not
any, of my former tragedies. There is a more noble daring in the
figures, and more suitable to the loftiness of the subject; and,
besides this, some newnesses of English, translated from the beauties
of modern tongues, as well as from the elegancies of the Latin; and
here and there some old words are sprinkled, which, for their
significance and sound, deserved not to be antiquated; such as we
often find in Sallust amongst the Roman authors, and in Milton's
"Paradise" amongst ours; though perhaps the latter, instead of
sprinkling, has dealt them with too free a hand, even sometimes to the
obscuring of his sense.

As for the story, or plot, of the tragedy, it is purely fiction; for I
take it up where the history has laid it down. We are assured by all
writers of those times, that Sebastian, a young prince of great
courage and expectation, undertook that war, partly upon a religious
account, partly at the solicitation of Muley Mahomet, who had been
driven out of his dominions by Abdelmelech, or, as others call him,
Muley Moluch, his nigh kinsman, who descended from the same family of
Xeriffs, whose fathers, Hamet and Mahomet, had conquered that empire
with joint forces, and shared it betwixt them after their victory;
that the body of Don Sebastian was never found in the field of battle,
which gave occasion for many to believe, that he was not slain[1];
that some years after, when the Spaniards, with a pretended title, by
force of arms, had usurped the crown of Portugal from the house of
Braganza, a certain person, who called himself Don Sebastian, and had
all the marks of his body and features of his face, appeared at
Venice, where he was owned by some of his countrymen; but being seized
by the Spaniards, was first imprisoned, then sent to the gallies, and
at last put to death in private. It is most certain, that the
Portuguese expected his return for almost an age together after that
battle, which is at least a proof of their extreme love to his memory;
and the usage they had from their new conquerors, might possibly make
them so extravagant in their hopes and wishes for their old master[2].

This ground-work the history afforded me, and I desire no better to
build a play upon; for where the event of a great action is left
doubtful, there the poet is left master. He may raise what he pleases
on that foundation, provided he makes it of a piece, and according to
the rule of probability. From hence I was only obliged,