Such was the state of the English drama when Dryden became a candidate for theatrical laurels.  So early as the year of the Restoration, he had meditated a tragedy upon the fate of the Duke of Guise; but this, he has informed us, was suppressed by the advice of some friends, who told him, that it was an excellent subject, but not so artificially managed as to render it fit for the stage.  It were to be wished these scenes had been preserved, since it may be that the very want of artifice, alleged by the critics of the day, would have recommended them to our more simple taste.  We might at least have learned from them, whether Dryden, in his first essay, leant to the heroic, or to the ancient English tragedy.  But the scene of Guise’s return to Paris, is the only part of the original sketch which Dryden thought fit to interweave with the play, as acted in 1682; and as that scene is rendered literally from Davila, upon the principle that, in so remarkable an action, the poet was not at liberty to change the words actually used by the persons interested, we only learn from it, that the piece was composed in blank verse, not rhyme.

In the course of the year 1661-2, our author composed the “Wild Gallant,” which was acted about February 1662-3 without success.  The beautiful Countess of Castlemaine, afterwards Duchess of Cleveland, extended her protection to the unfortunate performance, and received the incense of the author; who boasts,

  “Posterity will judge by my success,
  I had the Grecian poet’s happiness,
  Who, waving plots, found out a better way,—­
  Some god descended, and preserved the play.”

It was probably by the influence of this royal favourite, that the “Wild Gallant” was more than once performed before Charles by his own command.  But the author, his piece, and his poetical compliment, were hardly treated in a Session of the Poets, which appeared about 1670.  Nor did Sir Robert Howard, his associate, escape without his share of ridicule: 

  “Sir Robert Howard, called for over and over,
      At length sent in Teague with a packet of news,
  Wherein the sad knight, to his grief did discover
      How Dryden had lately robbed him of his Muse.

  Each man in the court was pleased with the theft,
      Which made the whole family swear and rant,
  Desiring, their Robin in the lurch being left,
      The thief might be punished for his ‘Wild Gallant.’

  Dryden, who one would have thought had more wit,
      The censure of every man did disdain,
  Pleading some pitiful rhymes he had writ
      In praise of the Countess of Castlemaine.”

The play itself contained too many of those prize-fights of wit, as Buckingham called them, in which the plot stood absolutely still, while two of the characters were showing the audience their dexterity at repartee.  This error furnishes matter for a lively scene in the “Rehearsal.”