And I know the ancients have one or two examples of tragi-comedies as Plautus hath Amphytrio.But,if we mark them well,we shall find,that they never,or very daintily,match horn-pipes and funerals.So falleth it out,that having indeed no right comedy in that comical part of our tragedy,we have nothing but scurrility,unworthy of any chaste ears;or some extreme show of doltishness,indeed fit to lift up a loud laughter,and nothing else;where the whole tract of a comedy should be full of delight;as the tragedy should be still maintained in a well-raised admiration.
But our comedians think there is no delight without laughter,which is very wrong;for though laughter may come with delight,yet cometh it not of delight,as though delight should be the cause of laughter;but well may one thing breed both together.Nay,in themselves,they have,as it were,a kind of contrariety.For delight we scarcely do,but in things that have a conveniency to ourselves,or to the general nature.Laughter almost ever cometh of things most disproportioned to ourselves and nature:delight hath a joy in it either permanent or present;laughter hath only a scornful tickling.For example:we are ravished with delight to see a fair woman,and yet are far from being moved to laughter;we laugh at deformed creatures,wherein certainly we cannot delight;we delight in good chances;we laugh at mischances;we delight to hear the happiness of our friends and country,at which he were worthy to be laughed at that would laugh:we shall,contrarily,sometimes laugh to find a matter quite mistaken,and go down the hill against the bias,{87}in the mouth of some such men,as for the respect of them,one shall be heartily sorrow he cannot choose but laugh,and so is rather pained than delighted with laughter.Yet deny I not,but that they may go well together;for,as in Alexander's picture well set out,we delight without laughter,and in twenty mad antics we laugh without delight:so in Hercules,painted with his great beard and furious countenance,in a woman's attire,spinning at Omphale's commandment,it breeds both delight and laughter;for the representing of so strange a power in love procures delight,and the scornfulness of the action stirreth laughter.
But I speak to this purpose,that all the end of the comical part be not upon such scornful matters as stir laughter only,but mix with it that delightful teaching which is the end of poesy.And the great fault,even in that point of laughter,and forbidden plainly by Aristotle,is,that they stir laughter in sinful things,which are rather execrable than ridiculous;or in miserable,which are rather to be pitied than scorned.For what is it to make folks gape at a wretched beggar,and a beggarly clown;or against the law of hospitality,to jest at strangers,because they speak not English so well as we do?what do we learn,since it is certain,"Nil habet infelix pauperatas durius in se,Quam qnod ridiculos,homines facit."{88}
But rather a busy loving courtier,and a heartless threatening Thraso;a self-wise seeming school-master;a wry-transformed traveller:these,if we saw walk in stage names,which we play naturally,therein were delightful laughter,and teaching delightfulness:as in the other,the tragedies of Buchanan {89}do justly bring forth a divine admiration.
But I have lavished out too many words of this play matter;I do it,because,as they are excelling parts of poesy,so is there none so much used in England,and none can be more pitifully abused;which,like an unmannerly daughter,showing a bad education,causeth her mother Poesy's honesty to be called in question.
Other {90}sorts of poetry,almost,have we none,but that lyrical kind of songs and sonnets,which,if the Lord gave us so good minds,how well it might be employed,and with how heavenly fruits,both private and public,in singing the praises of the immortal beauty,the immortal goodness of that God,who giveth us hands to write,and wits to conceive;of which we might well want words,but never matter;of which we could turn our eyes to nothing,but we should ever have new budding occasions.
But,truly,many of such writings as come under the banner of unresistible love,if I were a mistress,would never persuade me they were in love;so coldly they apply fiery speeches,as men that had rather read lover's writings,and so caught up certain swelling phrases,which hang together like a man that once told me,"the wind was at north-west and by south,"because he would be sure to name winds enough;than that,in truth,they feel those passions,which easily,as I think,may be bewrayed by the same forcibleness,or "energia"(as the Greeks call it),of the writer.But let this be a sufficient,though short note,that we miss the right use of the material point of poesy.
Now {91}for the outside of it,which is words,or (as I may term it)diction,it is even well worse;so is that honey-flowing matron eloquence,apparelled,or rather disguised,in a courtesan-like painted affectation.One time with so far-fetched words,that many seem monsters,but most seem strangers to any poor Englishman:
Another time with coursing of a letter,as if they were bound to follow the method of a dictionary:another time with figures and flowers,extremely winter-starved.
