But the times were ignorant in which they lived.  Poetry was then, if not in its infancy among us, at least not arrived to its vigour and maturity:  Witness the lameness of their plots; many of which, especially those which they writ first (for even that age refined itself in some measure), were made up of some ridiculous incoherent story, which in one play many times took up the business of an age.  I suppose I need not name “Pericles, Prince of Tyre,” nor the historical plays of Shakespeare:  besides many of the rest, as the “Winter’s Tale,” “Love’s Labour Lost,” “Measure for Measure,” which were either grounded on impossibilities, or at least so meanly written, that the comedy neither caused your mirth, nor the serious part your concernment[2].  If I would expatiate on this subject, I could easily demonstrate, that our admired Fletcher, who wrote after him, neither understood correct plotting, nor that which they call “the decorum of the stage.”  I would not search in his worst plays for examples:  He who will consider his “Philaster,” his “Humorous Lieutenant,” his “Faithful Shepherdess,” and many others which I could name, will find them much below the applause which is now given them.  He will see Philaster wounding his mistress, and afterwards his boy, to save himself; not to mention the Clown, who enters immediately, and not only has the advantage of the combat against the hero, but diverts you from your serious concernment, with his ridiculous and absurd raillery.  In his “Humorous Lieutenant,” you find his Demetrius and Leontius staying in the midst of a routed army, to hear the cold mirth of the Lieutenant; and Demetrius afterwards appearing with a pistol in his hand, in the next age to Alexander the Great[3].  And for his Shepherd, he falls twice into the former indecency of wounding women.  But these absurdities, which those poets committed, may more properly be called the age’s fault than theirs.  For, besides the want of education and learning, (which was their particular unhappiness) they wanted the benefit of converse:  But of that I shall speak hereafter, in a place more proper for it.  Their audiences knew no better; and therefore were satisfied with what they brought.  Those, who call theirs the golden age of poetry, have only this reason for it, that they were then content with acorns before they knew the use of bread; or that [Greek:  Alis druos] was become a proverb.  They had many who admired them, and few who blamed them; and certainly a severe critic is the greatest help to a good wit:  he does the office of a friend, while he designs that of an enemy; and his malice keeps a poet within those bounds, which the luxuriancy of his fancy would tempt him to overleap.

But it is not their plots which I meant principally to tax; I was speaking of their sense and language; and I dare almost challenge any man to shew me a page together which is correct in both.  As for Ben Jonson, I am loth to name him, because he is a most judicious writer; yet he very often falls into these errors:  and I once more beg the reader’s pardon for accusing him of them.  Only let him consider, that I live in an age where my least faults are severely censured; and that I have no way left to extenuate my failings, but by showing as great in those whom we admire: