Dryden, to his having read many French Romances.--The truth is, if a
poet would affect the heart, he must not exceed nature too much, nor
colour too high; distressful circumstances, short speeches, and pathetic
observations never fail to move infinitely beyond the highest rant, or
long declamations in tragedy: The simplicity of the drama was Otway's
peculiar excellence; a living poet observes, that from Otway to our own
times,

From bard to bard, the frigid caution crept,
And declamation roar'd while passion slept.

Mr. Dryden seems to be sensible, that he was not born to write comedy;
for, says he, 'I want that gaiety of humour which is required in it;
my conversation is slow and dull, my humour saturnine and reserved. In
short, I am none of those who endeavour to break jests in company, and
make repartees; so that those who decry my comedies, do me no injury,
except it be in point of profit: Reputation in them is the last thing to
which I shall pretend[3].'

This ingenuous confession of inability, one would imagine were
sufficient to silence the clamour of the critics against Mr. Dryden
in that particular; but, however true it may be, that Dryden did not
succeed to any degree in comedy, I shall endeavour to support my
assertion, that in tragedy, with all his faults, he is still the most
excellent of his time. The end of tragedy is to instruct the mind, as
well as move the passions; and where there are no shining sentiments,
the mind may be affected, but not improved; and however prevalent the
passion of grief may be over the heart of man, it is certain that he may
feel distress in the acutest manner, and not be much the wiser for it.
The tragedies of Otway, Lee and Southern, are irresistibly moving, but