitutes. Enter CARLO BUFFONE, followed by a boy with wine. Car. Come, come, leave these fustian protestations; away, come, I cannot abide these gray-headed ceremonies. Boy, fetch me a glass quickly, I may bid these gentlemen welcome; give them a health here. [Exit Boy. I mar'le whose wit it was to put a prologue in yond sackbut's mouth; they might well think he'd be out of tune, and yet you'd play upon him too. Cor. Hang him, dull block! Car. O, good words, good words; a well-timber'd fellow, he would have made a good column, an he had been thought on, when the house was a building— Re-enter Boy, with glasses. O, art thou come? Well said; give me, boy; fill, so! Here's a cup of wine sparkles like a diamond. Gentlewomen (I am sworn to put them in first) and gentlemen, around, in place of a bad prologue, I drink this good draught to your health here, Canary, the very elixir and spirit of wine. [Drinks.] This is that our poet calls Castalian liquor, when he comes abroad now and then, once in a fortnight, and makes a good meal among players, where he has caninum appetitum; marry, at home he keeps a good philosophical diet, beans and buttermilk; an honest pure rogue, he will take you off three, four, five of these, one after another, and look villainously when he has done, like a one-headed Cer • This (Canary) is that our poet calls Castalian liquor, &c.] The poet, the critics say, here draws his own picture. Not so:-the picture is drawn by a licentious buffoon, against whom he takes all possible care to guard the reader. He describes him as "a scurrilous jester, that, more swiftly than Circe, will transform any person into deformity:" and in the speech which follows, he anxiously repeats his caution against giving any credit to his "adulterate ribaldry. He could do no more; yet Aubrey and others perversely take it all for truth, and form their character of Jonson from what is expressly given as a malicious jest! |