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There is another point of comparison, which must not be overlooked. Of the different pow ers required for the tragick and the comick poet, it seems difficult to pronounce which are required to be the most numerous and the high est, supposing that, in each of them, perfect specimens were to be demanded: but, if we except SHAKESPEARE, the powers of the tragick poet, with respect to invention, variety, and knowledge of the human heart, seem general. ly to have been inferiour to those of the comick, To both, this knowledge of the human heart is the source of power. It is true, there are a few. tragedies, besides those of SHAKESPEARE, among which Venice Preserved is perhaps the first, which contain so fine a volume of this knowledge that the candid might be inclined to doubt which way they ought to decide: but, on a summary view, perhaps, including the whole works of SHAKESPEARE, and especially taking MOLIERE into the account, we should say the comick muse has far cutstripped her sister.

Of the Moral Nature of Plays.

By plays is here understood all those theatrical productions, in which there is a prevailing tendency to be serious and declamatory, or tragical. Serious scenes may very properly find their place in comedy; but, when they overpow er laughter, humorous incident, and comick character, the piece is properly classed among plays.

Moral utility may be greatly promoted by every species of dramatick writing; but the authors of plays have often improperly claimed a superiority as moral teachers. It has been strangely maintained, by all adversaries of the drama, and even by some of its friends, that, because comedy is employed to exhibit folly, and pourtray vice, it is the friend of folly and vice. Even had authors any such intention, this would only be possible in a relative and inferiour degree. A relative and inferiour degree of vice and folly, is taught in the temples built and consecrated to the essence of virtue! for, unless the understandings of men were so correct, as accurately to discriminate where virtue ends, and where vice and folly begin, to this evil, whoever may be the teacher, those who are instructed must submit. Whatever the place, and whereever seen, vice, when known, is detested, and folly laughed at ; and where with so hearty a good will, such branded shame, and such effectual contempt, as on the stage?

There is much laughter in life; and yet there are but few modes of exciting laughter. Some have maintained that the consciousness of superiority is its only source. Generally speaking, a thing laughed at is a thing despis ed; and who will intentionally imitate that which he despises? Where is there so incessant a fund of laughter to be found as the stage supplies? Or what writings contain, like a comedy, in so small a compass, so vast a volume of mo

rality? Could the manual of Epictetus be sufficiently familiarized to the unlettered, admirable as it is, it might exhibit a less mixture of errour, but would even then be of inferiour force; for, by the thoughtless multitude, it must still be read as a task while they will always resort to the play-house as to a place of supreme pleasure. Even the sermon on the Mount, justly revered as it is by the most ignorant and the wise, perfectly comprehensible for the simplicity and truth of its precepts, and adored as an emanation from divinity, is yet seldom read, little remembered, and, when read, resorted to rather as an act of piety than a source of pleasure.

These considerations seem to decide in favour of the moral utility of comedy, over every other species of publick exhibition: plays can only enjoy the third rank; for though they may partake of tragedy and comedy, as they cannot so often produce the moral effects of laughter, nor can to the full, attain the dignified and ele vated sentiments of tragedy, they must, as they generally are, be deemed inferiour.

Of the Moral Nature of the Comick-Opera.

Whatever contributes to the happiness of man is of a moral nature: pleasure, therefore, of every kind, which has no decided tendency to produce future pain, is a good that deserves cultivation, in proportion to its magnitude.

Of the mental pleasures, which society at large can enjoy, literature and the fine arts claim

an undoubted precedency. Few indeed are the people who do not derive pleasure from musick; and by the lower orders, musick is seldom heard to such advantage as at the theatre. Their weariness is relieved, their passions soothed, and their hearts are delighted, while they listen. It seems indeed astonishing to recollect that the legislature continues to narrow, and in part to interdict, such sources of innocent delight, and such means of moral instruction.

As in an opera much of the time of performance is devoted to musick, and as likewise, in such productions, a strong portion of insipidity has always prevailed, the highest moral utility is still further lessened: when they are well written, however, this utility is not small; for, as musick itself produces the effects, already. described, a just personification of the manners and follies of men may give such aid, to the part which is good, as to render the whole ex cellent.

BEAUTIES OF THE DRAMA.

SCENE between Sir Edward Mortimer and Wilford, from the Iron Chest," by G. Colman the Younger.

Mort. Wilford,approach me.—What am I to fay For aiming at your life !-Do you not scorn me, Despise me for it?

Wil. L! Oh, Sir!

Mort. You must.

For I am singled from the herd of men,
A vile, heart-broken wretch;

Wil. Indeed, indeed, Sir,

You deeply wrong yourself. Your equal's love, The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of grat itude,

All follow you :-and I!-I owe you all!
Mort. Mark me, Wilford.-

I know the value of the orphan's tear,

The poor man's prayer, respect from the respected:
I feel to merit these, and to obtain them,
Is to taste here below, that thrilling cordial
Which the remunerating Angel draws
From the eternal fountain of delight,

To pour on blessed souls, that enter heaven,
I feel this :-I!-How muft thy nature, then,
Revolt at him who seeks to stain his hand,
In human blood?-And yet it seems, this day
I sought your life.-O! I have suffered madness-
None know my tortures-pangs !-but I can end
them:

End them as far appertains to thee.

I have resolv'd it.-Hell born struggles tear me ! But I have ponder'd on't,--and I must trust thee. Wil. Your confidence shall not be

Mort. You must swear.

Wil. Swear, Sir !-will nothing but an oath then

Mort. Listen.

May all the ills that wait on frail humanity
Be doubled on your head, if you disclose
My fatal fecret! May your body turn
Most lazar-like, and loatlisome; and your mind
More loathsome than your body! May those fiends
Who strangle babes, for very wantonness,

Shrink back, and shudder at your monstrous crime,

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