As the action ought to be one, it ought, as such, to have order in it; that is, to have a natural beginning, a middle, and an end.  A natural beginning, says Aristotle, is that which could not necessarily have been placed after another thing; and so of the rest.  This consideration will arraign all plays after the new model of Spanish plots, where accident is heaped upon accident, and that which is first might as reasonably be last; an inconvenience not to be remedied, but by making one accident naturally produce another, otherwise it is a farce and not a play.  Of this nature is the “Slighted Maid;” where there is no scene in the first act, which might not by as good reason be in the fifth.  And if the action ought to be one, the tragedy ought likewise to conclude with the action of it.  Thus in “Mustapha,” the play should naturally have ended with the death of Zanger, and not have given us the grace-cup after dinner, of Solyman’s divorce from Roxolana.

The following properties of the action are so easy, that they need not my explaining.  It ought to be great, and to consist of great persons, to distinguish it from comedy, where the action is trivial, and the persons of inferior rank.  The last quality of the action is, that it ought to be probable, as well as admirable and great.  It is not necessary that there should be historical truth in it; but always necessary that there should be a likeness of truth, something that is more than barely possible; probable being that which succeeds, or happens, oftener than it misses.  To invent therefore a probability and to make it wonderful, is the most difficult undertaking in the art of poetry; for that, which is not wonderful, is not great; and that, which is not probable, will not delight a reasonable audience.  This action, thus described, must be represented and not told, to distinguish dramatic poetry from epic:  but I hasten to the end or scope of tragedy, which is, to rectify or purge our passions, fear and pity.

To instruct delightfully is the general end of all poetry.  Philosophy instructs, but it performs its work by precept; which is not delightful, or not so delightful as example.  To purge the passions by example, is therefore the particular instruction which belongs to tragedy.  Rapin, a judicious critic, has observed from Aristotle, that pride and want of commiseration are the most predominant vices in mankind; therefore, to cure us of these two, the inventors of tragedy have chosen to work upon two other passions, which are, fear and pity.  We are wrought to fear, by their setting before our eyes some terrible example of misfortune, which happened to persons of the highest quality; for such an action demonstrates to us, that no condition is privileged from the turns of fortune; this must of necessity cause terror in us, and consequently abate our pride.  But when we see that the most virtuous, as well as the greatest, are not exempt from such misfortunes,