The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 02Dryden, John
General
The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 02
Dryden, John
English literature
still govern men with the same address, and manage business with the
same prudence; allowing it here (as in the world) the due increase and
growth, till it comes to the just height; and then turning it when it
is fully ripe, and nature calls out, as it were, to be delivered.
With this only advantage of ease to you in your poetry, that you
have fortune here at your command; with which wisdom does often
unsuccessfully struggle in the world. Here is no chance, which you
have not foreseen; all your heroes are more than your subjects, they
are your creatures; and though they seem to move freely in all the
sallies of their passions, yet you make destinies for them, which
they cannot shun. They are moved (if I may dare to say so) like the
rational creatures of the Almighty Poet, who walk at liberty, in their
own opinion, because their fetters are invisible; when, indeed, the
prison of their will is the more sure for being large; and, instead of
an absolute power over their actions, they have only a wretched desire
of doing that, which they cannot chuse but do[1].
[Footnote 1: The earl of Orrery was author of several plays. If the
reader is not disposed to admit, that his habit of composing them,
when tormented by the gout, enhanced their value, it may be allowed to
apologise for their faults.]
I have dwelt, my lord, thus long upon your writing, not because you
deserve not greater and more noble commendations, but because I am not
equally able to express them in other subjects. Like an ill swimmer,
I have willingly staid long in my own depth; and though I am eager of
performing more, yet am loth to venture out beyond my knowledge: for
beyond your poetry, my lord, all is ocean to me. To speak of you as a
soldier, or a statesman, were only to betray my own ignorance; and I
could hope no better success from it, than that miserable rhetorician
had, who solemnly declaimed before Hannibal, of the conduct of armies,
and the art of war. I can only say, in general, that the souls of
other men shine out at little crannies; they understand some one
thing, perhaps, to admiration, while they are darkened on all the
other parts; but your lordship's soul is an entire globe of light,
breaking out on every side; and, if I have only discovered one beam
of it, it is not that the light falls unequally, but because the body,
which receives it, is of unequal parts.
The acknowledgment of which is a fair occasion offered me, to retire
from the consideration of your lordship to that of myself. I here
present you, my lord, with that in print, which you had the goodness
not to dislike upon the stage; and account it happy to have met you
here in England; it being, at best, like small wines, to be drunk out
upon the place, and has not body enough to endure the sea.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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