tastrophe in the fifth act is barbarous, and shocks the audience. Some people, whose judgment I ought to have a deference for, have told me, that they wished I had given the latter part of the story quite another turn; that Artaxerxès and Amestris ought to have been preserved, and made happy in the conclusion of the day; that besides the satisfaction which the spectators would have had, to have seen two virtuous (or at least innocent) characters rewarded and successful, there might have been also a more noble and instructive moral drawn that way. I must confess, if this be an error (as perhaps it may) it is a voluntary one, and an error of my judgment: since in the writing, I actually made such a sort of an objection to myself, and chose to wind up the story this way. Tragedies have been allowed, I know, to be written both ways very beautifully: but since terror and pity are laid down for the ends of tragedy, by the great master and father of criticism, I was always inclined to fancy that the last and remaining impressions which ought to be left on the minds of an audience, should proceed from one of these two. They should be struck with terror in several parts of the play, but always conclude and go away with pity; a sort of regret proceeding from good-nature, which, though an uneasiness, is not altogether disa. greeable to the person who feels it. It was this pas sion that the famous Mr. Otway succeeded so well in touching, and must and will at all times affect peo

ple, who have any tenderness or humanity. If therefore I had saved Artaxerxes and Amestris, I believe (with submission to my judges) I had destroyed the greatest occasion for compassion in the whole play. Any body may perceive, that she is raised to some degrees of happiness, by hearing that her father and husband are living (whom she had supposed dead) and by seeing the enemy and persecutor of her family dying at her feet, purposely, that the turn of her death may be more surprising and pitiful. As for that part of the objection, which says that innocent persons ought not to be shewn unfortunate; the success and general approbation which many of the best tragedies that have been writ, and which were built on that foundation, have met with, will be a sufficient answer for me.

That which they call the poetical justice, is, I think, strictly observed; the two principal contrivers of evil, the Statesman and Priest, are punished with death; and the Queen is deposed from her authority by her own son ; which, I suppose, will be allowed as the severest mortification that could happen to a woman of her imperious temper.

If there can be any excuse for my entertaining your Lordship with this detail of criticisms, it is, that I would have this first mark of the honour I have for your Lordship, appear with as few faults as possible.

Did not the prevailing character of your Lordship's excellent humanity and good-nature encourage me, what ought I not to fear from the niceness of your taste and judgment? The delicacy of your reflexions may be very fatal to so rough a draught as this is; but if I will believe (as I am sure I ought to do) all men that I have heard speak of your Lordship, they bid me hope every thing from your goodness. This is that, I must sincerely own, which made me extremely ambitious of your Lordship's patronage for this piece. I am but too sensible that there are a multitude of faults in it; but since the good-nature of the town has covered, or not taken notice of them, I must have so much discretion, as not to look with an affected nicely into them myself. With all the faults and imperfections which it may have, I must own, I shall be yet very well satisfied with it, if it gives me an opportunity of reckoning myself from this time,

Your Lordship's most obedient,

And devoted humble servant,

Nov. 1702.

N. ROWE.

PROLOGUE.

IF dying lovers yet deserve a tear,
If a sad story of a maid's despair,
Yet move compassion in the pitying fair ;
This day the poet does his arts employ,
The soft accesses of your souls to try.
Nor let the Stoic boast his mind unmov'd;
The brute philosopher, who ne'er has prov'd
The joy of loving, and of being lov'd;
Who scorns his human nature to confess,
And striving to be more than man, is less.
Nor let the men the weeping fair accuse,
Those kind protefiors of the tragic muse,
Whose tears did moving Otway's labours crown,
And made the poor Monimia's grief their own :
Those tears their art, not weakness, has confest,
Their grief approv'd the niceness of their taste,
And they wept most, because they judg'd the best.
O, could this age's writers hope to find

An audience to compassion thus inclin'd,

The stage would need no farce, nor song, nor dance,
Nor capering Monsieur brought from active France:
Clinch, and his organ-pipe, his dogs and bear,
To native Barnet might again repair,

Or breathe, with Captain Otter, Bankside air.

Majestic Tragedy should once again
In purple pomp adorn the swelling scene:
Her search should ransack all the ancients store,
The fortunes of their loves and arms explore,
Such as might grieve you, but should please you more.
What Shakspere durst not, this bold age should do,
And famous Greek and Latin beauties shew:
Shakspere, whose genius to itself a law,
Could men in every height of nature draw,
And copy'd all but women that he saw.
Those ancient heroines your concern should move,
Their grief and anger much, but most their love;
For in the account of every age we find
The best and fairest of that sex were kind,
To pity always and to love inclin’d.
Assert, ye fair ones, who in judgment sit,
Your ancient empire over love and wit ;
Reform our sense, and teach the men t'obey :
They'll leave their tumbling, if you lead the way.
Be but what those before to Otway were:

O, were you but as kind! we know you are as fair.

B