long a Course of Time; it is, I say, certain by this general
Approbation, that his Pieces are of the former, not of the latter Sort.
But to go to the Bottom of this Matter, would lead me beyond what I
propose.

Since therefore it is certain, that the strict Observance of the
Critick's Rules might take away Beauties, but not always add any, why
should our Poet be so much blamed for giving a Loose to his Fancy? The
Sublimity of Sentiments in his Pieces, and that exalted Diction which is
so peculiarly his own, and in fine, all the Charms of his Poetry, far
outweigh any little Absurdity in his Plots, which no ways disturb us in
the Pleasures we reap from the above-mention'd Excellencies. And the
more I read him, the more I am convinced, that as he knew his own
particular Talent well, he study'd more to work up great and moving
Circumstances to place his chief Characters in, so as to affect our
Passions strongly, he apply'd himself more to This than he did to the
Means or Methods whereby he brought his Characters into those
Circumstances. How far a general Vogue is the Test of the Merit of a
Tragedy, has been often considered by eminent Writers, and is a Subject
of too complicated a Nature to discuss in these few Sheets. But I shall
just hint two or three of my own Thoughts on that Head. Nature is the
Basis of all Tragick Performances, and no Play that is unnatural, i.e.
wherein the Characters act inconsistently with themselves, and in a
Manner repugnant to our natural Ideas, can please at all. But a Play may
be natural, and yet displease one Sett of People out of Two, of which
all Audiences are composed. If a Play be built upon low Subjects, but
yet carried on consistently, and has no Merit but Nature, it will please
the Vulgar; by which I mean, all the unlearned and ill-educated, (as for
Instance, _George Barnwell_, a Piece calculated for the Many) but it
must be nauseous to the Learned, and to those of improved and exalted