Th' infernal doors, and on their hinges grate Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook Of Erebus. She open'd, but to shut Excell'd her power; the gates wide op'n stood, That with extended wings a banner'd host, Chance governs all. Into this wild abyss, The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave, Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire, But all these in their pregnant causes mixed Confus'dly, and which thus must ever fight, Unless th' Almighty Maker them ordain Under spread ensigns marching, might His dark materials to create more pass through With horse and chariots ranked in loose array; So wide they stood, and like a furnacemouth Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame. Before their eyes in sudden view appear The secrets of the hoary deep, a dark 891 Illimitable ocean, without bound, Without dimension; where length, breadth, and height And time, and place, are lost; where eldest Night And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold Strive here for mastery, and to battle bring Their embryon atoms; they around the flag 900 A vast vacuity: all unawares, Flutt'ring his pennons vain, plumb-down he drops Ten thousand fathom deep, and to this hour Down had been falling, had not by ill chance Treading the crude consistence, half on foot, Half flying; behooves him now both oar and sail. As when a gryfon through the wilderness With winged course, o'er hill or moory dale, Pursues the Arimaspian,' who by stealth Had from his wakeful custody purloin'd The guarded gold: so eagerly the Fiend O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies. At length a universal hubbub wild. 950 1000 Pursuing. I upon my frontiers here Weak'ning the scepter of old Night: first Your dungeon, stretching far and wide. beneath; Now lately Heav'n and Earth, another world Hung o'er my realm, link'd in a golden chain To that side Heav'n from whence your legions fell. If that way be your walk, you have not far; So much the nearer danger. Go, and TRAGEDY: ALL FOR LOVE THE drama is generally a representation of conflict. The conflict may be between two individuals or two factions with opposing interests, ambitions, or desires. Again, it may be between an individual and fate, or between an individual and some established custom or moral law. And at times it may be a conflict within the individual, between duty and inclination, for example. When the hero or chief character in a play triumphs over the forces that are opposed to him, we have, technically, comedy; when he succumbs, we have tragedy. All for Love (acted 1677) is Dryden's version of the story of Antony and Cleopatra. It is the tragedy of a man who cannot make the necessary decision between his clear duty and his infatuation for a woman. It treats, of course, the same theme as in Shakespeare's Antony and Cleopatra, but Dryden's play is much more than a mere revision of Shakespeare's. It is an independent handling of the story. The action is simplified, the number of characters greatly reduced, and the conception of the two main figures is quite different. Structurally All for Love is the better play, and in it the reader is more sympathetically disposed towards Cleopatra and her lover than in Shakespeare's version. John Dryden (1631-1700) is the outstanding figure in English literature at the close of the seventeenth century. He was at the same time poet, dramatist, critic, satirist, and translator. His poetry is occasionally fine, and his critical essays are historically important; but he is best known as the author of several vigorous political satires in verse and numerous plays. The latter fall for the most part into two groups: Restoration comedies and 'heroic plays.' The former are comedies which reflect the spirit and the moral tone of the age which followed the restoration of Charles II to the throne of England. They treat questionable situations with a freedom that is the greater because it is a reaction from the restraint of the puritan régime. Ethically they are thoroughly unsound. The latter are plays of exaggerated character, sentiment, and action, generally written in the heroic couplet (see below, p. 362). All for Love belongs to neither of these groups, but is a return to an earlier and less artificial form of tragedy. In many ways it is Dryden's best claim to remembrance as a dramatist. JOHN DRYDEN (1631-1700) ALL FOR LOVE; OR, THE WORLD WELL LOST PROLOGUE What flocks of critics hover here to-day, As vultures wait on armies for their prey, All gaping for the carcase of a play! With croaking notes they bode some dire event, And follow dying poets by the scent. Ours gives himself for gone; y' have watched your time: He fights this day unarmed, without his rhyme, And brings a tale which often has been told, As sad as Dido's and almost as old. His hero, whom you wits his bully call, Bates of his mettle,1 and scarce rants at all: He's somewhat lewd, but a well-meaning mind; Weeps much, fights little, but is wond'rous. kind. In short, a pattern, and companion fit, Both (to be plain) too good for most of you The wife well-natured, and the mistress true. Now, poets, if your fame has been his care, Allow him all the candor you can spare. They've need to show that they can think. at all. Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow: He who would search for pearls, must dive below. Fops may have leave to level all they can, As pigmies would be glad to lop a man. Half-wits are fleas, so little and so light, We scarce could know they live, but that they bite. But, as the rich, when tired. with daily feasts, For change, become their next poor tenant's guests, Drink hearty draughts of ale from plain. brown bowls, And snatch the homely rasher from the coals: So you, retiring from much better cheer, For once may venture to do penance here. And since that plenteous autumn now is past, Whose grapes and peaches have indulged your taste, Take in good part, from our poor poet's board, • wrinkled |