Before, however, entering upon such a history as we have now described, it
will be necessary to examine what is meant by _dramatic_, _theatrical_,
_tragic_, and _comic_.

What is dramatic? To many the answer will seem very easy: where various
persons are introduced conversing together, and the poet does not speak in
his own person. This is, however, merely the first external foundation of
the form; and that is dialogue. But the characters may express thoughts
and sentiments without operating any change on each other, and so leave
the minds of both in exactly the same state in which they were at the
commencement; in such a case, however interesting the conversation may be,
it cannot be said to possess a dramatic interest. I shall make this clear
by alluding to a more tranquil species of dialogue, not adapted for the
stage, the philosophic. When, in Plato, Socrates asks the conceited
sophist Hippias, what is the meaning of the beautiful, the latter is at
once ready with a superficial answer, but is afterwards compelled by the
ironical objections of Socrates to give up his former definition, and to
grope about him for other ideas, till, ashamed at last and irritated at
the superiority of the sage who has convicted him of his ignorance, he is
forced to quit the field: this dialogue is not merely philosophically
instructive, but arrests the attention like a drama in miniature. And
justly, therefore, has this lively movement in the thoughts, this stretch
of expectation for the issue, in a word, the dramatic cast of the
dialogues of Plato, been always celebrated.

From this we may conceive wherein consists the great charm of dramatic
poetry. Action is the true enjoyment of life, nay, life itself. Mere
passive enjoyments may lull us into a state of listless complacency, but
even then, if possessed of the least internal activity, we cannot avoid