It must also
be admitted, that, by their total neglect of the unities, our ancient
dramatic authors shocked the feelings of the more learned, and
embarrassed the understanding of the less acute, among the spectators.
We do not hold it treason to depart from the strict rules respecting
time and place, inculcated by the ancients, and followed in the heroic
plays. But it will surely be granted to us, that, where they can be
observed, without the sacrifice of great beauties, or incurring such
absurdities as Dennis has justly charged upon Cato, the play will be
proportionally more intelligible on the stage, and more pleasing in
the closet. And although we willingly censure the practice of driving
argument, upon the stage, into metaphysical refinement, and rendering
the contest of contrasted passions a mere combat in logic, yet we must
equally condemn those tragedies, in which the poet sketches out the
character with a few broken common-places, expressive of love, of
rage, or of grief, and leaves the canvas to be filled up by the actor,
according to his own taste, power, and inclination.
The Indian Emperor is an instance, what beautiful poetry may be united
to, we had almost said thrown away upon, the heroic drama. The very
first scene exhibits much of those beauties, and their attendant
deformities.
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