ever, cannot be said to have failed; for it rose by degrees against opposition. The epistle is one of the most elegant and apparently heart-felt effusions of friendship, that our language boasts; and the progress of literature from the Restoration, is described as Dryden alone could describe it. A critic of that day, whose candour seems to have been on a level with his taste, has ventured to insinuate, that huffing Dryden, as he prophanely calls our poet, had purposely deluded Congreve into presumption, by his praise, in order that he might lead him to make shipwreck of his popularity. But such malevolent constructions have been always put upon the conduct of men of genius, by the mean jealousy of the vulgar. with him for the discovery of their follies, and the way of their intrigue under the notions of friendship to their ladies' husbands. "I am afraid you discover not your own opinion concerning my irregular use of tragi-comedy, in my doppia favola. I will never defend that practice, for I know it distracts the hearers; but I know withal, that it has hitherto pleased them for the sake of variety, and for the particular taste which they have to low comedy." "The first that was acted was Mr Congreve's, called The Double Dealer.' It has fared with that play, as it generally does with beauties officiously cried up; the mighty expectation which was raised of it made it sink, even beneath its own merit. The character of the Double Dealer is artfully writ; but the action being but single, and confined within the rules of true comedy, it could not please the generality of our audience, who relish nothing but variety, and think any thing dull and heavy which does not border upon farce. The critics were severe upon this play, which gave the author occasion to lash them in his epistle dedicatory, in so defying or hectoring a style, that it was counted rude even by his best friends; so that 'tis generally thought he has done his business, and lost himself; a thing he owes to Mr Dryden's treacherous friendship, who, being jealous of the applause he had got by his Old Bachelor,' deluded him into a foolish imitation of his own way of writing angry prefaces."-See MALONE's History of the English Stage, prefixed to Shakespeare's Plays. EPISTLE THE TWELFTH. WELL, then, the promised hour is come at last, He moved the mind, but had not power to raise : But both to Congreve justly shall submit, Etherege his courtship, Southerne's purity, O that your brows my laurel had sustain'd! For Tom the second reigns like Tom the first.* Shadwell, who, at the Revolution, was promoted to Dryden's posts of poet-laureat, and royal historiographer, died in 1692: was succeeded in his office of laureat by Nahum Tate, and in that of historiographer by Thomas Rymer. Our author was at present on bad terms with Rymer; to whom, not to Tate, he applies the sarcastic title of Tom the Second. Yet his old coadjutor, Nahum, is probably included in the warning, that they should not mistake the Earl of Dorset's charity for the recompense of their own merit. We have often remarked, that the Earl of Dorset, although, as lord-chamberlain, he was obliged to dispose of Dryden's offices to persons less politically obnoxious, bestowed at the same time such marks of generosity on the abdicated laureat, that Dryden, here, and elsewhere, honours him with the title of "his patron." For the quarrel between Rymer and Dryden, see the Introduction to the "Translations from Ovid's Metamorphoses," But let them not mistake my patron's part, Yet this I prophecy,-Thou shalt be seen, Vol. XII. p. 46. Rymer was an useful antiquary, as his edition of the Fœdera bears witness; but he was a miserable critic, and a worse poet. His tragedy of " Edgar" is probably alluded to in the Epistle as one of the productions of his reign. It was printed in 1678; but appeared under the new title of "The English Monarch," in 1691. *It was augured by Southerne and by Higgons, that Congreve would succeed to the literary empire exercised by Dryden. The former has these lines addressed to the future monarch: Dryden has long extended his command, By right divine, quite through the Muses' land, That empire settled, and grown old in power,— Leaving his deathless works, and thee, behind, The natural successor of his mind, Then may'st thou finish what he has begun ; In the same strain, Bevill Higgons: What may'n't we then, great youth, of thee presage How wilt thou shine in thy meridian light, Who, at thy rising, give so vast a light! When Dryden, dying, shall the world deceive, Whom we immortal as his works believe, Thou shalt succeed, the glory of the stage, Thy first attempt an early promise made; Time, place, and action, may with pains be wrought, Maintain your post; that's all the fame you need; Congreve discharged the sacred duty thus feelingly imposed. See his Preface to Dryden's Plays, Vol. II. p. 7. |