+Terence+'s Stile was generally more refin'd and pure, and withal more elaborate than this Poet's; yet undoubtedly, +Plautus+ was a most absolute Master of his Tongue, and in many Places there appear such a Sharpness and Liveliness of Expression, nay and such a Neatness and Politeness too, that is scarce to be found in +Terence+; and this, perhaps, may have occasion'd +Varro+ to say, +That if the Muses were to speak Latin, they wou'd certainly make use of his very Stile+; and +Tanaquill Faber+ to call +Plautus+, +The very Fountain of pure Latin+. As to +Wit+ and +Raillery+, +Terence+ might by no means be compared to him; then he is not always so happy, but often degenerates to a Meanness that +Terence+ wou'd never have been guilty of; and tho' his +Jests+ and +Repartees+ were sometimes admirable, and often far above +Terence+'s, yet they were many times as much below him, and by their Trifling and Quibbling, appear to have been calculated for the Mob. This, probably, made +Rapin+ observe, +That he says the best Things in the World, and yet very often he says the most wretched.+ A little before he says, +_Plautus_ is ingenious in his Designs, happy in his Imaginations, fruitful in his Invention; yet, that there are some insipid Jests that escape from him in the Taste of _Horace_; and his good Sayings that make the People laugh, make sometimes the honester sort to pity him.+ The most remarkable Thing in his Stile, is the natural and unaffected +Easiness+ of it, I mean in opposition to +Stiffness+, which with the true +Elegance+ and +Propriety+ of the +Latin+ Tongue in +Common Discourse+, seems almost its distinguishing Character, and sets him above any other +Roman+ Author in that respect. 'Tis true, +Terence+ has all these Excellencies, and perhaps is more exact in +Propriety of Terms+, and in his Choice of +Words+, yet his extream Closeness and great Elaborateness, I presume, has made it somewhat less +Free+ and +Familiar+, or at least it wou'd be so if any other Man of less Judgment had managed it. So that what I mean is, that +Plautus+'s Stile ought rather to be imitated for +Common Discourse+ than +Terence+'s. +Plautus+ had the Misfortune of living in a worser Age than +Terence+, therefore there must be a larger Allowance for his +Obsolete Words+, his +Puns+, and +Quibbles+, as well as those Words that were peculiar to the Theatre and his Subjects, which, if once transplanted, wou'd never thrive elsewhere.

Next, may be consider'd our Authors +Characters+; and in that point indeed, +Terence+ triumphs without a Rival, as was observ'd in the +Preface+ to that Author; and for a just and close Observance of +Nature+, perhaps no Man living ever excell'd him. It ought to be observ'd, that +Plautus+ was somewhat poor, and made it his princ.i.p.al Aim to please and tickle the Common People; and since they were almost always delighted with something new, strange, and unusual, the better to humour them, he was not only frequently extravagant in his +Expressions+, but likewise in his +Characters+ too, and drew Men often more Vicious, more Covetous, more Foolish, &c. than generally they were; and this to set the People a gazing and wondering. With these sort of +Characters+ many of our modern +Comedies+ abound, which makes 'em too much degenerate into +Farce+, which seldom fail of pleasing the Mob. But our Author had not many of these; for a great part of 'em were very true and natural, and such as may stand the Test of the severest Judges. His two most remarkable +Characters+, are his +Miser+, and his +Bragadocio+; and that the Reader may the more clearly understand the nature of these +Characters+, their Resemblance to some of ours, and their Unlikeness to those of +Terence+, I shall give a Translation of some part of 'em. First then, take the First Act of his Third Comedy call'd +Aulularia+, which begins with the Old Covetous Fellow and his Maid.

_+Euclio+ and +Staphila+._

_Euc._ Out-a-doors, I say: Come out. I'll fetch ye out with a Horse-pox, for a d.a.m.nable, prying, nine-ey'd Witch.

_Sta._ Why do you misuse a poor Rogue at this rate?

_Euc._ To make ye a poor Rogue as long as you live, like a Jade as you are.

_Sta._ But why, Sir, am I thrust out-a-doors now?

_Euc._ Must I give you an account, you hempen b.i.t.c.h?---- Get you from the Door:-- that way:-- See how the Jade moves.---- Observe what you'll meet with. If I take a good Cudgel or a Whip, 'sbud, I shall soon put you out o' your Snails pace.

_Sta. softly:_] Wou'd I were hang'd out o' the way, rather than be bound to serve such an old Rogue.

_Euc._ How the Jipsey mutters to her self!---- Faith, I shall spoil those d.a.m.n'd eyes, then look what I'm doing if you can.-- Huzzy, go further off:-- Further still:-- Further still:---- Still, I say.---- So! stand there.---- Now, you Baggage, stir one step, move a hairs breadth, or look back i' the least till I speak, and by c.o.c.ks-nowns, I'll hang y' up in an instant.-- [_To himself, going off._] I ne're met with a more subtle old Hag than this i' my days: I'm cursedly afraid this Witch shou'd trap me in my discourse, and discover the place where I've hid my Gold: Troth, I believe the consuming Jade has Eyes in her Breech.---- Now for my Gold, that has cost me such a woful deal of trouble, I'll go see whether that be safe as I hid it.

_Exit +Euclio+._

_+Staphila+ alone._

As I live, I can't devise or imagine what Evil Genius or Madness has possess'd my Master; he uses me so inhumanely; and kicks me out a doors ten times a day. Troth, it puzzles me strangely to find out the meaning of his crazy Whims: He watches whole Nights together; and sits all day long within doors, like a lame Cobler upon his Stall.---- Well, considering these Plagues, and the difficulty of concealing my young Mistresses Labour, now at hand, I find no way but making a short cut, and hanging my self.

_Re-enter +Euclio+._

_Euc._ Now I've found all well within doors, my mind's a little at ease.---- Now come in, and keep House.

_Sta._ What, for fear it shou'd be stolen away? There's no Plunder for Thieves; there's nothing but Emptiness and Cobwebs.

_Euc._ I'll warrant ye, I must keep a House like an Emperor for your sake, you old Sorceress? Huzzy, I'll have every Cobweb taken care of, and preserv'd.

I'm very poor, I confess; but I patiently bear what the G.o.ds lay upon me.---- Get ye in, and make fast the door; I'll be back presently. Take a special care you don't let e're a Soul come within the doors; and that they mightn't pretend an Excuse to borrow Fire, I'll ha' ye put it all out: If there be any now, out with't in an instant. If they want Water, tell 'em the Pump is dry; if they wou'd borrow a Knife, an Axe, a Mortar, or a Pestil, as Neighbours us'd to do, tell 'em the House was robb'd, and they're all stolen. 'Sbud, I'll ha' no body set a step within my House when I'm gone; therefore if _Good-luck_ her self shou'd come, I charge ye keep her out.

_Sta._ Troth, you needn't fear her coming; for were she at the Threshold, she'd ne're come in.

_Euc._ Hold your prating Tongue, and get ye in.

_Sta._ To please you, I'll do both.

_Euc._ And besure you secure the Door with two great Bolts: I'll be here instantly.

_Exit +Staphila+._

_+Euclio+ alone._

O, I'm wretchedly perplex'd that I'm forc'd to go out a doors now; and troth, it goes sore against my mind; however, 'tis upon sure grounds. For now's the time for our Officer to distribute the Money to the Poor: Now if I shou'd be negligent, and not be among the Beggars, I'm afraid the World wou'd presently conclude, that I had got Gold at home. For 'tis n't likely such a poor Fellow as I pretend to be, shou'd so little value Money, as not to be there. Notwithstanding my restless care of concealing this Gold, it strangely runs in my Head, that all the World knows of it, and every body seems to be more obliging, and to complement me more than ever. They meet me, stay me, embrace me, enquire after my Health, my Welfare, and every thing.---- Well, I'll go, and be back again as soon as possibly.

_Exit._

Here we see a considerable deal of the strange Nature of this old miserable Fellow; and this +Character+ he has carry'd through the whole Play: But to see his Humour a little more perfectly, take part of the fourth Scene of the second Act; where the Servant +Strobulus+ and the two Cooks are discoursing about this Miser.

_+Strobulus+ and +Congrio+._

_Stro._ A Pumice-stone is not half so dry as that old Huncks.

_Con._ Say ye so, introth?

_Stro._ Take this from me. If the least Smoke shou'd chance to fly out of his House, he strait allarms the Town, exclaims against Heaven and Earth, that he's undone, and ruin'd for ever!---- I'll tell ye: whene're he goes to Bed he tyes a Bladder at his Nose.

_Con._ What for?

_Stro._ For fear of losing part of his Soul when he's asleep.

_Con._ And doesn't he plug up his lower Bung-hole too, lest any shou'd steal out that way?

_Stro._ 'Tis civil to believe me, since I do you.

_Con._ Why, truly, I do believe ye.

_Stro._ Did you never hear, how it goes to the Soul of him to pour out the Water he has once wash'd his hands in?

_Con._ Do'st think, Boy, we shall be able to squeeze out a swinging sum of Money of this old Gripes, to purchase our Freedom with?

_Stro._ Troth, shou'd ye beg Hunger it self of him, the Wretch wou'd deny ye. Nay more; whenever he gets his Nails to be cut, he carefully sc.r.a.pes up all the Parings, and saves 'em.

_Con._ Why, faith, this is the most miserable Cur upon the face of the Earth.---- But is he really such a pinching Wretch as you say?

_Stro._ Why t'other day a Kite chanc'd to steal a bit of something from him; this poor Devil goes strait to my _Lord Chief Justice_'s, crying, roaring, and houling for his Warrant to apprehend it.---- O, I cou'd tell ye a thousand of these Stories, if I had leisure.

This is stretching of a +Character+ a degree above Nature and Probability; yet these sort, at first sight, will glare and dazle a common Audience, and sometimes give a superficial Pleasure to a more judicious one; but are carefully to be avoided by any correct Writer.

His +Miles Gloriosus+, or +Braggadocio+, is as remarkable a +Character+ as this, and there you may see another too in the same place, one who wheadles as much as the other boasts, and plays the Knave as much as the other does the Fool. For the Reader's Satisfaction, here follows a Translation of the first Act of the +Miles Gloriosus+, which begins between that Blockhead and his Buffoon.

_+Pyrgopolinices+, with his Servant +Artotrogus+, and his Soldiers._

_Pyr. to his Soldiers._] Take care to have my Buckler out-shine the resplendent Sun, when the Heavens are serene; so that in the midst o' the Battel, I may dazle the Eyes of my Enemies, and confound every man of 'em.---- In the mean time, I'll comfort my bold _Bilbo_, that he might n't be dull and melancholly for want of use this long time; for the poor Rogue is d.a.m.nably eager to slice all my Foes, and make a Hash of 'em.---- But where's _Artotrogus_?

_Art._ Here, an't like your Honour, ready to wait upon a Man o'

the greatest Fort.i.tude and Fortune i' th' Universe, and o' the most majestick Air; then for personal Valour, Lord, _Mars_ himself dare n't pretend to measure Swords with you.

_Pyr._ You mean him in the spatious _Gurgustidonian_ Plains, the mighty Generalissimo, _Bombomachides-- Cluninstaridy-- Sarchides_, great _Neptune_'s Grand-child?----