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were many excellent poets that fulfilled them: amongst whom none more perfect than Sophocles, who lived a little before Aristotle.

Demosthenes.-Pericles.-Alcibiades.

Which of the Greeklings durst ever give precepts to Demosthenes? or to Pericles whom the age surnamed heavenly) because he seemed to thunder and lighten with his language? or to Alcibiades, who had rather nature for his guide than art for his

master?

Aristotle.-But whatsoever nature at any time dictated to the most happy, or long exercise to the most laborious, that the wisdom and learning of Aristotle hath brought into an art; because he understood the causes of things: and what other men did by chance or custom, he doth by reason; and not only found out the way not to err, but the short way we should take not to err.

Euripides. Aristophanes. Many things in Euripides hath Aristophanes wittily reprehended, not out of art, but out of truth. For Euripides is sometimes peccant, as he is most times perfect. But judgment when it is greatest, if reason doth not accompany it, is not ever absolute.

Cato the grammarian, a defender of Lucilius.t

Cato grammaticus, Latina syren,
Qui solus legit, et facit poetas.
Quintilian of the same heresy, but re-
jected.t

Horace his judgment of Chærillus defended against Joseph Scaliger. And of Laberius against Julius.||

dicated against many that are offended, But chiefly his opinion of Plautus vinand say it is a hard censure upon the parent of all conceipt and sharpness. And they wish it had not fallen from so great a master and censor in the art; whose bondmen knew better how to judge of Plautus, than any that dare patronize the family of learning in this age, who could not be ignorant of the judgment of the times in which he lived, when poetry and the Latin language were at the height; especially being a man so conversant and inwardly familiar with the censures of great men, that did discourse of these things daily Again, a man so amongst themselves. gracious, and in high favour with the emperor, as Augustus often called him his witty manling (for the littleness of his stature); and, if we may trust antiquity, had designed him for a secretary of estate, and Cens. Scal. in Lil. Germ.-Horace.-invited him to the place, which he moTo judge of poets is only the faculty of destly prayed off, and refused. poets; and not of all poets, but the best. Nemo infelicius de poetis judicavit, quàm qui de poetis scripsit.* But some will say critics are a kind of tinkers, that make more faults than they mend ordinarily. See their diseases and those of grammarians. It is true, many bodies are the worse for the meddling with; and the multitude of physicians hath destroyed many sound patients with their wrong practice. But the office of a true critic or censor is, not to throw by a letter anywhere, or damn an innocent syllabe, but lay the words together, and amend them; judge sincerely of the author, and his matter, which is the sign of solid and perfect learning in a man. Such was Horace, an author of much civility; and (if any one among the heathen can be) the best master both of virtue and wisdom; an excellent and true judge upon cause and reason; not because he thought so, but because he knew so, out of use and experience.

* Senec. de brev. vit. cap. 13. et epist. 88. † Heins. de Sat. 265. Pag. 267.

Terence.-Menander.-Horace did so highly esteem Terence's comedies, as he ascribes the art in comedy to him alone among the Latins, and joins him with Menander.

Now let us see what may be said for either, to defend Horace's judgment to posterity, and not wholly to condemn Plautus.

The parts of a comedy and tragedy. The parts of a comedy are the same with a tragedy, and the end is partly the same; comics are called didaσkador of the Greeks, for they both delight and teach the no less than the tragics.

Aristotle.-Plato.-Homer.-Nor is the moving of laughter always the end of comedy, that is rather a fowling for the people's delight, or their fooling. For as Aristotle says rightly, the moving of laughter is a fault in comedy, a kind of turpi

Pag. 270, 271. II Pag. 273, et seq.
T Pag. in comm. 153, et seq.

Sable

tude, that depraves some part of a man's and would inform us: what need we know
nature without a disease. As a wry face anything that are nobly born, more than a
without pain moves laughter, or a de- horse-race, or a hunting-match, our day
formed vizard, or a rude clown dressed into break with citizens, and such innate
a lady's habit, and using her actions; we mysteries?
dislike, and scorn such representations,
which made the ancient philosophers ever
think laughter unfitting in a wise man.
And this induced Plato to esteem of Homer
as a sacrilegious person, because he pre-
sented the gods sometimes laughing. As
also it is divinely said of Aristotle, that to
seem ridiculous is a part of dishonesty, and
foolish.

The wit of the old comedy.-So that what either in the words or sense of an author, or in the language or actions of men, is awry, or depraved, doth strangely stir mean affections, and provoke for the most part to laughter. And therefore it was clear, that all insolent and obscene speeches, jests upon the best men, injuries to particular persons, perverse and sinister sayings (and the rather unexpected) in the old comedy did move laughter, especially where it did imitate any dishonesty, and scurrility came forth in the place of wit; which, who understands the nature and genius of laughter, cannot but perfectly

know.

Aristophanes. Plautus. Of which Aristophanes affords an ample harvest, having not only outgone Plautus, or any other in that kind; but expressed all the moods and figures of what is ridiculous, oddly. In short, as vinegar is not accounted good until the wine be corrupted; so jests that are true and natural seldom raise laughter with the beast the multitude. They love nothing that is right and proper. The farther it runs from reason or possibility with them, the better it is.

Socrates.-Theatrical wit.-What could have made them laugh, like to see Socrates presented, that example of all good life, honesty, and virtue, to have him hoisted up with a pulley, and there play the philosopher in a basket; measure how many foot a flea could skip geometrically, by a just scale, and edify the people from the ingine. This was theatrical wit, right stage-jesting, and relishing a play-house, invented for scorn and laughter; whereas, if it had savoured of equity, truth, perspicuity, and candour, to have tasten a wise, or a learned palate,-spit it out presently! this is bitter and profitable; this instructs

The cart This is truly leaping from the stage to the tumbril again, reducing all wit to the original dung-cart.

Of the magnitude and compass of any
fable, epic or dramatic.

But

What the measure of a fable is.-The fable or plot of a poem defined.-The epic fable, differing from the dramatic. -To the resolving of this question, we must first agree in the definition of the fable. The fable is called the imitation of one entire and perfect action, whose parts are so joined and knit together, as nothing in the structure can be changed, or taken away, without impairing or troubling the whole, of which there is a proportionable magnitude in the members. As for example: if a man would build a house, he would first appoint a place to build it in, which he would define within certain bounds: so in the constitution of a poem, the action is aimed at by the poet, which answers place in a building, and that action hath his largeness, compass, and proportion. as a court or king's palace requires other dimensions than a private house; so the epic asks a magnitude from other poems: since what is place in the one, is action in the other, the difference is in space. So that by this definition we conclude the fable to be the imitation of one perfect and entire action, as one perfect and entire place is required to a building. By perfect, we understand that to which nothing is wanting; as place to the building that is raised, and action to the fable that is formed. It is perfect perhaps not for a court, or king's palace, which requires a greater ground, but for the structure we would raise; so the space of the action may not prove large enough for the epic fable, yet be perfect for the dramatic, and

whole.

What we understand by whole.-Whole we call that, and perfect, which hath a beginning, a midst, and an end. So the place of any building may be whole and entire for that work, though too little for a palace. As to a tragedy or a comedy, the action may be convenient and perfect, that would not fit an epic poem in magnitude. So a lion is a perfect creature in himself,

gether. That it should be one the first way alone, and by itself, no man that hath tasted letters ever would say, especially having required before a just magnitude and equal proportion of the parts in themselves. Neither of which can possibly be if the action be single and separate, not composed of parts, which laid together in themselves, with an equal and fitting proportion,, tend to the same end; which thing out of antiquity itself hath deceived many, and more this day it doth deceive.

though it be less than that of a buffalo or a rhinocerote. They differ but in specie: either in the kind is absolute; both have their parts, and either the whole. There fore, as in every body, so in every action, which is the subject of a just work, there is required a certain proportionable greatness, neither too vast, nor too minute. For that which happens to the eyes when we behold a body, the same happens to the memory, when we contemplate an action. I look upon a monstrous giant, as Tityus, whose body covered nine acres of land, and mine eye sticks upon every Hercules.-Theseus. -Achilles.— Ulyspart the whole that consists of those parts ses.-Homer and Virgil.-Æneas.- Venus. will never be taken in at one entire view. thought the action of one man to be one; -So many there be of old, that have So in a fable, if the action be too great, we can never comprehend the whole together as of Hercules, Theseus, Achilles, Ulysses, in our imagination. Again, if it be too and other heroes; which is both foolish little, there ariseth no pleasure out of the and false, since by one and the same perobject; it affords the view no stay; it is son many things may be severally done, beheld, and vanisheth at once. As if we which cannot fitly be referred or joined to should look upon an ant or pismire, the the same end: which not only the excelparts fly the sight, and the whole con-lent tragic poets, but the best masters of For sidered is almost nothing. The same hap- the epic, Homer and Virgil saw. pens in action, which is the object of methough the argument of an epic poem be mory, as the body is of sight. Too vast far more diffused and poured out than oppresseth the eyes, and exceeds the me- that of tragedy; yet Virgil writing of Eneas, hath pretermitted many things. mory; too little, scarce admits either. He neither tells how he was born, how brought up, how he fought with Achilles, how he was snatched out of the battle by Venus; but that one thing, how he came into Italy, he prosecutes in twelve books. The rest of his journey, his error by sea, the sack of Troy, are put not as the argument of the work, but episodes of the argument. So Homer laid by many things of Ulysses, and handled no more than he saw tended to one and the same end.

What the utmost bound of a fable.Now in every action it behoves the poet to know which is his utmost bound, how far with fitness and a necessary proportion he may produce and determine it; that is, till either good fortune change into the worse, or the worse into the better. For as a body without proportion cannot be goodly, no more can the action, either in comedy or tragedy, without his fit bounds and every bound, for the nature of the subject, is esteemed the best that is largest, till it can increase no more: so it behoves the

action in tragedy or comedy to be let grow, till the necessity ask a conclusion; wherein two things are to be considered; first, that it exceed not the compass of one day; next that there be place left for digression and art. For the episodes and digressions in a fable are the same that household stuff and other furniture are in a house. And so far from the measure and extent of a fable dramatic.

What by one and entire.-Now that it should be one, and entire. One is considerable two ways; either as it is only separate, and by itself, or as being composed of many parts, it begins to be one, as those parts grow, or are wrought to

Theseus. Hercules.-Juvenal. Codrus. -Sophocles.—Ajax.— Ulysses.-Contrary whom the philosopher taxeth, of whom to which, and foolishly, those poets did, another put all the labours of Hercules in one gathered all the actions of Theseus, one work. So did he whom Juvenal menthat recited a volume compiled, which he tions in the beginning, "hoarse Codrus," called his Theseide, not yet finished, to the great trouble both of his hearers and himself; amongst which there were many parts had no coherence nor kindred one with another, so far they were from being one action, one fable. For as a house, consisting of diverse materials, becomes one structure and one dwelling; so an action, composed of diverse parts, may become one fable, epic or dramatic. For example, in

a tragedy, look upon Sophocles his Ajax: Ajax, deprived of Achilles' armour, which he hoped from the suffrage of the Greeks, disdains; and growing impatient of the injury, rageth, and turns mad. In that humour he doth many senseless things, and at last falls upon the Grecian flock, and kills a great ram for Ulysses: returning to his senses, he grows ashamed of the scorn, and kills himself; and is by the chiefs of the Greeks forbidden burial. These things agree and hang together not as they were done, but as seeming to be done, which made the action whole, entire, and absolute.

The conclusion concerning the whole, and the parts. Which are episodes.-Ajax and Hector.-Homer.-For the whole, as it consisteth of parts; so without all the parts it is not the whole; and to make it

absolute, is required not only the parts, but such parts as are true. For a part of the whole was true; which if you take away, you either change the whole, or it is not the whole. For if it be such a part, as being present or absent, nothing concerns the whole, it cannot be called a part of the whole: and such are the episodes, of which hereafter. For the present here is one example; the single combat of Ajax with Hector, as it is at large described in Homer, nothing belongs to this Ajax of Sophocles. You admire no poems but such as run like a brewer's cart upon the stones, hobbling:

Et, quæ per salebras, altaque saxa cadunt. Accius et quidquid Pacuviusque vomunt. Attonitusque legis terrai, frugiferai.*

* Martial, lib. 11. epig. 91.

The English Grammar,'

MADE BY BEN JONSON FOR THE BENEFIT OF ALL STRANGERS,

OUT OF HIS OBSERVATION OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, NOW SPOKEN

AND IN USE.

Consuetudo, certissima loquendi magistra, utendumque planè sermone, ut nummo, cui publica forma est.—QUINCTIL.

Non obstant ha disciplinæ per illas euntibus sed circa illas hærentibus.—QUINCTIL. Major adhuc restat labor, sed sanè sit cum veniâ, si gratiâ carebit : boni enim artificis partes sunt, quam paucissima possit omittere.-SCALIG. lib. I. c. 25.

Neque enim optimi artificis est, omnia persequi.-GALLENUS.
Expedire grammatico, etiam, si quædam nesciat.—QUINCTIL.

THE PREFACE.

The profit of Grammar is great to strangers, who are to live in communion and commerce with us, and it is honourable to ourselves: for by it we communicate all our labours, studies, profits, without an interpreter.

We free our language from the opinion of rudeness and barbarism, wherewith it is mistaken to be diseased: we shew the copy of it, and matchableness with other tongues; we ripen the wits of our own children and youth sooner by it, and advance their knowledge.

Confusion of language, a Curse.

Experience breedeth Art: Lack of Experience, Chance.

Experience, Observation, Sense, Induction, are the four triers of arts. It is ridiculous to teach anything for undoubted truth, that sense and experience can confute. So Zeno disputing of Quies, was confuted by Diogenes, rising up and walking.

In grammar, not so much the invention, as the disposition is to be commended: yet we must remember, that the most excellent creatures are not ever born perfect; to leave bears, and whelps, and other failings of nature.

The Grammar which Jonson had prepared for the press was destroyed in the conflagration of his study. What we have here, therefore, are rather the materials for a grammar than a perfect work.

Jonson had formed an extensive collection of Grammars, which appears to have been both curious and valuable. Howell writes to him in 1629 that, "according to his desire, he had, with some difficulty, procured Dr. Davies's Welsh Grammar, to add to those many which he already had."-Letters, Sec. v. 26; and Sir Francis Kynaston, in speaking of the old infinitives, tellen, &c., says "Such words ought rather to be esteemed as elegancies, since it appears by a most ancient Grammar written in the Saxon tongue and character, which I once saw in the hands of my most learned and celebrated friend, Master Ben Jonson, that the English tongue in Chaucer's time," &c. Much more might be produced to the same effect; but enough is given to show (what indeed was already sufficiently apparent), that our author never trifled with the public, nor attempted to handle any subject of which he had not made himself a complete and absolute master. The Grammar was first printed in the fol. 1640, three years after the author's death. The title was drawn up by the editors of that volume.

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