EPISTLE THE EIGHTH.

TO

Mr. SOUTHERNE,

ON HIS COMEDY CALLED,

THE WIVES' EXCUSE*.

SURE there's a fate in plays, and 'tis in

vain

To write, while thefe malignant planets reign.

* The fuccefs of this play was but indifferent; but fo high was our author's opinion of its merit, that, on this very account, he bequeathed to this poet the writing of the last act of his Cleomenes; which, Southerne fays, "when it comes into the world, will appear fo confiderable a trust, that all the town will pardon me for defending this play, that preferred me to it." DERRICK

Ver. 1. Sure there's a fate] No two writers were ever of more diffimilar geniufes than Southerne and Dryden, the latter having no turn for, nor idea of the pathetic, of which the former was so perfect a master, and of which his Oronooko and Ifabella will remain lafting and ftriking examples. But Dryden ufed to confefs that he had no relish for Euripides, and affected to defpife Otway. Of all our poets, Southerne was diftinguished by three remarkable circumstances, for the purity of his morals and irreproachable conduct, for the length of his life, and for gaining more by his dramatic labours than certainly any of his predeceffors, or perhaps of his fucceffors.

Dr. J. WARTON.

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Some very foolish influence rules the pit,
Not always kind to fenfe, or juft to wit:
And whilft it lafts, let buffoonry fucceed,
To make us laugh; for never was more need.
Farce, in itself, is of a nafty fcent;
But the gain fmells not of the excrement.
The Spanish nymph, a wit and beauty too,
With all her charms, bore but a single show: 10
But let a monfter Mufcovite appear,

He draws a crowded audience round the year. May be thou haft not pleas'd the box and pit;

Yet those who blame thy tale applaud thy wit:

So Terence plotted, but fo Terence writ. 15. Like his thy thoughts are true, thy language clean;

E'en lewdness is made moral in thy scene. The hearers may for want of Nokes repine; But reft fecure, the readers will be thine. Nor was thy labour'd drama damn'd or hifs'd, But with a kind civility difmifs'd ;

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With fuch good manners, as the Wife did use,
Who, not accepting, did but just refuse.
There was a glance at parting; fuch a look,
As bids thee not give o'er, for one rebuke.
But if thou wouldst be feen, as well as read,
Copy one living author, and one dead:

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The standard of thy ftyle let Etherege be; For wit, the immortal fpring of Wycherly: Learn, after both, to draw fome just design, 30 And the next age will learn to copy thine.

THE Grecian wits, who Satire firft began,
Were pleasant Pafquins on the life of man;

This gentleman brought a comedy on the stage in 1693, called the Wary Widow, or Sir Noify Parrot, which was damned, and he complains hardly of the ili ufage; for the Bear-Garden critics treated it with cat-calls. It is printed, and dedicated to the courtly Earl of Dorfet. Sir Charles Sedley wrote the prologue, and it was ushered into the world with feveral copies of verfes. The audience were difmiffed at the end of the third act, the author having contrived fo much drinking of punch in the play, that the actors all got drunk, and were unable to finish it. See G. Jacob's Lives of the Poets. DERRICK.

Ver. 1. The Grecian wits,] The first edition of this imitation, dedicated to Lord Lumley, in quarto, 1690, is a very defpicable performance, in short, eight fyllable verfes, with an affectation of Hudibraftic humour and diétion, directly oppotite to the ftateliness and majesty of the original. It was a difgrace to Dryden to prefix to it thefe commendatory verfes in conjunction with Afra Belin and Elkanah Settle.

Curru fervus portatur eodem.

Dr. J. WARTON.

At mighty villains, who the state oppreft, They durft not rail, perhaps; they lafh'd, at leaft,

And turn'd them out of office with a jeft. 5
No fool could peep abroad, but ready stand
The drolls to clap a bauble in his hand.
Wife legiflators never yet could draw
A fop within the reach of common law;
For posture, dress, grimace and affectation,
Though foes to sense, are harmless to the na-
tion.

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Our laft redress is dint of verfe to try,
And Satire is our court of Chancery.
This way took Horace to reform an age,
Not bad enough to need an author's rage.
But your's, who liv'd in more degenerate times,
Was forc'd to faften deep, and worry crimes.
Yet you, my friend, have temper'd him fo well,
You make him fmile in spite of all his zeal :
An art peculiar to yourself alone,
To join the virtues of two ftyles in one,

Oh! were your author's principle receiv'd,
Half of the lab'ring world would be reliev'd :
For not to wifh is not to be deceiv'd.
Revenge would into charity be chang'd,
Because it costs too dear to be reveng'd:

It cofts our quiet and content of mind,

And when 'tis compafs'd leaves a fting behind.

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