The art of speaking. Containing, I. An essay; in which are given rules for expressing properly the principal passions and humours, which occur in reading, or public speaking; and II. Lessons taken from the ancients and moderns (with additions and alterations where thought useful) exhibiting a variety of matter for practice; the emphatical words printed in italics; with notes of direction referring to the essay. : To which are added, a table of the lessons, and an index of the various passions and humours in the essay and lessons. : [Three lines in Latin from Cicero]

The art of speaking. Containing, I. An essay; in which are given rules for expressing properly the principal passions and humours, which occur in reading, or public speaking; and II. Lessons taken from the ancients and moderns (with additions and alterations where thought useful) exhibiting a variety of matter for practice; the emphatical words printed in italics; with notes of direction referring to the essay. : To which are added, a table of the lessons, and an index of the various passions and humours in the essay and lessons. : [Three lines in Latin from Cicero]

Table of contents

Title page

AN ESSAY ON THE ART OF SPEAKING.

LESSONS.

I. HISTORICAL NARRATION.

II. NARRATION.

III. NARRATION.

IV. NARRATION.

V. HISTORICAL DESCRIPTION.

VI. ARGUING.

VII. ARGUING.

VIII. SNEER. Receipt to make an Epic Poem.

IX. REMONSTRANCE and CONTEMPT of Pride.

X. HORRORS of War.

XI. PETITIONING with DEJECTION.

XII. PRAISE under the appearance of Blame.

XIII. A love-sick Shepherd's COMPLAINT.

XIV. REMONSTRANCE.

XV. AUTHORITY and FORBIDDING.

XVI. SUBLIME DESCRIPTION.

XVII. DESCRIPTION, sublime, and terrible.

XVIII. COMPLAINT.

XIX. TERRIBLE DESCRIPTION.

XX. RIDICULE.

XXI. EXHORTATION. Prologue to Cato, by Mr. Pope.

XXII. Humorous scene between Dennis the critic (satyrically represented by Swift, as mad• and the Doctor.

XXIII. ADORATION.

XXIV. PEEVISHNESS.

XXV. CONTEMPT of the common objects of pursuit. From Mr. Pope's ESSAYS ON MAN.

XXVI. CLOWNISH BASHFULNESS, and AWKWARDNESS.

XXVII. MOURNFUL DESCRIPTION.

XXVIII. RUSTICITY. AFFECTATION.

XXIX. ASKING. REPROOF. APPROBATION. From Mr. Pope's TEMPLE OF FAME.

XXX. POLITE CONVERSATION.

XXXI. SERIOUS MEDITATION. From Dr. Young's NIGHT THOUGHTS.

XXXII. SEEMING CIVILITY.

XXXIII. TREPIDATION. VEXATION.

XXXIV. VARIOUS CHARACTERS.

XXXV. RECONCILIATION.

XXXVI. CHARACTERS.

XXXVII. ANXIETY. RESOLUTION.

XXXVIII. ANGER. THREATENING.

XXXIX. DEPRECATION. RECOLLECTION.

XL. VEXATION. PERTNESS. CRINGING.

XLI. REFLECTION on lost happiness. SELF-CONDEMNATION. HORROR. DESPERATION.

XLII. WALKING IN SLEEP, and a DISTURBED CONSCIENCE. [MACBETH.

XLIII. INTREATING COMPLAINT of injury. REFUSING.

XLIV. Humorous scene from Shakespeare's MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

XLV. CHIDING.

XLVI. REMORSE. CONFESSION. VIRTUOUS RESOLUTION. AFFECTION. JOY. RAPTURE.

XLVII. DISCONTENT. EXCITING. REPROACHING. PLOTTING.

XLVIII. JOY. TROUBLE. FLATTERY. DARING. FEAR. ROMANTIC IMAGINATION.

XLIX. ANGUISH followed by TRANSPORT.

L. REPROOF.

LI. INCULCATING. COMMANDING. INTREATING. WARNING.

LII. DRUNKENNESS.

LIII. VEXATION. SPITEFUL JOY.

LIV. SELF-VINDICATION. REPROOF.

LV. PLOTTING. CRUELTY. HORROR.

LVI. AFFECTION. JOY. FEAR of OFFENDING. GRATITUDE.

LVII. INTERCESSION. OBSTINACY. CRUELTY. FORCED SUBMISSION.

LVIII. Conjugal AFFECTION with DISTRESS.

LIX. REMORSE. Attempt towards REPENTANCE. OBDURACY. DESPAIR.

LX. REPROACHING. EXCITING to Self-defence.

LXI. DOUBTING. VEXATION. SERIOUS REFLECTION.

LXII. EAGERNESS. CHIDING. INTREATING.

LXIII. ACCUSATION. From Cicero's ORATION against Verres, entitled DIVINATIO•.

LXIV. TERROR. DISCOVERY of secret Wickedness.

LXV. EXHORTATION. REPROACHING.

LXVI. Villainous SURMISING. JEALOUSY.

LXVII. COMPLAINT. INTREATING.

LXVIII. ACCUSATION. PITY.

LXIX. CONSULTATION.

LXX. FIERCENESS. DESPERATION.

LXXI. CONSIDERATION. DISSUASION. DIFFIDENCE.

LXXII. SUBMISSION. COMPLAINT. INTREATING.

LXIII. JEALOUSY.

LXXIV. CRAFT. FOOLISH FEAR. VEXATION.

LXXV. EXHORTATION.

LXXVI. DOUBTING. VEXATION. AFFECTATION of LEARNING. COMPULSION. &c. [See Moliere's MARRIAGE FORCE.]

LXXVII. WARNING. BLAMING. COMMENDATION. INSTRUCTION.

LXXVIII. BLUNT REPROOF. WARNING. OFFERING FRIENDSHIP.

LXXIX. OUTCRY. EXAMINATION. SELF-DEFENCE. CHIDING. LAMENTATION. THREATENING. REFUSAL. RELUCTANT COMPLIANCE.

LXXX. DISSUASION.

LXXXI. A SERMON.

CONCLUSION.

TABLE of the LESSONS.

INDEX OF PASSIONS, or HUMOURS, in the ESSAY and LESSONS.

§

§

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THE ART OF SPEAKING.

CONTAINING,

I. An ESSAY; in which are given Rules for expressing properly the principal Passions and Humours, which occur in Reading, or public Speaking; and

II. LESSONS taken from the Ancients and Moderns (with Additions and Alterations where thought useful) exhibiting a variety of Matter for Practice; the emphatical Words printed in Italics; with Notes of Direction referring to the ESSAY.

TO WHICH ARE ADDED, A TABLE of the LESSONS, and an INDEX of the various PASSIONS and HUMOURS in the ESSAY and LESSONS.

Neque vero mihi quidquam praestabillus videtur, quam posse dicendo tenere hominum coetus, [...]entec allicere, volu [...]tes impeliere quo velit, unde autem v [...]li: deducere.

CICERO.

PRINTED AT BOSTON, BY THOMAS HALL, FOR JAMES WHITE, COURT STREET, AND EBENEZER LARKIN, CORNHILL. MDCCXCV.

AN ESSAY ON THE ART OF SPEAKING.

[Page]

THAT oratory is an art of great consequence, will hardly be questioned in our times, unless it be by those (if any are so ignorant) who do not know, that it has been taught, and studied, in all countries, where learning has gained any ground, ever since the days of Aristotle. That the manner or address of a speaker, is [...] the utmost importance, and that a just and pleasing manner in delivering either one's own compositions, or those of others, is difficult of acquisition, and but too much neglected among us, seems unquestionable from the deficiencies we so commonly observe in the address of our public speakers, much more than in the matter uttered by them, and from the little effect produced by their labours.

Of the learning necessary for furnishing matter; and of the art of arranging it properly; of invention, composition and style, various writers among the Greeks, Romans, French, Italians, and English, have treated very copiously. It is not my design to trouble the world with any thing on these branches of oratory. I shall confine myself merely to what the prince of orators pronounced to be the first, second, and third part, or all that is most important in the art, viz. delivery, comprehending what every gentleman ought to be master of, respecting gesture, looks, and command of voice.

[Page]What is true of most of the improvements, which are made by study, or culture, is peculiarly so of the art of speaking. If there is not a foundation laid for it in the earlier part of life, there is no reasonable ground of expectation, that any great degree of skill in it should ever be attained. As it depends upon, and consists in practice, more than theory [...] requires the earlier initiation: that practice may [...] full scope, before the time of life arrives, in which there may be occasion for public exhibition. Mankind must speak from the beginning, therefore ought, from the beginning, to be taught to speak rightly; else they may acquire a habit of speaking wrong. And whoever knows the difficulty of breaking through bad habits, will avoid that labour by prevention. There is a great difference between speaking and writing. Some, nay most of mankind, are never to be writers. All are speakers. Young persons ought not to be put upon writing (from their own funds, I mean) till they have furnished their minds with thoughts, that is, till they have gotten funds: but they cannot be kept from speaking.

Suppose a youth to have no prospect either of sitting in parliament, of pleading at the bar, of appearing upon the stage, or in the pulpit; does it follow, that he need bestow no pains in learning to speak properly his native language? Will he never have occasion to read, in a company of his friends, a copy of verses, a passage of a book, or newspaper? Must he never read a discourse of Tillotson, or a chapter of the Whole Duty of Man, for the instruction of his children and servants? Cicero justly observes, that address in speaking is highly ornamental, as well as useful, even in private life * The limbs are parts of the body much less noble than the tongue. Yet no gentleman grudges a considerable expense of time and money to have his son taught to use them properly. Which is very commendable. And is there no attention to be paid to the use of the tongue, the glory [Page] of man? Supposing a person to be ever so sincere and zealous a lover of virtue, and of his country; without a competent skill and address in speaking, he can only sit still, and see them wronged, without having it in his power to prevent, or redress the evil. Let an artful and eloquent statesman harangue the house of commons upon a point of the utmost consequence to the public good. He has it greatly in his power to mislead the judgment of the house. And he, who sees through the delusion, if he be awkward in delivering himself, can do nothing toward preventing the ruinous schemes, proposed by the other, from being carried into execution, but give his single vote against them, without so much as explaining to the house his reasons for doing so. The case is the same in other smaller assemblies and meetings, in which volubility of tongue, and steadiness of countenance, often carry it against solid reasons, and important considerations.

To offer a help toward the improvement of youth in the useful and ornamental accomplishment of speaking properly their mother tongue, is the design of this publication; to set about which I have been the more excited by experiencing, in my own practice, a want of such a collection as the following. What I proposed to myself at first, was only to put together a competent variety of passages out of some of the best writers in prose and verse, for exercising youth in adapting their general manner of delivery to the spirit or humour of the various matter they may have occasion to pronounce. Such a collection, I thought, might be acceptable to the public, in consideration of its furnishing at an easy expense, a general variety of examples for practice, chosen and pointed out, without trouble to masters. A design, which as far as I know, has not before been executed.* On farther consideration, [Page] it occurred to me, that it might render such a publication more useful, if I prefixed some general observations on the method of teaching pronunciation, and put the emphetical words in italics, and marginal notes shewing the various humours or passions, in the several examples, as they change from one to another, in the course of the speeches. All masters of places of education are not, I fear, sufficiently aware of the extent of this part of their duty; nor of the number of particulars to be attended to, which render it so difficult to bring a young person to deliver in a completely proper manner, a speech containing a considerable variety of different humours or passions. So that some masters, as well as all pupils, may find their account in using this collection, till a better be published.

Whoever imagines the English tongue unfit for oratory, has not a just notion of it. That, by reason of the disproportion between its vowels and consonants, it is not quite so tractable as the Italian, and consequently, not so easily applied to amorous, or to plaintive music, is not denied. But it goes better to martial music, than the Italian. And in oratory and poetry, there is no tongue, ancient, or modern, capable of expressing a greater variety of humours, or passions, by its sounds (I am not speaking of its copiousness, as to phraseology) than the English. The Greek, among the ancient, and the Turkish and Spanish, among the modern languages, have a loftier sound, though the gutturals in them, of which the English is free (for it is probable, that the ancient Greeks pronounced the letter χ gutturally) are, to most ears, disagreeable. But there is not in those languages, the variety of sound which the English affords. They never quit their stiff pomp, which, on some occasions, is unnatural. Nor is there, as far [Page] as I know, any language more copious, than the English; an eminent advantage for oratory. And if we must fall out with our mother-tongue, on account of some hard and un-liquid syllables in it, how shall we bear the celebrated Roman language itself, in every sentence of which we find such sounds as tot, quot, sub, ad, sed, est, ut, et, nec, id, at, it, sit, sunt, dant, det, dent, dabat, dabant, daret, darent, hic, haec, hoc, fit, fuit, erat, erunt, fert, duc, fac, dic, and so on.

It is greatly to our shame, that, while we do so little for the improvement of our language, and of our manner of speaking it in public, the French should take so much pains in both these respects, though their language is very much inferiour to ours, both as to emphasis and copiousness.

It is true, there is not now the same secular demand for eloquence, as under the popular governments of ancient times, when twenty talents (several thousands of pounds) was the fee for one speech;* when the tongue of an orator could do more than the sceptre of a monarch, or the sword of a warrior; and when superior skill in the art of haranguing was the certain means for elevating him, who possessed it, to the highest honours in the state. Even in our own country, this is partly the case; for the instances of bad speakers rising to eminent stations in the government, are rare. But it must be owned, our politicks now turn upon other hinges, than in the time when Greek and Roman eloquence flourished. Nor are we, accordingly, like to bestow the pains which they did, for consummating ourselves in the art of speaking. We shall hardly, in our ages, hear of a person's shutting himself up for many months in a cell under ground, to study and practise elocution uninterrupted; or declaiming on the sea-shore, to accustom himself to harangue an enraged multitude without fear; or under the points of drawn swords fixed over his shoulders, to cure himself of a [Page] bad habit of shrugging them up; which with other particulars, are the labours recorded to have been undertaken by Demosthenes, in order to perfect himself, in spite of his natural disadvantages, of which he had many in the art of elocution. What is to be gained by skill in the art of speaking may not now be sufficient to reward the indefatigable diligence used by a Demosthenes, a Pericles, an Aeschines, a Demetrius Phalereus, an Isocrates, a Carbo, a Cicero, a M. Antony, an Hortensius, a Julius, an Augustus, and the rest. Yet it is still of important advantage for all that part of youth, whose station places them within the reach of a polite education, to be qualified for acquitting themselves with reputation, when called to speak in public. In parliament, at the bar, in the pulpit, at meetings of merchants, in committees for managing public affairs, in large societies, and on such like occasions, a competent address and readiness, not only in finding matter, but in expressing and urging it effectually, is what, I doubt not, many a gentleman would willingly acquire, at the expense of half his other improvements.

The reader will naturally reflect here upon one important use for good speaking, which was unknown to the ancients, viz. for the ministerial function. I therefore have said above, page 7, that we have not the same secular demand for elocution, as the ancients; meaning, by reservation, that we have a moral, or spiritual use for it, which they had not.

And no small matter of grief it is to think, that, of the three learned professions, real merit is there the most ineffectual towards raising its possessor, where it ought to be most; which must greatly damp emulation and diligence. An able physician, or lawyer, hardly fails of success in life. But a clergyman may unite the learning of a Cudworth with the eloquence of a Tillotson, and the delivery of an Atterbury: but, if he cannot make out a connection with some great man, and it is too well known by what means they are most commonly [Page] gained; he must content himself to be buried in a country curacy, or vicarage at most, for life.

If nature unassisted could form the eminent speaker, where were the use of art or culture; which yet no one pretends to question? Art is but nature improved upon and refined. And before improvement is applied, genius is but a mass of ore in the mine, without lustre, and without value, because unknown and unthought of. The ancients used to procure for their youth, masters of pronunciation from the theatres* and had them taught gesture and attitude by the palaestritae. These last taught what is, among us, done by the dancing-master. And, as to the former, no man ought to presume to set himself at the head of a place of education, who is not in some degree capable of teaching pronunciation. However, I could wish, that gentlemen, who have made themselves perfect masters of pronunciation and delivery, would undertake to teach this branch at places of education, in the same manner as masters of music, drawing, dancing, and fencing, are used to do.

It is well when a youth has no natural defect or impediment, in his speech. And, I should by no means, advise, that he, who has, be brought up to a profession requiring elocution. But there are instances enough of natural defects surmounted, and eminent speakers formed by indefatigable diligence in spite of them. Demosthenes could not, when he began to study rhetoric, pronounce the first letter of the name of his art. And Cicero was long necked, and narrow-chested. But diligent and faithful labour, in what one is in earnest about, surmounts all difficulties. Yet we are commonly enough disgusted by public speakers lisping, and stammering, and speaking through the nose, and pronouncing the letter R with the throat, instead of the tongue, and the letter S like Th, and screaming above, or croaking below all natural pitch of human voice; some mumbling, as if they were conjuring up spirits; others [Page] bawling, as loud as the vociferous vendors of provisions in London streets; some tumbling out the words so precipitately, that no ear can catch them; others dragging them out so slowly, that it is as tedious to listen to them, as to count a great clock; some have got a habit of shrugging up their shoulders; others of see-sawing with their bodies, some backward and forward, others from side to side; some raise their eyebrows at every third word; some open their mouths frightfully; others keep their teeth so close together, that one would think their jaws were set; some shrivel all their features together into the middle of their faces; some push out their lips, as if they were mocking the audience; others hem at every pause; and others smack with their lips, and roll their tongues about in their mouths, as if they laboured under a continual thirst. All which bad habits they ought to have been broken of in early youth, or put into ways of life, in which they would have, at least, offended fewer persons.

It is through neglect in the early part of life, and bad habits taking place, that there is not a public speaker among twenty, who knows what to do with his eyes. To see the venerable man, who is to be the mouth of a whole people confessing their offences to their Creator and Judge, bring out these awful words, "Almighty and most merciful Father," &c. with his eyes over his shoulder, to see who is just gone into the pew at his elbow; to observe this, one would imagine there was an absolute want of all feeling of devotion. But it may be, all the while, owing to nothing but awkwardness; and the good man looks about him the whole time he is going on with the service, merely to keep himself in countenance, not knowing, else, where to put his eyes.

Even the players, who excel, beyond comparison, all other speakers in this country, in what regards decorum, are, some of them, often guilty of monstrous improprieties as to the management of their eyes. To direct [Page] them full at the audience, when they are speaking a soliloquy, or an aside-speech, is unsufferable. For they ought not to seem so much as to think of an audience, or of any person's looking upon them, at any time, especially on those occasions; those speeches being only thinking aloud, and expressing what the actor should be supposed to wish concealed. Nor do they always keep their eyes fixed upon those they speak to, even in impassioned dialogue. Whether it is from heedlessness, or that they are more out of countenance by looking one another stedfastly in the face, I know not; but they do often ramble about with their eyes in a very unmeaning and unnatural manner.

A natural genius for delivery supposes an ear; though it does not always suppose a musical * ear. I never heard poetry, particularly that of Milton, better spoken, than by a gentleman, who yet had so little discernment in music, that he has often told me, the grinding of knives entertained him as much as Handel's organ.

As soon as a child can read, without spelling, the words in a common English book, as the SPECTATOR, he ought to be taught the use of the stops, and accustomed, from the beginning, to pay the same regard to them as to the words. The common rule, for holding them out to their just length, is too exact for practice, viz. that a comma, is to hold the length of a syllable, a semicolon, of two, a colon of three, and a period of four. In some cases, there is no stop to be made at a comma, as they are often put merely to render the sense clear; as those, which, by Mr. Ward, and many other learned editors of books, are put before every relative. It likewise often happens, that the strain of the matter shews a propriety, or beauty, in holding the pause beyond the proper length of the stop; particularly when any thing remarkably striking has been uttered; by which means the hearers have time to ruminate upon it, before the matter, which follows can put it out of their thoughts. Of this, instances will occur in the following lessons.

[Page]Young readers are apt to get into a rehearsing kind of [...]notony; of which it is very difficult to break them. Monotony is holding one uniform humming sound through the whole discourse, without rising or falling. Cant, is, in speaking, as psalmody and ballad in music, a strain consisting of a few notes rising and falling without variation, like a peal of bells, let the matter change how it will. The chaunt with which the prose psalms are half-sung, half-said, in cathedrals, is the same kind of absurdity. All these are unnatural, because the continu [...]lly varying strain of the matter necessarily requires a continually varying series of sounds to express it. Whereas chaunting in cathedrals, psalmody in parish-churches, ballad music put to a number of verses, differing in thoughts and images, and cant, or monotony, in expressing the various matter of a discourse, do not in the least humour the matters they applied to; but on the contrary, confound it.*

Young people must be taught to let their voice fall at the ends of sentences; and to read without any particular whi [...] cant, or draw [...], and with the natural inflections of vo [...], which they use in speaking. For, reading is nothing but speaking what one sees in a book, as if he were expressing his own sentiments, as they rise in his mind. And no person [...]s well, till he comes to speak what he sees in the book before him in the same natural manner as he speaks the thoughts, which arise in his own mind. And hence it is, that no one can read properly what he does not understand. Which lea [...] is me to observe, that there are many books much fitter for improving children in reading, than most parts of scripture, especially of the Old Testament. Because the words of our English Bible are, many of them, absolete: the phraseology, as of all bare translations, stiff, the subjects not familiar to young persons, and the characters grave and forbidding. Fables and tales, founded upon good morals, and select parts of history [Page] and biography, and familiar dialogues, are more pleasing and suitable to children under seven and eight years of age. And such familiar reading, as co [...]ing near to their own chat, is most likely to keep them from, or cure them of a can [...]ing, whining, drawling, or u [...]-animated manner.

They must be taught, that, in questions, the voice is often to rise towards the end of the sentence, contrary to the manner of pronouncing most other sorts of matter; because the emphatical word, or that, upon which the stress of the question lies, is often the lust in the sentence. Example. "Can any good come out of Nazareth?" Here the emphatical word is Nazareth; therefore the word Nazareth is to be pronounced in a higher note than any part of the sentence. But in pronouncing the following, "By what authority dost thou these things; and who gave thee this authority?" the emphatical words are authority and who: because what the Jews asked our Saviour was, by what power or authority, he did his wonderful works; and how he came by that power. And in all questions, the emphasis must, according to the intention of the speaker, be put upon that word which signifies the point, about which he inquires. Example. "Is it true that you have seen a noble lord from court to-day, who has told you bad news?" If the inquirer wants only to know, whether myself, or some other person, has seen the supposed great man; he will put the emphasis upon you. If he knows, that I have seen somebody from court, and only wants to know, whether I have seen a great man, who may be supposed to know what inferior persons about the court do not, he will put the emphasis upon noble lord. If he wants to know, only whether the great man came directly from court, so that his intelligence may be depended upon, he will put the emphasis upon court. If he wants only to know, whether I have [...] scen [...] to-day, or yesterday, he will put the [...] upon to day If he knows, that [Page] I have seen a great man from court, to-day, and only wants to know, whether he has told me any news, he will put the emphasis upon news. If he knows all the rest, and wants only to know, whether the news I heard was bad, he will put the emphasis upon the word bad.

The matter contained in a parenthesis, or between commas instead of a parenthesis, which authors and editors often use, and between brackets, [] is to be pronounced with a lower voice, and quicker than the rest, and with a short stop at the beginning and end; that the hearer may perceive where the strain of the discourse breaks off, and where it is resumed; as, "When, therefore, the Lord knew, that the Pharisees had heard that Jesus made, and baptized more disciples than John (though Jesus himself did not baptize, but his disciples) he departed from Judea, and returned to Gallilee."*

A youth should not only be accustomed to read to the master, while the general business of the school is going on, so that none, but the master, and those of his own class, can hear him; but likewise to read, or speak, by himself, while all the rest hear. This will give him courage, and accustom him to pronounce distinctly, so that every syllable shall be heard (though not every syllable alike loud, and with the same emphasis) through the whole room. For it is one part of the judgment of a public speaker, to accommodate his voice to the place, he speaks in, in such a manner as to fill it, and, at the same time, not stun the hearers. It is matter of no small difficulty to bring young readers to speak slow enough. There is little danger of their speaking too slow. Though that is a fault as well as the contrary. For the hearers cannot but be disgusted and tired with listening much longer than is necessary, and losing precious time.

In every sentence, there is some word, perhaps several, which are to be pronounced with a stronger accent, or emphasis, than the others. Time was, when the emphatical word, or words, in every sentence, were printed in Italics. And a great advantage it was toward understanding [Page] the sense of the author, especially, where there was a thread of reasoning carried on. But we are now grown so nice, that we have found, the inter-mixture of two characters deforms the page, and gives it a speckled appearance. As if it were not of infinitely more consequence to make sure of edifying the reader, than of pleasing his eye. But to return to emphasis, there is nothing more pedantic than too much laid upon trifling matter. Men of learning, especially physicians, and divines, are apt to get into a fulsome, bombastic way of uttering themselves on all occasions, as if they were dictating, when perhaps the business is of no greater consequence, than

What's a clock? Or how's the wind?

Whose coach is [...]ha [...] we've left behind?

SWIFT.

Nor can an error be more ridiculous, than some that have been occasioned by an emphasis placed wrong. Such was that of a clergyman's curate, who having occasion to read in the church our Saviour's saying to the disciples, Luke xxiv. 25. "O fools and slow of heart" [that is, backward] "to believe all that the prophets have written concerning me!" placed the emphasis upon the word believe; as if Christ had called them [...]ols for believing. Upon the rector's finding fault; when he read it next he placed the emphasis upon all; as if it had been foolish in the disciples to believe all. The rector again blaming this manner of placing the emphasis, the good curate accented the word prophets. As if the prophets had been persons in no respect worthy of belief.

A total want of energy in expressing pathetic language is equally blameable. I have often been amazed how public speakers could bring out the strong and pathetic expressions, they have occasion to utter, in so cold and un-animated a manner. I happened lately to hear the tenth chapter of Joshua read in a church in the country. It contains the history of the miraculous conquest [Page] of the five kings, who arose against the people of Israel. The clergyman bears a very good character in the neighbourhood. I was therefore grieved to hear him read so striking a piece of scripture-history in a manner so un-animated, that it was fit to lull the whole parish to sleep. Particularly I shall never forget his manner of expressing the twenty second verse, which is the Jewish general's order to bring out the captive kings to slaughter. "Open the mouth of the cave, and bring out those five kings to me out of the cave;" which he uttered in the very manner he would have expressed himself, if he had said to his boy, "Open my chamber door and bring me my slippers from under the bed."

CICERO* very judiciously directs, that a public speaker remit, from time to time, somewhat of the vehemence of his action, and not utter every passage with all the force he can; to set off, the more strongly, the more emphatical parts; as the painters, by means of shades properly placed, make the figures stand off bolder. For if the speaker has uttered a weaker passage with all the energy he is master of, what is he to do, when he comes to the most pathetic parts?

The ease, with which a speaker goes through a long discourse, and his success with his audience, depend much upon his setting out in a proper key, † and at a due pitch of loudness. If he begins in too high a tone or sets out too loud, how is he afterwards to rise to a higher note, or swell his voice louder, as the more pathetic strains may require? The command of the voice, therefore, in this respect, is to be studied very early.

The force or pathos, with which a speech is to be delivered, is to increase as the speech goes on. The speaker [Page] is to grow warm by degrees, as the chariot wheel by its continued motion;* not to begin in a pathetic strain; because the audience are not prepared to go along with him.

False and provincial accents are to be guarded against, or corrected. The manner of pronouncing, which is usual among people of education, who are natives of the metropolis, is, in every country, the standard. For what Horace† says, of the choice of words, viz. that the people, by their practice, establish what is right, is equally true of the pronunciation of them.

Nature has given to every emotion of the mind its proper outward expression, in such a manner, that what suits one, cannot by any means be accommodated to another. Children at three years of age express their grief in a tone of voice, and with an action totally different from that, which they use to express their anger; and they utter their joy in a manner different from both. Nor do they ever, by mistake, apply one in place of another. From hence, that is, from nature, is to be deduced the whole art of speaking properly. What we mean, does not so much depend upon the words we speak, as on our manner of speaking them; and accordingly, in life, the greatest attention is paid to this, as expressive of what our words often give no indication of. Thus nature fixes the outward expression of every intention or sentiment of the mind.

Art only adds gracefulness to what nature leads to. As nature has determined that man shall walk on his feet, not his hands: Art teaches him to walk gracefully.

Every part of the human frame contributes to express the passions and emotions of the mind, and to shew in general its present state. The head is sometimes erected, sometimes hung down, sometimes drawn suddenly back [Page] with an air of disdain, sometimes shews by a nod, a particular person, or object; gives assent, or denial, by different motions; threatens by one sort of movement, approves, by another, and expresses suspicion by a third.

The arms are sometimes both thrown out, sometimes the right alone. Sometimes they are lifted up as high as the face, to express wonder, sometimes held out before the breast, to shew fear; spread forth with the hands open, to express desire or affection; the hands clapped in surprise, and in sudden joy and grief; the right hand clenched, and the arms brandished, to threaten; the two arms set a-kimbo, to look big, and express contempt or courage. With the hands, as Quintilian* says we solicit, we refuse, we promise, we threaten, we dismiss, we invite, we intreat, we express aversion, fear, doubting, denial, asking, affirmation, negation, joy, grief, confession, penitence. With the hands we describe and point out all circumstances of time, place, and manner of what we relate; we excite the passions of others, and sooth them, we approve and disapprove, permit, or prohibit, admire or despise. The hands serve us instead of many sorts of words, and where the language of the tongue is unknown, that of the hands is understood, being universal, and common to all nations.

The legs advance, or retreat, to express desire, or aversion, love, or hatred, courage, or fear, and produce exultation, or leaping in sudden joy; and the stamping of the foot expresses earnestness, anger, and threatening.

Especially the face, being furnished with a variety of muscles, does more in expressing the passions of the mind, than the whole human frame besides. The change of colour (in white people) shews, by turns, anger by redness, and sometimes by paleness, fear likewise by paleness, and shame by blushing. Every feature contributes its part. The mouth open, shews one state of the mind, shut, another; the gnashing of the teeth, another. [Page] The forehead smooth, and eyebrows arched and easy, shew tranquillity or joy. Mirth opens the mouth towards the ears, crisps the nose, half-shuts the eyes, and sometimes fills them with tears. The front wrinkled into frowns, and the eyebrows over-hanging the eyes, like clouds, fraught with tempest, shew a mind agitated with fury. Above all, the eye shews the very spirit in a visible form. In every different state of the mind, it assumes a different appearance. Joy brightens and opens it. Grief halfcloses, and drowns it in tears. Hatred and anger, flash from it like lightning. Love, darts from it in glances, like the orient beam. Jealousy and squinting envy, dart their contagious blasts from the eye. And devotion raises it to the skies, as if the soul of the holy man were going to take its flight to heaven.

The ancients * used some gestures which are unknown to us, as, to express grief, and other violent emotions of the mind, they used to strike their knees with the palms of their hands.

The force of attitude and looks alone appears in a wonderously striking manner, in the works of the painter and statuary; who have the delicate art of making the flat canvas and rocky marble utter every passion of the human mind, and touch the soul of the spectator, as if the picture, or statue, spoke the pathetic language of Shakespear. It is no wonder, then, that masterly action, joined with powerful elocution, should be irresistible. And the variety of expression by looks and gestures, is so great, that, as is well known, a whole play can be represented without a word spoken.

The following are, I believe, the principal passions, humours, sentiments, and intentions, which are to be expressed by speech and action. And I hope, it will be allowed by the reader, that it is nearly in the following manner, that nature expresses them.

Tranquillity, or apathy, appears by the composure of [Page] the countenance, and general repose of the body and limbs, without the exertion of any one muscle. The countenance open; the forehead smooth; the eyebrows arched; the mouth just not shut; and the eyes passing with an easy motion from object to object, but not dwelling long upon any one.

Cheerfulness adds a smile, opening the mouth a little more. Mirth or laughter, opens the mouth still more towards the ears; crisps the nose; lessens the aperture of the eyes, and sometimes fills them with tears; shakes and convulses the whole frame; giving considerable pain, which occasions holding the sides.

Raillery, in sport, without real animosity, puts on the aspect of cheerfulness. The tone of voice is sprightly. With contempt, or disgust, it casts a look a-squint, from time to time, at the object; and quits the cheerful aspect for one mixed between an affected grin and sourness. The upper lip is drawn up with an air of disdain. The arms are set a-kimbo on the hips; and the right hand now and then thrown out toward the object, as if one were going to strike another a slight back-hand blow. The pitch of the voice rather loud, the tone arch and sneering, the sentences short; the expressions satyrical, with mock praise intermixed. There are instances of raillery in scripture itself, as 1 Kings xviii. and Isa. xliv. And the excellent Tillotson has not scrupled to indulge a strain of that sort now and then, especially in exposing the mock solemnities of that most ludicrous (as well as odious) of all religions, popery. Nor should I think raillery unworthy the attention of the lawyer; as it may occasionally come in, not unusefully, in his pleadings, as well as any other stroke of ornament, or entertainment*.

Buffoonery assumes an arch, sly, leering gravity. Must not quit its serious aspect, though all should laugh to burst ribs of steel. This command of face is somewhat difficult; though not so hard, I should think, as to restrain the contrary sympathy, I mean of weeping with those who weep.

[Page] Joy, when sudden and violent, expresses itself by clapping of hands, and exultation, or leaping. The eyes are opened wide; perhaps filled with tears; often raised to heaven, especially by devout persons The countenance is smiling, not composedly, but with features aggravated. The voice rises, from time to time, to very high notes.

Delight, or pleasure, as when one is entertained, or ravished with music, painting, oratory, or any such elegancy, shews itself by the looks, gestures, and utterance of joy; but moderated.

Gravity, or seriousness, the mind fixed upon some important subject, draws down the eyebrows a little; casts down or shuts, or raises the eyes to heaven; shuts the mouth and pinches the lips close. The posture of the body and limbs is composed, and without much motion. The speech, if any, slow and solemn; the tone unvarying.

Enquiry into an obscure subject, fixes the body in one posture, the head stooping, and the eye poring, the eyebrows drawn down.

Attention to an esteemed, or superior character, has the same aspect; and requires silence; the eyes often cast down upon the ground; sometimes fixed on the face of the speaker; but not too pertly.

Modesty, or submission, bends the body forward; levels the eyes to the breast, if not to the feet, of the superior character. The voice low; the tone submissive; and words few.

Perplexity, or anxiety, which is always attended with some degree of fear and uneasiness, draws all the parts of the body together; gathers up the arms upon the breast, unless one hand covers the eyes, or rubs the forehead; draws down the eyebrows; hangs the head upon the breast; casts down the eyes, shuts and pinches the eyelids close; shuts the mouth, and pinches the lips close, or bites them.

Suddenly the whole body is vehemently agitated. The person walks about busily; stops abruptly. Then he talks to himself, or makes grimaces. If he speaks to another, his pauses are very long; the tone of his voice unvarying, [Page] and his sentences broken, expressing half, and keeping in half of what arises in his mind.

Vexation, occasioned by some real or imaginary misfortune, agitates the whole frame, and, besides expressing itself with the looks, gestures, restlessness, and tone of perplexity, it adds complaint, freting, and lamenting.

Pity, a mixed passion of love and grief, looks down upon distress with lifted hands; eyebrows drawn down; mouth open; and features drawn together. Its expression, as to looks, and gesture, is the same with those of suffering, (see suffering) but more moderate, as the painful feelings are only sympathetic, and therefore one remove as it were more distant from the soul than what one feels in his own person.

Grief, sudden, and violent, expresses itself by beating the head; groveling on the ground, tearing of garments, hair, and flesh; screaming aloud, weeping, stamping with the feet, lifting the eyes, from time to time, to heaven; hurrying to and fro, running distracted, or fainting away, sometimes without recovery. Sometimes violent grief produces a torpid sullen silence, resembling total apathy. *

Melancholy, or fixed grief is gloomy, sedentary, motionless. The lower jaw falls; the lips pale, the eyes are cast down, half-shut, eyelids swelled and red, or livid, tears trickling silent, and unwiped; with a total inattention to every thing that passes. Words, if any, few, and those dragged out, rather than spoken; the accents weak, and interrupted sigh [...] breaking into the middle of sentences and words.

Despair, as in a condemned criminal, or one who has lost all hope of salvation, bends the eyebrows downward; clouds the forehead; rolls the eyes around frightfully; opens the mouth toward the ears; bites the lips; widens the nostrils; gnashes with the teeth, like a fierce wild beast. The heart is too much hardened to suffer tears to flow; yet the eye-balls will be red and inflamed, [Page] like those of an animal in a rabid state. The head is hung down upon the breast. The arms are bended at the elbows, the fists clenched hard: the veins and muscles swelled; the skin livid; and the whole body strained and violently agitated; groans, expressive of inward torture, more frequently uttered than words. If any words, they are few, and expressed with a sullen, eager bitterness; the tone of voice often loud and furious. As it often drives people to distraction, and self-murder, it can hardly be over-acted by one, who would represent it.

Fear, violent and sudden, opens very wide the eyes and mouth; shortens the nose; draws down the eyebrows; gives the countenance an air of wildness; covers it with deadly paleness; draws back the elbows parallel with the sides; lifts up the open hands, the fingers together, to the height of the breast, so that the palms face the dreadful object, as shields opposed against it. One foot is drawn back behind the other, so that the body seems shrinking from the danger, and putting itself in a posture for flight. The heart beats violently; the breath is fetched quick and short; the whole body is thrown in a general tremor. The voice is weak and trembling; the sentences are short, and the meaning confused and incoherent. Imminent danger, real, or fancied, produces, in timorous persons, as women and children, violent shrieks, without any articulate sound of words; and sometimes irrecoverably confounds the understanding; produces fainting, which is sometimes followed by death.

Shame, or a sense of one's appearing to a disadvantage, before one's fellow-creatures, turns away the face from the beholders; covers it with blushes; hangs the head; casts down the eyes; draws down the eyebrows; either strikes the person dumb, or, if he attempts to say any thing in his own defence, causes his tongue to falter, and confounds his utterance; and puts him upon making a thousand gestures and grimaces, to keep himself [Page] in countenance; all which only heighten the confusion of his appearance.

Remorse, or a painful sense of guilt, casts down the countenance, and clouds it with anxiety; hangs down the head, draws the eyebrows down upon the eyes. The right hand beats the breast. The teeth gnash with anguish. The whole body is strained and violently agitated. If this strong remorse is succeeded by the more gracious disposition of penitence or contrition; then the eyes are raised (but with great appearance of doubting and fear) to the throne of heavenly mercy; and immediately cast down again to the earth. Then floods of tears are seen to flow. The [...]nees are bended; or the body prostrated on the ground. The arms are spread in a suppliant posture, and the voice of deprecation is uttered with sighs, groans, timidity, hesitation, and trembling.

Courage, steady, and cool, opens the countenance, gives the whole form an erect and graceful air. The accents are strong, full mouthed and articulate, the voice firm and even.

Boasting or affected courage, is loud, blustering, threatening. The eyes stare; the eyebrows drawn down; the face is red and bloated; the mouth pouts out; the voice hollow and thundering; the arms are set a-kimbo; the head often nodding in a menacing manner; and the right fist clenched, is brandished, from time to time, at the person threatened. The right foot is often stamped upon the ground, and the legs take such large stri [...]s, and the steps are so heavy, that the earth seems to tremble under them.

Pride assumes a lofty look, bordering upon the aspect and attitude of anger. The eyes open, but with the eyebrows considerably drawn down; the mouth pouting out; mostly shut, and the lips pinched close. The words walk out a-strut, with a slow, stiff, bombastic affection of importance. The arms generally a-kimbo, and the legs at a distance from one another, taking large tragedy-strides.

[Page] Obstinacy adds to the aspect of pride, a dogged sourness, like that of malice. See Malice.

Authority opens the countenance; but draws down the eyebrows a little, so far as to give the look of gravity. See Gravity.

Commanding requires an air a little more peremptory, with a look a little severe or stern. The hand is held out, and moved toward the person, to whom the order is given, with the palm upwards, and the head nods toward him.

Forbidding, on the contrary, draws the head backward, and pushes the hand from one with the palm downward, as if going to lay it upon the person, to hold him down immoveable, that he may not do what is forbidden him.

Affirming, especially with a judicial oath, is expressed by lifting the open right hand, and eyes, toward heaven; or, if conscience is appealed to, by laying the right hand upon the breast.

Denying is expressed by pushing the open right hand from one; and turning the face the contrary way. See Aversion.

Differing in sentiment, may be expressed as refusing. See Refusing.

Agreeing in opinion, or conviction, as granting. See Granting.

Exhorting, as by a general at the head of his army, requires a kind, complacent look; unless matter of offence has passed, as neglect of duty, or the like.

Judging demands a grave, steady look, with deep attention; the countenance altogether clear from any appearance of either disgust or favour. The accents slow, distinct, emphatical, accompanied with little action, and that very grave.

Reproving, puts on a stern aspect, roughens the voice, and is accompanied with gestures not much different from those of threatening, but not so lively.

Acquitting is performed with a benevolent, tranquil countenance, and tone of voice; the right hand, if not both, open waved gently toward the person acquitted, expressing dismission. (See dismissing.)

[Page] Condemning assumes a severe look, but mixed with pity The sentence is to be expressed as with reluctance.

Teaching, explaining, inculcating, or giving orders to an inferior, requires an air of superiority to be assumed. The features are to be composed to an authoritative gravity. The eye steady, and open, the eyebrow a little drawn down over it; but not so much as to look surly or dogmatical.

The tone of voice varying according as the emphasis requires, of which a good deal is necessary in expressing matter of this sort. The pitch of voice to be strong and clear; the articulation distinct; the utterance slow; and the manner peremptory. This is the proper manner of pronouncing the commandments in the communion office. But (I am sorry to say it) they are too commonly spoken in the same manner as the prayers, than which nothing can be more unnatural.

Pardoning differs from acquitting, in that the latter means clearing a person after trial of guilt; whereas the former supposes guilt, and signifies merely delivering the guilty person from punishment. Pardoning requires some degree of severity of aspect and tone of voice, because the pardoned person is not an object of intire unmixed approbation; otherwise its expression is much the same as granting. See Granting.

Arguing requires a cool, sedate, attentive aspect, and a clear, slow, emphatical accent, with much demonstration by the hand. It differs from teaching (see Teaching) in that the look of authority is not wanting in arguing.

Dismissing, with approbation, is done with a kind aspect and tone of voice; the right hand open, gently waved toward the person: with displeasure, besides the look and tone of voice which suit displeasure, the hand is hastily thrown out toward the person dismissed, the back part toward him, the countenance at the same time turned away from him.

Refusing, when accompaned with displeasure, is expressed nearly in the same way. Without displeasure, it is done with a visible reluctance, which occasions the bringing out the word slowly, with such a shake of the head, and [Page] shrug of the shoulders, as is natural upon hearing of somewhat, which gives us concern.

Granting, when done with unreserved good-will, is accompanied with a benevolent aspect, and tone of voice; the right hand pressed to the left breast, to signify, how heartily the favour is granted, and the benefactor's joy in conferring it.

Dependence. See Modesty.

Veneration, or worshipping, comprehends several articles, as ascription, confession, remorse, intercession, thanksgiving, deprecation, petition, &c. Ascription of honour and praise to the peerless and supreme Majesty of heaven, and confession and deprecation, are to be uttered with all that humility of looks and gesture, which can exhibit the most profound self-abasement and annihilation, before One, whose superiority is infinite. The head is a little raised, but with the most apparent timidity, and dread; the eye is lifted; but immediately cast down again, or closed for a moment; the eyebrows are drawn down in the most respectful manner; the features, and the whole body and limbs, are all composed to the most profound gravity; one posture continuing, without considerable change, during the whole performance of the duty. The knees bended, or the whole body prostrate, o [...] if the posture be standing, which scripture* does not disallow, bending forward, as ready to prostrate itself. The arms spread out, but modestly, as high as the breast; the hands open. The tone of the voice will be submissive, timid, equal, trembling, weak, suppliant. The words will be brought out with a visible anxiety and diffidence approaching to hesitation; few, and slow; nothing of vain repetition, † haranguing, flowers of rhetoric, or affected figures of speech; all simplicity, humility, and lowliness, such as becomes a reptile of the dust, when presuming to address Him, whose greatness is tremendous beyond all created conception. In intercession for our fellow-creatures, which is prescribed in the scriptures,§ and in [Page] thanksgiving, the countenance will naturally assume a small degree of cheerfulness, beyond what it was clothed with in confession of sin, and deprecation of punishment. But all affected ornament of speech or gesture in devotion, deserves the severest censure, as being somewhat much worse than absurd.

Respect for a superior, puts on the looks and gesture of modesty. See Modesty.

Hope brightens the countenance; arches the eyebrows; gives the eyes an eager, wishful look; opens the mouth to half a smile; bends the body a little forward, the feet equal; spreads the arms, with the hands open, as to receive the object of its longings. The tone of the voice is eager and unevenly inclining to that of joy; but curbed by a degree of doubt and anxiety. Desire differs from hope, as to expression, in this particular, that there is more appearance of doubt and anxiety in the former, than the latter. For it is one thing to desire what is agreeable, and another to have a prospect of actually obtaining it.

Desire expresses itself by bending the body forward, and stretching the arms toward the object, as to grasp it. The countenance smiling, but eager and wishful; the eyes wide open, and eyebrows raised; the mouth open; the tone of voice suppliant, but lively and cheerful, unless there be distress as well as desire: the expressions fluent and copious; if no words are used, sighs instead of them; but this is chiefly in distress.

Love (successful) lights up the countenance into smiles. The forehead is smoothed, and enlarged; the eyebrows are arched; the mouth a little open, and smiling; the eyes languishing and half-shut, dote upon the beloved object. The countenance assumes the eager and wishful look of desire (see Desire above) but mixed with an air of satisfaction, and repose. The accents are soft, and winning; the tone of voice persuasive, flattering, pathetic, various, musical, rapturous, as in joy. (See Joy.) The attitude much the same with that of desire. Sometimes both hands pressed eagerly to the bosom. Love, unsuccessful, adds an [Page] air of anxiety and melancholy. (See Perplexity and Melancholy.)

Giving, inviting, soliciting, and such like actions, which suppose some degree of affection, real or pretended, are accompanied with much the same looks and gestures as express love; but more moderate.

Wonder, or amazement (without any other interesting passion, as love, esteem, &c.) opens the eyes, and makes them appear very prominent; sometimes raises them to the skies; but oftener, and more expressively, fixes them on the object; if the cause of the passion be a present and visible object, with the look, all except the wildness, of fear. (See Fear.) If the hands hold any thing, at the time, when the object of wonder appears, they immediately let it drop, unconscious; and the whole body fixes in the contracted, stooping posture of amazement; the mouth open; the hands held up open, nearly in the attitude of fear. (See Fear.) The first access of this passion stops all utterance. But it makes amends afterwards by a copious flow of words and exclamations.

Admiration, a mixed passion, consisting of wonder, with love or esteem, takes away the familiar gesture, and expression of simple love. (See Love.) Keeps the respectful look and attitude. (See Modesty and Veneration.) The eyes are opened wide, and now and then raised toward heaven. The mouth is opened. The hands are lifted up. The tone of the voice rapturous. This passion expresses itself copiously, making great use of the figure hyperbole.

Gratitude puts on an aspect full of complacenc [...]. (See Love.) If the object of it is a character greatly superior, it expresses much submission. (See Modesty.) The right hand pressed upon the breast accompanies, very properly, the expression of a sincere and hearty sensibility of obligation.

Curiosity, as of a busy-body, opens the eyes, and mouth, lengthens the neck, bends the body forward, and fixes it in one posture, with the hands nearly in that of admiration. [Page] See Admiration. See also Desire, Attention, Hope, Enquiry, and Perplexity.

Persuasion puts on the looks of moderate love. (See Love.) Its accents are soft, flattering, emphatical, and articulate.

Tempting, or wheedling, expresses itself much in the same way; only carrying the fawning part to excess.

Promising is expressed with benevolent looks, the nod of consent, and the open hands gently moved towards the person, to whom the promise is made; the palms upwards. The sincerity of the promiser may be expressed by laying the right hand gently on the breast.

Affectation displays itself in a thousand different gestures, motions, airs, and looks, according to the character, which the person affects. Affectation of learning gives a stiff formality to the whole person. The words come stalking out with the pace of a funeral procession; and every sentence has the solemnity of an oracle. Affectation of piety turns up the goggling whites of the eyes to heaven, as if the person were in a trance, and fixes them in that posture so long that the brain of the beholder grows giddy. Then comes up, deeb-grumbling, a holy groan from the lower parts of the thorax; but so tremendous in sound, and so long protracted, that you expect to see a goblin rise, like an exhalation through the solid earth. Then he begins to rock from side to side, or backward and forward, like an aged pine on the side of a hill, when a brisk wind blows. The hands are clasped together, and often lifted, and the head often shaken with foolish vehemence. The tone of the voice is canting, or sing-song lullaby, not much distant from an Irish howl; and the words godly doggerel. Affectation of beauty, and killing, puts a fine woman by turns into all sorts of forms, appearances, and attitude, but amiable ones. She undoes, by art, or rather by awkwardness (for true art conceals itself) all that nature had done for her. Nature formed her almost an angel, and she, with infinite pains, makes herself a monkey. Therefore this species of Affectation is easily imitated, or taken [Page] off. Make as many, and as ugly grimaces, motions, and gestures, as can be made; and take care that nature never peep out; and you represent coquetish affectation to the life.

Sloth, appears by yawning, dosing, snoring, the head dangling sometimes to one side, sometimes to the other, the arms and legs stretched out, and every sinew of the body unstrung, the eyes heavy, or closed; the words, if any, crawl out of the mouth, but half-formed, scarce audible to any ear, and broken off in the middle by powerful sleep.

People, who walk in their sleep (of which our inimitable Shakespear has in his tragedy of MACBETH, drawn out a fine scene) are said to have their eyes open; though they are not, the more for that, conscious of any thing, but the dream, which has got possession of their imagination. I never saw one of those persons; therefore cannot describe their manner from nature; but I suppose, their speech is pretty much like that of persons dreaming, inarticulate, incoherent, and very different, in its tone, from what it is, when waking.

Intoxication shews itself by the eyes half-shut, sleepy, stupid, inflamed. An idiot smile, a ridiculous surliness or affected bravado, disgraces the bloated countenance. The mouth open tumbles out nonsense in heaps, without articulation enough for any ear to take it in, and unworthy of attention, if it could be taken in. The head seems too heavy for the neck. The arms dangle from the shoulders, as if they were almost cut away, and hung by shreds. The legs totter and bend at the knees, as ready to sink under the weight of the reeling body. And a general incapacity, corporeal and mental, exhibits human nature sunk below the brutal.

Anger (violent) or rage, expresses itself with rapidity, interruption, noise, harshness, and trepidation. The neck stretched out; the head forward, often nodding and shaken in a menacing manner, against the object of the passion. The eyes red, inflamed, staring, rolling, and sparkling; the eyebrows drawn down over them; and the forehead wrinkled [Page] into clouds. The nostrils stretched wide; every vein swelled; every muscle strained; the breast heaving and the breath fetched hard. The mouth open, and drawn on each side toward the ears, shewing the teeth, in a gnashing posture. The face bloated, pale, red, or, sometimes almost black. The feet stamping; the right arm often thrown out, and menacing with the clenched fist shaken, and a general and violent agitation of the whole body.

Peevishness, or ill-nature, is a lower degree of anger; and is therefore expressed in the above manner, only more moderate; with half sentences, and broken speeches, uttered hastily; the upper lip drawn up disdainfully; the eyes asquint upon the object of displeasure.

Malice, or spite, sets the jaws, or gnashes with the teeth, sends blasting flashes from the eyes; draws the mouth toward the ears; clenches both fists and bends the elbows in a straining manner. The tone of voice and expression, are much the same with that of anger; but the pitch not so loud.

Envy is a little more moderate in its gestures, than malice; but much the same in kind.

Revenge expresses itself as malice.

Cruelty. See Anger, Aversion, Malice, and the other irascible passions.

Complaining, as when one is under violent bodily pains, distorts the features; almost closes the eyes; sometimes raises them wishfully; opens the mouth; gnashes with the teeth; draws up the upper lip; draws down the head upon the breast, and the whole body together. The arms are violently bent at the elbows, and the fists strongly clenched. The voice is uttered in groans, lamentations, and violent screams. Extreme torture produces fainting and death.

Fatigue, from severe labour, gives a general langour to the whole body. The countenance is dejected. (See Grief.) The arms hang listless; the body, if sitting, or lying along be not the posture, stoops; as in old age. (See Dotage.) The legs, if walking, are dragged heavily [Page] along, and seem at every step ready to bend under the weight of the body. The voice is weak, and the words hardly enough articulated to be understood.

Aversion, or hatred, expressed to, or of any person, or thing, that is odious to the speaker, occasions his drawing back as avoiding the approach of what he hates: the hands, at the same time, thrown out spread, as if to keep it off. The face turned away from that side toward which the hands are thrown out; the eyes looking angrily and asquint the same way the hands are directed; the eyebrows drawn downward; the upper lip disdainfully drawn up; but the teeth set. The pitch of the voice loud; the tone chiding, unequal, surly, vehement. The sentences short, and abrupt.

Commendation, or approbation, from a superior, puts on the aspect of love, (excluding Desire, and Respect) and expresses itself in a mild tone of voice; the arms gently spread, the palms of the hands toward the person approved. Exhorting, or encouraging, as of an army by a general, is expressed with some part of the looks and action of courage.

Jealousy would be likely to be well expressed by one, who had often seen prisoners tortured in the dungeons of the inquisition, or who had seen what the dungeons of the inquisition are the best earthly emblem of; I mean Hell. For next to being in the pope's, or in satan's prison, is the torture of him who is possessed with the spirit of jealousy. Being a mixture of passions directly contrary to one another, the person, whose foul is the seat of such confusion and tumult, must be in as much greater misery than Prometheus, with the vulture tearing his liver, as the pains of the mind are greater than those of the body. Jealousy is a ferment of love, hatred, hope, fear, shame, anxiety, suspicion, grief, pity, envy, pride, rage, cruelty, vengeance, madness, and if there be any other tormenting passion, which can agitate the human mind. Therefore to express jealousy well, requires that one know how to represent justly all these passions by turns (See Love, Hatred, [Page] &c.) and often several of them together. Jealousy shews itself by restlessness, peevishness, thoughtfulness, anxiety, absence of mind. Sometimes it bursts out in a piteous complaint and weeping; then a gleam of hope, that all is yet well, lights up the countenance into a momentary smile. Immediately the face, clouded with a general gloom, shews the mind overcast again with horrid suspicions and frightful imaginations. Then the arms are folded upon the b [...]ast; the fists violently clenched; the rolling, bloody eyes dart fury. He hurries to and fro; he has no more rest, than a ship in a troubled sea, the sport of winds and waves. Again he composes himself a little to reflect on the charms of the suspected person. She appears to his imagination like the sweetness of the rising dawn. Then his monster-breeding fancy represents her as false, as she is fair. Then he roars out as one on the rack, when the cruel engine rends every joint, and every sinew bursts. Then he throws himself on the ground. He beats his head against the pavement. Then he springs up, and with the look and action of a fury, bursting hot from the abyss, he snatches the instrument of death, and, after ripping up the bosom, of the loved, suspected, hated, lamented, fair one, he stabs himself to the heart, and exhibits a striking proof, how terrible a creature a puny mortal is, when agitated by an infernal passion.

Dotage, or infirm old age, shews itself by talkativeness, boasting of the past, hollowness of eyes and cheeks, dimness of sight, deafness, tremor of voice, the accents, through default of teeth, scarce intelligible; hams weak, knees tottering, head paralytic, hollow coughing, frequent expectoration, breathless wheezing, laborious groaning, the body stooping under the insupportable load of years, which soon will crush it into dust, from whence it had its origin.

Folly, that is, of a natural idiot, gives the face an habitual thoughtless, brainless grin. The eyes dance from object to object, without ever fixing steadily upon any one. A thousand different and incoherent passions, looks, gestures, speeches and absurdities, are played off every moment.

[Page] Distraction opens the eyes to a frightful wildness; rolls them hastily and wildly from object to object; distorts every feature; gnashes with the teeth; agitates all the parts of the body; rolls in the dust; foams at the mouth; utters, with hideous bellowings, execrations, blasphemies, and all that is fierce and outrageous; rushes furiously on all who approach; and, if not restrained, tears its own flesh, and destroys itself.

Sickness has infirmity and feebleness in every motion and utterance. The eyes dim, and almost closed; cheeks pale and hollow; the jaw fallen; the head hung down; as if too heavy to be supported by the neck. A general inertia prevails. The voice trembling; the utterance through the nose; every sentence accompanied with a groan; the hand shaking, and the knees tottering under the body; or the body stretched helpless on the bed.

Fainting, produces a sudden relaxation of all that holds the human frame together, every sinew and ligament unstrung. The colour flies from the vermillion cheek; the sparkling eye grows dim. Down the body drops, as helpless, and senseless, as a mass of clay, to which, by its colour and appearance it seems hastening to resolve itself. Which leads me to conclude with

Death, the awful end of all flesh; which exhibits nothing in appearance different from what I have been just describing; for fainting continued ends in death; a subject almost too serious to be made a matter of artificial imitation.

Lower degrees of every passion are to be expressed by more moderate exertions of voice and gesture, as every public speaker's discretion will suggest to him.

Mixed passions, or emotions of the mind, require a mixed expression. Pity, for example, is composed of grief and love. It is therefore evident, that a correct speaker must, by his looks and gestures, and by the tone and pitch of his voice, express both grief and love, in expressing pity, and so of the rest.

There may be other humours or passions, besides these, [Page] which a reader, or speaker, may have occasion to express. But these are the principal. And, if there be any others, they will occur among the following examples for practice, taken from various authors, and rules will be given for expressing them. And though it may be alledged, that some of these passions, or humours, are such, as hardly ever come in the way of the speaker at the bar, in the pulpit, or either house of parliament, it does not therefore follow, that the labour of studying and practising the proper ways of expressing them is useless. On the contrary, every speaker will find his account in enlarging his sphere of practice. A gentleman may not have occasion every day, to dance a minuet: but he has occasion to go into company every day: and he will go into a room with much the better grace for his having learned to dance in the most elegant manner. The orator may not have actual occasion to express anger, jealousy, malice, and some few others of the more violent passions, for which I have here given rules. But he will, by applying his organs of elocution to express them, acquire a masterly ease and fluency, in expressing those he has actually occasion to express.

It is to be remembered, that the action, in expressing the various humours and passions, for which I have here given rules, is to be suited to the age, sex, condition, and circumstances of the character. Violent anger, or rage, for example, is to be expressed with great agitation (see Anger) but the rage of an infirm old man, of a woman, and of a youth, are all different from one another, and from that of a man in the flower of his age, as every speaker's discretion will suggest.

A hero may shew fear, or sensibility of pain: but not in the same manner as a girl would express those sensations. Grief may be expressed by a person reading a melancholy story, or description, in a room. It may be acted upon the stage. It may be dwelt upon by the pleader at the bar; or it may have a place in a sermon. The passion is still grief. But the manner of expressing it will be [Page] different in each of the speakers, if they have judgment.

A correct speaker does not make a movement of limb, or feature, for which he has not a reason. If he addresses heaven, he looks upward. If he speaks to his fellow-creatures, he looks round upon them. The spirit of what he says, or is said to him, appears in his look. If he expresses amazement, or would excite it, he lifts up his hands and eyes. If he invites to virtue and happiness, he spreads his arms, and looks benevolence. If he threatens the vengeance of heaven against vice, he bends his eyebrow into wrath, and menaces with his arm and countenance. He does not needlessly saw the air with his arm, nor stab himself with his finger. He does not clap his right hand upon his breast unless he has occasion to speak of himself, or to introduce conscience, or somewhat sentimental. He does not start back, unless he wants to express horror or aversion. He does not come forward, but when he has occasion to solicit. He does not raise his voice, but to express somewhat peculiarly emphatical. He does not lower it, but to contrast the raising of it. His eyes, by turns, according to the humour of the matter he has to express, sparkle fury; brighten into joy; glance disdain; melt into grief; frown disgust and hatred; languish into love; or glare distraction.

But to apply properly, and in a masterly manner, the almost endlessly various external expressions of the different passions and emotions of the mind, for which nature has so curiously fitted the human frame—hic labor— here is the difficulty. Accordingly a consummate public speaker is truly a phoenix. But much less than all this, is generally speaking, sufficient for most occasions.

There is an error, which is too inconsiderately received by many judicious, persons, viz. that a public speaker's shewing himself to be in earnest, will alone secure him of duly affecting his audience. Were this true, the enthusiastic rant of the fanatic, who is often very much in earnest, ought to please the judicious; in whom, on the contrary we know, it excites, only laughter, or pity. [Page] It is granted, that nature is the rule by which we are to speak and to judge of propriety in speaking. And every public speaker, who faithfully, and in a masterly manner, follows that universal guide, commands attention and approbation. But a speaker may, either through incurable natural deficiency, or by deviating into some incorrigible absurdity of manner, express the real and the warm sentiments of his heart, in such an awkward way as shall effectually defeat his whole design upon those who hear him, and render himself the object of their ridicule. It is not enough, as Quintilian* says, to be a human creature, to make a good speaker. As, on one hand, it is not true, that a speaker's shewing himself in earnest is alone sufficient, so on the other, it is certain that if he does not seem to be in earnest, † he cannot but fail of his design.

There is a true sublime in dilivery, as in the other imitative arts; in the manner as well as in the matter, of what an orator delivers. As in poetry, painting, sculpture, music, and the other elegancies, the true sublime consists in a set of masterly, large, and noble strokes of art, superior to florid littleness; so it is in delivery. The accents are to be clear and articulate; every syllable standing off from that which is next to it, so that they might be numbered as they proceed. The inflections of the voice are to be so distinctly suited to the matter, that the humor or passions might be known by the sound of the voice only, where there could not be one word heard. And the variations are to be, like the full swelling folds of the drapery in a fine picture, or statue, bold and free, and forcible.

True eloquence does not wait for cool approbation. Like irresistible beauty, it transports, it ravishes, it commands the admiration of all, who are within its reach. If it allows time to criticise, it is not genuine. It ought to hurry us out of ourselves, to engage and swallow up our [Page] whole attention; to drive every thing out of our minds, besides the subject it would hold forth, and the point, it wants to carry. The hearer finds himself as unable to resist it, as to blow out a conflagration with the breath of his mouth, or to stop the stream of a river with his hand. His passions are no longer his own. The orator has taken possession of them; and with superior power, works them to whatever he pleases.

There is no earthly object capable of making such various, and such forcible impressions upon the human mind, as a consummate speaker. In viewing the artificial creations, which flow from the pencil of a Raphael, the critical eye is indeed delighted to a high pitch, and the delight is rational, because it flows from sources, unknown to beings below the rational sphere. But the ear remains wholly unengaged and unentertained.

In listening to the raptures of Corelli, Geminiani, and Handel, the flood of pleasure which pours upon the ear, is almost too much for human nature. And music applied to express the sublimities of poetry, as in the oratorio of Samson, and the Allegro and Pensoroso, yields a pleasure so truly rational, that a Plato, or a Socrates, need not be ashamed to declare their sensibility of it. But here again, the eye has not its gratification. For the opera (in which action is joined with music, in order to entertain the eye at the same time with the ear) I must beg leave, with all due submission to the taste of the great, to consider as a forced conjunction of two things, which nature does not allow to go together. For it never will be other than unnatural, to see heroes fighting, commanding, threatening, lamenting, and making love in the warblings of an Italian song.

It is only the elegant speaker, who can at once regale the eye with the view of its most amiable object, the human form in all its glory; the ear with the original of all music, the understanding with its proper and natural food, the knowledge of important truth; and the imagination with all that, in nature, or in art, is beautiful, sublime [Page] or wonderful. For the orator's field is the universe, and his subjects are all that is known of God, and his works; of superior natures, good and evil, and their works; and of terrestrials, and their works.

In a consummate speaker, whatever there is of corporeal dignity, or beauty, the majesty of the human face divine, the grace of action, the piercing glance, or gentle languish, or fiery flash of the eye; whatever of lively passion, or striking emotion of mind, whatever of fine imagination, of wise reflection, or irresistible reasoning; whatever of excellent in human nature, all that the hand of the Creator has impressed, of his own image upon the noblest creature we are acquainted with, all this appears in the consummate speaker to the highest advantage. And whoever is proof against such a display of all that is noble in human nature, must have neither eye, nor ear, nor passion, nor imagination, nor taste, nor understanding.

Though it may be alledged, that a great deal of gesture, or action, at the bar, or in the pulpit, especially the latter, is not wanted, nor is quite in character; it is yet certain, that there is no part of the man, that has not its proper attitude. The eyes are not to be rolled along the cicling, as if the speaker thought himself in duty bound to take care how the flies behave themselves. Nor are they to be constantly cast down upon the ground, as if he were before his judge, receiving sentence of death. Nor to be fixed upon one point, as if he saw a ghost. The arms of the preacher are not to be needlessly thrown out, as if he were drowning in the pulpit; or brandished, after the manner of the ancient pugiles, or boxers, exercising themselves by fighting with their own shadow, to prepare them for the Olympic contests. Nor, on the contrary, are his hands to be pocketed up, nor his arms to hang by his sides as lank as if they were both withered. The head is not to stand fixed, as if the speaker had a perpetual crick in his neck. Nor is it to nod at every third [Page] word, as if he were acting Jupiter, or his would-be-son Alexander.*

A judicious speaker is master of such a variety of decent and natural motions, and has such command of attitude, that he will not be long enough in one posture to offend the eye of the spectator. The matter, he has to pronounce, will suggest the propriety of changing from time to time, his look, his posture, his motion, and tone of voice, which if they were to continue too long the same, would become tedious, and irksome to the beholders. Yet he is not to be every moment changing posture, like an harlequin, nor throwing his hands about, as if he were shewing legerdemain tricks.

Above all things, the public speaker is never to forget the great rule, ARS EST CELARE ARTEM. It would be infinitely more pleasing to see him deliver himself with as little motion, and no better attitude, than those of an Egyptian mummy, than distorting himself into all the violations of decorum, which affectation produces. Art, seen through, is execrable.

Modesty ought ever to be conspicuous in the behaviour of all, who are obliged to exhibit themselves before the eye of the public. Whatever of gesture, or exertion of voice, such persons use, they ought to appear plainly to be drawn into them by the importance, spirit or humor of the matter. If the speaker uses any arts of delivery, which appear, plainly to be studied; the effect will be, that his awkward attempt to work upon the passions of his hearers, by means, of which he is not master, will render him odious and contemptible to them. With what stiff and pedantic solemnity do some public speakers utter thoughts, so trifling, as to be hardly worth uttering at all? [Page] And what unnatural and unsuitable tones of voice, and gesticulations, do others apply, in delivering what, by their manner of delivering, one would be apt to question, not only whether it is their own composition, but whether they really understand it.

The clergy have one considerable apology from the awkwardness of the place they speak from. A pulpit is, by its very make, necessarily destructive of all grace of attitude. What could even a Tully do in a tub, just big enough for him to stand in, immersed up to the arm-pits, pillowing his chin upon its cushion, as Milton describes the sun upon the orient wave? But it is hardly to be expected, that this, or any other impropriety in sacred matters, of which there are many greater, should be altered. Errors in them, become, by long establishment, sacred. * And I doubt not, but some of the narrower part of the clergy, as well as of the people, would think any other form of a pulpit, than the present, though much fitter for exhibiting the speaker to an advantage, an innovation likely to prove dangerous to religion, and which is worse, to the church.

Nor is it to be expected, that decorum of manner, in preaching, should be carried to any great perfection in England, while reading is thought to be preaching. If the Greek and Roman orators had read their sermons, the effect would have been, I suppose, pretty much the same as that which sermons produce among us. The hearers might have, many of them, dropped asleep. In some foreign countries, preachers are so much aware of the disadvantage of reading, that such, as have weak memories, have a prompter behind, in the pulpit, out of sight. However, it must be owned, that, if preachers would bestow a little pains in committing to the memory the substance of their discourses, so as not to be slaves to written notes, and endeavour to gain a tolerable readiness at extemporary amplification (which at the bar is indispensible) [Page] their discourses might have effect, though the eye should now and then be cast upon the notes, if not in a clumsy manner, and with hesitation. Quintilian * himself will not object to so much use of notes, as I have here allowed; though he absolutely requires his orator to be possessed of a memory. †

To hear a judicious and elegant discourse from the pulpit, which would, in print, make a noble figure, murdered by him, who had learning and taste to compose it, but having been neglected as to one important part of his education, knows not how to deliver it otherwise than with a tone between singing and saying, or with a nod of his head, to enforce, as with a hammer, every emphatical word, or with the same unanimated monotony, in which he was used to repeat Quae genus, at Westminster school; what can be imagined more lamentable! Yet what more common! Were the educators of youth, intended for the ministry, of the opinion of the prince of orators, viz. that delivery is the first, second and third part of oratory, they would spare some time from the many less necessary parts of school learning, to apply it to one so very essential; without which the weight of the most sacred subject, the greatest depth of critical disquisition, the most unexceptionable reasoning, the most accurate arrangement of matter, and the most striking energy of style, are all lost upon an audience; who sit unaffected, and depart unimproved. From hence it is, that while places of public worship are almost empty, theatres [Page] are crowded. Yet in the former the most interesting subjects are treated. In the latter all is fiction. To the former all are invited without any expense. The charge and trouble of attending the latter are considerable. But it will not be otherwise, so long as the speakers in the former take no more pains to enforce their public instructions, than if they delivered fictions, and those in the latter bestow so much to make fictions seem true. It may be said, this observation has often been made before. The more is the pity. And it ought to be often made again, and to be dwelt upon, till the fault is amended.

Did preachers labour to acquire a masterly delivery, places of public instruction would be crowded, as places of public diversion are now. Rakes and infidels, merely to shew their taste, would frequent them. Could all frequent them and none profit?

It is common to hear complaints, from the clergy of the inattention of their hearers, even to dozing, and sometimes to profound sleep. But where does this complaint fall at last? Even upon the preachers themselves, who address their hearers with such coldness and indifference as to leave them nothing to do, but to go to sleep. Let the preacher but exert himself properly, and he may defy his hearers to go to sleep, or withdraw their attention for a moment.

The clergy are likewise very full of their complaints of the little effect their labours produce. Infidelity and vice, they cry, prevail more than ever. Churches are poorly filled. And those, who attend for fashion's sake, are not much better than their neighbours.

But what is the plain English of this lamentable outcry? Why, truly, that they find people loth to go to the places of public instruction to be disgusted or lulled to sleep. And, that, when they have them there, they cannot persuade them to quit their vices and follies by lolling twenty minutes upon a velvet cushion, and reading to them a learned discourse. That they cannot warm them to the love of virtue by a cold, ill-read, pulpit harangue. That they cannot win their affections whilst [Page] they neglect all the natural means for working upon the human passions. That they cannot kindle in them that burning zeal which suits the most important of all interests, by talking to them with the coolness of a set of Stoic philosophers, of the terrors of the Lord, of the worm that never dies, and the fire that is not quenched, and of future glory, honor, and immortality, of everlasting kingdoms, and heavenly thrones.

I know it is common for preachers to plead, in excuse of the frigidity of their manner, in addressing their audiences, their modesty, and fear of being accused of affectation. But are these any hinderance to the elocution of the actors, or even of the actresses; who, by study, and practice, come to get the better of timidity, and to attain an elegant and correct utterance (and are indeed, the only speakers we have in England) without any appearance of affectation; which would render them unsufferable. But do our preachers, in general, bestow any thought, or use any means, of any kind, for improving themselves in speaking? The younger part of the players rehearse, and practice over, and over, many a time, and are long under the tuition of the principal actors, before they appear in public. But there are, I believe, no other public speakers among us, who take such pains; though they bestow great pains in improving themselves in learning; which shews, that the neglect of this accomplishment is more owing to the want of a due sense of its usefulness, than to any other cause. And yet, of the two, learning is much less necessary to a preacher, than skill in persuading. Quintilian* makes this latter the supreme excellence in his orator.

Let the reader only consider, that a shoemaker, or a taylor, is under a master seven years, at least, before he sets up for himself. But the preacher goes into the pulpit at once, without ever having had one lesson, or article of instruction in that part of his art, which is the chief and most weighty, and without which all his other accomplishments [Page] are worth nothing, toward gaining the end of preaching

It may be alledged, that the clergy cannot be expected to be great orators for fifty or an hundred pounds a year, which poor pittance is as much as many hundreds, I may say thousands, of them, have to maintain themselves and their families. The more is the pity.

But there are many players who do not get more than the lower clergy. And yet they study hard, for no greater encouragement, and actually acquire such skill in working upon the passions of mankind, that, for my part, if I wanted to have a composition of mine well spoken, I would put it into the hands of a second-rate player, rather than of any preacher I ever heard.

What could be imagined more elegant, if entertainment alone were sought; what more useful, if the good of mankind were the object, than the sacred function of preaching properly performed? Were the most interesting of subjects treated with proper perspicuity and adequate judgment, and well wrought discourses delivered to listening crowds with that dignity which becomes a teacher of divine truth, and with that energy, which should shew, that the preacher spoke from his own heart, and meant to speak to the hearts of his hearers, what effects might not follow? Mankind are not wood or stone. They are undoubtedly capable of being roused and startled. They may be drawn, and allured. The voice of an able preacher, thundering out, the divine threatenings against vice, would be in the ear of the offender, as if he heared the sound of the last trumpet summoning the dead to judgment. And the gentle call of mercy encouraging the terrified, and almost despairing penitent to look up to his offended heavenly Father, would seem as the song of angels. A whole multitude might be lifted to the skies. The world of spirits might be [...]pened to the eyes of their minds. The terrors of that punishment, which awaits vice; the glories of that state, to which virtue will, through divine savour, raise the pious, might be, by a powerful preacher, rendered present to their understandings, [Page] with such conviction, as would make indelible impressions upon their hearts, and work a substantial reformation in their lives.*

The convincing and irrefragable proof, that real and important effects might be produced by preachers by a proper application of oratory to the purposes of instructing and amending mankind, is, That oratory has been in all times, known actually to produce great alterations in men's ways of thinking and acting. And there is no denying facts. To bring instances of this in a copious manner, as the subject might deserve, would be to quote more history than could be comprehended in such a volume as this. Nor can any reader imagine, an art could have been, in all free governments, so laboriously cultivated by statesmen, had they not found it useful in the state. Do we not, in our own times, see the effects produced by it in the British parliament? But if any one should alledge, that there is nothing in the power of preachers by means of oratory; does it not follow, that then the whole function of preaching may as well be laid aside? For, if good speaking will have no effect upon mankind, surely bad will have none.

Reasoning a priori, one would conclude, that we should see both the study, and the effects of oratory, carried to a pitch beyond what they reached in the ancient times of Heathenism. Have we not the advantage of those noble models, which the ancients struck out by the mere force of natural unassisted genius? Ought we not to exceed those models? But do we come up to them? Have we not incomparably clearer views of nature, and of all knowledge, than the ancients had? Have we not whole sciences of which they knew nothing? The Newtonion philosophy alone! to what sentiments does it lift the mind! How do the ideas, it gives us, of immensity filled with innumerable worlds revolving round innumerable sons; those worlds themselves the centres of others secondary [Page] to them; all attracting; all attracted; enlightening, or receiving light; at distances unmeasurable, but all under one law!—How do these ideas to [...] to raise our conceptions of the Author of such a work? Caught not our productions to exceed theirs, who had no such helps to enrich and enliven their imaginations? But, above all, as much as the heavens are higher than the earth, so much ought the views which revelation presents us with, to ennoble all our productions above those of the ancients, on whom that glorious light never shone. What had a Demosthenes, or a Cicero, to inspire so divine an ardor into their addresses to the people, compared with those sublime doctrines, which angels desire earnestly to pry into? If the poetical description of Jupiter shaking heaven with his nod, warmed the imagination of a Phidias to such a pitch, as enabled him to produce the most majestic piece of statuary, that ever was beheld; and if the imagination of the author * of that poetical description was exalted by the scenes he saw, and the learning he acquired by travelling into Egypt, and other parts; how ought the genius of the christian orator to be elevated, how ought both his compositions, and his manner of delivering them, to shine superior to all that antiquity ever saw; a [...] he enjoys superior advantages for ennobling all his sentiments and giving dignity and spirit to all he composes, and utters! If we find a Plato, or a Cicero, whenever they touch upon the sublime doctrine of a future state, rise above themselves, warmed with—shall I say the prospect? no—with the possibility, or at most, with the hope of immortality; how animate ought our descriptions to be, how forcible our manner of treating of what we pretend firmly to believe; of what we know the Author of our religion confirmed by actually rising from the grave, triumphing gloriously over death, and ascending visibly to heaven.

Poor were the motives, and cold the encouragements which they could offer, to excite their hearers to bravery, [Page] and to virtue, compared with those which we have to propose. For, if they put them in mind of their country, their wives, their children, their aged and helpless parents; if they called upon them to shew themselves worthy descendants of their illustrious ancestors; if they roused their shame, or their sense of honor; if they held forth the prize of deathless fame; all these are as cogent arguments now, as they were then. What advantage our Christian orators have over them, toward gaining their end of alarming, persuading, and reforming mankind, appears from considering how little chance we should have of producing any good effect upon a people strongly attached to pleasures, riches, and honors, by telling them, that if they continued to pursue these their beloved objects by unlawful means, they might expect, after their death, to be carried before Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Aeacus, who would condemn their souls to Tartarus, where the soul of Ixion was tied upon a whe [...], and whirled about without rest; where Prometheus had his liver gnawed by a vulture, which grew again as fast as it was devoured; and where Danaus's fifty daughters had a set of barrels with holes in their bottoms to keep continually full to the top, and where all wicked souls would be condemned to some such punishment; but if, on the contrary, they would act the part of honest and worthy men, and exert themselves to the hazard, and, perhaps, loss of their lives, in defence of the liberties of their country, their souls would be ordered, by the judges of the dead, to be placed in the Elysian fields, where were pleasant greens, and lucid streams, and fragrant groves; and where they should amuse themselves with the innocent pleasures, which delighted them while here. Had our Christian orators no better motives to urge, than such as could be drawn from the consideration of certain imaginary rewards and punishments to be distributed in a certain possible, but doubtful future state, in some unknow subterranean region; it might be expected, that their zeal in [Page] urging them would be but cold, and the effects of their addresses to the people, inconsiderable. But the ancient orators had no better motives, from futurity, than these which I have mentioned, and those they could draw from other considerations were the same, which we may use now. What accounts should we have had of the power with which they spoke, and of the effects of their speeches, if they had had the awful subjects to treat of, and the advantages for treating of them with effect, which our preachers have! O shame to modern times! A Pericles, or a Demosthenes, could shake all Greece, when they warned their countrymen against an invasion, or alarmed them about the danger of their liberties! Whilst we can hardly keep our hearers awake, when we stand forth to warn them, in the name of God, against the consequences of vice, ruinous to individuals, ruinous to nations; the cause not only of the subversion of states and kingdoms, when luxury, and corruption spread their fatal contagion and leave a people the unthinking prey of tyranny and oppression; but of utter irretrievable destruction of the souls and bodies of half a species* from the presence of God, and from the glory of his power, at that tremendous day, when the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised, and when he shall sit upon the throne of judgment, from whose face heaven and earth shall fly away;† whose voice shall pronounce on the wicked the dreadful sentence, "Depart, ye cursed;" and whose breath shall blow up the unquenchable flame, in which rebellious angels and men shall be irrecoverably swallowed up and destroyed.

It may, perhaps, be objected here, that sacred truth needs no ornament to set it off, no art to enforce it. That the apostles were artless and illiterate men; and yet they gained the great end of their mission, the conviction of multitudes, and the establishment of their religion. That [Page] therefore, there is no necessity for this attention to delivery, in order to quality the preacher for his sacred office, or to render his labors successful.

To all this the answer is ready, viz. First, the apostles were not all artless and illiterate. St. Paul, the greatest and most general propagator of christianity, is an eminent exception. He could he no mean orator, who confounded the Jews at Damascus,* made a prince, before whom he stood to be judged, confess, that he had almost persuaded him to become a convert to a religion every where spoken against; † threw another into a fit of trembling, as he sat upon his judgment-seat; ‡ made a defence before the learned court of Areopagus, which gained him for a convert a member of the court itself; § struck a whole people with such admiration, that they took him for the god of eloquence; ‖ and gained him a place in Longinus's ¶ list of famous orators. Would the cold-served-up monotony of our English sermon-readers have produced such effects as these? But farther, the apostles might very well spare human accomplishments; having what was worth them all, viz. the Divine gift of working miracles; which if our preachers had, I should not have much to say about their qualifying themselves in elocution. But, as it is, public instruction is the preacher's weapon, with which he is to combat infidelity and vice. And what avails a weapon without skill to wield it?

Medicines the most salutary to the body are taken with reluctance, if nauseous to the taste. However, they are taken. But the more necessary physic for the soul, if it be not rendered somewhat palatable, will be absolutely rejected. For we are much less prudent in our care [Page] for the most valuable part of ourselves than for the least. Therefore the preacher, ought, above all other public speakers, to labor to enrich and adorn, in the most masterly manner, his addresses to mankind; his views being the most important. What grand point has the player to gain? Why, to draw an audience to the theatre.* The pleader at the bar, if he lays before the judges and jury, the true state of the case, so as they may be most likely to see where the right of it lies, and a just decision may be given, has done his duty; and the affair in agitation is an estate, or at most, a life, which will soon, by course of nature, be extinct. And of the speaker in either house of parliament, the very utmost, that can be said, is, that the good of his country, may, in great measure, depen [...] upon his tongue. But the infinitely important object of preaching is, the reformation of mankind, upon which depends their happiness in this world, and throughout the whole of their being. Of what consequence is it, then, that the art of preaching be carried to such perfection, that all may be drawn to places of public instruction, and that those, who attend them, may receive benefit! And if almost the whole of preaching be delivery, how necessary is the study of delivery! That delivery is incomparably the most important part in public instruction, is manifest from this, that very indifferent matter well delivered will make a considerable impression. † But bad utterance will defeat the whole effect of the noblest composition ever produced.

While exorbitant appetite, and unruly passion within, [Page] while evil example, with alluring solicitation without (to say nothing of the craft and assaults of the grand enemy of mankind) while these invite and ensnare the frail and thoughtless into guilt; shall virtue and religion hold forth no charms to engage votaries? Pleasure decks herself out with rich attire. Soft are her looks, and melting is the sweetness of her voice. And must religion present herself with every disadvantage? Must she appear quite unadorned? What chance can she then have in competition with an enemy so much better furnished with every necessary invitation and allurement? Alas! our preachers do not address innocents in paradise; but thoughtless and often habituated sinners. Mere cold explaining will have but little effect on such. Weak is the hold, which reason has on most men. Few of mankind have able heads. All have hearts; and all hearts may be touched, if the speaker is master of his art. The business is not so much, to open the understanding, as to warm the heart. There are few who do not know their duty. To allure them to the doing of it, is the difficulty. Nor is this to be effected by cold reasoning. Accordingly, the scripture-orators [...]e none of them cold. Their addresses are such as hardly any man can utter without warmth. "Hear, O heavens! Give ear, O earth! To thee, O man, I call; my voice is to the sons of men: As I live, saith the Lord, I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked; but rather that he turn from his wickedness, and live. Turn ye, turn ye, Why will ye die? O Jerusalem, Jerusalem! thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them who are sent unto thee! How often would I have gathered thy children, as a hen gathereth her brood under her wings, and ye would not. Hadst thou, in this thy day, known the things which belong to thy peace!—But now they are hid [...] from thine eyes."

It is true, the preacher is carfully to avoid ostentation; he is not to preach himself; but Christ. But at the same time he is to "stir up every gift that is in him; to cry [Page] aloud, and not to spare, to lift up his voice like a trumpet; to reprove, correct, and instruct; to be instant in season and out of season; to become (innocently) all things to all men," consequently to become an orator, if men are not to be affected by simple unadorned truth, however weighty.

What can the people think of the sincerity of the preacher, who is cold and lauguid in his public instructions, while he is as warm and zealous, as other men, in the defence of an inconsiderable part of his property? Would he plead as calmly for his life, as he does with his people in the cause of virtue and religion. Coolness in a matter of the last importance, and about which one is really in earnest, is so unnatural, as to be hardly practicable. Therefore, Cicero* takes it for granted, that Calidius could not have addressed the senate in so indifferent, and unanimated a manner, if what he wanted to persuade them to believe had not been mere fiction. And Demosthenes, when one came to him, begging, that he would plead his cause, against a person who had used him cruelly, of which usage he gave Demosthenes a very cold and unanimated account, could not believe, that he had been so injured; till, upon his signifying his suspicion, the man was roused to some warmth; and then the orator was convinced, that his complaint was well founded, and immediately undertook his defence. †

If it should be said by preachers, "The people will be as much offended with us, if we overact our part, as they are now indifferent about attending our ministry; so that it will avail nothing to study a more lively delivery;" to this I must beg leave to answer, that there is no reason to fear any thing from it. Because a manner of preaching may be used, which shall have ten times more life and vivacity in it, than the present, and yet (if it be [Page] not unnatural or incorrect) be very safe from all danger of exceeding due bounds as to vivacity and force. And, farther, we do in fact observe, that no preacher is admired (I do not mean by the mob, but by people of education) whose delivery is dull and unanimated; let his matter be what it will.

Lest any reader should think, I have been too severe upon the deficiencies of men of sacred characters, as to delivery, either in leading the devotions of the people, or in instructing them in their duty; I will add, by way of apology for what I have said, some passages, to the same purpose, from the SPECTATOR.

"SIR,

The well reading of the common prayers is of so great importance, and so much neglected, that I take the liberty to offer to your consideration some particulars on that subject. And what more worthy your observation, than this? A thing so public, and of so high consequence. It is indeed wonderful, that the frequent exercise of it should not make the performers of that duty more expert in it. This inability, as I conceive, proceeds from the little care, that is taken of their reading while at school, where, when they are got into Latin, they are looked upon as above English, the reading of which is wholly neglected, or, at least, read to very little purpose, without any due observation made to them of the proper accent and manner of reading. By this means they have acquired such ill habits, as will not easily be removed."

The writer of the letter then goes on to mention the advantage he himself found from being led in his devotions by an elegant performer of the service at St. James's Garlick-hill church.

"My eyes and my thoughts (says he) could not wander as usual; but were confined to my prayers.—The confession was read with such a resigned humility, the absolution with such a comfortable authority, the thanksgivings with such a religious joy, as made me feel those affections of the mind in a manner I never did before. [Page] To remedy, therefore, the grievance above complained of, I humbly propose, that this excellent reader, upon the text, and every annual assembly of the clergy at Sion College, and all other conventions, should read prayers before them. For then those, that are afraid of stretching their mouths, and spoiling their soft voices, will learn to read with clearness, loudness, and strength. Others, who affect a rakish negligent air, by folding their arms, and lolling upon their hook, will be taught a decent behaviour. Those who read so fast as if impatient of their work, may learn to speak deliberately. There is another sort, whom I call Pindaric readers, as being confined to no set measure. These pronounce five or six words with great deliberation, and the five or six subsequent ones with as great celerity; the first part of a sentence with a very exalted voice, and the latter very low. Sometimes with one sort of tone, and immediately after with a different one. These gentlemen will learn of my admired reader an evenness of voice and delivery. And all, who are innocent of these affectations, but read with such an indifferency, as if they did not understand the language, may be informed of the art of reading movingly and fervently; how to place the emphasis, and give the proper accent to each word, and how to vary the voice, according to the nature of the sentence. There is certainly a difference between reading a prayer and a gazette. These are often pretty classical scholars, and would think it an unpardonable sin to read Virgil, or Martial, with as little taste, as they do divine service."

Spect. No. 147.

And the same standard author, in his 407th paper, complains as follows.

"Our preachers stand stock still in the pulpit; and will nof so much as move a finger to set off the best sermons in the world. We meet with the same speaking statues at our bars, and in all public places of debate. Our words flow from us in a smooth continued stream, without those strainings of the voice, motions of the body, and majesty of the hand, which are so much celebrated in [Page] the orators of Greece and Rome. We can talk of life and death in cold blood, and keep our temper in a discourse, which turns upon every thing that is dear to us.

"It is certain, that proper gestures, and vehement exertions of the voice, cannot be too much studied by a public orator. They are a kind of comment, upon what he utters, and enforce every thing he says, with weak hearers" [and surely the bulk of hearers are weak] "better than the strongest argument he can make use of. They keep the audience awake, and fix their attention to what is delivered to them; at the same time, that they shew, the speaker is in earnest, and affected himself with what he so passionately recommends to others—

"How cold and dead a figure in comparison of these two great men" [Demosthenes and Cicero] "does an orator often make at the British bar, holding up his head with the most insipid serenity, and stroking the sides of a long wig," &c.

Dean Swift (who was no friend to over-doing on the serious side) advises his young clergymen as follows:

"I take it for granted that you are already desirous to be seen in a pulpit. But, I hope, you think it prudent to pass quarantine among the desolate churches five miles round this town, where you may at least learn to read and speak, before you venture to expose your parts in a city congregation. Not that these are better judges; but, because, if a man must needs expose his folly, it is more safe and discreet to do so before few witnesses, and in a scattered neighbourhood. And you will do well, if you can prevail with some intimate and judicious friend to be your constant hearer, and to beg of him to give you notice, with the utmost freedom, of whatever he finds amiss either in your voice or gesture. For want of such early warning, many clergymen continue defective, and sometimes rediculous, to the end of their lives. Neither is it rare to observe, among excellent and learned divines, a certain ungracious manner, or unhappy tone of voice, which they have never been able to shake off." LETTER TO A YOUNG CLERGYMAN.

[Page]Are the faults complained of by these authors, who wrote almost fifty years ago, amended, or likely to be amended? Let the answer to this question be collected from the following verses, by Dr. Byram, prefixed to Fordyce's ART OF PREACHING, published a few years ago.

For, what's a sermon, good, or bad,

If a man reads it like a lad?

To hear some people when they preach,

How they run o'er all parts of speech,

And neither raise a word nor sink;

Our learned bishops, one would think,

Had taken school-boys from the rod,

To make embassadors of God.

And afterwards,

In point of sermons, 'tis confest,

Our English clergy make the best:

But this appears we must confess,

Not from the pulpit, but the press.

They manage with disjointed skill,

The matter well, the manner ill;

And, what seems paradox at first,

They make the best, and preach the worst.

If there is, as we have seen, so much room to lament the deficiences of those who are to lead the devotions of congregations, and to instruct them in their duty, and whose business it is to win them, by every engaging and powerful art, to the faithful performance of it; if there is so much reason to wish that those failures might be made up, and those errors amended, which are undoubtedly a great cause of the reluctance we observe, in many to attend, and their coldness and indifferency in, places of public worship and instruction; if the clergy are so deficient in their public performances, what is left for me to say of those devotion-confounding, ear-splitting pests of our churches, I mean the parish-clerks and parish-children? [Page] I would only ask, whether, if we had declared a final and irreconcileable hostility against common decency, not to say propriety, and had set ourselves to find out the most effectual means possible for turning worship into burlesque; I would ask, I say, whether, if this was our design, there could be a more certain way to gain it, than to place a set of people in every church, who should come in between every two sentences spoken by the minister, with a squawl as loud as the sound of ten trumpets, and totally discordant from one another, and from the key in which the minister speaks. If the minister speaks properly, why do not the clerk and the charity-children speak in concord with him? If the clerk speaks properly, why do not the minister and the children speak in the same key with him? Or if the children are right, why do not the minister and clerk scream as high, or, at least, take a concordant key with theirs? They cannot be all right, and all different, from one another. How much more rational would it be to spend the time, which is now so ridiculously thrown away in teaching the poor children to set the ears of the whole parish on edge, in making them understand thoroughly what they so often repeat by rote, without understanding, I mean the answers to those useful questions in their catechism, "What is your duty to God?" and, "What is your duty to your neighbour?" This would be of service to them all their lives; whereas the other answers no end, that has the least connection with common-sense.

It is by keeping clear of every thing disagreeable or grating, and by consulting all that may please, entertain, and strike, that the sagacious Roman Catholics keep up in their people, a delight in the public services of their foolish religion. If we were wise, and as much in earnest as we ought, we should imitate them in this. But what avails it to attempt to oppose that which has power to make wrong right, and absurdity proper, I [Page] mean, the irresistible tyrant, CUSTOM, whose dominion is in no nation, more absolute (where there are so many so capable of judging) than in this our dear country.

Notes

*

Cic. de ORAT. L. i. p. 83.

↵

*

The PRECEPTOR, a work in two volumes, 8vo. has some lessons for practice; but not the variety of humours or passions, which my design takes in; nor the notes of direction for expressing them properly, Besides that the PRECEPTOR is a book of price, and fitter for the rea [...]'s use, than the pupil's; so that I do not think it answers the purpose I had in view in this publication. If it did, I should have used it. Otherwise I think it an useful book, and am glad to find that it well received.

↵

*

Pliny says, Isocrates was paid that sum for one oration.

↵

*

Quint. C. x.

↵

*

Yet Quintilian would have his orator by all me [...] study music, C. viii.

↵

*

See S [...]TATON. NO. [...]8.

↵

*

John iv. 1, 2, 3.

↵

*

De Orat. L. III. p. 144. Tom. I. "H [...]abeat tamen illa in dicendo," &c.

↵

†

The word key (taken from music) means that note, in the scale, which is the lowest of those that are used in a particular piece, and to which the others refer; and has nothing to do with loudness, or softness. For a piece of music may be sung or played louder or softer, whatever its key is.

↵

*

"Quid insuavius, &c. What is more offensive to the ear, than for a pleader to open his cause in a boisterous manner." A [...]CT. AD HEREN. L. III. N. XII.

↵

†

"Quem penes arbitrium est, et jus et norma loquendi." HOR. ART PORT.

↵

*

INST. ORAT. p. 455. "Annon his poscimus," &c.

↵

*

AUCT. AD HEREN. L. III. N. XV. Quintil. INST, ORAT. p. 457.

↵

*

—ridie [...]lunt acri

Fortius et melius magnas plerumque sceat res.

HOR.

↵

*

Curae leves loquuntur; ingentes stupent. Seneca HIPP.

↵

*

Mark xi. 25.

↵

†

Matth. vi. 7.

↵

§

Matth. v. 44. Luke vi. 28.

↵

*

INST. ORAT. p. 442.

↵

†

— Si vis me flere, dolendum est

Prius ipsi tibi.

HOR.

↵

*

With ravish'd ears

The monarch hears;

Assumes the god,

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

DRYDEN'S O [...]E.

↵

*

See the writings of many of the clergy themselves to this purpose as Dr. Clark, [...]are [...]adly, Whiston, Clayton, &c. the CANDID DISQUISITIONS and the CO [...]ESSIONAL

↵

*

Inst. Orat. L. x C. vii.

↵

†

Dean Swift, in his Letter to a young Clergyman, writes on this subject, as follows:

"I cannot but think, that what is read differs as much from what is repeated without book, as a copy does from an original. At the same time I am fully sensible. what an extreme difficulty it would be upon you to alter this; and that if you did, your sermons would be much less valuable than otherwise, for want of time to improve and correct them: I would therefore gladly come to a compromise with you in this matter."

He then goes on to advise, that he should write his sermons in a large fair hand, and read them over several times before delivering them, so as to be able, with the help of an eye cast down now and then upon the paper, to pronounce them with ease and force.

↵

*

Quint. Inst. Orat. L. vi. C. ii.

↵

*

Quintilian (INST. ORAT. L. vi. C. ii.) makes the knowledge and command of the pathetic, the main instrument of persuasion, which, according to him, is the great business of the o [...]tor.

↵

*

Hom. vid. II. 1.

↵

*

"Strait is the gate, and narrow the way, that leadeth to life, and few there be who find it." Matt. vii. 14.

↵

†

Rev. xx. 11.

↵

*

Acts ix. 22.

↵

†

Acts xxvi. 28. xxviii. 22.

↵

‡

Acts xxiv. 25.

↵

§

Acts xvii. 34.

↵

‖

Acts xiv. 12.

↵

¶

"It was with no small pleasure I lately met with a fragment of Longinus, which is preserved, as a testimony of that critic's judgment, at the beginning of a manuscript of the New Testament in the Vatican library. After that author has numbered up the most celebrated orators among the Grecians, he says, "Add to these Paul of Tarsus, the patr [...] "an opinion not yet fully proved." Spect. No. 633.

↵

*

I deny not, that the theatre is capable of being made a school of virtue. But it must be put under regulations, other than we have ever yet seen it; and those [...] various to be specified here; so numerous are the particulars, which want reformation, much more being at present wrong than right.

↵

†

"A proof of the importance of delivery," (says Quintilian) may be drawn from the additional force, which the actors give to what is written by the best poets, so that what we hear pronounced by them gives infinitely more pleasure than when we only read it." And again, "I think, I may affirm, that a very indifferent speech, well set off by the speaker, shall have a greater effect, than the best, if destitute of that advantage." Quint Inst. Orat. p. 441. "Documento sunt vel sceni [...]i," &c.

↵

*

Tuistue, M. Calidi nisi singeres, sic ageres?

Cic. Brut. p. 181. Tom. 1.

↵

†

Plut in. vit. Demosth.

↵

LESSONS.

[Page]

I. HISTORICAL NARRATION. ⁽¹⁾

THE Trojans ⁽²⁾ (if we may believe tradition) were the first founders of the Roman Commonwealth; Narration who under the conduct of Aeneas, having made their escape from their own ruined country, got to Italy, and there for some time lived a rambling and unsettled life, without any fixed place of abode, among the natives, and uncultivated people, who had neither law nor regular government, but were wholly free from all rule or restraint. This mixed multitude, however, crowding together into one city, though originally different in extraction, language and customs, united into one body, in a surprising ⁽³⁾ short space of time. [Page] And as their little state came to be improved by additional numbers, by policy, and by extent in territory and seemed likely to make a figure among the nations; according to the common course of things, the appearance of prosperity drew upon them the envy of the neighbouring states: so that the princes and people who [...]rdered upon them, began to seek occasions of quarrelling with them. The alliances they could form, were but few: for most of the neighbouring states avoided embroiling themselves on their account. The Romans seeing, that they had nothing to trust to, but their own conduct, found it necessary ⁽¹⁾ to bestir themselves with great diligence, to make vigorous preparations to excite one another, to face their enemies in the field, to hazard their lives in defence of their liberty, their country, and their families. And when, by their valour, they repulsed the enemy, they gave assistance to their allies, and gained friendships by often giving, ⁽²⁾ and seldom demanding favours of that sort. They had, by this time established a regular form of government, to wit, the monarchical. And a senate, consisting of men advanced in years, and grown wise by experience, though infirm of body, consulted with their kings upon all important matters, and, on account of their age, and care of their country, were called Fathers. Afterwards when kingly power, which was originally established for the preservation of liberty, and the advantage of the state, came to degenerate [Page] into lawless tyranny, they found it necessary to alter the form of government, and to put the supreme power into the hands of two chief magistrates, to be held for one year only; hoping, by this contrivance, to prevent the had effects naturally arising from the exorbitant licentiousness of princes; and the indefeasible tenure by which they generally imagine they hold their sovereignty, &c. [Sal. ⁽¹⁾ BELL. CATILINAR.]

II. NARRATION.

DAMON and Pythias,Narration. of the Pythagorean sect in philosophy, lived in the time of Dionysius the tyrant of Sicily. Their mutual friendship was so strong, that they were ready to die for one another. One of the two (for it is not known which) being comdemned to death by the tyrant, obtained leave to go into his own country, to settle his affairs, on condition that the other should consent to be imprisoned in his stead, and put to death for him, if he did not return before the day of execution. The [Page] attention of every one, and especially of the tyrant himself, was excited to the highest pitch [...] as every body was curious to see what should be the event of so strange an affair. Doubting. When the time was almost elapsed, and he, who was gone, did not appear, the rashness of the other, whose sanguine friendship had put him upon running so seemingly desperate a hazard, Confidence. was universally blamed. But he still declared that he had not the least shadow of doubt in his mind, of his friend's fidelity. The event shewed how well he knew him.Courage. He came in due time, and surrendered to that fate, which he had no reason to think, he should escape; and which he did not desire to escape by leaving his friend to suffer in his place. Such fidelity softened even the savage heart of Dionysius himself. He pardoned the condemned. He gave the two friends to one another; and begged that they would take himself in for a third. [Val. Max. Cic.]

III. NARRATION.

Narration.DIONYSIUS, the tyrant of Sicily, shewed how far he was from being happy, even whilst he abounded in riches, and all the pleasures, which riches can procure. Damocles, one of his flatterers, was complimenting him upon his power, his treasures, and the magnificence of his royal state, and affirming, that no monarch ever was greater, or happies, than he. "Have you a mind,Questioning. Damocles," says the king, "to taste this happiness, and know by experience, what my enjoyments are, of which you have so high an idea?" Damocles gladly accepted the offer. Upon which the king ordered, [Page] that a royal banquet should be prepared, and a gilded couch placed for him, covered with rich embroidery, and side-boards, loaded with gold and silver plate of immense value. Pages of extraordinary beauty were ordered to wait on him at table, and to obey his commands with the greatest readiness, and the most profound submission. Neither ointments, chaplets of flowers, nor rich perfumes were wanting. The table was loaded with the most exquisite delicacies of every kind. Damocles fancied himself amongst the gods. In the midst of all his happiness, he sees let down from the roof exactly over his neck,⁽¹⁾ as he lay indulging himself in state,Fear. a glittering sword hung by a single hair.⁽²⁾ The sight of destruction thus threatening him from on high, soon put a stop to his joy and revelling. The pomp of his attendance, and the glitter of the carved plate, gave him no longer any pleasure. He dreads to scretch forth his hand to the table. He throws off the chaplet of [...]oses.Tripidation or [...]rry. He hastens to remove from his dangerous situation, and at last begs the king to restore him to his former humble condition, having no desire to enjoy any longer such a dreadful kind of happiness. [Cic. TUSC. QUEST.]

IV. NARRATION.

THE praeter had given up to the triumvir,Narration. a woman of some rank, condemned for a capital crime, to be executed in the prison. He, who had charge of the execution, in consideration [Page] of her birth, did not immediately put her to death. He even ventured to let her daughter have [...]ess to her in prison; carefully searching her, however, as she went in, lest she should carry with her any sustenance; concluding, that in a few days, the mother must, of course, perish for want, and that the severity of putting a woman of family to a violent death, by the hand of the executioner, might thus be avoided. Some days passing in this manner, the triumvir began to wonder, that the daughter still came to visit her mother, and could by no means comprehend, how the latter should live so long. Watching, therefore, carefully, what passed in the interview between them, he found to his great astonishment, Wonder ⁽¹⁾ that the life of the mother had been, all this while, supported by the milk of the daughter, who came to the prison every day, to give her mother her breasts to suck. The strange contrivance between them was represented to the judges, and procured a pardon for the mother. Nor was it thought sufficient to give to so dutiful a daughter the forfeited life of her condemned mother, but they were both maintained afterwards by a pension settled on them for life. And the ground, upon which the prison stood, was consecrated, and a temple to Filial Piety built upon it.

Declamation What will not filial duty contrive, or what hazards will it not run; if it will put a daughter upon venturing, at the peril of her own life, to maintain her imprisoned and condemned mother in so unusual a manner.Pity. For what was ever heard of more strange, than a mother sucking the breasts of her own daughter? It might [Page] even seem so unnatural, as to render it doubtful, whether, it might not be, in some sort, wrong, if it were not, that duty to parents is the first law of nature: [Val. Max. Plin.]

V. HISTORICAL DESCRIPTION.

LUCIUS CATALINE, by birth a Patrician, was, by nature, endowed with superior advantages both bodily and mental: Aversion. but his dispositions were corrupt and wicked. From his youth, his supreme delight was in violence ⁽¹⁾ slaughter, rapines, and intestine confusions; and such works were the employment of his earliest years. His constitution qualified him for hearing hunger, cold, and want of sleep, to a degree exceeding belief. His mind was daring, subtle, Wonder. unsteady. There was no character which he could not assume and put off at pleasure. Rapacious of what belonged to others; prodigal of his own; violently bent on whatever became the object of his pursuit. He possessed a considerable share of eloquence; but little solid knowledge. His insatiable temper was ever pushing him to grasp at what was immoderate, romantic, and out of his reach.

About the time of the desturbances raised by Sylla, Narration. Cataline was seized with a violent lust of power; nor did he at all. hesitate about the means, so he could but attain his purpose of raising himself to supreme dominion. Horror. His restless spirit was in a continual ferment, occasioned by the confusion of his own private affairs, and by the horrors of his guilty conscience; both which [Page] he had brought upon himself by living the life above described. Aversion. He was encouraged in his ambitious projects by the general corruption of manners, which then prevailed amongst a people infected with two vices, not less opposite to one another, in their natures, than mischievous in their tendencies, I mean luxury, and avarice. [Sal. BELL. CATILINAR.]

VI. ARGUING.⁽¹⁾

NO one, who has made the smallest progress in mathematics, can avoid observing, that mathematical demonstrations are accompanied with such a kind of evidence, as overcomes obstinacy, insuperable by many other kinds of reasoning. Hence it is, that so many learned men have laboured to illustrate other sciences with this sort of evidence; and it is certain, that the study of mathematics has given light to sciences very little connected with them. But what will not wrong-headed men abuse! This advantage, which mathematical reasoning has, for discovering truth, has given occasion to some to reject truth itself, though supported by the most unexceptionable arguments. Contending, that nothing is to be taken for truth, but what is proved by mathematical demonstration, they, in many cases, take away all criterion of truth, while they boast, that they defend the only infallible one.

But how easy is it to shew the absurdity of such a way of philosophising? Ask those gentlemen, whether they have any more doubt, that there were, in former times, such men, [Page] as Alexander and Caesar, than whether all the angles of a plain triangle amount to the sum of one hundred and eighty degrees; they cannot pretend, that they believe the latter at all more firmly than the former. Yet they have geometrical demonstration for the latter, and nothing more than mere moral evidence for the former. Does not this shew, that many things are to be received, are actually received, even by themselves, for truth, for ce [...] truth, which are not capable of mathematical demonstration?

There is, therefore, an evidence, different from mathematical, to which we cannot deny our assent; and it is called by latter philosophers, moral evidence, as the persuasion arising from it is called moral certainty; a certainty as real, and as much to be depended upon, as mathematical, though of a different species. Nor is there any more difficulty in conceiving how this may be, than in conceiving, that two buildings may be both sufficiently substantial, and to all the intents and purposes of buildings, equally so, though one be of marble, and the other of Portland stone.

The object of mathematics is quantity. The geometrician measures extension; the mechanic compares forces. Divinity, ethics, ontology, and history, are naturally incapable of mathematical disquisition, or demonstration. Yet moral subjects are capable of being inquired into, and truths concerning them determined in that way which is proper to them, as well as mathematical in theirs; in the same manner as money is reckoned by tale, bullion by weight, and liquors by measure, &c. [Graves Orat. conc. Evid. MATHEM. ELEM. NAT. PHIL.]

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VII. ARGUING.

THE regularity of the motions and revolutions of the heavens, the sun, the moon, and numberless stars; ⁽¹⁾ with the distinction, variety, beauty, and order of celestial objects; the slightest observation of which seems sufficient to convince every beholder, that they cannot be the effect of chance; these afford a proof of a Deity, which seems irrefragable. If he, who surveys an academy, a palace or [...] court of justice, and observes regularity, order, and oeconemy, prevailing in them, is immediately convinced, that this regularity must be the effect of authority and discipline, supported by persons properly qualified; how much more reason has he who finde himself surrounded by so many and such stupendous bodies,Wonder. performing their various motions and revolutions, without the least deviation from perfect regularity, through the innumerable ages of past duration; how much more reason has he to conclude, that such amazing revolutions are governed by superior wisdom and power!

Contempt.Is it not therefore astonishing, that any man should ever have dreamed of the possibility, that a beautiful and magnificent system might [...]rise from the fortuitous concourse of certain bodies carried towards one another by, I know not what, imaginary impulse! I see not, why he, who is capable of ascribing, the production of a world to a cause so inadequate, may not expect, from the fortuitous scattering about of a [Page] set of letters of ivory, or metal, a regular history to appear. But I believe, he who hopes to produce, in this way, one single line, will find himself for ever disappointed. If the casual concourse of atoms has produced a whole universe, how comes it, that we never find a city, a temple, or so much a [...] a portico, which are all less considerable works, produced in the same manner? One would imagine, they, who prate so absurdly, about the origination of the world, had no eyes, or had never opened them to view the glories of this immense theatre.

The reasonings of Aristotle, on this point,Arguing. are excellent. "Let us suppose, says he, certain persons to have been born, and to have lived to mature age, under ground, in habitations accommodated with all the conveniencies, and even magnificence of life, except the sight of this upper world. Let us suppose those persons to have heard by fame, of superior beings, and wonderful effects produced by them. Wonder. Let the earth be imagined suddenly to open, and expose to the view of those subterraneans this fair world, which we inhabit.Delight. Let them be imagined to behold the face of the earth diversified with hills and vales, with rivers and woods; the wide extended ocean; the lofty sky; and the clouds carried along by the winds. Let them behold the sun, and observe his transcendent brightness and wonderful influence, as he pours down the flood of day over the whole earth, from east to west. And when night covered the world with darkness, let them behold the heavens adorned with innumerable stars. Let them observe the various appearances of the moon, now horned, then full then decreasing. Let them have leisure to mark the rising and sitting of the heavenly bodies, and [Page] to understand that their established courses have been going on from age to age. When they have surveyed and considered all these things, what could they conclude, but that the accounts they had heard in their subterranean habitation, of the existence of superior beings, must be true, and that these prodigious works must be the effect of their power?"

Thus Aristotle. To which I will add that it is only our being accustomed to the continual view of these glorious objects that prevents our admiring them, and endeavouring to come to right conclusions concerning the Author of them. As if novelty were a better reason for exciting our inquiries, than beauty and magnificence. [Cic. NAT. DEOR. Lib. II.]

VIII. SNEER. ⁽¹⁾
Receipt to make an Epic Poem.

Teaching.FOR the fable. Take out of any old poem, history-book, romance, or legend (for instance, Geoffry of Monmouth or Don Belianis of Greece) those parts of the story, which afford most scope for long descriptions. Put these pieces together, and throw all the adventures into one tale. Then take a hero, whom you may chuse for the sound of his name, and put him into the midst of these adventures. There let him work for twelve books; at the end of which you may take him out ready to conquer, or to marry: it being necessary that the conclusion of an epic poem be fortunate.

[Page]For the machines. Take of deities male and female as many as you can use. Separate them into two equal parts, and keep Jupiter in the middle. Let Jun [...] put him in a serment, and Venus moll [...]sy him. Remember on all occasions to make use of volatile Mercury. If you have need of devil, draw them from Milton; and extract your spirits from Tasso. When you cannot extricate your hero by any human means, or yourself by your wits, seek relief from heaven; and the gods will help you out of the scrape immediately. This is according to the direct prescription of Horace in his ART OF POETRY.

Nec deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus Inciderit.

That is to say, A poet has no occasion to be at a loss, when the gods are always ready at a call.

For the descriptions, as a tempest, for instance. Take Eurus, Zephyrus, Austre, and Boreas, and cast them together in one verse. Add to these, of rain, lightning and thunder, (the loudest you can get) quantum sufficit. Mix your clouds and billows, till they foam; and thicken your description here and there with a quicksand. Brew your tempest well in your head, before you set it a blowing.

For a battle. Pick half a dozen large handfuls of images of your lions, bears, and other quarrelsome animals, from Homer's Iliad, with a spice or two from Virgil. If there remain an overplus, lay them by a skirmish in an odd episode, or so. Season it well with similes, and it will make an excellent battle. For a burning town, if you choose to have one, old Troy is ready burnt to your hands, &c. [Swift, Vol. v. p. 132.]

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IX. REMONSTRANCE and CONTEMPT of Pride.

Quest.DOES greatness secure persons of rank from infirmities either of body or mind? Will the head-each, the gout or fever, spare a prince any more than a subject? When old age comes to lie heavy ⁽¹⁾ upon him,Fear. will his engineers relieve him of the load? ⁽²⁾ Can his guards and sentinels. by doubling and trebling their numbers, and their watchfulness, prevent the approach of death? Contempt. Nay, if jealousy, or even ill-humour, disturb his happiness, will the cringes of his fawning attendants restore his tranquillity? What comfort has he, in reflecting (if he can make the reflection) while the cholic, like Prometheus's vulture, tears his bowels, Anguish. that he is under a canopy of crimson velvet fringed with gold? When the pangs of the gout, or stone, extort from him screams of agony, Boasting. do the titles of highness or majesty come sweetly into his ear? If he is agitated ⁽³⁾ with rage, does the sound of Serene, or Most Christian, prevent his staring, reddening, and gnashing with his teeth, like a madman? Would not a twinge of the tooth-ach, Contempt. or an affront from an inferior, make the mighty Caesar forget, that he was emperor of the world? [Montaigne.]

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X. HORRORS of War.

NOW had the Grecians snatch'd a short repast,

Trepid.

And buckled on their shining arms in haste,

Troy rouz'd as soon; for on that dreadful day,

Perplexity.

The fate of fathers, wives, and infants lay.

The gates unfolding pour forth all their train;

Squadrons on squadrons cloud the dusty plain;

Trepid.

Men, steeds, and chariots shake the trembling ground;

The tumult thickens, and the skies resound.

⁽¹⁾ And now with shouts the shocking armies clos'd,

To lances lances, shields to shields oppos'd,

Host against host their shadowy legions drew;

The sounding darts in iron tempests flew;

Victories and vanquish'd join promiscuous cries:

Triumphant shouts ⁽²⁾ and dying groans ⁽³⁾ arise;

With streaming blood the slipp'ry fields are dy'd,

Horror.

And slaughter'd heroes, swell the dreadful tide.

Long as the morning beams increasing bright,

O'er heav'n's clear azure spread the sacred light,

Promiscuous death the fate of war confounds,

Each adverse battle gor'd with equal wounds.

But when the sun the height of heav'n ascends,

⁽⁴⁾ The Sire of Gods his golden scales suspends

With equal hand.

Awe.

In these explores the fate

Of Greece and Troy, and pois'd the mighty weight.

[Page] Press'd with its load the Grecian balance lies

Law sunk on earth; the Trojan strikes the skies.

Horror.

⁽¹⁾Then Jove from Ida's top his horror spreads,

The clouds burst dreadful o'er the Grecian heads;

Thick light'nings flash; the mutt'ring thunder rolls;

Their strength he withers, and unmans their souls.

Fear.

Before his wrath the ⁽²⁾ trembling host retire,

The gods in terror, and the skies on fire.

[Pope's HOM. II. B. viii. v. 67.]

XI. PETITIONING with DEJECTION.

Passages taken from sundry petitions ⁽³⁾ presented to the French king by a disgraced minister.

[Pens. Ing. Anc. Mod. p. 167.]

Dejection.BEING weary of the useless life I live at present, I take the liberty of imploring with profound submission, your Majesty, that I may have leave to seek an honourable death in your Majesty's service. After the disappointments, and reverses of fortune, which I have had to struggle with, my expectations of rising again to prosperity, are brought low enough. But it would be a satisfaction to me,Humble Remonstrance. that my real character were known to your Majesty; which if it were, I flatter myself, I should have your Majesty's indulgence, Beseeching. nay your esteem. Refuse not, most gracious Sovereign, the means, for gaining this end, to a man, who is ready [Page] to shed his blood, in proof of his loyalty and affection to your Majesty. Were my own private interest alone concerned, I should be peculiarly cautious, how I intruded upon your Majesty with these solicitations. But as the only happiness I desire in this world, is,Earnest Solicitation to have an opportunity of serving my king and country; I humbly hope, I may be forgiven, though I urge my suit with some warmth and importunity. I do not presume, Sire,Remorse to claim a total exemption from hardship. I pretend to no right to live a life of indulgence. All I ask, is,Beseeching. to change one punishment for another. And I beseech your Majesty to have some consideration for my past services; and that a year's imprisonment, five years exile, the ruin of my fortune, the submission with which I have borne these punishments, and the zeal I still am ready to shew for your Majesty's service, may plead in my favour, and disarm your Majesty of your indignation against me. It is true, that in making your Majesty the offer of my life,Humble Remonstrance. I offer what is of little value even to myself. But it is all I have to offer.Dejection. The misfortune I have lain under, these six years, of your Majesty's displeasure, has rendered life so insipid to me, that besides the honor of losing it in your Majesty's service, the prospect of an end, being, by death put to my vexations, makes the thought of my dissolution pleasing to me.Profound Submission. If it should seem good to your Majesty to finish my distresses the other way, I mean, by your most gracious pardon, the obligation will be still greater; and to the zeal I have for your Majesty's interest, I shall think myself obliged to add gratitude suitable to so important a favour. Resolution. And with such sentiments there is nothing I shall not be willing to enterprize [Page] for your Majesty's service. Devotion. May heaven touch the heart of your Majesty, that you may at last forgive your sincerely penitent subject. Humble Remonstrance. No one knows better than your Majesty, that it is as great to forgive as to punish. If I alone am doomed to have no benefit from that goodness, which extends to so many, my lot must be peculiarly calamitous.

XII. PRAISE under the appearance of Blame. ⁽¹⁾

Voiture's whimsical commendation of the Marquis de Pisany's courage.

[Pens. Ing. Anc. Mod. p. 152.]

Congratulation.I AM extremely glad to hear that you are grown so hardy, that neither labour, watching, sickness, lead, nor steel can hurt you. I could not have thought, Wonder. that a man, who lived on water-gruel, should have so thick a skin; nor did I imagine you had a spell, by which you was powder-proof. To account, how you come to be still alive, after the desperate hazards you have run, is more than I can pretend to. Congratulation. But I had rather, it were by the help of the Devil himself, than that you were as poor Attichy, or Grenville; if you were embalmed with the richest drugs of the Fast. Disapprobation. To tell you my opinion plainly, Sir; let a man die for his country, or for honor, or what you please, I cannot help thinking he makes but a silly figure, ⁽²⁾ when he is dead. It seems to me [Page] great pity, Concern. that some people should be so careless about their lives, as they are. For despicable as life is, a man when he has lost it, Remonstrance. is not worth half what he was when he had it. In short, a dead king, a dead hero, or even a dead demi-god, is in my mind, but a poor character; and much good may it do him, who is ambitious of it.

XIII. A love-sick Shepherd's COMPLAINT. ⁽¹⁾

AH well-a-day! how long must I endure.

Lamentation

This pining pain? ⁽²⁾ Or who shall speed my cure?

Fond love no cure will have; seeks no repose;

Anguish.

Delights in grief, nor any measure knows.

⁽³⁾ Lo! now the moon begins in clouds to rise,

Complaint.

The bright'ning stars bespangle all the skies.

The winds are hush'd. The dews distil; and sleep

Hath clos'd the eye-lids of my weary sheep.

⁽⁴⁾ I only with the prowling wolf constrain'd

⁽⁵⁾ All night to wake. With hunger he is pain'd,

Anguish.

And I with love. His hunger he may tame;

But who can quench ⁽⁶⁾ O cruel love! thy flame?

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Lamentation

Whilom did I, all as this popular fair,

Up-rise my heedless head, devoid of care;

'Mong rustic routs the chief of wanton game;

Nor could they merry make, till Lobbin came.

Who better seen than I'm shepherd's arts,

To please the lads, and win the lasses' hearts?

How deftly to mine oaten reed so sweet

Wont they upon the green to shift their feet

And wearied in the dance how would they yearn

Some well devised tale from me to learn!

For many a song, and tale of mirth, had I

To chase the loit'ring sun adown the sky.

But ah! since Lucy coy deep wrought her spight

Within my heart, unmindful of delight,

The jolly youths I fly; and all alone

To rocks and woods pour forth my fruitless moan.

Deprecation.

Oh! leave thy cruelty, relentless fair;

E're lingering long, I perish through despair.

Complaint.

Had Rosalind been mistress of my mind,

Though not so fair, she would have prov'd more kind.

O think, unwitting maid! while yet is time,

Advice.

How flying years impair the youthful prime!

Thy virgin bloom will not for ever stay,

And flow'rs tho' left ungather'd, will decay.

The flow'rs, anew, returning seasons bring;

But faded beauty has no second spring.

Despair.

⁽¹⁾—My words are wind!—She, deaf to all my cries,

Takes pleasure in the mischief of her eyes.

[A. Philips.]

XIV. REMONSTRANCE.

Part of Socrates's speech to Montaigne, in the French DIALOGUES OF THE DEAD.

[Pens. Ing. Anc. Mod. p. 117.]

Teaching. ANTIQUITY is an object of a peculiar sort: Distance magnifies it. If you had [Page] been personally acquainted with Aristotle, Phocion, and me; you would have found nothing in us very different from what you may find in people of your own age. What commonly prejudices us in favour of antiquity, is that we are prejudiced against our own times. We raise the ancients,Disapprobation. that we may depress the moderns. When we ancients were alive, we esteemed our ancestors more than they deserved. And our posterity esteem us more than we deserve. But the very truth of the matter is, our ancestors, and we, and our posterity, are all very much alike.

XV. AUTHORITY and FORBIDDING.

Jupiter forbids the gods and goddesses taking any part in the contention between the Greeks and Trojans.

AURORA now, fair daughter of the dawn,

Narration.

Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn;

When Jove conven'd the senate of the skies,

Where high Olympus' cloudy tops arise,

Awe.

The Sire of gods his awful silence broke;

The heav'ns attentive trembled as he spoke;

"Celestial states! immortal gods! give ear;

Authority.

⁽¹⁾

Hear our decree; and rev'rence what ye hear;

The fix'd decree, which not all heav'n can move;

[Page]Thou Fate! fulfil it; and ye, Pow'rs approve.

Threatening.

⁽¹⁾What god shall enter yon' forbidden field,

Who yields assistance, or but wills to yield.

Back to the skies with shame he shall be driv'n,

Gash'd with dishonest wounds, the scorn of heav'n

⁽²⁾Or from our sacred hill with fury thrown

Deep, in the dark Tartarian gulph shall groan;

With burning chains fix'd to the brazen floors,

And lock'd by hell's inexorable doors;

As deep beneath th' infernal centre hurl'd,

As from that centre to th' athereal world.

⁽³⁾Let each, submissive, dread those dire abodes,

Challenging.

Nor tempt the vengeance of the God of gods.

League all your forces, then, ye pow'rs above;

Your strength unite against the might of Jove.

Let down our golden everlasting chain,

Whose strong embrace holds heav'n and earth and main.

Strive all, of mortal and immortal birth,

To drag by this the thund'rer down to earth.

⁽⁴⁾Ye

Contempt.

strive in vain, if I

Challenging.

but stretch this hand,

I heave the gods, the ocean, and the land.

[Page]I fix the chain to great Olympus' height,

And the vast world hangs trembling in my sight.

For such I reign unbounded, and above;

And such are men, and gods compar'd to Jove.

XVI. SUBLIME DESCRIPTION.

An Ode, from the xixth Psalm.

[Spect. No. 465.]

I.

THE lofty pillars of the sky,

And spacious concave rais'd on high,

Admiration.

Spangled with stars, a shining frame,

Their great original proclaim.

Th' unwearied sun, from day to day,

Pours knowledge on his golden ray,

Veneration.

And publishes to ev'ry land

The work of an Almighty hand.

II.

Soon as the ev'ning shades prevail,

Admir.

The moon takes up the wond'rous tale,

And nightly to the list'ning earth

Repeats the story of her birth;

Whilst all the stars, that round her burn,

And all the planets in their turn,

Confirm the tidings, as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole.

III.

What,

Quest.

tho' in solemn silence all

Move round the dark terrestrial ball?

What tho' no real voice, nor sound

Amid their radiant orbs be found?

In Reason's ear they all rejoice,

Veneration.

And utter forth a glorious voice,

For ever singing, as they shine,

"The hand, that made us, is divine."

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XVII. DESCRIPTION, sublime, and terrible.

The fight about Patroclus's body, broke off by Achilles's appearing on the rampart, unarmed, and calling aloud.

[Pope's Hom. II. xviii.Admiration. v. 241.]

THE hero rose,

Her Aegis Pallas o'er his shoulder throws;

Around his brows a golden cloud she spread;

A stream of glory flam'd above his head

As when from some beleagur'd town arise,

The smokes high-curling to the shaded skies

(Seen from some island o'er the main afar

When men distrest hang out the sign of war)

With long projected beams the seas are bright,

And heav'en's wide arch rejects the ruddy light;

So from Achilles' head the splendors rise,

Reflecting blaze on blaze against the skies.

Forth march'd the chief, and distant from the croud,

High on the rampart ⁽¹⁾ rais'd his voice aloud.

With her own shout Minerva swells the sound;

Terror.

Troy starts astonish'd, and the shores rebound.

As the loud trumpet's brazen mouth from far,

With shrilling clang or sounds th' alarm of war,

Trepidation.

So high his dreadful voice the hero rear'd;

⁽²⁾ Hosts drop'd their arms and trembled as they heard;

Terror.

And back the chariots roll, and coursers bound,

And steeds and men lie mingled on the ground.

Aghast they see the living lightning play,

And turn their eyeballs from the flashing ray.

[Page] Thrice from the trench his brazen voice he rais'd;

And thrice they fled confounded and amaz'd.

Twelve in the tumult wedg'd untimely rush'd

On their own spears, by their own chariots crush'd:

While shielded from the darts the Greeks obtain

The long disputed carcase of the slain.

XVIII. COMPLAINT.

Humorous petition of a French gentleman to the king, who had given him a title, to which his income was not equal, by reason of the weight of the taxes levied from his estate.

[Pens. Ing. Anc. Mod. p. 428.]

[After acknowledging the honor done him by the king's conferring on him a title, he goes on as follows.]

YOUR Majesty has only made me more unhappy by giving me a title.Complaining For there is nothing more pitiable than a gentleman loaded with a knapsack. This empty sound, Vexation. which I was such a fool as to be ambitious of, does not keep away hunger. I know well enough, that glory makes us live after we are dead; but in this world, a man has but a poor time on 't, if he has not a bit of bread to put in his mouth. I had but a little bit of land on the banks of the Rhone, on which I made a shift to live. But as it is now taxed, any body may have it for me; Apprehension. for I suppose I shall soon, with my title and estate, be glad of an alms-house for my seat. I have no resource, if there be a prosecution commenced against me, as they threaten, but in your Majesty's goodness. If indeed, my [Page] fate is to be decided by that, Comfort. I am in no danger,Deprecation but shall laugh at them all. If your Majesty were to seize my poor patrimony whole, what would a few acres of marsh-land be to thePomp. mighty monarch of France and Navarre? It Contempt.bears nothing but willows, Submission. and your Majesty values no trees but the laurel. I, therefore, beseech your Majesty to give me leave to enjoy what my little spot brings in, without deduction. Intreating. All that a poor subject asks of your Majesty is—That your Majesty would ask nothing of him.

XIX. TERRIBLE DESCRIPTION.

Narration.

IN elder days, ere yet the Roman bands

Victorious, this our distant world subdu'd,

A spacious city stood with firmest walls

Sure mounded, and with num'rous turrets crown'd,

Aeriel spires and citadels, the seat

Of kings and heroes resolute in war;

Fam'd Ariconium; uncontrol'd and free,

Till all-subduing Latian arms prevail'd.

Then likewise, tho' to foreign yoke submiss,

Unlevel'd she remained; and ev'n till now

Perhaps had stood, of ancient British art

A pleasing monument, not less admir'd

Than what from Attic or Etruscan hands

Awe. Narration.

Arose; had not the heav'nly pow'rs averse

Decreed her final doom. And now the fields

Labour'd with thirst. Aquarius had not shed

His wonted show'rs, and Sirius parch'd with heat

Solstitial the green herb. Hence 'gan relax

The earth's contexture. Hence Tartarian dregs,

Horror.

Sulphur and nitrous spume, enkindling fierce

[Page] Bellow'd tremendous in her darksome caves,

More dismal than the loud disploded roar

Of brazen enginry, that ceaseless storm

The bastion of a well-built city deem'd

Impregnable. Th' infernal winds, till now

Closely imprison'd by Titanian warmth

Dilating, and with unctuous vapour feed,

Disdain'd their narrow cells; and, their full strength

Collecting, from beneath the solid mass

Up-heav'd, and all her castles rooted deep

Shook from their lowest seat. Old Vaga's stream

Forc'd by the sudden shock, her wonted track

Forsook, and drew her humid train aslope,

Wrinkling her banks. And now the low'ring sky,

Awe.

The baleful light'ning, and loud thunder, voice

Of angry heav'n, fierce roaring, with dismay

The boldest hearts appal'd.

Trepidation.

⁽¹⁾ Where should they turn

Distress'd? Whence seek for aid? When from below

Hell threatens;

Despair.

and when fate supreme gives signs

Of wrath and desolation. Vain were vows,

And plaints, and suppliant hands to heav'n erect!

Yet some to temples fled,

Contempt.

and humble rites

Perform'd to Thor and Woden, fabled gods,

Who with their vot'ries in one ruin shar'd,

O'erwhelm'd and crush'd. Others in frantic mood,

Trepidation.

Run howling through the streets. Their hideous yells

Rend the dark welkin.

Horror.

Horror stalks around

Wild staring, and his sad concomitant

Despair, of abject look.

Trepidation.

At ev'ry gate

The thronging populace with hasty strides

[Page]Press furious, and, too eager of escape,

Obstruct the spacious way. The rocking street

Deceives their footsteps. To and fro they reel

Horror.

Astonish'd, as with wine o'ercharg'd. When lo!

The parched earth her riven mouth disparts

Horrible chasm profound! With swift descent

Old Ariconium sinks; and all her tribes,

Heroes and senators, down to the realms

Of endless night. Mean while the loosen'd winds

Infuriate, molton rocks and globes of fire

Hurl'd high above the clouds; till all their force

Consum'd, her rav'nous jaws, earth, satiate clos'd. [A Philips.]

XX. RIDICULE.

Swift on Transubstantiation.⁽¹⁾

[Tale of a Tub, Sect. IV.]

Scene, Lord Peter's house; a table covered with plates, knives, and forks, and a brown loaf in the middle of the table.

Lord Peter, Martin, Jack.

Peter.

Dictating. BREAD, gentlemen, bread is the staff of life. In bread is contained inclusive, the quintessence of beef, mutton, veal, venison, patridge, plumb-pudding, and custard; and, to render all complete there is intermingled a due quantity of water, whose crudities [Page] are corrected by yeast, and which therefore becomes, to all intents and purposes, a wholesome fermented liquor diffused through the mass of the bread. Therefore he, who eats bread, at the same time eats the best of food, and drinks the best of liquors. Come on brothers,Inviting. the cause is good; fall to, and spare not. Here is a shoulder of excellent Banstead mutton

[pointing to the brown loaf]

as ever was cut with knife. Here you may cut and come again. But, now I think on it, I had better help you myself, now my hand is in. Young people are bashful. Come, brother Martin, let me help you to this slice.

Martin.

My lord! Surprise. Submission

[so Peter ordered his brothers to call him]

I doubt, with great submission, here is some little mistake. In my humble. . . .

Peter.

What you are merry? Come then, Peevishness. let us hear this jest, your head is so big with.

Martin.

No jest indeed my lord.Submission But unless I am very much deceived, your lordship was pleased, a little while ago, to drop a word about mutton; and I should be glad to see it upon the table.

Peter.

How! I don't comprehend you.Peevishness.

Jack.

Why, my lord, my brother Martin,Submission. I suppose, is hungry, and longs to see the shoulder of Banstead mutton, you spoke of, come to table.

Peter.

Pray explain yourselves, gentlemen.Peevishness. Either you are both out of your wits, or are disposed to be merry a little unseasonably. You had better keep your jokes till after dinner Brother Martin,Recollection. if you don't like the slice I have helped you to, I will cut you another; though I should think it the choice bit of the whole shoulder.

[Page]Martin

Quest.What then, my lord, is this brown loaf a shoulder of Banstead mutton all this while?Wonder. Reproving.

Peter.

Pray, Sir, leave off your impertinence and eat your victuals, if you please. I am not disposed to relish your wit at present.

Martin.

Affirmation.May I then, my lord, be soused over head and ears in a horse-pond, if it seems to my eyes, my fingers, my nose, or my teeth, either less or more, than a slice of a stale six-penny brown loaf.

Jack.

If I ever saw a shoulder of mutton in my life look so like a six-penny brown loaf, I am an old basket-woman.

Peter.

Reproving. Look you, gentlemen, to convince you what a couple of blind, positive, ignorant puppies, you are, I will use but one plain argument.Execration. The d—l roast both your souls on his grid [...]r [...]n to all eternity, if you don't believe this

[clapping his hand upon the brown loaf]

to be a shoulder of as good mutton as ever was sold in Leaden-hall market.

Martin.

Recollection.Why truly, upon more mature consideration. . . . . .

Jack.

Why, ay, now I have thought better on the thing, your lordship seems to be in the right.

Peter.

Reconciliation. O now you are come to yourselves. Boy fill me a bumper of claret. Come brothers, here is good health to you both.

Martin and Jack.

Submission. Thank your good lordship, and shall be glad to pledge you.

Peter.

That you shall, my boys. I am not a man to refuse you any thing in reason. A moderate glass of wine is a cordial. Giving. There,

[giving them a crust each,]

There is a bumper a piece for you.Surprize. True natural juice of the grape. None of your nasty balderdash vintners' [Page] brewings—What now!

[Observing them to stare,]

are you at your doubts again? Threatening Here boy. Call neighbour Dominic ⁽¹⁾ the blacksmith here. Bid him bring his tongs with him. Red hot—d'ye hear. I'll teach you to doubt.

Martin.

⁽²⁾ Come Jack. Trepidation. This house is like to be too hot for you and me soon. He is quite raving mad. Let's get away ⁽³⁾ as fast as we can.

Jack.

A plague on his crazy head. If ever I put my nose within his door again, may it be pinched off in good earnest.

[Exeunt running.]

XXI. EXHORTATION. Prologue to Cato, by Mr. Pope.

TO wake the soul by tender strokes of art,

Teaching.

To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; ⁽⁴⁾

To make mankind in conscious virtue bold,

Courage.

Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold;

For this the tragic muse first trod the stage,

Teaching.

Commanding tears to stream through ev'ry age.

Tyrants no more their savage nature kept,

And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.

Wonder. Contempt.

⁽⁵⁾Our author shuns by vulgar springs to move,

[Page]The hero's glory, or the virgin's love.

In pitying love, we but our weakness show,

And wild ambition well deserves its woe,

Exciting.

Here tears shall flow from a more gen'rous cause,

Such tears as parriots shed for dying laws.

He bids your breast with ancient ardors rise,

And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes,

Virtue confest in human shape he draws,

Veneration.

What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was;

No common object to your sight displays;

Awe. Esteem.

But what with pleasure heav'n itself surveys,

A brave man struggling in the storms of fate,

And greatly falling with a falling state,

While Cato gives his little senate laws,

Earnestness.

What bosom ⁽¹⁾ beate not in his country's cause?

Who sees him act, but envies ev'ry deed?

Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?

Contempt.

Ev'n when proud Caesar midst triumphal cars,

The spoils of nations, and the pomp of wars,

Ignobly vain, and impotently great,

Shew'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state,

Dejection.

As her dead father's rev'rend image past,

The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercast;

Grief. Contempt.

The triumph ceas'd. Tearegush'd from ev'ry eye,

The world's great victor pass'd unheeded by.

Her last good man dejected Rome ador'd,

Grief. Teaching.

And honor'd Caesar's less than Cato's sword.

Britons attend! Be worth like this approv'd,

And shew, you have the virtue ⁽²⁾ to be mov'd.

Contempt.

With honest scorn the first fam'd Cato view'd

Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she subdu'd.

Our scene precariously subsists too long

On French translation and Italian song,

[Page] Dare to have sense yourselves: Assert the stage,

Exciting.

Be justly warm'd with your own native rage.

Such plays alone should please a British ear,

As Cato's self had not disdain'd to hear.

XXII. Humorous scene between Dennis the critic (satyrically represented by Swift, as mad [...] and the Doctor.

Scene, Dennis's garret. Dennis, Doctor, Nurse, Lintot the bookseller, and another author.

Dennis.

[Looking wise, and bringing out his words slowly and formally.]

BEWARE, Doctor, that it fare not with you, Warning. as it did wish your predecessor, the famous Hippocrates, whom the mistaken citizens of Abdera sent for, in this very manner, Prides to cure the philosopher Democritus. He returned full of admiration at the wisdom of the person, whom he had supposed a lunatic. Behold, Doctor, it was thus that Aristotle himself, and all the great ancients, spent their days and nights wrapped up in criticism, and beset all round with their own writings. As for me, be assured, I have no disease, besides a swelling in my legs, of which I say nothing, since your art may farther certify you.

Doctor.

Pray, Sir,Questioning. how did you contract this swelling?

Dennis.

By Criticism.

Doctor

By Criticism! Wonder. That's a distemper I have never heard nor read of.

Dennis.

Death Sir! A distemper! Sudden anger. It is no distemper; but a noble art. I have sat fourteen hours a day at it, and are you a doctor, Contempt. and [Page] don't know, that there is a communication between the brain and the legs?

Doctor.

Question.What made you sit so many hours, Sir?

Dennis.

[...]arnest. Cato, Sir.

Doctor.

Sir, I speak of your distemper. What gave you this tumour?

Dennis.

Peevish. Intreat. Cato, Cato, Cato. ⁽¹⁾

Nurse.

For God's sake, Doctor, name not this evil spirit; it is the whole cause of his madness. Grief. Alas! poor master will have his fits again.

[Almost crying.]

Lintot.

Wonder. Fits! with a pox; a man may well have fits and swell'd legs, that sits writing fourteen hours in a day. The Remarks, the Remarks, have brought all his complaints upon him.

Doctor.

Question. Wonder. Peevishness.The Remarks! What are they?

Dennis.

Death! have you never read my Remarks? I'll he hang'd if this niggardly bookseller has advertised the book as it should have been.

Lintot.

Not advertise it, quotha! Pox! I have laid out pounds after pounds in advertising. There has been as much done for the book, as could be done for any book in Christendom.

Doctor.

Cautioning.We had better not talk of books Sir: I am afraid, they are the fuel that feed his delirium. Mention books no more.

I desire a word in private with this gentleman.Question. I suppose, Sir, you are his apothecary?

Gent.

Sir, I am his friend.

Doctor.

I doubt it not. What regimen have you observed, since he has been under your care? You remember, I suppose, the passage in Celsus, which says, "If the patient, [Page] on the third day, have an interval, suspend the medicaments at night. Teaching." Let fumigations be used to corroborate the brain. I hope, you have, upon no account, promoted sternutation by Hellebore?

Gent.

Sir, you mistake the matter quite. Pride and anger.

Doctor.

What! An apothecary tell a physician, he mistakes! You pretend to dispute my prescription! Pharmacopola componat. Medicus solus praescribat. Fumigate him, I say,Authority. this very evening, while he is relieved by an interval.

Dennis.

Death Sir!Anger. Do you take my friend for an apothecary! A man of genius and learning for an apothecary! Know, Sir, that this gentleman professes, like myself,Authority, the two noblest sciences in the universe, Criticism, and Poetry. By the immortals, he himself is author of three whole paragraphs in my Remarks, had a hand in my Public Spirit, and assisted me in my description of the Furies and infernal regions in my [...]ppius.

Lintot.

He is an author. You mistake the gentleman, Doctor. He has been an author these twenty years, to his bookseller's knowledge, if to no one's else. Sneer.

Dennis.

Is all the town in a combination! Vexation. shall poetry fall to the ground! Must our reputation in foreign countries be quite lost? Anguish. O Destruction! Perdition! Cursed Opera! Confounded Opera! ⁽¹⁾ As poetry once raised cities, so, when poetry fails, cities are overturned, and the world is no more.

Doctor.

He raves, he raves. Anxiety. He must be pinioned, he must be strait-waistcoated, that he may do no mischief.

Dennis.

O I am sick! I am sick to death. Vexation.

[Page]Doctor.

Comfort.That is a good symptom; a very good symptom. To be sick to death (says the modern theory) is symptom praeclarum. When a patient is sensible of his pain, Question. he is half cured, Pray, Sir, of what are you sick?

Dennis.

Peevishness.Of every thing. Of every thing. I am sick of the sentiments, of the diction, of the protasis, of the epitasis, and the catastrophe. Alas, for the lost drama! The drama is no more.

Nurse.

If you want a dram, Sir, I will bring you a couple of penn'orths of gin in a minute. Obsequiousness. Mr. Lintot has drank the last of the noggin.

Dennis.

Peevishness.O scandalous want! O shameful omission! By all the immortals, here is not the shadow of a peripetia! No change of fortune in the tragedy.

Nurse.

Pray, Sir, don't be uneasy about change. Obsequious. Give me the six-pence, and I'll get you change immediately at the gin-shop next door.

Doctor,

Hold your peace, good woman. His fit increases. We must call for help. Mr. Lintot a —hold him, Directing. pray,

[Doctor gets behind Lintot.]

Lintot.

Fear. Plague on the man! I am afraid, he is really mad. And, if he be, who, the devil will buy the Remarks? Anxiety. I wish

[scratching his head]

he had been b [...]sh—t rather than I had meddled with his Remarks.

Doctor.

He must use the cold bath, and be cupped on the head. The symptoms seem desperate. Directing. Anxiety. Avicen says, "If learning be mixed with a brain, that is not of a contexture fit to receive it, the brain ferments, till it be totally exhausted." We must endeavour to eradicate these indigested ideas out of the pericranium, and to restore the patient to a competent knowledge of himself.

[Page]Dennis.

Caitiffs, stand off! Unhand me, miscreants!

[The Doctor, the nurse, and Lintot, run out of the room in a hurry, and tumble down the garret stairs altogether.]

Is the man, whose labours are calculated to bring the town to reason, Mad? Is the man, who settles poetry on the basis of antiquity, mad? See Longinus in my right hand, and Aristotle in my left!

[Calls after the Doctor, the bookseller, and the nurse from the top of the stairs.]

I am the only man among the moderns, that support the venerable ancients. And am I to be assassinated? Shall a bookseller, who has lived upon my labours, take away that life, to which he owes his support?

[Goes into his garret, and shuts the door.]

XXIII. ADORATION.

Milton's Morning Hymn.

[PARAD. LOST. B. V. v. 153.]

THese are thy glorious works, Parent of good,

Veneration.

Almighty! Thine this universal frame,

Admiration.

Thus wondrous fair! Thyself ⁽¹⁾ how wondrous then

Unspeakable! who sitt'st above the heav'ns,

Veneration.

To us invisible, or dimly seen

In these thy lowest works;

Love with Veneration.

yet these declare

Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine.

Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,

Angels! For ⁽²⁾ ye behold him,

Sacred Rapture.

and with songs

[Page]And choral symphonies, day without night;

Circle his throne rejoicing. ⁽¹⁾ Ye in heav'n!

On earth join all ye creatures to extol

Him first, him last, Him midst, and without end.

Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,

If better thou belong not to the dawn,

Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn

With thy bright circlet! praise him in thy sphere,

While morn arises, that sweet hour of prime.

Admiration.

⁽²⁾Thou son, of this great world both eye and soul,

Lowly Submission.

Acknowledge Him thy greater. Sound his praise

In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,

And when high moon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st,

Rapture.

Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st

With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their sphere on high,

And ye five other wand'ring orbs, that move

In mystic dance, not without song! resound

His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light

Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth

Of nature's womb, that in quaterion run

Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix

And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change

Vary to our great Maker still new praise.

Ye mists, and exhalations, that now rise

From hill, or streaming lake, dusky or grey,

Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,

In honor to the world's great Author rise;

Whether to deck with clouds, th' uncolour'd sky,

Or cheer with falling show'rs the thirsty ground,

[Page] Rising, or falling, still advance his praise.

His praise, ye winds that from four quarters blow

Breathe soft or loud,; and wave your tops, ye pines,

With ev'ry plant, in sign of worship wave,

Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow,

Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise,

Join voices, all ye living souls. Ye birds,

That singing up to heaven's high gate ascend,

Bear on your wings, and in your notes his praise [...].

Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk

The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep.

Witness, if I be silent, morn or ev'n,

To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade

Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.

Hail universal Lord! Be bounteous still,

Profound Submission.

To give us only good; and if the night

Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,

Disperse it, as now day the dark dispels.

XXIV. PEEVISHNESS.

The scene between Priuli, a Venetian senator, and Jaffier, who had married his daughter without his consent, and being afterwards reduced to poverty, and soliciting his father-in-law to relieve his distress, receives the following treatment.

[VENICE PRESERVED.]

Priuli and Jaffier.

Pr.

NO more! I'll hear no more. Be gone,

Peevishness.

and leave me.

Jaff.

Not hear me!

Courage.

By my sufferings but you shall.

My lord! my lord! I am not that abject wretch

You think me. Where's the diff'rence,

Remonstr.

throws me back

[Page]So far behind you, that I must not speak to you?

Pr.

Peevishness. Courage.

Have you not wrong'd me?

Jaff.

Could my nature e'er

But have endur'd the thought of doing wrong,

Distress.

I need not now thus low have bent myself

To gain a hearing from a cruel father.

Remonser. Peevishness.

You cannot say that I have ever wrong'd you.

Pr.

I say you've wrong'd me in the nicest point,

Remoust.

The honor of my house. You can't defend

Your baseness to me. When you first came home,

From travel, I with open arms received you.

Pleas'd with your seeming virtues; sought to raise you.

My house, my table, fortune, all was yours.

Chiding.

And in requital of my best endeavours,

You treacheously practis'd to undo me;

Seduc'd the joy of my declining age,

My only child, and stole her from my bosom.

Jaff.

Remonstr.

Is this your gratitude to him who sav'd

Your daughter's life? You know, that, but for me,

Self-Defence

You had been childless. I restor'd her to you,

When sunk before your eyes amidst the waves,

I hazarded my life for her's; and she

Has richly paid me with her gen'rous love.

Pr.

Reproaching

You stole her from me, like a thief you stole her,

At dead of night. That cursed hour you chose

To rifle me of all my heart held dear.

Execration.

But may your joy in her prove false as mi [...]

May the hard hand of pinching poverty

Oppress and grind you; till at last you find.

The curse of disobedience all your fortun [...]

Chiding.

Home, and be humble. Study to retren [...]h.

Discharge the lazy vermin of thy hall,

Those pageants of thy folly

[Page] Reduce the glittering trappings of thy wise

To humble weeds fit for thy narrow state.

Then to some suburb-cottage both retire,

And with your starveling brats enjoy your misery.

Home, home, I say.

[Exit.]

XXV. CONTEMPT of the common objects of pursuit. From Mr. Pope's ESSAYS ON MAN.

HONOR and shame from no condition rise;

Teaching.

Act well your part: There all the honor lies.

Fortune in men has some small diff'rence made;

One flaunts in rags; one flutters in brocade;

The cobler apron'd, and the parson gown'd;

The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd.

"What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl?

Quest.

"

⁽¹⁾I'll tell you, friend! A wise man and a fool.

Informing. Teaching.

You'll find, if once the wise man acts the monk:

Or, cobler like, the parson will be drunk;

Approba.

Worth makes the man, and

Contempt.

want of it the fellow;

The rest is all but leather or prunella.

Stuck o'er with titles,

Sneer.

and hung round with strings,

That thou may'st be by kings, or whores of kings,

Boast the pure blood of an illustrious race

In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece:

Contempt.

But by your father's worth if yours you rate,

Count me those only, who were good and great.

Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood.

Has crept thro' scoundrels ever since the flood:

Go! and pretend, your family is young,

[Page]Nor own, your fathers have been fools so long.

What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?

Quest.

Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.

Sneer.

Look next on greatness. Say, where greatness lies?

Where, but among the heroes and the wise.

Heroes are all the same, it is agreed,

Contempt.

From Macedona's madman to the Swede.

The whole strange purpose of their lives to find,

⁽¹⁾Or make—an enemy of all mankind

Not one looks backward: onward still he goes;

Yet ne'er looks forward, farther than his nose.

No less alike the politic and wise;

⁽²⁾All sly, slow things, with circumspective eyes

Men in their loose, unguarded hours they take;

Remon.

Not that themselves are wise; but others weak.

But grant that those can conquer; these can cheat;

Aversion.

'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great.

Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,

Approbation.

Is but the more a fool, the more a knave

Who noble ends by noble means obtains,

Or, failing, smiles in exile, or in chains,

Admiration. Seperior Neglect.

Like good Aurelius let him reign; or bleed

Like Socrates; that man is great indeed.

What's fame? A fancy'd life, in others' breath;

A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death.

Just what you hear's your own; and what's unknown,

The same (my lord!) if Tully's, or your own.

All, that we feel ⁽³⁾ of it, begins and ends

[Page]In the small circle of our foes, or friends;

To all besides as much an empty shade,

An Eugene living, as a Caesar dead;

Alike or when, or where, they shone, or shine,

Contempt. Approbation.

Or on the Rubicon, or on the Rhine.

A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod;

An honest man's the noblest work of God.

Aversion.

Fame, but from death a villain's name can save,

As justice tears his body from the grave;

Blaming.

When what's oblivion better were resign'd,

Is hung on high, to poison half mankind.

All fame is foreign, but of true desert;

Superior Neglect.

Plays round the head; but comes not to the heart.

Contempt. Admiration.

⁽¹⁾

One self-approving hour whole years outweighs

Of stupid starers, and of loud hu [...]a [...];

Contempt. Quest. Respect.

And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels,

Than Caesar with a senate at his heels.

In parts superior what advantage lies?

Concern.

Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise?

'Tis but to know, how little can be known;

To soe all others' faults, and feel our own;

Condemn'd in bus'ness, or in arts to drudge

Without a second, and without a judge.

Truths would you teach, to save a sinking land,

Suffering.

All fear; none aid you; and few understand.

Painful pre-eminence!

Arguing.

yourself to view

Above life's weakness, and its comforts too.

Bring then these blessings to a strict account;

Make fair deductions: see to what they 'mount.

How much of other each is sure to cost;

How each for other oft is wholly lost;

How inconsistent greater goods with these;

How sometimes life is risqu'd, and always ease;

Think. And if still such things thy envy call,

[Page]

Quest. Contempt.

Say, would'st thou be the man to whom the fall?

To sigh for ribbands if thou art so silly,

Mark how they grace Lord Umbra or Sir Billy.

Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life

Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus wife.

Concern.

If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shin'd,

The wisest, brightest—meanest of mankind:

Contempt. Aversion. Teaching.

Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name,

See Cromwell damn'd to everlasting fame:

If all united thy ambition call,

From ancient story learn to scorn them all.

XXVI. CLOWNISH BASHFULNESS, and AWKWARDNESS.

The meeting between Humphry Gubbin, and Mr. Pounce.

[Tend. Husb.]

Humph.

Foolish. Wonder.HOW prettily this park is stock'd with soldiers, and deer, and ducks, Quest. and ladies.— Ha! Where are the old fellows gone? Where can they be, trow? I'll ask these people.—A—a—a—you pretty young gentleman to

[Fainlove]

did you see Vather?

Fain.

Your father, Sir?

Humph.

Ey, my Vather, weezel-faced cross old gentleman with spindle shanks?

Fain.

No, Sir.

Humph.

Attention. Question.A crab stick in his hand.

Pounce.

We have met no body with these marks. But, sure, I have seen you before—Are not you Mr. Humphry Gubbin, son and heir to Sir Harry Gubbin?

Humph.

Ey, ey, an that were all, I'se his son; but how lung I shall be his heir, I can't tell: for a talks O'disinheriting on ma every day.

Pounce.

Joy.Dear Sir, I am glad to see you. I [Page] have had a desire to be acquainted with you ever since I saw you clench your sist at your father, when his back was turned toward you. I love a young man of spirit.

Humph.

Why, Sir,Vexation. would it not vex a man to the very heart, blood and guts on him, to have a crabbed old fellow snubbling a body every minute before company?

Pounce.

Why, Mr. Humphry,Exciting. he uses you like a boy.

Humph.

Like a boy, quotha!Complaining He uses me like a dog. A lays me on now and then, e'en as if a were a breaking a hound to the game.— You can't think what a tantrum a was in this morning, because I boggled a little at marrying my own born cous [...]

Pounce.

A man can't be too scrupulous, Cautioning. Mr. Humphry; a man can't be too scrupulous.

Hump.

Why, Sir,Complaining I could as soon love my own flesh and blood. We should squabble like brother and sister, not like man and wife. Quest. Do you think we should not Mr.—. Pray, gentlemen, may I crave your names?

Pounce.

Sir, I am the very person, Curiosity. that has been employed to draw up the articles of marriage between you and your cousin.

Humph.

Ho, ho! say you so?Wonder. Then mayhap, you can tell one some things one wants to know.—A—a—pray, Sir, what estyeate am I heir to?

Pounce.

To fifteen hundred pounds a year, Information. intailed estate.

Humph.

'Sniggers! Joy. I'se glad on't with all my heart. And—a—a—can you satisfy ma in another question—Pray, how old be I?Quest. Information. Vexation.

Pounce.

Three and twenty last March.

Humph.

Plague on it! As sure as you are there, they have kept ma back. I have been [Page] [...] the stone pig stie was built; and every body knows the pig stie in the back close is three and twenty years old. I'll be duck'd in a horse-pond, if here has not been tricks play'd ma. But,Quest. Information. pray, Sir, may'nt I crave your name?

Pounce.

My name, Sir, is Pounce, at your service.

Humph.

Pounce with a P—?

Pounce.

Yes, Sir, and Samuel with an S.

Humph.

Earnestness.Why, then, Mr. Samuel Pounce,

[chuckling, and wringgling, and rubbing his hands earnestly]

do you know any clever gentlewoman of your acquaintance, that you think I could like? For I'll be [...]ang'd like a dog, an I han't taken a right down aversion to my cousin, ever since Vather proposed her to ma. And since every body knows I came up to be married, I should not care to go down again with a flea in my ear and look balk'd, d'ye see.

Pounce.

Plotting.

[After a pause.]

Why, Sir, I have a thought just come into my head. And if you will wall along with this gentleman and me, where we are going, I will communicate it.

Humph.

[...]oy.With all my heart good Mr. Samuel Pounce.

[Exeunt.]

XXVII. MOURNFUL DESCRIPTION.

From Aeneas's account of the Sack of Troy.

[Dryd. Virg. Aen. II.]

Attention.

ALL were attentive to the godlike man,

When from his lofty couch he thus began:

Respect.

Great queen! What you command me to relate

[Page]And every woe the Trojans underwent;

A pop'lous city made a desart place;

All that I saw, and part of which I was;

Not ev'n the hardest of our foes could hear,

Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear.

* * * * * * * *

'Twas now the dead of night,

Horror

when sleep repairs

Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares,

When Hector's ghost ⁽²⁾ before my sight appears;

Shrouded in blood he stood, and bath'd in tears,

Pity.

Such as when by the fierce Pelides slain,

Thessalian coursers dragg'd him o'er the plain.

Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust

Through the pierc'd limbs: his body black with dust.

Unlike that Hector, who return'd from toils

Of war triumphant in Aeacian spoils

Of him who made the fainting Greeks retire,

Courage.

Hurling ⁽³⁾ amidst their fleets the Phrygian fire,

His hair and beard were clotted stiff with gore,

Pity.

The ghastly wounds, he for his country bore,

Now stream'd afresh.

Grief.

I wept to see the visionary man,

And whilst my trance continu'd thus began.

⁽⁴⁾ O light of Trojans, and support of Troy, ⁽¹⁾

[Page] [...] grace

Deforms the manly honors of thy face?

Horror.

⁽¹⁾ ⁽¹⁾The spectre, gnawing from his inmost breast,

Warning.

This warning in these mournful words express'd;

Haste goddess born! Escape by timely flight,

The flames and horrors of this fatal night.

The foes already have possess'd our wall;

Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall.

Enough is paid to Priam's royal name,

Enough to country, and to deathless fame.

If by a mortal arm my father's throne

Could have been sav'd—this arm the feat had done.

Troy now commends to thee her future state,

And gives her gods companions of thy fate.

Directing.

Under their Umbrage hope for happier walls,

And follow where thy various fortune calls,

(2)He said, and brought, from forth the sacred choir,

The gods, and relicks of th' immortal fire.

Now peals of shouts came thund'ring from afar,

Trepidation.

Cries, threats, and loud lament, and mingled war.

The noise approaches, though our palace stood

Aloft from streets, embosom'd close with wood;

Louder and louder still, I hear th' alarms

Of human cries distinct, and clashing arms.

[Page]And [...]

The palace of Deiphobus ascends

In smoky flames, and catches on his friends.

Ucalegon burns next; the seas are bright

With splendors not their own, and shine with sparkling light.

New clamours, and new clangors now arise,

The trumpet's voice, with agonizing cries.

With frenzy seiz'd I run to meet th' alarms,

Courage.

Resolv'd on death, resolv'd to die in arms.

But first to gather friends, with whom t' oppose

If fortune favour'd and repel the foes,

By courage rous'd, by love of country fir'd,

With sense of honor and revenge inspir'd.

Trepidation.

Pantheus, Apollo's priest, a sacred name,

Had 'scap'd the Grecian swords, and pass'd the flame.

With relics loaded, to my doors he fled,

And by the hand his tender grandson led.

What hope, O Pantheus?

Quest.

Whither can we run?

Where make a stand? Or what may yet be done?

Scarce had I spoke, when Pantheus, with a groan,

⁽¹⁾ Troy—is no more! Her glories now are gone.

Grief.

The fatal day, th' appointed hour is come,

When wrathful Jove's irrevocable doom

Transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands:

Awe.

[Page]Our city's wrapt in flames: the foe commands.

Horror.

To sev'ral posts their parties they divide;

Some block the narrow streets, some scour the wide.

The bold they kill; th' unwary they surprize;

Who fights meets death, and death finds him who flies, &c.

XXVIII. RUSTICITY. AFFECTATION.

The scene of Humphry Gubbin's introduction to his romantic cousin.

[Tend. Husb.]

Humphry; Aunt, Cousin Biddy.

Humph.

Respect. Question. AUNT, your saarvant—your saarvant aunt.—Is that—ha, aunt?

Aunt

Infor. with Satisfaction. Yes, cousin Humphry, that is your cousin Bridget. Well, I'll leave you together.

[Ex. Aunt. They sit.]

Humph.

Quest. Aunt does as she'd be done by, cousin Bridget, does not she, cousin?

[A long pause, looking hard at her.Wonder.]

What, are you a Londoner, Indifference. and not give a gentleman a civil answer, when he asks you a civil question?—Look ye, d'ye see, cousin, the old volks resolving to marry us, I thought it would be proper to see how I lik'd you. For I don't love to buy a pig in a poke, as we sayn i'th' country, he, he, he.

[Laughs.]

Biddy.

Stiff Affect.Sir, your person, and address bring to my mind the whole story of Valentine and Orson. What would they give me, for a lover; a Titanian, Affected Delicacy. a son of the earth? Pray, answer me a question or two.

Humph.

Ey, ey, as many as you please, cousin Bridget,Indiff. an they be not too hard.

[Page]Biddy.

What w [...]d were you taken in?Affectat. Wonder. Question. Surprise. Quest. Wonder. How long have you been caught?

Humph.

Caught!

Biddy.

Where were your haunts?

Humph.

My haunts!

Biddy.

Are not clothes very uneasy to you?Quest. Is this strange dress the first you ever wore? Wonder.

Humph.

How!

Biddy.

Are you not a great admirer of roots, Quest. and raw flesh?—Let me look upon your nails, Affectat. of Fear. I hope you won't wound me with them.

Humph.

Whew!

[Whistles]

Hoity, toity! Wonder. What have we got? Is she betwattled? Or is she gone o' one-side.

Biddy.

Can'st thou deny, Affected. that thou wert suckled by a wolf, or at least by a female satyr? Aversion. Thou hast not been so barbarous, I hope, since thou cam'st among men, as to hunt thy nurse. Pity.

Humph.

Hunt my nurse! Ey, ey, 'tis so, she's out of her head, poor thing, as sure as a gun.

[Draws away.]

Poor cousin Bridget! Fear. How long have you been in this condition?

Biddy.

Condition! Offence. What dost thou mean by condition, monster?

Humph.

How came you upon the high ropes? Quest. with Pity. Was you never in love with any body before me?

Biddy.

I never hated any thing so heartily before thee.Affected Aversion.

Humph.

For the matter of that cousin,Indifference. an if were not a folly to talk to a mad-woman, there's no hatred lost, I assure you.Quest. Earnest. Aversion. But do you hate me in earnest?

Biddy.

Dost think any human being can look upon thee with other eyes, than those of hatred?

Humph.

There is no knowing what a woman man loves or hates, by her words. Desire. But an you [Page] were in your senses, cousin, and hated me in earnest, I should be main conte [...]ted, look you. For, may I be well horse-whipt, if I love one bone in your skin, cousin; and there is a fine woman I am told, who has a mouth's mind to ma.

Biddy.

Aversion.When I think of suc [...] a consort as thee, the wi [...] boar shall defile the cleanly e [...]mine, or the tyger be wedded to the kid.

Humph.

An I marry you, cousin, the pole-cat shall catter-waul with the civet.

Biddy.

Romantic Affectation.To imagine such a conjunction, was as unnatural as it would have been to describe Statira in love with a chimney sweeper, or Oroondates with a nymph of Billingsgate; to paint, in romance, the silver streams running up to their sources in the sides of t [...]e mountains; to describe the birds on the lea [...] [...]ghs uttering the hoarse sound of roaring b [...]ars, to represent knights errant murdering distressed ladies; whom their profession obliges them to relieve; or ladies yielding to the suit of their enamoured knights before they have sighed out half the due time at their feet.

Humph.

Clownish Pity.If this poor gentlewoman be not out of herself, may I be hang'd like a dog.

[Exit.]

[Page]

XXIX. ASKING. REPROOF. APPROBATION.
From Mr. Pope's TEMPLE OF FAME.⁽¹⁾

A Troop came next, who crowns and armour wore,

And proud defiance in their looks they bore.

"For thee,

Cringing.

" (they cry'd) "amidst alarms and strife,

We sail'd in tempests down the stream of life;

For thee whole nations fill'd with fire and blood,

And swam to empire through the purple flood.

⁽²⁾Those ills we dar'd, thy inspiration own;

What virtue seem'd, was done for thee alone.

Ambitious fools!

Reproof

" (the Queen reply'd and frown'd)

"Be all your deeds in dark oblivion drown'd.

There steep forget, with mighty Tyrants gone ▪

Your statues moulder'd, and your names unknown."

A sudden cloud straight snatch'd them from my sight,

Wonder

And each majestic phantom sunk in night.

Then came the smallest tribe I yet had seen;

Plain was their dress, and modest was their m [...]n.

"Great idol of mankind!

Indifference.

We neither claim

The praise of merit, nor aspire to fame;

But safe in desarts from th' applause of men,

[Page]Would die unheard of as we liv'd unseen.

'Tis all we beg thee, to conceal from sight

Those acts of goodness, which themselves requite.

Delight.

O let us still the secret joy ⁽¹⁾ partake,

To follow virtue e'en for virtue's sake."

Wonder.

"And live there men, who slight immortal fame?

Who then with incense shall adore our name?

Information.

But, mortals! know, 'tis still our greatest pride

To blaze those virtues, which the good would hide.

Exciting.

Rise, Muses! Rise! Add all your tuneful breath!

Pleasing Description.

These must not sleep in darkness, and in death."

She said. ⁽²⁾In air the trembling music floats,

And on the winds triumphant swell the notes;

So soft, tho' high; so loud, and yet so clear;

Ev'n list'ning angels lean from heav'n to hear.

To farthest shores th' ambrosial spirit flies,

Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies.

While thus I stood intent to see and hear,

One came, methought, and whisper'd in my ear;

Quest. with Reproof.

⁽³⁾"What could thus high thy rash ambition raise?

Art thou, fond youth! a candidate for praise?"

Apology.

'Tis true, said I, not void of hopes I came;

Concern.

For who so fond, as youthful bards, of fame?

But few, alas! the casual blessing boast,

So hard to gain, so easy to be lost.

How vain that second life in others breath,

Th' estate, which wits inherit—after death.

[Page] Ease, health, and life, for this they must resign

(Unsure the tenure, and how vast the fine!)

The great man's curse, without the gains endure,

Though wretched, flatter'd, and though envy'd, poor.

All luckless wits their enemies profest,

And all successful, jealous friends at best.

Nor fame I slight, nor for her favours call;

Indifference.

She comes unlook'd for, if she comes at all.

But if the purchase costs so dear a price,

Apprehension of evil.

As soothing folly, or exalting vice;

And if the Muse must flatter lawless sway,

And follow still, where fortune leads the way;

Or if no basis bear my rising name,

But the fa [...]'n ruins of another's fame;

Then teach me, Heav'n, to scorn the guilty boys,

Deprecation.

Drive from my breast that wretched lust of praise.

Unblemish'd let me live, or die unknown;

O grant me honest fame; or grant me none.

XXX. POLITE CONVERSATION.

The scene between Mr. Bevil and Indiana, in which she endeavours to find out whether he has any other regard for her, than that of rational esteem, or Platonic love.

[CONSC. LOV.]

Bev.

MADAM, your most obedient. Respect. How do you do to-day? I am afraid you wished me gone last night before I went. But you were partly to blame. For who could leave you in the agreeable humour you was in?

Ind.

If you was pleased, Sir, we were both pleased. For your company, which is always agreeable, was more peculiarly so last night.

[Page]Bev.

My company, Madam! You rally. I said very little.

Ind.

Too little you always say, Sir, for my improvement, and for my credit; by the same token, that I am afraid, you gave me an opportunity of saying too much last night; and unfortunately when a woman is in the talking vein, she wants nothing so much as to have leave to expose herself.

Bev.

I hope, Madam, I shall always have the sense to give you leave to expose yourself, as you call it, without interruption.

[Bowing respectfully.]

Ind.

If I had your talents, Sir, or your power, to make my actions speak for me, I might be silent, and yet pretend to somewhat more than being agreeable. But as it is—

Bev.

Humility.Really, Madam, I know of none of my actions that deserve your attention. If I might be vain of any thing, it is, that I have understanding enough to mark you out, Madam, from all your sex, as the most deserving object of my esteem.

Ind.

Anxiety.

[Aside,]

A cold word! Though I cannot claim even his esteem.

[To him.]

Did I think,Respect. Sir, that your esteem for me proceeded from any thing in me, and not altogether from your own generosity, I should be in danger of forfeiting it.

Bev.

How so, Madam?

Ind.

What do you think, Sir, would be so likely to puff up a weak woman's vanity, as the esteem of a man of understanding? Esteem is the result of cool reason; the voluntary tribute paid to inward worth. Who, then, would not be proud of the esteem of a person of sense, which is always unbiassed; whilst love is often the effect of weakness.

[Looking hard at Bevil, [Page] who casts down his eyes respectfully.]

Esteem arises from a higher fource, the substantial merit of the mind.

Bev.

True, Madam —And great minds only can command it,

[bowing respectfully.]

The utmost pleasure and pride of my life, Madam, is, that I endeavour to esteem you as—I ought.

Ind.

[Aside.]

As he ought! Apprehension Still more perplexing! He neither saves nor kills my hope. I will try him a little farther.

[To him.]

Now, I think on it, I must beg your opinion, Sir,Question. on a point, which created a debate between my aunt and me, just before you came in. She would needs have it, that no man ever does any extraordinary kindness for a woman, but from selfish views.

Bev.

Well, Madam, I cannot say,Respect. but I am in the main, of her opinion; if she means, by selfish views, what some understand by the phrase; that is, his own pleasure; the highest pleasure human nature is capable of, that of being conscious, that from his superfluity, an innocent and virtuous spirit, a person, whom he thinks one of the prime ornaments of the creation, is raised above the temptations and sorrows of life; the pleasure of seeing satisfaction, health and gladness, brighten in the countenance of one he values above all mankind. What a man bestows in such a way, may, I think, be said, in one sense, to be laid out with a selfish view, as much as if he spent it in cards, dogs, bottle companions, or loose women; with this difference, that he shews a better taste in expense. Nor should I think this any such extraordinary matter of heroism in a man of an easy fortune. Every gentleman ought to be capable of this, and I doubt not but many are. For I hope, there are many, who take more [Page] delight in reflection, Sudden Recollection. than sensation; in thinking, than in eating—But what am I doing?

[Pulls out his watch hastily]

My hour with Mr. Myrtle is come.—Madam, I must take my leave abruptly. But, if you please, will do myself the pleasure of waiting on you in the afternoon. Till when, Madam, your most obedient.

[Exit.]

XXXI. SERIOUS MEDITATION. From Dr. Young's NIGHT THOUGHTS.

Alarm.

THE clock strikes one. We take no note of time,

But by its loss. To give it then a tongue

Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke,

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,

It is the knell of my departed hours.

Where are they?—With the years beyond the flood.

It is the signal that demands dispatch.

How much is still to do! My hopes and fears

Start up alarm'd, and o'er life's narrow verge

Look down—on what?—A fathomless abyss.

Admiration.

How poor, how rich, how abject, how august,

How complicate, how wonderful is man!

How passing wonder He, who made him such!

Who center'd in our make such strange extremes,

From diff'rent natures marvellously mixt,

Connexion exquisite of distant worlds!

Distinguish'd link in Being's endless chain,

Midway from nothing to the One Supreme.

A beam aetherial —sully'd, and absorpt!

Though sully'd and dishonor'd, still divine!

Dim miniature of Greatness absolute!

[Page]An heir of glory! A frail child of dust!

Helpless immortal! Insect infinite!

A worm! A God! I tremble at myself!

What can preserve my life? or what destroy?

An Angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave,

Legions of angels can't confine me there.

XXXII. SEEMING CIVILITY.

The meeting between the knight of the Red Crosse, attended by Truth, with Hypocrisy.

[Spenser's Fairie Queene.]

⁽¹⁾

AT length they chaunst to meet upon the way

An aged sire ⁽²⁾ in long black weeds yclad,

Description.

⁽³⁾

His feete all bare, his beard all hoarie grey,

And by his belt his booke he hanging had.

Sober he seem'd, and very sagely sad,

And to the ground his eyes mere lowly bent,

Simple of shew, and void of malice bad.

And all the way he prayed as he went.

And often knock'd his breast as one that did repent.

He faire the knight saluted louting ⁽⁴⁾ low,

Who faire him quited, ⁽⁵⁾ as that courteous was,

And after asked him, if he did know

Of straunge adventures which abroad did pas.

"Ah my deare sonne,

Civility.

" (quoth he) "how should, alas,

Silly old man, that lives in hidden cell,

[Page] Bidding his beads ⁽¹⁾ all day for his trespas,

Tidings of warre, and worldly trouble tell?

With holy father fits not with such things to mell. ⁽²⁾

But if of daunger which hereby doth dwell

And homebred evil ye desire to heare,

Alarm.

Of a straunge man I can you tidings tell,

That wasteth all this countrey far and neare."

"Of such" (said he) "I chiefly do inquere.

And shall thee well rewarde to shew the place,

In which that wicked Wight ⁽³⁾ his dayes doth weare. ⁽⁴⁾

Threatening

For to all knighthood it is foul disgrace,

That such a cursed creature lives so long a space."

Fear.

"Far hence (quoth he) in wastfull wildernesse

His dwelling is, by which no living wight

May ever pass, but thorough great distresse."

Advising.

"Now" said the ladie⁽⁵⁾ "draweth toward night,

And well I wote,⁽⁶⁾ that of your later fight

Ye all forwearied be: for what so strong,

But, wanting rest, will also want of might?

The sunne, that measures heavens all day long,

At night doth baite his steeds the ocean waves emong.

Then with the sunne, take, Sir, your timely rest,

And with new day new worke at once begin,

[Page] Untroubled night, they say, gives counsel best."

"Right well, Sir knight,

Inviting.

ye have advised bin,"

Quoth then that aged man; "The way to win ⁽¹⁾

Is wisely to advise; now day is spent;

Therefore with me you may take up your In

For this same knight." The knight was well content:

So with that godly father to his home the went.

XXXIII. TREPIDATION. VEXATION.

The humorous scene of craming Sir John Falstaff into the basket of foul linen, to prevent his being caught by jealous Ford. ⁽²⁾ [Shakespear's Merry Wives of Windsor.] Falstaff, Mrs. Ford.

Serv.

[Without.]

MADAM, Madam, Haste. Madam! Here is Mrs. Page, sweating and blowing, and looking wild, and says she must speak with you immediately.

[Page]Fal.

Fear.She shan't see me. I will ensconce me behind the arras.

Mrs. Ford.

Directing.Pray do. She is a very tattling woman.

Enter Mrs. Page.

Mrs. Ford.

Question. Alarm.What's the matter? How now?

Mrs. Page.

O Mrs. Ford! What have you done! You're sham'd; you're overthrown; you're undone for ever. Fear.

Mrs. Ford.

What's the matter, good Mrs. Page?

Mrs. Page.

Reproof. O well-a-day, Mrs. Ford! Having an honest man to your husband, to give him such cause of suspicion.

Mrs. Ford.

Quest. Reproof. What cause of suspicion?

Mrs. Page.

What cause of suspicion! Out upon you! How I'm mistaken in you! I could not have thought you capable of such a thing.

Mrs. Ford.

Anxiety.Why, alas! What is the matter?

Mrs. Page.

Alarm. Matter! Why, woman, your husband is a coming hither, with all the officers of Windsor, to search for a gentleman, that is here now in the house, by your consent, to take an ill advantage of his absence. You are undone.

Mrs. Ford.

Fear. Warning.It is not so, I hope.

Mrs. Page.

Pray heaven it be not so, that you have a man here. But it is most certain, that Mr. Ford is coming with half Windsor at his heels, to search the house. I came before to tell you. If you know yourself clear, I am glad of it. But if you have any body here, convey him out as fast as you can. Be not amazed. Call your senses to you. Defend your reputation, or bid farewel to your happiness for ever.

[Page]Mrs. Ford.

What shall I do? There is a gentelman here, my dear friend.Trepidation. And I fear not mine own shame, so much as his peril. I had rather than a thousand pounds he were safe out of the house.

Mrs. Page.

Never stand crying:Exciting. You had rather! You had rather. Your husband's at hand. Bethink you of some conveyance. In the house you cannot hide him. Look, Advising. here is a basket. If he be of any reasonable stature, he may creep in here, and you may throw foul linen upon him, as if it were going to bucking. It is whitening time; send him by your two men to Datchet-mead.

Mrs. Ford.

He is too big to go in there.Confution. What shall I do?

Enter Falstaff from behind the arras.

Falst.

Let me see it. Let me see it. Hurry. I'll in. I'll in. Follow your friend's counsel. I'll in.

Mrs. Page.

What Sir John Falstaff! Surpr. and Reproach. Apology. Is this the love you professed to me in your letters?

Falst.

I do love you for all this. Help me out of this scrape. I'll convince you how much I love you.

[He goes into the basket. They cover him with foul linen.]

Mrs. Page.

[To Falstaff's boy.Haste.]

Help to cover your Master, sirrah.

[To Falstaff.Reproaching]

Ah, you are a sad dissembler, Sir John.

[To Mrs. Ford.]

Call your men, Mrs. Ford. Quick, quick. Haste. Ordering.

Mrs. Ford.

What, John, Robert, John.— Why John, I say. Make haste, and take up these clothes here. Where's the cowl-staff? How you gape! Carry them away directly to [Page] Mrs. Plash, the laundress, at Datchet-mead.

[They carry away the basket. Ford meets them. Is prevented searching the basket. Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page retire, and enjoy the punishment, they had inflicted on Falstaff.]

Scene changes to the Inn.

Enter Falstaff just out of the Thames.

Falst.

Bardolph, I say.

Bard.

Confusion. Here, Sir.

Falst.

Vexation. Go, fetch me a quart of sack. Put a toast in it.

(Exit Bard.)

Have I lived to be carried in a basket, like a barrow of butchers' offal, Self-Condemnation. and to be thrown into the Thames? Well, if ever I let myself be served such another trick, I'll have my brains, if there be any in my skull, taken out, and buttered, to be given my dog Jowler for his breakfast on new-year's day. Vexation. The rogues chucked me into the river with as little remorse, as they would have drown'd a bitch's blind puppies fifteen i'the litter. And then a man of my weight must have a comfortable alacrity in sinking. If the bottom had been on a level with the bed of the river Styx, down I should have gone. For that matter, I had been fairly drown'd, if the shore had not been so kind as to shelve it a little in my favour. And then to think, only to think of my being drown'd!—A man of my size! For your fresh water swells you an ordinary man to the size of your middling porpuss. As for me, an I were to be drown'd, I suppose there is ne'er a whale of them all, that would not be out of countenance at the sight of me.—Bardolph—Is the sack brew'd?

[Page]To him enter Ford.

Ford.

Bless you, Sir.

Falst.

Now, Master Brook. Civility. You come to know what has passed between me and Ford's wife.

Ford.

That is indeed my business, Sir John.

Falst.

Master Brook, I will not lie to you. I was at her house at the hour she appointed me.

Ford.

And you sped, Sir.

Falst.

Very ill-favour'dly, Mr. Brook. Vexation. Surprise. Vexation.

Ford.

How, Sir, did she change her mind?

Falst.

No, Master Brook. But the mischievous old cuckold, her husband, Master Brook, dwelling in a continual alarm of jealousy, comes provoked and instigated by his distemper, and at his heels a whole rabble of people, to search the house for his wife's love.

Ford.

What! While you were there? Surprise.

Falst.

While I was there, Master Brook.

Ford.

And did he search for you,Question. and could not find you?

Falst.

Master Brook, you shall hear.Information with Vexation. As good luck would have it, comes in one Mrs. Page, gives intelligence of Ford's approach; and by her invention, and Ford's wife's direction, I was conveyed into a buck-basket.

Ford.

A buck-basket! Wonder. Vaxation. Remembrance.

Falst.

Yea; a buck-basket; [...] with [...] and smocke, sweaty sack [...], [...] greasy night cups, and infants about [...] fresh from their stinking tails; that, Master Brook, there was as great a variety of villainous smells, as there was of living things in Noah's ark. There I suffered the pangs of three unnatures deaths. First, the intolerable fear of [Page] being detected by a jealous old bell-weather; next, to be coil'd up, like an overgrown snake in a dunghill; roll'd round within the circumference of a peck, hilt to point, heel to head; thirdly, and lastly, Master Brook, to be stopt in, like a strong distillation, with stinking clothes, that fermented in their own grease. Think of that, Master Brook, a man of my body; that am as liable to melt as a lump of Epping butter exposed to the sun-beams on the twentieth of June at noon-day. Think of that, Master Brook, and that, while I was in the midst of this high salivation, from which that I escaped without suffocation, is neither more nor less than a miracle; while I was in the height of of this hot bath, I say, with my very bones melted almost to the consistency of calves-foot- [...]elly, to be flung into the Thames, cool'd glowing hot, as I was, case hardened at once; think of that, Master Brook; hissing hot; think of that Master Brook.

XXXIV. VARIOUS CHARACTERS.

From Mr. Pope's MORAL ESSAYS.

[Epist. I.]

Sneer, or Mock-Praise

'TIS from high life high characters are drawn:

A saint in crape is twice a saint in lawn.

A judge is just; a chanc'lor—juster still;

A gownman learn'd; a bishop—what you will;

Wise, if a minister; but if a king,

More wise, more just, more learn'd more every thing.—

Teaching.

'Tis education forms the common mind;

Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclin'd.

[Page] ⁽¹⁾ Boastful and rough, your first son is a 'squire;

Boasting.

The next a tradesman, meek, and much a liar;

Smooth. Strut.

Tom struts a soldier, open, bold and brave;

Will sneaks a scriv'ner, an exceeding knave.

Sneaking.

Is he a churchman? Then he's fond of pow'r;

Pride.

A Quaker?

Form.

Sly. A Presbyterian?

Peevish.

Sour;

A smart free-thinker? All things in an hour.—

Manners with fortunes, humours turn with climes,

Teaching.

Tenets with books, and principles with times.

Search then the ruling passion: There alone

The wild are constant, and the cunning known.

This clue once found unravels all the rest;

The prospect clears, and Wharton stands confest;

Wharton! the scorn,

Contempt.

and wonder,

Admirat.

of our days,

Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise.

Born with whate'er could win it from the wise,

Women and fools, must like him or he dies,

Eagerness. Admiration.

Tho' wond'ring senates hung on all he spoke,

Contempt.

The club must hail him master of the joke.

Shall parts so various aim at nothing new?

He'll shine a Tully and a Wilmot too.

Then turns repentant, and his God adores,

With the same spirit as he drinks and whores.

Enough, if all around him but admire,

[Page]And now the punk applaud, and now tho friar.—

A salmon's belly, Helluo,⁽¹⁾ was thy fate, ⁽²⁾

Trepidation. Deprecation.

The doctor call'd, declares all help too late.

"Mercy" (cries Helluo) "mercy on my soul!

Grief, with Sickness.

Is there no hope?—Alas!—then bring the jowl"—⁽³⁾

Aversion.

"Odious! in woolen! 'Twould a saint provoke,"

(Where the last words that poor Narcissa spoke)

Weakness.

"No—let a charming chintz, and Brussels lace,

Wrap these cold limbs, and shade this lifeless face.

One need not, sure, be ugly, though one's dead;

Expiring.

And—Betty—give this cheek—a little—red."

The courtier smooth, who forty years had shin'd

An humble servant to all human kind.

Just brought out this, when scarce his tongue could stir;

Civility, with Weakness. Grief.

"If—where I'm going—I could—serve you Sir."

"I give, and I devise" (old Euclio said,

And sigh'd) "my lands and tenements to Ned."

"Your money, Sir"—"My money, Sir!— What—all?

Weeping.

Why—if I must"—(then wept)—"I give it Paul."

"The manour, Sir?"—"The manour— Hold—" (he cry'd)

[Page]"I cannot—must not part with that"—and dy'd.

Weakness.

And you brave Cobham! at your latest breath

Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death.

Dignity.

Such in that moment, as in all the past,

"O save my country, Heav'n!

Praying.

"—shall be your last.

XXXV. RECONCILIATION.

The scene between Mr. Bevil and Mr. Myrtle. [Consc. Lov.]

Bev.

SIR,Complais. I am extremely obliged to you for this honour.

Myrt.

The time, the place, Anger. our long acquaintance, and many other circumstances, which affect me on this occasion, oblige me, without ceremony, or conference, to desire, that you will comply with the request in my letter, of which you have already acknowledged the receipt.

Bev.

Sir,Complais. I have received a letter from you in a very unusual style. But, as I am conscious ⁽¹⁾ of the integrity of my behaviour with respect to you, and intend that every thing in this matter, shall be your own seeking, I shall understand nothing, but what you are pleased to confirm face to face. You are therefore to take it for granted, that I have forgot the contents of your epistle.

Myrt.

Your cool behaviour, Mr. Bevil,Anger. is agreeable to the unworthy use, you have made of my simplicity and frankness to you. And I see, your moderation tends to your own advantage; [Page] not mine; to your own safety; not to justice for the wrongs you have done your friend.

Bev.

Offence. Reproach. Displeasure.My own safety! Mr. Myrtle.

Myrt.

Your own safety, Mr. Bevil.

Bev.

Mr. Myrtle, there is no disguising any longer, that I understand what you would force me to.Firmness. You know my principle upon that point; and you have often heard me express my disapprobation of the savage manner of deciding quarrels, which tyrannical custom has introduced, to the breach of all laws, both divine and human.

Myrt.

ReproachingMr. Bevil, Mr. Bevil! It would be a good first principle, in those, who have so tender a conscience that way, to have as much abhorrence at doing injuries, as—

[Turns away abruptly.]

Bev.

As what?

Myrt.

Irritating. Self-vindication.As fear of answering them.

Bev.

Mr. Myrtle, I have no fear of answering any injury I have done you; because I have meant you none; for the truth of which I am ready to appeal to any indifferent person, Seriousness. even of your own choosing. But I own, I am afraid of doing a wicked action, I mean of shedding your blood, Pious Veneration. or giving you an opportunity of shedding mine, cold. I am not afraid of you, Mr. Myrtle. But I own, I am afraid of Him, who gave me this life in trust, on other conditions, and with other designs, than that I should hazard, or throw it away, because a rash inconsiderate man is pleased to be offended, without knowing, Courage. whether he is injured, or not. No—I will not, for your, or any man's humour, commit a known crime; a crime, which I cannot repair, or which may, in the very act, cut me off from all Possibility of repentance.

[Page]Myrt.

Mr. Bevil, I must tell you,Rage. Irritating. this coolness, this moralizing, shall not cheat me of my love. You may wish to preserve your life, that you may possess Lucinda. And I have reason to be indifferent about it, if I am to lose all that, from which I expected any joy in life. But I shall first try one means toward recovering her, I mean, by shewing her what a dauntless hero she has chosen for her protector.

Bev.

Shew me but the least glimpse of argument that I am authoriz'd to contend with you at the peril of the life of one of us,Firmness. and I am ready upon your own terms. If this will not satisfy you, and you will make a lawless assault upon me, I will defend myself as against a ruffian. There is no such terror, Mr. Myrtle, in the anger of those, who are quickly hot, and quickly cold again, they know not how, or why. I defy you to shew wherein I have wrong'd you.

Myrt.

Mr. Bevil,Irritating. it is easy for you to talk cooly on this occasion. You who know not, I suppose, what it is to love, and from your large fortune and your specious outward carriage, have it in your power to come, without much trouble or anxiety, to the possession of a woman of honour; you know nothing of what it is to be alarmed, Jealousy. distracted with the terror of loosing what is dearer than life. You are happy. Sarcasm. Your marriage goes on like common business, and, in the interim, you have for your soft moments of dalliance, your rambling captive, your Indian princess, your convenient, your ready Indiana.

Bev.

You have touched me beyond the patience of a man: Angerroused and the defence of spotless innocence, will, I hope, excuse my accepting your challenge, or at least my obliging you to retract your infamous aspersions. I will not, if I can avoid it, shed your blood, nor shall you mine [Page] But Indiana's purity, Authority. I will defend. Who waits?

Serv.

Submission.Did you call, Sir?

Bev.

Command. Yes, go call a coach.

Serv.

Trep. with Submission. Sir,—Mr. Myrtle—Gentlemen—You are friends—I am but a Servant—But—

Bev.

Anger. Call a coach.

[Exit Serv.]

[A long pause. They walk sullenly about the room.]

Recollection.

[Aside.]

Shall I (though provoked beyond sufferance) recover myself at the entrance of a third person, and that my servant too; and shall I not have a due respect for the dictates of my own conscience; ⁽¹⁾ for what I owe to the best of fathers, and to the defenceless innocence of my lovely Indiana, whose very life depends on mine?

[To Mr. Myrtle.]

I have, thank heaven, had time to recollect myself, and have determined to convince you, by means I would willingly have avoided, but which yet are preferable to murderous duelling, that I am more innocent of nothing, than of rivalling you in the affections of Lucinda. Remonst. Read this letter; and consider, what effect it would have had upon you to have found it about the man you had murdered.

Sullenness.

[Myrtle reads.]

"I hope it is consistent with the laws a woman ought to impose upon herself to acknowledge, that your manner of declining what has been proposed of a treaty of marriage in our family,Surprise. Rising and desiring, that the refusal might come from me, Hope. is more engaging than the Smithfield courtship of him, whose arms I am in danger of being thrown into,Joy. unless your friend exerts himself for our [Page] common safety and happiness."In reading the letter, the countenance of Myrtle ought to quit, by degrees, the look of anger, and to pass to those marked on the margin.—O, Shame. I want no more, to clear your innocence, my injured worthy friend.—I see her dear name at the bottom. Remorse.—I see that you have been far enough from designing any obstacle to my happiness, while I have been treating my benefactor as thy betrayer—O Bevil, Confusion. Benevolence. with what words shall I—

Bev.

There is no need of words. To convince is more than to conquer. If you are but satisfied that I meant you no wrong, all is as it should be.

Myrt.

But can you—forgive—such madness? Anguish. Remorse.

Bev.

Have not I myself offended? Benevolence and Forgiving. I had almost been as guilty as you, though I had the advantage of you, by knowing what you did not know.

Myrt.

That I should be such a precipitate wretch? Anguish. Remorse.

Bev.

Prithee no more. Forgiving. Self-Congr. with Horror.

Myrt.

How many friends have died by the hand of friends, merely for want of temper! What do I not owe to your superiority of understanding! What a precipice have I escaped! Intreating, with Remorse. O my friend;—Can you ever—forgive—Can you ever again look upon me—with an eye of favour?

Bev.

Why should I not? Benevolence Any man may mistake. Any man may be violent, where his love is concerned. I was myself. Admiration.

Myrt.

O Bevil! You are capable of all that is great, all that is heroic.

[Enters a servant to Bevil, and gives a letter.]

[Page]

XXXVI. CHARACTERS.

From Mr. Pope's MORAL ESSAYS.

[Epist. III.]

Narration.

WHERE London's column, pointing to the skies,

Like a tall bully, lifts its head, and lies,

There dwelt a citizen of sober fame,

A plain, good man, and Balaam was his name;

Religious, punctual, frugal, and so forth;

His word would pass fore more than he was worth.

One solid dish his week-day meal affords;

An added pudding solemniz'd the Lord's,

Constant at church, and change. His gains were sure,

His givings rare, save farthings to the poor.

Vexation.

The Dev'l was piqu'd such saintship to behold,

And long'd,

Earnest. Narration.

to tempt him, like good Job of old;

But Satan now is wiser than of yore,

And tempts by making rich; not making poor.

Rous'd by the prince of air the whirlwinds sweep

The surge, and plunge his father in the deep;

Then full against his Cornish lands they roar;

And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore.

Pride.

Sir Balaam now! He lives like other folks;

He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes.

"Live like yourself," was soon my lady's word;

And lo! two puddings smoak'd upon the board.

Asleep, and naked, as an Indian lay,

An honest factor stole a gem away;

And pledg'd it to our knight. Our knight had wit,

[Page]He kept the di'mond, and the rogue was bit.

Some scruple rose. But thus he eas'd his thought,

Anxiety.

"I'll now give six-pence where I gave a groat;

Affected Pity.

Where once I went to church, I'll now go twice,

And am so clear, too, of all other vice."

The tempter saw his time;

Craft.

the work he ply'd;

Stocks and supscriptions pour on ev'ry side;

Earnest.

Till all the demon makes his full descent,

In one abundant show'r of cent per cent;

Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole;

Then dubs director, and secures his soul.

Pride.

Behold! Sir Balaam, now a man of spirit,

Ascribes his gettings to his parts and merit.

What late he call'd a blessing, now was wit,

And God's good providence, a lucky hit.

Things change their titles,

Narration.

as our manners turn;

His compting-house employs the Sunday morn.

Seldom at church ('twas such a busy life)

But duly sent his family and wife.

There (so the Dev'l ordain'd) one Christmas-tide

My good old lady caught a cold, and dy'd.

A nymph of quality admires our knight.

He marries; bows at court; and grows polite;

Leaves the dull cits and joins (to please the fair)

The well-bred cuckolds in St. James's air.

First, for his son a gay commission buys,

Who drinks, whores, fights, and in a duel dies.

His daughter struts a viscount's tawdry wife;

And bears a coronet, and p—x for life.

In Britain's senate he a seat obtains;

And one more pensioner St. Stephen's gains.

My lady takes to play; so bad her chance,

He must repair it. Takes a bribe from France.

[Page]

Confusion.

The house impeach him. Coningsby harangues,

The court forsake him; and Sir Balaam hangs.

Wife, Son, and daughter, Satan! are thy own;

His wealth, yet dearer, forfeit to the crown.

The devil and the king divide the prize,

And sad Sir Balaan curses God, and dies.

XXXVII. ANXIETY. RESOLUTION.

Cato sitting in a thoughtful posture. In his hand Plato's book on the immortality of the soul. A drawn sword on the table by him. After a long pause, he lays down the book, and speaks.

Deep Contemplation.

IT must be so—Plato thou reason'st well—

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire; ⁽¹⁾

Comfort. Desire. Fear.

This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror

Of falling into nought?—Why shrinks the soul ▪

Back on herself, and startles at destruction?

Awe.

'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us;

'Tis Heav'n itself that points out an Hereafter,

And intimates eternity to man.

⁽²⁾ Eternity!—thou pleasing

Satisfact.

—dreadful

Apprehen.

thought!—

Curiosity.

Through what variety of untry'd being,

Through what new scenes and changes must we pass?

The wide, th' unbounded prospect lies before me;

Anxiety.

But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.

[Page]

Courage.

Here will I hold.

Veneration

If there's a Power above us;

And that there is, all nature cries aloud

Through all her works—He must delight in virtue.

And that, which He delights in, must be happy.

Satisfact. Anxiety.

But when!—or where!—This world was made for Caesar.

I'm weary of conjectures.—

Courage.

This must end them.

[Laying his hand on his sword.Firmness.]

Thus am I doubly arm'd. ⁽¹⁾ My death, my life;

My bane and antidote: are both before me;

This—in a moment, brings me to an end.

Apprehen. Comfort.

Whilst this informs me, I shall never die.

The soul, ⁽²⁾ secur'd in her existence,

Noble.

smiles

At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.

Pride. Triumph.

The stars ⁽³⁾ shall fade away, the Sun himself

Grown dim with age, and nature sink in years;

But thou ⁽⁴⁾ shalt flourish in immortal youth,

⁽⁵⁾ Unhurt amidst the war of elements,

The wreck of nature, and the crush ⁽⁶⁾ of worlds.

[Page]

XXXVIII. ANGER. THREATENING.

Satan's speech to Death stopping his passage through the gates of hell; with the answer.

[Milt. Parad. Lost. B. II. v. 681.]

Quest. with Anger.

WHENCE, and what art thou, exterable shape,

That dar'st, thou grim and terrible, advance

Resolution.

Thy miscreated front athwart my way

To yonder gates? Through them I mean to pass,

Contempt. Threatening

That be assur'd, without leave ask'd of thee.

Retire, ⁽¹⁾ or taste thy folly, and learn by proof,

Hell-born, not to contend with spirits of Heav'n.

To whom the goblin full of wrath reply'd,

Anger.

"Art thou that traitor Angel, art thou He,

Who first broke peace in Heav'n, and faith till then

Unbroken, and in proud rebellious army

Drew after him the third part of Heav'n's sons,

Conjur'd against the Highest, for which both thou

And they outcast from God, are here condemn'd

Contempt with Anger.

To waste eternal days in woe and pain?

And reckon'st thou thyself with spirits of Heav'n,

Hell-doom'd, and breath'st defiance here, and scorn,

Pride. Threatening

Where I reign king, and to enrage thee more,

Thy king and lord? Back to thy punishment,

False fugitive, ⁽²⁾ and to thy speed add wings,

Lest with a whip of scorpion, I pursue

[Page]Thy ling'ring, or with one stroke of this dart

Strange horror sieze thee, and pangs unfelt before."

XXXIX. DEPRECATION. RECOLLECTION.

The speech of Sin to Satan, to prevent an hostile encounter between the latter and Death; with the effect of her speech.

[Milt. PARA. LOST. B. II. v. 726.]

"⁽¹⁾ O Father, what intends thy hand,

Exclam.

" (she cry'd)

"Against thy only son? What fury, O son,

Reproof.

Possesses thee to bend that mortal dart

Against thy father's head? And know'st for whom;

Vexation.

For Him who sits above, and laughs the while

At thee ordain'd his drudge, to execute

What'er his wrath, which he calls justice bids;

His wrath; which one day will destroy ye both."

Alarm. Narration.

She spoke, and at her words the hellish pest

Forbore. Then these to her Satan return'd:

"So strange thy outery,

Surprise.

and thy words so strange

Thou interposest, that my sudden hand

Prevented,

Recollect.

spares to tell thee yet by deeds

What it intends; till first I know of thee,

What thing thou art,

Question.

thus double form'd and why

In this infernal vale first met, thou call'st

Me father, and that phantasm call'st my son,

I know thee not; nor even saw, till now,

Sight more detestable than him and thee.

Aversion.

"

[Page]

XL. VEXATION. PERTNESS. CRINGING.

Part of Mr. Pope's complaint, of the impertinence of scribblers.

[From the PROLOGUE to his IMITATIONS of HORACE'S SATIRES.]

Gratitude.

FRIEND ⁽¹⁾ to my life! which did not you prolong,

Vexation.

⁽²⁾ The world had wanted—many an idle song)

What drop, or nostrum, can this plague remove?

Or which must end me, a fool's wrath, or love?

A dire dilemma! Either way I'm sped;

If foes, they write, if friends, they read me dead.

Seiz'd and try'd down to judge, how wretched I;

Who can't be silent, and who will not lie.

To laugh were want of goodness, and of grace;

And to be grave exceeds all pow'r of face.

I sit with sad civility. I read

⁽³⁾ With serious anguish, and an aking head;

Then drop at last, but in unwilling ears,

Advising.

This saving counsel, "Keep your piece nine years,"⁽⁴⁾

Off. with Surprise.

"Nine years!" cries he, who high in Drurylane,

Lull'd by soft zephyrs through the broken pane,

[Page] Rhymes ere he wakes, and prints before term ends,

Oblig'd by hunger—and request of friends;

"The piece, you think, is incorrect.

Pertness.

Why take it,

Cringing.

I'm all submission; what you'd have it, make it."

Three things another's modest wishes bound;

Vexation.

My friendship, and a prologue, and ten pound.

Cringing.

Pitholeon⁽¹⁾ sends to me; "You know his Grace,

I want a patron—ask him for a place.

Offence.

"

"Pitholeon libell'd me—"

Cringing.

But here's a letter

"Informs you, Sir, 'twas when he knew no better.

Dare you refuse him? ⁽²⁾ Curl invites to dine:

Threatening.

He'll write a Journal, or he'll turn divine."

Bless me! A packet! "'Tis a stranger fues;

Surprise.

A virgin tragedy; an orphan muse."

If I dislike it, "Furies, death, and rage!

Anger. Cringing. Comfort.

"

If I approve, "Commend it to the stage."

There, thank my stars, my whole commission ends!

The play'rs and I are, luckily, no friends,

Fir'd, that the house reject him, "'Sdeath!

Anger.

I'll print it,

And shame the fools—Your int'rest, Sir,

Cringing.

with Lintot."

"Lintot (dull rogue!

Excuse.

) will think your price too much."

"Not if you, Sir, revise it and retouch.

Cringing. Vexation.

"

All my demurs but double his attacks,

At last he whispers, "Do; and we go snacks.

Wheeling.

"

Glad of a quarrel, straight I clap the door.

Offence. Dismission with Anger.

"Sir, let me see you, and your works no more."

[Page]

XLI. REFLECTION on lost happiness. SELF-CONDEMNATION. HORROR. DESPERATION.

Satan's Soliloquy.

[Milt. PARAD. LOST B. IV. v. 32.]

Admiration.

O Thou, that with surpassing glory crown'd,

Look'st from thy sole dominion, like the god

Of this new world; at whose sight all the star.

Hide their diminish'd heads; to thee I call,

Hatred.

But with no friendly voice, and add thy name,

O Sun, to tell thee, how I hate thy beams,

Painful. Reflection.

That bring to my remembrance from what state

I fell; how glorious once above thy sphere;

Self-Condemnation.

Till pride and worse ambition threw me down

Warring in Heav'n against Heav'n's matchless king.

Vindication of an Enemy

Ah wherefore! He deserv'd no such return

From me, whom he created what I was

In that right eminence, and with his good

Upbraided none; nor was his service hard.

What could be less than to afford him praise,

Self-Condemnation. Pride.

The easiest recompense and pay him thanks,

How justly due! yet all his good in me

Produc'd rank malice: lifted up so high,

Subjection I disdain'd thought one step higher

Would set me high'st, and in a moment quit

The debt immense of endless gratitude,

Self-Condemnation.

So burdensome still paying, still to owe.

Forgetful what from him I still receiv'd,

And understood not, that a grateful mind

By owing owes not, but still pays: at once

Indebted, and discharged; what burden then?

Anguish.

O had his pow'rful destiny ordain'd

[Page]Me some inferior Angel!

Reflection on lost happin.

I had stood

Then happy; no unbounded hope had rais'd

Ambition. Yet why not? some other pow'r

As great, might have aspir'd, and me though mean,

Drawn to his part. But other pow'rs as great

Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within,

Or from without, to all temptations arm'd.

Hadst thou the same free-will,

Self-Condemnation.

and pow'r to stand?

Thou had'st: whom hast thou then, or what t'accuse,

But Heav'n's free love dealt equally to all?

Be then his love accurs'd!

Blasphemy. Rage. Self-Condemn.

since love or hate

To me alike it deals eternal woe.

Nay curs'd be thou; since against his, thy will

Chose freely what it now so justly rues.

O wretched spirit!

Desperation.

which way shall I fly

Infinite wrath, and infinite despair;

Which way I fly is Hell, myself am Hell;

And in the lowest deep a lower deep

Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide,

To which the Hell, I suffer, seems a Heav'n—

O then, at last, relent.

Essay toward Repentance.

Is there no place

Left for repentance? None for pardon left?

None left, but by submission;

Pride

and that word

Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame

Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduc'd

With other promises, and other vaunts

Than to submit; boasting I could subdue

Th' Omnipotent. Ay me!

Anguish.

they little know

How dearly I abide that boast so vain;

Under what torments inwardly I groan,

While they adore me on the throne of Hell,

With diadent and sceptre high advanc'd,

The lower still I fall, only supreme

In misery; such joy ambition finds.

[Page]

Pride.

But say I could repent, and could obtain,

By act of grace, my former state; how soon

Would height recal high thoughts, how soon unsay.

What feign'd submission swore? Ease would recant

Vows made in pain, as violent and void.

Malice.

For never can true reconcilement grow

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierc'd so deep;

Which would but lead me to a worse relapse,

And heavier fall: So should I purchase dear

Hopeless Anguish.

Short intermission bought with double smart.

This knows my punisher, therefore as far

From granting He, as I from begging peace:

All hope excluded thus, behold instead

Malice.

Of us outcast exil'd, his new delight,

Mankind created, and for them this world.

Fixed Desperation.

So farewel hope; and with hope farewel fear,

Farewel remorse: all good to me is lost;

Evil be thou my good; by thee at least

Resolved.

Divided empire with heav'n's King I hold,

Obdur.

By thee, and more than half, perhaps, shall reign;

Malice bent on Mischief.

As man, ere long, and this new world shall know.

XLII. WALKING IN SLEEP, and a DISTURBED CONSCIENCE. [MACBETH.

Enter Lady Macbeth, ⁽¹⁾ with a taper.

Gent.

Listening. LOOK you! here she comes. This is her guise. Observe her. Stand close.

[Page]Doct.

Her eyes are open. Wonder.

Gent.

Ay, but their sense is shut.

Doct.

What is it she does now?Attention. Look how she rubs her hands.

Gent.

It is an accustomed action with her to seem thus washing her hands. I have known her continue this a quarter of an hour.

La. Macb.

Yet here's a spot. Guilt. ⁽¹⁾

Doct.

Hark, she speaks. Attention. Guilt.

La. Macb.

Out, cursed spot. Out, I say— ⁽²⁾ One, two.Horror. Encourag.Now is the time to do it—Hell is murky— Fie, my lord! A soldier afraid! What need we fear? Who knows it?Guilt. Who has power to call us to account?—But, who could have thought, the old man had so much blood in him?

Gent.

Do you mark that? Atten. with Suspicion. Guilt.

La. Macb.

The Thane of Fife is a married man. Where is his wife now? Murdered, did you say? Who could be so bloody to mangle such sweetness?—What, will these hands never be clean? No more of that, my lord; no more of that. Encourag. Guilt. You mar all with your starting.—Here is the smell of blood still—All the perfumes of Arabia will not sweeten this little hand. Oh, oh, oh!Anguish.

Doct.

What a sigh was there!Suspicion. That heart is sorely charged. This disease is beyond my practice.

[Page]La. Mach.

Encouraging Wash your hands, put on your night-gown. Take courage—I tell you, Banquor is buried, all but the blood that was shed at his dispatching; Fear. and that has no likeness to be known by. Are you afraid he'll come out of his grave again? To bed, to bed, to bed. There is a knocking at the gate. Come, come, come. What is done cannot be undone. To bed, to bed, to bed.

XLIII. INTREATING COMPLAINT of injury. REFUSING.

The Embassy from Agamemnon to Achilles, (after the latter had, in disgust, retired from the army) to endeavour to prevail with him to return, and join the allies against the Trojans. Ulysses at table, in Achilles's tent, speaks.

Submission.

HEALTH to Achilles! Happy are thy guests!

Not those more honor'd whom Atrides feasts:

Tho' gen'rous plenty crown thy loaded boards;

That Agamemnon's regal tent affords.

Anxiety.

But greater cares sit heavy on our souls;

Not eas'd by banquets, or by flowing bowls.

Sympathy.

What scenes of slaughter in yon fields appear,

The dead we mourn, and for the living fear.

Apprehens.

Greece on the brink of fate all doubtful stands,

And owns no help, but from thy saving hands.

Troy, and her sons, for ready vengeance call;

Their threat'ning tents already shade our wall.

Hear how with shouts their conquests they proclaim,

And point at ev'ry ship the vengeful flame.

[Page]For them the Father of the gods declares;

Awe with Apprehen. Terror.

Theirs are his omens, and his thunder theirs.

See, full of Jove, avenging Hector rise!

All human force the raging chief defies;

What fury in his breast, what light'ning in his eyes!

He waits but for the morn, to sink in flame

The ships, the Greeks, and all the Grecian name.

Return, Achilles! Oh return, tho' late,

Beseeching.

To save thy Greeks, and stop the course of fate;

If in that heart or grief, or courage lies,

Rise to redeem: Ah yet to conquer rise.

The day may come, when,

Warning.

all our warriors slain,

That heart shall melt, that courage rise in vain.

He afterwards enumerates the advantageous conditions offered by Agamemnon, to engage him to return. To all which Achilles gives the following answer.

—Ulysses!

Stern Firmness.

⁽¹⁾—hear

A faithful speech, that knows nor art, nor fear,

What in my secret soul is understood

My tongue shall utter, and my deeds make good.

Let Greece then know my purpose I retain,

Nor with new treaties vex my peace in vain.

Long toils, long perils in their cause I bore:

Displeasure.

But now th' unfruitful glories charm no more.

Fight, or not sight, a like reward we claim;

Exprobrat.

The wretch and hero, find their prize the same;

Alike, regretted in the dust he lies,

Who yields ignobly, or who bravely dies.

Of all my dangers, all my glorious pains,

A life of labours! lo, what fruit remains!

[Page]As the bold bird her helpless young attends,

From danger guards them, and from want defends;

In search of prey she wings the spacious air,

And with untasted food supplies her care;

For thankless Greece such hardships have I brav'd,

Her matrons, and her tender infants sav'd.

Long sleepless nights in heavy arms have stood,

And spent laborious days in dust and blood.

I sack'd twelve ample cities on the main,

And twelve lay smoking on the Trojan plain.

Then at Atrides' haughty feet were laid

The wealth I gather'd, and the spoils I made.

Sneer with Reproof.

Your mighty monarch these in peace possest;

Some few my soldiers had; himself the rest.

Wrong'd in my love, all proffers I disdain;

Resolution.

Deceiv'd for once, I trust not kings again.

Refusing.

Ye have my answer—

Sneer.

What remains to do,

Your king, Ulysses, may consult with you.

What needs he the defence this arm can make?

Has he not walls, no human force can shake?

Has he not fenc'd his guarded navy round

With piles, with ramparts, and a trench profound?

And will not these, the wonders he has done,

Repel the rage of Priam's single son?

Self-Comm.

There was a time ('twas when for Greece I [...]ght)

When Hector's prowess no such wonders wrought.

He kept the verge of Troy, nor dar'd to wait

Achilles' vengeance at the Scaean gate.

Resolution.

But now those deadly contests are no more,

To-morrow we the fav'ring gods implore;

Then shall ye see our parting vessels crown'd,

Insult.

And hear with oars the Hellespont resound.

Then tell your king, that all the Greeks may hear.

[Page]And learn to scorn the man they basely fear.

(For, arm'd in impudence, mankind he braves,

And meditates new cheats on all his slaves;

Tho' shameless as he is, to meet these eyes

Is what he dares not; if he dares, he dies.

Fixed Hatred.

)

Tell him, all terms, all commerce I decline,

Nor share his counsels, nor his battles join:

For, once deceiv'd was his; but twice were mine.

My fates, long since, by Thetis were disclos'd;

Resolution.

And each alternate, life, or fame, propos'd.

Here if I stay before the Trojan town,

Short is my date; but deathless my renown.

If I return, I quit immortal praise

For years on years, and long extended days.

Convinc'd, tho' late, I find my fond mistake,

And warn the Greeks the wiser choice to make;

Advising.

To quit these shores; their native seats enjoy,

Nor hope the fall of heav'n-defended Troy.

Serious Reflection.

Life is not to be bought with heaps of gold;

Not all, Apollo's Pythian treasures hold,

Or Troy once held, in peace and pride of sway,

Can bribe the poor possession of a day.

Lost herds and treasures we by arms regain,

And steeds unrival'd on the dusty plain.

But, from our lips the vital spirit fled,

Returns no more to wake the silent dead.

He concludes with declaring his determined resolution not to return. And the Ambassadors take their leave, to go back to the army.

[Page]

XLIV. Humorous scene from Shakespeare's MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.

Quince, Snug, Bottom, Flute, Snowt and Starveling.

Quince.

Inquiring. Directing.IS all our company here?

Bot.

You had best call them conjunctly and severally, generally and specially, that is, whereof to call them man by man, according to the scrip.

Quin.

Informing.Here is the scroll of every man's name, in this town, that is fit to be seen upon the stage before the duke and dutchess.

Bot.

Directing. ⁽¹⁾ Good Peter Quince, go to work in a method. Begin at the top, and go on to the bottom; that is, whereof as a man may say, first tell us what the play treats of, then read the names of the actors, and so your business will stand by itself as regular, as a building set upon the very pinnacle of its foundation.

Quin.

Informing.Why then the play is the most delectable and lamentable comedy entituled and called, The cruel tragedy of the death of Pyramus and Thisby!

Bot.

Pity.A very moving play, I warrant it. A very deep tragedy, I know by the sound of the title of it. Pyramus and Thisby! I suppose they are to have their throats cut from ear to ear, or their bellies ripped up from the waist-bands of their breeches to their chins. Directing. Well, now, good Peter, call forth your actors by the [Page] scrowl. Masters, spread yourselves out into a clump, every man conjunctly by himself.

Quin.

Answer, as I call you. Authority. Nick Bottom, weaver.

Bot.

Ready. Name my part, and proceed. Affectation: Smartness.

Quin.

You, Nick Bottons, are set down for Pyramus.

Bot.

I am to play Pyramus? Well,Authority. and who is Pyramus? A gentleman or a simple man?Inquiring. Teaching.

Quin.

Pyramus is a lovyer, and Thisby is his sweetheart. Pyramus kills himself for grief, because a lion had got hold of Thisby's cloak, and tore it, which makes Pyramus conclude, as how he had tore her too, and eaten her up, all but the cloak; whereof he had not touched her. So that poor Pyramus loses his life d'ye see, for nothing at all; whereof you know, that is enough to make a man hang himself.

Bot.

What then,Inquiring. am I to hang myself for vexation, because I had killed myself for nothing? Denying.

Quin.

No; that is not in the play.

Bot.

Here will be salt tears wept, Apprehensi. or I am mistaken. And I be the man, that acts this same Pyramus, let the ladies look to their eyes. I will condole and congratulate to some tune. I will break every heart, that is not double-hooped with flint. I have a main notion of acting your lovyer, that is crossed in love. There is but one thing, that is more to my humour than your tribulation lovyer. That is, your tyrant; Bombast. your thundering tyrant; I could play you, for example, I could play you such a tyrant as Herriccoles, ⁽¹⁾ when he gets on the brimstone shirt, and is all on fire, as the unlucky boys burn a great rat alive with spirits. And then, when he takes up little—what's his name—⁽²⁾ to squir [Page] him off of the cliff into the sea. O then 'tis fine, ⁽¹⁾ "I'll split the raging rocks; Ranting. and shiv'ring shocks, with thund'ring knocks, shall break the locks of prison gates. And Febal's ⁽²⁾ ear shall shine from far, and kindle war, with many a scar, and make and mar the stubborn fates." There is your right tragedy stuff.Applause. This is Herriccole's vein to a hair. This is your only true tyrant's vein. Your lovyer's vein is more upon the condoling and congratulating. Directing. Now Peter Quince, name the rest of the players.

Quin.

Authority. Francis Flute, Bellows—monder.

Flute.

Affectation. were, Peter Quince.

Quin.

Smartness. Authority. Francis, you must take Thisby on you.

Flute.

Inquiring. Doubt. What, that is to be Nick Boitom's sweetheart, and to have my cloak worried alive by the great beast? Why, Peter, I have a beard a coming. I shan't make a clever woman, as you may say, unless it were Mrs. What d'ye call her, Inquiring. Mrs. Tibby's mother or aunt. Has not the gentlewoman of the play a mother, or an aunt, that appears?

Quin.

Encouraging Yes; but you must do Thisby. You will do Thisby well enough, Authority. man. You shall do it in a mask. Affectation. Robin Starveling, taylor.

Star.

Here, Peter Quince.

Quin.

Smartness. Authority. You must play Pyramus's Father; I will play Thisby's father; Flute must play Thisby; and [...]nowt Thisby's mother. Simon Snug, joiner.

Snug.

Affectation. Here, Peter Quince.

Quin.

Smartness. Simon, Authority. you must act the part of the lion.

[Page]Snug.

Heh! the part of the lion, do you say,Inquiring. Peter Quince? Why I never made a beast of myself in my life, but now and then, when I have drunk a cup too much.

Quin.

Psh [...], Pshaw, a better man, Encouraging than you and either, as been made a beast before now; ay, and a horn'd beast too. But the lion is a royal beast, the king of beasts. So [...]imon, you must play the part of the lion.

Snug.

Well, but an it be a long part, Doubt. I can't remember it; for I have but a poor brain. Let me see how many pages.

Quin.

Why, Simon, it is not written. And, for the matter of that, you may do it off hand. It is nothing but roaring.

Bot.

I'll tell you what, Peter Quince; Advising. you were better to let me act the part of the lion. Simon Snug is but a hen-hearted sort of a fellow. He won't roar you so loud as a mouse in the hole in the wall. But,Boasting. if you will let me play the part, I will make such a noise, as shall do any man's heart good to hear me. I will roar, that the duke shall cry, Encore, encore, let him roar, let him roar, once more, once more.

Quin.

But if you were too terrible, Cautioning. you might frighten the dutchess and the ladies, that they would shriek, and that were enough to hang us all.

Bot.

Ay; Self-Vindication. if the dutchess and the ladies were frighted out of their wits, to be sure, perhaps they might have no more wit, than to get us all hang'd: but do you think, Peter Quince, that I have no more inhumanity in my nature, than to frighten people? I would restrain and aggravate my voice, that I would roar you as gentle as any sucking dove; I would roar you an it were any nightingale.

[Page]Quin.

Authority.I tell you, Nick Bottom, hold your tongue, with your roaring, and set your heart at rest. You shall play nothing but Pyramus.

Bot.

Submission.Well, if I must, I must. What cannot be endur'd, you know, must be cur'd. But what beard were I best to play it in?Inquiring.

Quin.

Directing.You must not have on a grey beard, you know, because it will not look natural for a man with a grey beard to be acting the part of a lovyer.

Bot.

Self-Vindication.Why, look you, Master Peter Quince, I don't think it so very unnatural to see people, with grey beards, acting the part of lovyers; at least, I am sure, it had not need be unnatural; for it is common enough. But, howsomdever it will look a little unnatural, as you say, to see the young woman, Mrs. Tibby, fondling and looking sweet upon a man with a grey beard. Wherefore, upon minture liberation, I will play it in a beard black as jet.

Quin.

Exhorting. Here, then, Masters, take your parts, and con them over with as much retention as you can; that you may be ready to rehearse by to-morrow night.

Bot.

Inquiring.But where must we rehearse, Peter Quince?

Quin.

Apprehen.Why, you know, if we should go to rehearse in a garret, or a molt-loft, we should but draw a mab, and perhaps get ourselves taken up for cromancers. Contriv. Therefore we must go to the palace wood, and do it by moonlight. Then you know, we shall do it with dacity and imposer of mind, when there is no body to deplaud, or hiss.

Bot.

Right, Peter Quince. We will be ready for you.

[Exeunt.]

[Page]

XLV. CHIDING.

The speech of Hector to Paris, on his avoiding, on the field of battle, Menelaus, the husband of Helen, whom he had decoyed from Sparta to Troy, which occasioned the Trojan war.

[Pope's Hom. II. III. v. 53.]

AS godlike Hector sees the prince retreat,

Narration.

He thus upbraids him with a gen'rous heat.

"Unhappy Paris! But to women—brave!

Reproof.

So fairly form'd, and only to deceive!

Oh hadst thou dy'd,

Vexation.

when first thou saw'st the light,

Or dy'd at least before the nuptial rite!

A better fate,

Contempt.

than vainly thus to boast

And fly, the scandal of the Trojan host.

Gods!

Vexation.

how the scornful Greeks exult to see

Their fears of danger undeceiv'd in thee!

Thy figure promis'd with a martial air;

Contempt.

But ill thy soul supplies a form so fair.

In former days, in all thy gallant pride,

When thy tall ships triumphant stem'd the tide,

When Greece beheld thy painted canvas flow,

And crowds stood wond'ring at the passing show;

Say, was it thus, with such a baffled mien,

Inquir. with Contempt.

You meet the approaches of the Spartan queen?

Thus from her realm convey'd the beauteous prize,

"And both her warlike lords ⁽¹⁾ outshone in Helen's eyes?

[Page]This deed, thy foes' delight, thy own disgrace,

Thy father's grief, and ruin of thy race,

This deed recals thee to the proffer'd fight;

Challenge.

Or hast thou injur'd whom thou dar'st not right?

Soon to thy cost his sword would make thee know,

Thou keep'st the consort of a braver foe.

Warning.

Thy graceful form, instilling soft desire,

Thy curting tresses, and thy silver lyre,

Beauty and youth—in vain to these you trust,

Threatening

When youth and beauty shall be laid in dust,

Troy yet may wake, and one avenging blow

Crush the dire author of his country's woe."

XLVI. REMORSE. CONFESSION. VIRTUOUS RESOLUTION. AFFECTION. JOY. RAPTURE.

Scene between Sir Charles Easy and his lady (to whom he had been false) after his coming to understand, that his falshood was known to her, though borne without the least complaint, or outward appearance of dissatisfaction, on her part,

Sir Ch.

Serious Conversation.SIT still, my dear—I want to talk with you—and, which you well may wonder at, what I have to say is of importance too. But it is in order to our friendship's being upon a better foot hereafter, than it has been hitherto.

Lady Easy.

Affect. with Submission.Your behaviour to me, Sir Charles, has always been friendly and loving; nor can I charge you with a look, that ever had the appearance of unkindness.

[Page]Sir Ch.

The perpetual spring of your good humour, Madam,Complim. lets me draw no merit from what I have appeared to be. For you seem to be of a temper to love, or at least to behave kindly to, your husband, let his character be what it will. Yet I cannot, even now, reconcile, with your good sense, your venturing upon marriage with a man of my indolent character.

Lady Easy.

I never thought it such a hazard. Submissive Affection. And your having never shewn, even in the time of courtship, the least affectation to be any thing, but what you was by nature; and your shewing, through that carelessness of temper, an undesigning honesty of mind, which I suspected a want of in smoother behaviour, won me by taking no pains to win me, and pleased and courted me by taking no pain to please or court me. I concluded, that such a temper could never be deliberately unkind. Or, at the worst, I hoped, that any errors which might arise from want of thinking, might be borne; and that one moment's thought would end them. Thus, Sir Charles, you see my worst of fears. And these, weighed against the hopes I had of winning your heart (as you know, our sex are not too diffident of the power of our own charms) were as nothing.

S. Ch.

My dear, your understanding, Wonder. when I consider my own conduct, starties me; and makes my own look despicable. I blush, Shame. to think, I have worn so valuable a jewel in my bosom, and, till this hour, have scarce had the curiosity, or rather the common sense, to think of looking upon its lustre.

Lad. Easy.

You set too high a value,Self-denial. Sir Charles, on the common qualities of harmlessness, and good nature in a wife.

[Page]Sir Ch.

Praise. Virtues, like benefits, are doubled by being modestly concealed. And I confess, I suspect you,Shame. Madam, of virtues, which, as much as they exalt your character, disgrace mine.

Lad. Easy.

Apprehen.I don't understand you, Sir Charles.

Sir Ch.

Trepidation.I must speak plainer then—Be free, and tell me, where did you leave this handkerchief? ⁽¹⁾

Lad. Easy.

Starting. Ha!

Sir Ch.

Tenderness. Shame.What do you start at—You have nothing to be troubled about.—Would to Heaven I had as little.

[Aside.]

Lad. Easy.

Anxiety.I cannot speak—and I could wish you would not oblige me—It is the only thing I ever refused you—And, though I cannot give you a reason, Intreating. wl [...] I would not speak, yet I hope you will excuse me, without a reason.

Sir Ch.

Stinging. Remorse. What then? Does this delicate creature scruple to accuse me of what I have so little scrupled to be guilty of! Monster! To injure such goodness! Tenderness with Admira.

[Aside]

Well, then, Madam, your will shall be a reason. I will urge the point no farther. And, indeed, it would ill become me. Since you are so generously tender of reproaching me, I will declare to you, that what your delicacy avoids charging me with, that my own reflection bears home upon me with tenfold force. Remorse. Your heroic behaviour has wak'd me to a sense of your disquiet past— disquiet so unworthily caused by me—and—and —

[hesitating through fulness of heart]

so nobly borne by—her—who least deserved to be forced to bear it.Virtuous Resolution.—But, Madam—

[sighing]

if I have used you ill—I hope I have sentiment [Page] enough still left to secure you from all fear of my offending hereafter. As an earnest of which,Intreating. let me beg of you to discharge your woman.

Lad. Easy.

My dearest! I think not of her.Overpower. Your tenderness overcomes me.

[Weeping.]

Sir Ch.

Nay, surely, Joy. Self-denial. Remorse. Tenderness. you have no room to praise my tenderness. Such tenderness, as I have shewn to worth like yours, might—but I see you are in pain to give me this confusion. I will not, therefore, increase your uneasiness by reflections on what I have been; but rather, reserving them for my private recollections, try to soothe your anguish by the prospect of happiness to come—happiness from my recovery to a sense of your inimitable excellence, which hereafter, I intend shall be the business and the joy of my life to study, and admire. Expect then,Protest. of Affection. thou best of womankind, from my future affection, all that can be conceived of tender and of kind. Nothing, you can expect, shall come up to what you shall experience; for no tenderness can equal your deservings at the hands of such a husband as I have hitherto been. Receive me, then, entire at last, and take what no woman ever truly had—not even your incomparable self—my conquered heart.

[Embracing.]

Lad. Easy.

O my recovered, my almost lost, Inexpressible Transport of Love and Joy. my inestimable jewel!—My husband!—My love!—O extasy of joy!—Too much for human nature!—Thus to have all I love on earth, come voluntarily and unsolicited, to lead me with kindness, and crown me with happiness! What is the rapture of the lover sighing at our feet, to the solid joy of receiving the relenting, returning husband! O dearest love! Be not so profusely kind▪ O Heaven! Pious Grat. Teach me to shew gratitude suitable to such a blessing.

[Page]

XLVII. DISCONTENT. EXCITING. REPROACHING. PLOTTING.

The scene, in which Cassius excites Brutus to oppose Caesar's power. [Shakespeare's JUL. CAES.]

Cas.—

Discontent.

HONOUR is the subject of my story;

I cannot tell, what you and other men

Think of this life, but for my single self,

I'd rather sleep i' th' dust, than live to be

Contempt. Pride.

In awe of such a thing as I myself.

I was born free as Caesar. So were you.

We both have fed as well, and we can both

Endure the winter's cold as well as he.

Narr. with Contempt.

For once, upon a raw and gusty day,

The troubled Tiber chafing with his shores,

Caesar says to me. "Dar'st thou, Cassius, now

Quest.

"Leap in with me into this angry flood,

And swim to yonder point?" Upon the word,

Courage.

Accoutred as I was, ⁽¹⁾ I plunged in,

And bade him follow; so indeed he did.

The torrent roar'd, and we did buffet it

With lusty sinews, throwing it aside,

And stemming it with hearts of controversy.

Fear.

But ere we could arrive the point propos'd,

Distr. and Intreating.

Caesar cry'd, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink."

Courage.

Then, as Aeneas, our great ancestor,

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulders,

The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber,

[Page]Did I the tired Caesar;

Wonder.

and this man

Is now bec [...]e a god, and Cassius is

A wretched creature, and must bond his body,

Contempt.

If Caesar carelessly but nod to him.

He had an ague, when he was in Spain,

Narr. with Contempt.

And when the fit was on him, I did mark

How he did shake: 'tis truth, this god did shake;

His coward lips did from their colour fly,

And that same eye,

Ranting.

whose bend doth awe the world,

Did lose its lustre; I did hear him groan:

Contempt.

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans

Mark him, and write his speeches in their books,

Alas, it cry'd, "Give me some drink,

Sickness.

Titinius"—

As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me,

Wonder.

A man of such a feeble temper should

So get the start of the majestic world,

And bear the palm alone.

Brut.

Another general shout!

Listening.

I do believe,

Wonder.

that their applauses are

For some new honours that are heap'd on Caesar.

Discontent. Ranting.

Cas.

Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world,

Like a Colossus, and we sorry dwarfs

Walk under his huge legs, and peep about

To find ourselves dishonorable graves.

Men sometimes have been masters of their sates:

Regret.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,

But in ourselves, that we are underlings.

Brutus and Caesar!

Exciting.

What should be in that Caesar!

Why should that name be sounded more than yours?

Write them together; yours is as fair a name;

Sound them; it doth become the mouth as well;

Weigh them; it is as heavy; conjure with them;

[Page] Brutus will start a ghost as soon as Caesar.

Wonder.

Now in the names of all the gods at once,

Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed,

That he is grown so great?

Contempt.

Age thou art sham'd:

Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods.

When went there by an age, since the sun shone,

But it was fam'd with more than one man?

When could they say, 'till now, who talk'd of Rome,

That her wide walls encompass'd but one man?

Ex [...]ting.

Oh! you and I hav [...] heard our fathers say,

There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd

A whipt-gall'd [...]ave to lord it over Rome

As soon as this bread Caesar.

Bru.

Approbation.

⁽¹⁾That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;

Serious Consideration.

What you would w [...]rk me to, I have some aim:

How I have thought of this, and of those times,

I shall recount hereafter. For this present,

I would not (so with love I might intreat you)

Plotting.

Be any farther mov'd. What you have said,

I will consider; wha [...] you have to say,

I will with patience hear, and find a time

Both meet to hear, and answer such high things.

Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this;

Discontent.

Brutus—had rather be a [...]ybian,

Than to repute himself a son of Rome,

Under such hard conditions as this time

Is like to lay upon us.

[Exeunt.]

[Page]

XLVIII. JOY. TROUBLE. FLATTERY. DARING. FEAR. ROMANTIC IMAGINATION.

Eve's Acc [...]ant of her troublesome Dream.

[PAR. LOST. B. V. v. 28.]

O Sole, in whom my thoughts find all repose,

Joy and Love.

My glory, my perfection! Glad I see

Thy face, and morn return'd.

Disagreeable Remembra.

For I this night

(Such night till this I never pass'd) have dream'd—

⁽¹⁾ If dream'd—not as I oft am wont, of thee;

Works of day past, or morrow's next design;

But of offence and trouble which my mind

Knew never till this irksome night. Methought,

Close at mine ear one call'd me forth to walk;

With gentle voice. I thought it thine. It said,

"Why sleep'st thou Eve?

Wheed.

Now is the pleasant time,

The cool, the silent, save where silence yields

To the night warbling bird, that now awake,

Pleasing Description.

Tunes sweetest his love labour'd song; now reigns

Full orb'd the moon, and with more pleasing light

Shadowy sets off the face of things. ⁽²⁾ In vain,

If none regards.Flattery.Heav'n wakes with all his eyes

Whom to behold but thee, nature's desire?

In whose sight all things joy with ravishment,

Attracted by thy beauty—still to gaze."

I rose, as at thy call; but found thee not,

Narration.

To find thee I directed then my walk;

[Page]And on, methought, alone I pass'd thro' ways,

Apprehension.

That brought me on a sudden to the tree

Of interdicted knowledge. Fair it seem'd,

Wonder.

Much fairly to my fancy than by day:

And as I wond'ring look'd, beside it stood

One shap'd and wing'd like one of those from Heav'n

By as oft seen; his dewy locks distill'd

Ambrosia. On that tree he also gaz'd;

Pleasure and Desire.

And, "O fair plant," said he "with fruit surcharg'd,

Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet,

Inquiry.

Nor god, nor man? Is knowledge so despis'd?

Or envy, or what reserve forbids to taste?

Resolution.

Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold

Longer thy offer'd good, why else set here?"

This said, he paus'd not, but with vent'rous arm

Fear.

He pluck'd, he tasted. Me damp horror chill'd

At such bold words, vouch'd with a deed so bold.

Joy.

But he thus overjoy'd, "O fruit divine,

Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet the cropt;

Forbidden here, it seems as only fit

For gods; yet able to make gods of men:

And why not gods of men, since good the more

Communicated, more abundant grows,

The author not impair'd, but honoured more?

Inviting.

Here, happy creature, fair angelic Eve!

Partake thou also, happy though thou art,

Flattery. Tempting.

Happier thou may'st be; worthier canst not be;

Taste this, and be henceforth among the gods,

Thyself a goddess, not to earth confin'd,

But sometimes in the air, as we; sometimes

Ascend to Heav'n, by merit thine, and see

What life the gods live there, and such live thou."

Tempting.

So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held,

[Page]Ev'n to my mouth of that same fruit held part.

Which he had pluck'd.

Rising Desire.

The pleasant sav'ry smell

So quicken'd appetite, that I, methought,

Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the clouds

With him I flew,

Romantic Imagination.

and underneath beheld

The earth outstretch'd immense, a prospect wide

And various. Wond'ring at my flight and change

To this high exaltation; suddenly

My guide was gone, and I, methought, sunk down,

And fell asleep.

Joy.

But O how glad I wak'd

To find this but a dream!

XLIX. ANGUISH followed by TRANSPORT.

The scene of Indiana's being found to be Mr. Sealand's daughter.

[Consc. Lov.]

Ind.

I AM told, Sir,Civility. you come about business, which requires your speaking with me.

Seal.

Yes, Madam. There came to my hands a bill drawn by Mr. Bevil, which is payable to-morrow; and as I have cash of his, I have made bold to bring you the money myself—A—a—a—and, to be free, Madam,Confusio. the fame of your beauty, and the regard which Mr. Bevil is but too well known to have for you, excite my curiosity.

Ind.

Too well known to have for me! Offence. Your sober appearance, Sir, made me expect no rudeness or absurdity from you—Who waits?— Sir, if you pay the money to a servant, it will be as well—

[Going.]

Seal.

Pray, Madam, be not offended. Apology. I came hither with an innocent, nay, a virtuous [Page] design. And, if you will have patience to hear me, it may be of service to you, as well as to my only daughter, on whose account I come, and whom I was this day to dispose of.

Ind.

Apprehensi.

[Aside.]

In marriag [...] with Mr. Bevil, I fear.Recollect. What I dreaded is come. But I must compose myself, if possible.

[To him.]

Sir, you may suppose I shall desire to know any thing, which may be interesting to Mr. Bevil or to myself. Confusion. As appearances are against me with regard to his behaviour, I ought to forgive your suspicion, Sir. Be free- then; I am composed again.Apology. Won. with Disapp. Go on, Sir.

Seal.

I feared indeed, an unwarranted passion here. But I could not have thought any man capable of abusing so much lovliness and worth, as your appearance, and behaviour bespeak. But the youth of our age care not what excellence they destroy, so they can but gratify—

Ind.

Vindication. Inq. with Apprehen.

[Interrupting.]

Sir you are going into very great errors. But please to keep your suspicions, and acquaint me, why the care of your daughter obliges a person of your seeming rank, to be thus inquisitive about a wretched, helpless, friendless—

[Weeps]

I beg your pardon, Distress. Apology. good Sir—I am an orphan, who can call nothing in this world my own, but my virtue—Pray, good Sir, go on.

Seal.

Pity with Disapp. How could Mr. Bevil think of injuring such sweetness!

Ind.

Vindica. Praise.You wrong him, Sir. He never thought of injuring me. His bounty he bestows for my support, merely for the pleasure of doing good. You are the gentleman, Inq. with Apprehen. I suppose, for whose happy daughter he is designed by his worthy father; and he has consented, perhaps, to the proposal.

Seal.

Caution. Rosolution.I own, such a match was proposed; but it shall not proceed, unless I am satisfied, that [Page] your connection with him may be consistent with it.

Ind.

It is only, Sir,Distress. from his actions and his looks, that I have had any reason to flatter myself into the notion of his having any particular affection for me. From them, I own, I was led into the hope of what I earnestly wished, that he had thoughts of making me the partner of his heart. But now I find my fatal mistake. The goodness and gentleness of his demeanour, with the richness of his benevolence, made me misinterpret all—'Twas my own hope, my own passion, that deluded me—He never made one amorous advance to me—His generous heart and liberal hand meant only to help the miserable. And I—O fool that I was!Self-Condo.—I fondly suffered myself to be drawn into imaginations too high, and too ambitious for my lowly wretchedness—O—oh—oh!

[Weeping.]

Seal.

Make yourself easy, Madam, Comfort. upon the score of my daughter, at least. The connection between Mr. Bevil and her is not gone so far as to render it necessary that your peace should be destroyed by such a marriage. Depend upon it, Madam, my daughter shall never be the cause of your disappointment.

Ind.

Sir, your speaking so,Distress heightened. makes me still more wretched. Shall I be the cause of injury to my noble benefactor? Shall I, who have no pretensions to him, be the hindrance of his happiness? Heaven forbid! No, Sir;Persuasion. give your daughter to the worthiest of men. Give her to my generous Bevil—They may be happy, though I should run distracted. And,Distress with Gratitude. whilst I preserve my senses, I will weary Heav'n with my prayers for their felicity. As for my own fate, Distress. Lamentat. it is likely to hold on as it begun, a series of wretchedness—'Twas Heav'n's high will that I should be [Page]wretched—Taken captive in my cradle—tossed on the seas—there deprived of my mother— that I should only hear of my father; but never see him—that I should then be adopted by a stranger—then lose my adopter—that I should then be delivered from the very jaws of poverty by the most amiable of mankind—that I should give my fond unthinking heart to this most charming of his sex—and that he should disappoint all my romantic hopes, without leaving me the right or the pretence of blaming any one, but myself. For, oh, I cannot reproach him, though his friendly hand, that raised me to this height, now throws me down the precipice. Oh!

[Weeping.]

Seal.

Comfort. Dear Lady! Compose yourself to patience, if possible. My heart bleeds for your distress. Pity. Inquiry.—And there is something in your very strange story, that resembles—Does Mr. Bevil know your history particularly?

Ind.

Lamentation All is known to him perfectly. And it is my knowledge of what I was by birth, and what I should be now, that embitters all my misery. Frenzy. I'll tear away all traces of my former self; all that can put me in mind of what I was born to, and am miserably fallen from.

[In her disorder she throws away her bracelet, which Mr. Sealand takes up, and looks earnestly on it.]

Seal.

Amazement. Ha! What means this? Where am I? It is the same! The very bracelet, which my wife wore at our last mournful parting.

Ind.

Recollecti. What said you, Sir, Your wise! What may this mean? That bracelet was my mother's. But your name is Sealand. Trepida. My lost father's name was—

Seal.

[Interrupting.]

Danvers, was it not?

Ind.

Amazement.What new amazement! That was his name.

[Page]Seal.

I am the true Mr. Danvers, Joy. though I have changed my name to Sealand—O my child, my child!

[Catching. Indiana in his arms.]

Ind.

All gracious Heaven! Is it possible? Do I embrace my father?

Seal.

O my child, my child! My sweet girl! Rapture. My lost Indiana! Restor'd to me as from the dead! I now see every feature of thy lamented mother in thy lovely countenance! O Heaven! how are our sorrows past o'erpaid by such a meeting! To find thee thus, to have it in my power to bestow thee on thy noble lover, with a fortune not beneath his acceptance.

Ind.

O it is more like a dream, than reality! Have I then a father's sanction to my love! His bounteous hand to give, and make my heart a present worthy of my generous Bevil?

Seal.

Let us send immediately to him, and inform him of this wond'rous turn; which shews, that

Whate'er the gen'rous mind itself denies,

The secret care of Providence supplies.

L. REPROOF.

Calisthenes's honest speech in reproof of Cleon's flattery to Alexander, on whom Cleon wanted divinity to be conferred by vote.

[Q. Cart. VIII.]

IF the king were present, Cleon,Displeasure. there would be no need of my answering to what you have just proposed. Reproof. He would himself reprove you for endeavouring to draw him into an imitation [Page] of foreign absurdities, and for bringing envy upon him by such unmanly flattery. As he is absent I take upon me to tell you in his name, that no praise is lasting, but what is rational; and that you do what you can to lessen his glory instead of adding to it. Heroes have never, among us, been deified, till after their death. And, whatever may be your way of thinking, Cleon, for my part, I wish the king may not, for many years to come, obtain that honour. You have mentioned,Remonstr. as precedents, of what you propose, Hercules and Bacchus. Do you imagine, Cleon, that they were deified over a cup of wine? And are you and I qualified to make gods? Challenge. Is the king, our sovereign, to receive his divinity from you and me, who are his subjects? First try your power, whether you can make a king. It is surely, easier to make a king, than a god; to give an earthly dominion, than a throne in heaven. Apprehension. I only wish, that the gods may have heard, without offence, the arrogant proposal you have made, of adding one to their number: and that they may still be so propitious to us, as to grant the continuance of that success to our affairs, with which they have hitherto favoured us. Honest Pride. For my part, I am not ashamed of my country; nor do I approve of our adopting the rites of foreign nations, or learning from them how we ought to reverence our kings. To receive laws, or rules of conduct, from them, what is it, but to confess ourselves inferior to them?

[Page]

LI. INCULCATING. COMMANDING. INTREATING. WARNING.

The dying charge of Micipsa, king of Numidia, to Jugurtha, whom he had adopted, and made joint-heir to his kingdom, with his two sons, Adherbal and Hiempsal

YOU know, Jugurtha,Exciting to Gratitude. that I received you under my protection in your early youth, when left a helpless, and hopeless orphan. I advanced you to high honours in my kingdom; in the full assurance that you would prove grateful for my kindness to you; and that, if I came to have children of my own, you would study to repay to them, what you owed to me. Hitherto I have had no reason to repent of my favours to you.Commendation. For to omit all former instances of your extraordinary merit, your late behaviour in the Numantian war, has reflected upon me and my kingdom, a new and distinguished glory. You have, by your valour, rendered the Roman commonwealth, which before was well affected to our interest, much more friendly. In Spain, you have raised the honour of my name and crown. And you have surmounted what is justly reckoned one of the greatest difficulties; having, by your merit, silenced envy. My dissolution seems now to be fast approaching. Intreating. I therefore beseech and conjure you, my dear Jugurtha, by this right hand; by the remembrance of my past kindness to you; by the honour of my kingdom, and by the majesty of the gods; be kind to my two sons, whom my favour to you has made your brothers; and do not think of forming a [Page] connexion with any stranger to the prejudice of your relations. Warning. It is not by arms, nor by treasures, that a kingdom is secured, but by well affected subjects and allies. Teaching. And it is by faithful and important services, that friendship (which neither gold will purchase, nor arms extort) is secured. Remonst. But what friendship is more perfect than that which ought to obtain between brothers? What fidelity can be expected among strangers, Warning. if it is wanting among relations? The kingdom I leave you, is in good condition, if you govern it properly; if otherwise, it is weak. For by agreement a small state increases: by division a great one goes to ruin. Inculcat. It will lie upon you, Jugurtha, who are come to riper years, than your brothers, to provide, that no misconduct produce any bad effect. And if any difference should arise between you and your brothers (which may the gods avert! Devotion.) the public will charge you, however innocent you may be, as the aggressor, because your years and abilities give you the superiority. But I firmly persuade myself,Hope. that you will treat them with kindness, and that they will honour and esteem you, as your distinguished virtue deserves.

LII. DRUNKENNESS. ⁽¹⁾

[Shakespeare's OTHELLO.]

Cassio.

I'LL be ha—

[hiccoughs]

I'll be ha—hang'd, if these fellows han't [Page] given me a fil—a fil—a fillup on the brain-pan —a little one.

Montano.

Why, good master lieutenant, we are not beyond pints a-piece as I'm a so— as I'm a so—as I'm a soldier. And that is a shallow brain-pan, which will not hold a poor pint of good liquor.

Iago.

Some wine, ho!

[Sings.]

And let me the cannakin clink, clink,

And let me the cannakin clink,

A soldier's a man, and man's life but a span,

Why then let a soldier have drink, drink,

Why then let a soldier have drink.

Some wine, boy!

Cassio.

I'll be shot for a cow—for a cow— for a coward, if that ben't an excellent song.

Iago.

I learnt it in England, where indeed they are most potent at the pot. Your Dane, your German, and your swag-belly'd Hollander, are nothing to your freeborn Englishman. Did you ever hear an Englishman reckon up the privileges he has by birth-right?

Cassio.

No, good Iago. What are they, pray?

Iago.

Why, to say what he pleases of the government; to eat more roast beef, and drink more port, than any three subjects of any other country: and to do whatever he pleases, whereever he is. Therefore he raves at the best king, while your Frenchman worships the worst; he breaks this week, the law he voted for last week; and in all countries, he is winked at, when he does what would send a native to a mad-house; he eats you up the whole ox in less time than your Frenchman swills the soup he makes of the shins; and as to drinking, he lays you France, Austria, and Russia, among [Page] the table's feet, with no more conscience at the tavern, than in the field of battle.

Cassio.

Here is our noble ge— our noble ge— our noble general's health for ever.

Montano.

Ay, ay, good master lieutenant, and as much longer as you please.

Iago.

O sweet England!

King Stephen was an unworthy peer,

His breeches cost him a whole crown;

He held them six-pence all too dear,

With that he call'd his taylor lown.

He was a wight of high renown,

And thou art but of low degree:

'Tis pride, that pulls the country down,

So take thy old cloak about thee.

LIII. VEXATION. SPITEFUL JOY.

The scene between Schylock and Tubal. [Shakesp. MERCH. OF VEN.] ⁽¹⁾

Schyl.

Quest. with Anxiety. HOW now, Tubal, what news from Genoa? Have you heard any thing of my backsliding daughter?

Tub.

Disappointment.I often came where I heard of her; but could not find her.

Schyl.

Vexation.Why, there, there, there! A diamond [Page]gone that cost me two thousand ducats at Frankfort! The curse never fell upon our nation till now. I never felt it before. Two thousand ducats in that, and other precious, precious jewels! I wish she lay dead at my foot, Execrating. with the jewels in her ear. I would she were hears'd with the ducats in her coffin. No news of them!Vexation. And I know not what spent in the search. Loss upon loss. The thief gone with so much; and so much to find the thief; and no satisfaction, no revenge, no ill luck stirring, but what lights on my shoulders; no sighs, but o' my breathing; no tears, but o' my shedding.

Tub.

Yes, other men have ill luck too. Narration. Antonio, as I heard in Genoa —

Schyl.

What! Has he had ill luck? Spiteful Joy.

[Earnestly.]

Tub.

Has had a ship cast away coming from Tripoli. Narration.

Schyl.

Thank God; thank God! Quest. Is it true? Spiteful Joy.

Tub.

I spoke with some of the sailors, that 'scaped from the wreck. Narration.

Schyl.

I thank thee, good Tubal, good news, Spiteful Joy. good news. Quest. What in Genoa, you spoke with them?

Tub.

Your daughter spent, in Genoa,Narration. as I heard, in one night, twenty ducats.

Schyl.

Thou stick'st a dagger in me.Anguish. I shall never see my gold again. Twenty ducats at a sitting! Twenty ducats!—O father Abraham!

Tub.

There came divers of Antonio's creditors in my company to Venice, that say,Narration. he cannot but break.

Schyl.

I'm glad of it. I'll plague him.Spiteful Joy. I'll torture him. I'm glad of it

Tub.

One of them shewed me a ring he had of your daughter for a monkey. Narration.

[Page]Schyl.

Anguish. Out upon her! Thou torturest me, Tubal. It was my ruby. I had it of Leah. I would not have given it for as many monkeys as could stand together upon the Rialto.

Tub.

Narration.Antonio is certainly undone.

Schyl.

Spiteful Joy. Ay, ay, there is some comfort in that, Directing. Go, Tubal, fee me an officer; bespeak him to be ready. Cruel. Resolution. I will be revenged on Antonio. I will wash my hands, to the elbows, in his heart's blood.

[Exit.]

LIV. SELF-VINDICATION. REPROOF.

The speech of C. Marius to the Romans, shewing the absurdity of their hesitating to confer on him the rank of General in the expedition against Jugurtha, merely on account of his extraction.

[Salust. BELL. JUGURTHIN.]

Explaining. ⁽¹⁾IT is but too common, my countrymen, to observe a material difference, between the behaviour of those, who stand candidates for places of power and trust, before, and after their obtaining them. They solicit them in one manner, and execute them in another. Sneer.They set out with a great appearance of activity, humility, and moderation; Reproof. Humility. and they quickly fall into sloth, pride, and avarice. It is, undoubtedly, no easy matter to discharge, to the general satisfaction, the duty of a supreme commander in troublesome times. Anxiety. I am, I hope, duly sensible of the importance of the office I propose to [Page] take upon me, for the service of my country. ⁽¹⁾ To carry on, with effect, an expensive war, and yet be frugal of the public money; to oblige those to serve, whom it may be delicate to offend; to conduct, at the same time, a complicated variety of operations; to concert measures at home answerable to the state of things abroad; and to gain every valuable end, in spite of opposition from the envious, the factious and the disaffected; to do all this, my countrymen, is more difficult, than is generally thought. And, besides the disadvantages, which are common to me with all others in eminent stations, my case is,Contempt. in this respect peculiarly hard; that, whereas a commander of patrician rank, if he is guilty of a neglect, or breach of duty, has his great connexions, the antiquity of his family, the important services of his ancestors, and the multitudes he has by power engaged in his interest, to screen him from condign punishment: Self-Defen. my whole safety depends upon myself; which renders it the more indispensibly necessary for me to take care,Anxiety. that my conduct be clear and unexceptionable. Besides, I am well aware, my countrymen, that the eye of the public is upon me; and that, though the impartial, who prefer the real advantage of the commonwealth to all other considerations, favour my pretensions, Promising. the patricians want nothing so much, as an occasion against me. It is, therefore, my fixed resolution, to use my best endeavours, that you be not disappointed in me, and that their indirect designs against me may be defeated. I have from my youth been familiar with toils, and with dangers. Self-Defen. I was [Page] faithful to your interest, my countrymen, when I served you for no reward, Gratitude. but that of honour. It is not my design to betray you, now that you have conferred upon me a place of profit. You have committed to my conduct the war against Jugurtha. Contempt. The patricians are offended at this. But where would be the wisdom of giving such a command to one of their honourable body, a person of illustrious birth, of ancient family, of innumerable statues, but—of no experience. What service would his long line of dead ancestors, or his multitude of motionless statues, do his country in the day of battle? What could such a general do, but in his trepidation and inexperience, have recourse to some inferior commander, for direction in difficulties, to which he was not himself equal? Thus your patrician-general would in fact, have a general over him; so that, the acting commander would still be a plebeian. So true is this, my countrymen, that I have myself known those, who have been chosen consuls, begin then to read the history of their own country, of which, till that time, they were totally ignorant; that is, they first obtained the employment, and then bethought themselves of the qualifications necessary for the proper discharge of it.Respect. I submit to your judgment, Romans, on which side the advantage lies, when a comparison is made between patrician haughtiness, Contempt. and plebeian experience. The very actions, which they have only read, I have partly seen, and partly myself atchieved. What they know by reading, I know by action. They are pleased to slight my mean birth: I despise their mean characters. Want of birth and fortune is the objection against me: Want of personal worth against them. But are not all [Page] men of the same species?Questioning. What can make a difference between one man and another,Contempt. but the endowments of the mind? For my part, I shall always look upon the bravest man as the noblest man. Suppose it were required of the fathers of such patricians as Albinus, and Bestia, whether, if they had their choice, they would desire sons of their character, or of mine; what would they answer; but that they should wish the worthiest to be their sons?Argui. with Reproof. If the patricians have reason to despise me, let them likewise despise their ancestors, Antith. whose nobility was the fruit of their virtue. Do they envy the honours bestowed upon me? Let them envy likewise my labours, my abstinence, and the dangers I have undergone for my country; by which I have acquired them.Contempt. But those worthless men lead such a life of inactivity, as if they despised any honours you can bestow; whilst they aspire to honours, as if they had deserved them by the most industrious virtue. They arrogate the rewards of activity for their having enjoyed the pleasures of luxury. Yet none can be more lavish, than they are, in praise of their ancestors. And they imagine they honour themselves by celebrating their forefathers. Whereas they do the very contrary. For, by how much their ancestors were distinguished for their virtues, by so much are they disgraced by their vices. The glory of ancestors casts a light, indeed, upon their posterity; but it only serves to shew what the descendants are. It alike exhibits to public view their degeneracy and their worth. I own, I cannot boast of the deeds of my forefathers; But I hope I may answer the cavils of the patricians by standing-up in defence of what I have myself done.Laudible Pride. ⁽¹⁾ Observe [Page] now, my countrymen, the injustice of the patricians.Argui. with Contempt. They arrogate to themselves honours on account of the exploits done by their forefathers, whilst they will not allow me the due praise for performing the very same sort of actions in my own person. Affectation. "He has no statues," they cry, "of his family. He can trace no venerable line of ancestors. Courage."—What then! Is it matter of more praise to disgrace one's illustrious ancestors, Contempt. than to become illustrious by his own good behaviour?Self-Vindication. What if I can shew no statues of my family? I can shew the standards, the armour, and the trappings, which I have myself taken from the vanquished: I can shew the scars of those wounds which I received by facing the enemies of my country. These are my statues. These are the honours I boast of; not left me by inheritance as theirs; but earned, by toil, by abstinence, by valour; amidst clouds of dust, and seas of blood; scenes of action,Contempt. where those effeminate patricians, who endeavour, by indirect means, to depreciate me in your esteem, have never dared to shew their faces.

LV. PLOTTING. CRUELTY. HORROR.

Macbeth full of his bloody design against good king Duncan, fancies he sees a dagger in the air.

Starting. Courage.

IS this a dagger, which I see before me,

The handle tow'rd my hand? ⁽¹⁾ Come let me clutch thee—

[Page]I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.

Wonder.

Art thou not, fatal vision!

Horror.

sensible

To feeling as to sight? or art thou but

A dagger of the mind, a false creation

Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?

I see thee yet, in form as palpable,

Starting.

⁽¹⁾ As this which now I draw—

Thou marshal'st me the way that I was going,

Horror.

And such an instrument I was to use.—

Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses,

Starting.

Or else worth all the rest—I see thee still,

Horror.

And on thy blade and dudgeon, drops of blood,

Which was not so before—⁽²⁾ There's no such thing.

Doubt.

—

It is the bloody business,

Horror. Plotting.

which informs

This to mine eyes—⁽³⁾ Now o'er one half the world

Nature seems dead, and wicked dreams abuse

The curtain'd sleep; now witchcraft celebrates

Pale Hecate's offerings: and midnight murder,

Horror.

(Alarmed by his sentinel, the wolf,

Whose howl's his watch) thus with his stealthy pace,

Like Tarquin's ravishing strides, toward his design

Moves like a ghost— Thou sound and firmset earth,

Guilt.

Hear not my steps, which way they walk, for fear

The very stones should prate of royal blood

Soon to be spilt.

[Shakesp. MACBETH.]

[Page]

LVI. AFFECTION. JOY. FEAR of OFFENDING. GRATITUDE.

A Speech of Adam to Eve.

[Milt. PARAD. LOST. B. IV. l. 411.]

Tenderness. Awe.

SOLE partner, and sole part of all these joys,

Dearer thyself than all. Needs must the Pow'r,

Piety.

That made us, and for us this ample world,

Be infinitely good, and of his good

Gratitude.

As liberal and free, as infinite;

That rais'd us from the dust, and plac'd as here

In all this happiness, who at his hand

Have nothing merited, nor can perform

Ought whereof he hath need; he who requires

From us no other service, than to keep

This one, this easy charge, of all the trees

In paradise, that bear delicious fruit

Seriousness.

So various, not to taste that only tree

Apprehens.

Of knowledge planted by the tree of life:

So near grows death to life; whate'er death is;

Some dreadful thing no doubt; for well thou know'st

God hath pronounc'd it death to taste that tree,

The only sign of our obedience left,

Gratitude.

Among so many signs of pow'r and rule

Conferr'd upon us, and dominion given

Over all other creatures, that possess

Earth, air, and sea. Then let us not think hard

One easy prohibition, who enjoy

Free leave so large to all things else, and choice

Unlimited, of manifold delights.

[Page]But let us ever praise him, and extol

His bounty,

Pity. Joy.

following our delightful [...]

To prune these growing plants, and rend these flow'rs,

Which, were it toilsome,

Tenderness.

yet with thee—were sweet.

LVII. INTERCESSION. OBSTINACY. CRUELTY. FORCED SUBMISSION.

Duke.

MAKE room,

Authority.

and let him stand before our face—

Shylock, the world thinks, and I think so too,

Pleading.

That thou but lead'st this fashion of thy malice

To the last hour of act; and then, 'tis thought

Thoul't shew thy mercy and remorse more strange

Than is thy strange apparent cruelty.

And, where thou now exact'st the penalty,

Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh ⁽¹⁾

Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture,

Pity.

But, touch'd with human gentleness and love,

Pleading.

Forgive a moiety of the principal,

Glancing an eye of pity on his losses,

Pity.

That have of late brought down such ruin on him,

Enough to make a royal merchant bankrupt.

We all expect a gentle answer, Jew.

Shyl.

I have possess'd your grace of what I purpose,

Obstinacy.

⁽²⁾ And by our holy sabbath have I sworn

To have the due and forfeit of my bond.

Hypocrisy. Cruelty.

If you deny it,

Threaten.

let the danger light

Upon your charter, and your city's freedom—

[Page]

Malice.

You'll ask me, why I rather chuse to have

A weight of ca [...]ion flesh, than to receive

Obstinacy. Malice. Obstinacy.

Three thousand ducats? I'll not answer that;

But, say it is my humour; Is it answered?

What if my house be troubled with a rat,

And I be pleas'd to give ten thousand ducats,

To have it ban'd? What, are you answer'd yet?

Bassanio.

Reproof.

This is no answer, thou unfeeling man,

T' excuse the current of thy cruelty.

Shyl.

Malice.

I am not bound to please thee with my answer.

Antonio.

Deject.

I pray you, think, you question with a Jew.

You may as well go stand upon the beach,

And bid the main flood 'bate his usual height;

You may as well plead pity with the wolf,

When you behold the ewe bleat for the lamb,

As try to melt his Jewish heart to kindness.

Bass.

Intreat.

For thy three thousand ducats, here are six.

Shyl.

Obstinacy.

If ev'ry ducat in six thousand ducats

Were in six parts, and ev'ry part a ducat,

I would not draw them; I would have my bond.

Duke

Grave. Rebuke.

How shalt thou hope for mercy, rendering none?

Shyl.

Obstinacy. Cruelty.

What judgment shall I dread, doing no wrong?

The pound of flesh, which I demand of him,

Is dearly bought: 'tis mine, and I will have it.

[Enters Portia disguished like a Doct. of Laws]

Duke.

Welcoming.

Give me your hand. You come from learn'd Bellario?

Portia.

I do, my Lord.

Duke.

You're welcome: take your place.

Question. Answer.

Are you acquainted with the cause in question?

Port.

I am informed thoroughly of the case,

Question.

Which is the merchant here? and which the Jew?

[Page]Duke.

Antonio and Shylock; both stand forth.

Authority. Question. Obstinacy.

Port.

[To Shylock.]

Is your name Shylock?

Shyl.

Shylock is my name.

Port.

[To Antonio.Question.]

You are obnoxious to him, are you not?

Ant.

Ay, so he says.

Deject.

Port.

Do you confess the bond?

Question.

Ant.

I do.

Deject.

Port.

Then must the Jew be merciful.

Intreat. Obstinacy.

Shyl.

On what compulsion must I? Tell me that.

Port.

The quality of mercy is not strained.

Advising. Pleasure.

It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heav'n

Upon [...]he happy soil. It is twice blest,

In him, who gives it, and in him, who takes.

'Tis mightiest in the Mightiest.

Reverence.

It becomes

The throned monarch better than his crown;

Itself enthroned in the hearts of kings.

It is the loveliest attribute of Deity;

And earthly pow'r shews, likest to divine,

Advising.

When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,

Tho' justice be thy plea, consider this,

That in the course of justice none of us

Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy.

Serious Reflection.

And that same pray'r doth teach us all to render

The deeds of mercy.

Shyl.

My deeds upon my head!

Obstinacy.

I crave the legal forfeit of my bond.

Bass.

For once I beg the court to bend the law

To equity.

Intreat.

'Tis worth a little wrong

To curb this cruel devil of his will.

Port.

It must not be.

Forbidding.

There is no pow'r in Venice,

Can alter a decree established.

'Twill be recorded for a precedent,

And many an error by the same example

Will rush into the state. It cannot be.

[Page]Shyl.

Applause.

A Daniel come to judgment! Yea, a Daniel.

O wise young judge! How do I honour thee!

Port.

Curiosity. Applause.

I pray you let me look upon the bond.

Shyl.

Here 'tis, most reverend doctor! Here it is.

Port.

Advising.

Shylock!—there's thrice thy money offer'd thee.

Shyl.

Hypocrisy.

An oath! An oath! I have an oath in Heav'n!

Shall I lay perjury upon my soul?

Declam.

No, not for Venice.

Port.

⁽¹⁾ Why, this bond is forfeit,

And lawfully by this the Jew may claim

Advis.

A pound of flesh, to be by him cut off

Nearest the merchant's heart.—Be merciful.

Obstina.

Take thrice thy money. Bid me tear the bond.

Shyl.

When it is paid according to the tenor,

There is no power in the tongue of man

To alter me. I stay upon my bond.

Anton.

Dejection.

Most heartily I do beseech the court

To give the judgment.

Port.

Passing.

Why then, thus it is;

Sentence.

You must prepare your bosom for this knife.

Shyl.

Thirst of Blood.

Ay, his breast;

So saith the bond; doth it not, noble judge?

Nearest his heart. These are the very words.

Port.

Quest.

It is so. Are there scales to weigh the flesh?

Shyl.

Answ. Inter [...].

I have them ready.

Port.

Have here a surgeon, Shylock, at your charge.

To stop his wounds, lest he should bleed to death.

Shyl.

Cruelty. Interc.

Is it so nominated in the bond?

Port.

It is not so expressed: but what of that?

[Page]'Twere good you do so much for charity.

Shyl.

I cannot find it. 'Tis not in the bond,

Cruelty.

Port.

A pound of that same merchant's flesh is thine.

Sentence.

The court awards it, and the law doth give it.

Shyl.

Most rightful judge!

Applause. Sentence.

Port.

And you must cut this flesh from off his breast.

The law allows it, and the court awards it.

Shyl.

Most learned judge! A sentence!

Applause.

Thirsting.

Come prepare.

Port.

Tarry a little.

Blood. Doubt.

There is something else.—

This bond—doth give thee here—no jot of blood.

The words expressly are a pound of flesh.

Then take thy bond.

Direct.

Take thou thy pound of flesh;

But, in the cutting it,

Threaten.

if thou dost shed

One drop of christian blood, thy lands and goods

Are, by the laws of Venice, forfeited.

Grat.

O upright judge! Mark, Jew!

Applause.

O learned judge!

Shyl.

Is that the law?

Confusion.

Port.

Thyself shall see the act.

Positive.

For, as thou urgest justice,

Reproof.

be assur'd

Thou shalt have justice, more than thou desir'st.

Grat.

O learned judge! Mark, Jew!

Applause.

A learned judge!

Shyl.

I take his offer then.

Confusion.

Pay the sum thrice.

And let the Christian go.

Yielding.

Bass.

Here is the money.

Giving: Forbidding.

Port.

Softly. No haste. The Jew shall have strict justice.

His claim is barely for the penalty.

Grat.

A second Daniel! Jew.

Applause. Triumph.

Now, infidel, I have full hold of thee.

[Page]Port.

Question.

Why doth the Jew pause? Take thou thy forfeiture.

Shyl.

Confusion. Giving.

Give me my principal, and let me go.

Bassan.

I have it ready for thee. Here it is.

Port.

Forbidden. Reproof. Applause.

He hath refus'd it in the open court.

He shall have merely justice and his bond.

Grat.

A Daniel still, say I; a second Daniel!

Reproof.

I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.

Shy.

Sneaking. Refusing.

Shall I not barely have my principal?

Port.

Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture,

To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.

Shyl.

Disappoint.

Why then the Devil give him good of it.

Spite. Forbidding. Condemn.

I'll stay no longer question.

Stop him, guards.

The law hath yet another hold on you.

Teaching.

It is enacted in the laws of Venice,

If it be prov'd against an alien,

That by direct, or indirect attempt,

He seeks the life of any citizen,

The party 'gainst the which he doth contrive,

Shall seize on half his goods. The other half

Goes to the privy coffer of the state;

And the offender's life lies in the mercy

Of the Duke only, 'gainst all other voice,

Condemn.

In which predicament, I say, thou stand'st.

For it appears by manifest proceeding,

That indirectly, and directly too,

Thou hast contriv'd against the very life

Of the defendant; so that thou incurr'st

The danger, formerly by me rehears'd.

Advising. Grant.

Down, therefore, and beg mercy of the Duke.

Duke.

That thou may'st see the difference of our spirit,

I pardon thee thy life, before thou ask it.

Shyl.

Despair.

Nay, take my life and all. Pardon not that.

[Page]You take my life, taking whereon I live.

Port.

What mercy can you render him,

Questioning.

Antonio?

Grat.

A halter's price,

Triumph.

and leave to hang himself.

Anton.

So please my Lord the Duke,

Granting.

and all the court,

To quit their right in one half of his goods,

I shall be well contented, if I have

The other half in use, until his death,

Then to restore it to the gentleman,

Who lately stole his daughter.

Duke.

He shall do this,

Threatening

or else I do recant

The pardon I had promis'd to bestow.

Port.

Art thou contented, Jew?

Questioning.

What dost thou say?

Shyl.

I pray you give me leave to go from hence.

Despair.

I am not well. Send the deed after me,

And I will sign it.

Duke.

Get thee gone. But do it.

Threatening

[Exeunt omnes.]

[Shakesp. Merch. of Venice.]

LVIII. Conjugal AFFECTION with DISTRESS.

The scene between Hector and his wife Andromache.

[Pope's Hom. II. VI. v. 488.

HECTOR, this heard,

Narration.

return'd without delay

Swift through the town he took his former way,

Haste.

Thro' streets of palaces and walks of state;

And met the mourner at the Scaean gate.

With haste to meet him sprung the joyful fair

His blameless wife, Action's wealthy heir.

[Page]

Tender

The nurse stood near, in whose embraces prest

Description.

His only hope hung smiling at her breast;

Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn,

Fair as the new-born star that gilds the morn.

Silent the warrior smil'd, and pleas'd resign'd

To

Soft.

tender passions all his

Courage.

mighty mind.

His beauteous princess cast a mournful look;

Description of Beauty in Distress.

Hung on his hand, and then, dejected, spoke.

Her bosom labour'd with with a boding sigh,

And the big tear stood trembling in her eye.

Compl. with Affection.

"Too daring prince! Ah whither dost thou run?

Ah too forgetful of thy wife and son!

And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be,

Fear.

A widow I, an helpless orphan he!

For sure such courage length of life denies,

And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice.

Greece in her single heroes, strove in vain:

Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain,

Depr [...]a.

O grant me gods I ere Hector meets his doom,

All I can ask of heav'n, an early tomb!

So shall my days in one sad tenor run,

And end with sorrows, as they first begun.

Lamenta.

No parent now remains, my griefs to share,

No father's aid, no mother's tender care.

The fierce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire,

Laid Thebe waste, and flew my warlike sire.

His fate compassion in the victor bred;

Stern as he was, he yet rever'd the dead;

His radiant arms preserv'd from hostile spoil,

And laid him decent on the fun'ral pile.

By the same arm my sev'n brave brothers fell,

In one sad day they view'd the gate of hell.

While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed,

Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled.

[Page]My Mother liv'd to bear the victor's hands,

The queen of Hippoplacias's sylvan lands.

Redeem'd too late, she scarce beheld again

Her pleasing empire, and her native plain,

When Ah! opprest by life-consuming woe

She fell, a victim to Diana's bow.

Yet while my Hectors still survives,

Comfort.

I see

My father, mother, brethren, all in thee.

Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred all,

Apprehens.

Once more will perish, if my Hector fall.

Thy wife, thy infant, in the danger share;

O prove a husband's and a parent's care.

Intreating.

That quarter most the skilful Greek's annoy,

Apprehensi.

Where yon' wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy.

Thou from this tow'r defend th' important past,

There Agamemnon points his dreadful host,

That pass Tydides, Ajax, strives to gain,

And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train.

Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have giv'n,

Or led by hopes, or dictated from heav'n,

Let others in the field their arms employ;

Intreating.

But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy."

The chief reply'd,

Courage.

"That post shall be my care;

Nor that alone; but all the works of war,

How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd

And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground,

Attaint the lustre of my former name,

Should Hector basely quit the field of fame?

Aversion.

My early youth was bred to warlike pains;

Courage.

My soul impels me to the martial plains.

Still foremost let me stand to guard the throne,

To save my father's honours and my own.

[Page]

Apprehensi.

Yet come it will! the day decreed by fates!

(How my heart trembles, while my tongue relates!)

The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend;

Patriot.

Grief.

Must see thy warriors fall; thy glories end.

Grief with Affection.

And yet no dire persage so wounds my mind,

My mother's death, the ruin of my kind,

Not Priam's hoary hairs defil'd with gore,

Not all my brothers gasping on the shore,

As thine, Andromache! Thy griefs I dread!

I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led,

In Argive looms our battles to design,

And woes of which so large a part was thine.

There while you groan beneath the load of life,

Insulting.

They cry"—"Behold the mighty Hector's wife!"

"Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see,

Embitters all thy woes by naming me.

Pity.

The thoughts of glory past and present shame,

A thousand griefs shall waken at the name;

May I lie cold before that dreadful day,

Press'd with a load of monumental clay!

Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep,

Shall neither hear the sigh, nor see thee weep.

Narration.

"

"Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief of Troy,

Tenderness.

Stretch'd his fond arms, to clasp the lovely boy,

The babe clung, crying, to his nurse's breast,

Scar'd with the dozzling helm, and nodding crest.

With secret pleasure each fond parent smil'd,

And Hector hasted to relieve his child;

The glitt'ring terrors from his brows unbound.

And plac'd the beaming helmet on the ground.

[Page]Then kiss'd the child, and lifting high in air,

Thus to the gods preferr'd a parent's pray'r.

"O Thou,

Intercession.

whose glory fills th' aetherial throne,

And all ye deathless pow'rs—Protect my son!

Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,

To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,

Against his country's foes the war to wage,

And rise the Hector of the future age!

So, when triumphant from successful toils,

Of heroes slain, he bears the reeking spoils,

Whole hosts may hail him with deserv'd acclaim,

And say—"This chief transcends his father's fame."

While pleas'd amidst the gen'ral shouts of Troy,

His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy."

He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,

Tenderness.

Restor'd the pleasing burden to her arms;

Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,

Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd.

The troubled pleasure soon chastis'd with fear,

Apprehens.

She mingled with the smile a falling tear.

LIX. REMORSE. Attempt towards REPENTANCE. OBDURACY. DESPAIR.

The wicked king's soliloquy, expressing his remorse for the murder of his brother Hamlet, king of Denmark.

[Shakes. HAMLET.]

King.

OH my offence is rank!

Compu [...].

It smells to heav'n

[Page]It hath the eldest curse of heav'n upon it.—

A brother's murder!—Pray, alas! I cannot:

Hardness of Heart.

Though sore my need of what the guilty pray for;

My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent,

And, like a man to double business bound,

I stand in pause, where I shall first begin,

And both neglect.—

Glimpse of Hope.

What, if this cursed hand

Were thicker than itself with brother's blood,

Is there not rain enough in the sweet heav'ns

To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy,

But to confront the visage of offence?

And what's in prayer, but this two-fold-force,

To be forestal'd, ere yet we come to fall,

Or pardon'd, being down?—Then I'll loop up.

My fault is past.—

Guilt.

But oh! what form of pray'r

Can serve my turn?—

Doom.

"Forgive me my foul murder!"

That cannot be, since I am still possest

Of those effects, for which I did the murder;

My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.

May one be pardon'd and retain th' offence?

In the corrupted currents of this world,

Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice;

Nay, oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself

Buys out the law.

Terror.

But 'tis not so above:

There is no shuffling; there the action lies

In his true nature; we ourselves compel'd,

Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults,

To give in evidence—

Anxiety. Hope. Obduracy. Despair

What then? What rests?

Try what repentance can.—What can it not?

Yet what can it, when one cannot repent?

Oh wretched state! Oh bosom, black as death!

Oh limed soul! that struggling to be free,

Art more engag'd!

Anguish.

Help, Angels! Make essay,

Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel,

[Page]Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!

All may be well.

Hope.

[The king kneels, and, by his looks and gestures, expresses great agony and horror; but no penitential melting of heart; after continuing a short time in that posture, he rises in despair, and speaks the following.]

My words fly up—My thoughts remain below—

Words without thoughts never to Heav'n go.

Despair.

LX. REPROACHING. EXCITING to Self-defence.

The speech of T. Q. Capitolinus to the Roman people, when the Aequi and Volsci, taking the advantage of the animosities then prevailing between the patricians and plebelans, joined their forces, and, after plundering the Roman territories, advanced, in a hostile manner, to the very walls of the city.

[T. LIV. Hist. Rom.]

THOUGH I am not conscious to myself,Vexation. Romans, of any offence I have committed against my country; it is with confusion that I address you thus publicly on such an occasion. For what can be imagined more shameful, than that it should be known to the world—that it should be known to ourselves!—and must be handed down to posterity—that in the fourth consulship of Titus Quintius Capitolinus, the Aequi and Volsci, so lately found scarce a match for the Hernici, advanced in arms—uninterrupted, and unpunished—to the very walls of Rome! Had I imagined, that such a disgrace as this would have come upon my country in the year of my fourth consulship (though our [Page] affairs have of late gone in such a way, that every thing was to be feared) I would have avoided the consular honor— Agony. the shame rather by banishment, or even by death. How much more desirable to have died in my third consulship, than to live to see the dishonors, which the times are like to bring upon us. But whom does the insolence of so contemptible an enemy disgrace? Remons. with Vexation. Is it us, the consuls? Or is it you, Romans? If the fault be in us; take from us that authority, we are so unworthy to enjoy. And if that be not enough, inflict on us the punishment we have deserv'd. Kindness.If it is owing to you, my countrymen, that the enemy have thus dared to insult us, Interces. all I beg of the gods is, that they will forgive you; Kindness. and I wish no other punishment to come upon you, than repentance for your misconduct. Courage. Our enemies have not presumed upon any want of bravery in you, Romans; nor upon any imagined superiority in themselves. They know both you and themselves too well. Contempt. They have not forgot how often they have been routed in battle, how often put to shameful flight, deprived of their lands, Vexation. and even made to pass under the yoke, by the Romans. It is the fatal dissention between the patricians and plebeians, that give courage to the enemies of the Roman name. Our quarrels amongst ourselves are the poison of our state. While you are dissatisfied with the powers enjoyed by the patricians, and we are jealous of the plebeians, the enemy, seeing their time, have surprised us.

Remons.But what (in the name of all the gods!) will satisfy you? You demanded plebeian tribunes. For the sake of peace, we, patricians, consented. You then called for decemviri. We agreed, that the decemviral power should be established. [Page] You were quickly tired of this form of government. We obliged the decemviri to abdicate. Your resentment pursuing them even to their retirement; Grief. we gave our consent to the exile and death of some of the first men of Rome for birth and merit. Then you insisted, that the tribunitial authority should be re-established. Remons. You did accordingly re-establish it. We bore with the innovation of conferring the consular power upon men of plebeian rank, tho' we saw how injurious it was to our own. We bore patiently, and do still bear with the tribunitial power; with the right of appeal to the people; with the obligation upon the patricians to submit to the popular decrees; and with the alienation of our peculiar rights and privileges, under pretence of equaling the different ranks, and reducing things to order in the commonwealth. But, my countrymen, when will you put an end to these wranglings? When shall this unhappy state be united? When shall we look upon Rome as our common country? We, of the patrician rank, though losers, are more disposed to peace, than you, who have gained all your ends. Is it not enough that you have made yourselves formidable to your superiors? Now you assemble, in a seditious manner, on the Mount Aventine; then on the Mons sacer: and against us your vengeance is always directed.Rousing. Shame. You were in no haste to prevent the enemy from seizing on the Esquiliae, or from mounting our works. It is only against the patricians, Reproaching that you dare to shew your valour. Go on, then, if you are so determined; and when you have surrounded the senate house, made the forum dangerous for any of patrician rank to be seen in, and got the prisons filled with persons of the first eminence; keep up the same heroic spirit, you shew against [Page] your own countrymen; Sneer. sally out at the Esquilinegate, and repulse the enemy. Or if your valour is not sufficient to enable you to do this, at least shew that you have the heroism to view from the walls, your lands wasted by fire and sword, and plundered by the irresistible army of the Aequi and Volsci.

Remons.Will any one pretend to answer to this, that it is only the public that suffers by the inroads of the enemy, and that the main of the loss will be only that of a little national honour? Rousing. Honour. Were that the case, what Roman could think of it with patience? But, besides the loss of our honour, what effect, do you think, these ravages will have upon private property? Alarm. Do you expect any else, than that every individual of you should quickly have accounts of what he himself has lost? Remons. And how are those losses to be made up? Will your darling tribunes make good the damages? Reproach. They will be active enough in inflaming you with their speeches; they will commence suits against the principal men in the state; they will gather seditious assemblies, and multiply laws on laws, and decrees on decrees. Remons. But which of you, my countrymen, has gained any thing by such proceedings? Has any Roman carried home to his family, from those tumultuous meetings, any thing, but hatred, quarrels, and mischiefs, public and private? Regret. The case was, in former happier times, very different, when you submitted to the rightful authority of the consuls, and were not, as now, the dupes of your tribunes; when you exerted yourselves in the field of battle, not in the forum; when your shouts of courage struck terror into your enemies; not your seditious clamours into your countrymen. Then you used to return home, enriched with spoils, and adorned with trophies: instead of which [Page] you now ingloriously suffer the enemy—and that enemy a contemptible one—to go off unmolested, and loaded with your substance. Reproach. But go on with your seditious assemblies, Remons. as long as you can. The time is approaching,Alarm. when you will find yourselves obliged to quit them, though so agreeable to you,Reproach. and to betake yourselves to what you have the greatest reluctance to, I mean your arms. You thought it a mighty hardship to be obliged to march against the Aequi and Volsci.Alarm. They have spared you that trouble. They are now at your gates. And if you don't drive them from thence, they will soon be in the city, in the capitol, and in your houses. Regret. Two years ago an order was given by authority of the senate, that levies should be made, and that the army should march. Reproof. Instead of executing this salutary order, we have been loitering at home, unemployed, except in wrangling; forgetful, while our peace was undisturbed from abroad, that this long indolence would probably be the very cause of troubles coming upon us from various quarters at once.

I know full well, my countrymen,Profess. that here are many subjects more agreeable to you than those I have now spoken to you upon.Sincer. Alarm. But the necessity of the times obliges me (if I were less inclinable of myself) to lay truth before you, rather than tickle your ears. Profess. I wish I could humour your inclinations: Sincer. but I had rather secure your safety, than gain your good-will. Alarm. It is commonly observed,Apology. that those who address the public from selfish views are more acceptable, than those whose sole disinterested aim is the general advantage. Remons. Reproof. And I think you can hardly imagine, that those flatterers of the plebeians, who neither suffer you to rest in peace, nor in war, mean your good by continually [Page] exciting you to tumult and sedition When they work you up to discontent and rage, they are sure to gain their avaricious or their ambitious ends. And, as in times of peace they find themselves to be of no consequence, rather than be undistinguished, they set themselves to promote mischief.

Exciting Self-Defen.If you are at last (as I am sure you have reason to be) sick of such absurd and ruinous proceedings, and have a mind to resume your own characters, and to act agreeably to that of your ancestors; Courage. I am myself ready now to head you, and am willing to undergo any penalty, if I do not, in a few days, force these plunderers of our lands to abandon their camp, and if I do not carry the terror of war, which now alarms you, from our gates, to those of the enemy.

LXI. DOUBTING. VEXATION. SERIOUS REFLECTION.

Hamlet's soliloquy upon his finding that the king his father was murdered by his uncle; in which he considers of the consequence of putting an end to a burthensome life.

[Shakes. HAMLET.]

Ham.

Anxiety.

TO be—or not to be ⁽¹⁾—that is the question—

Whether 'th [...] nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;

[Page]Or to take arms against a host of troubles,

Courage.

And by opposing, end them—

Deep Thoughtfulness.

But to die —

To sleep—No more—⁽¹⁾ And by a sleep to end

The heart-ach,

Vexation.

and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to—'Tis a consummation

⁽²⁾ Devoutly to be wish'd—To

Thought.

die—To sleep—

To sleep—

Apprehen.

Perchance to dream—A startling thought—

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal evil,

Must give us pause. There's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

Vexation.

Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of love despis'd, the law's delay,

Anguish.

The insolence of office, and the spurns,

That patient

Meekness.

merit of the unworthy

Aversion.

takes;

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? Who would

Courage.

bend to earth,

Complain. Fear.

And groan and sweat under a weary life?

But that the dread of something after death

(That undiscovered country, from whose bourne ⁽³⁾

No traveller returns) puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have,

Than fly to others, which we know not yet?

Thus conscience makes cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with a pale cast of thought,

And enterprizes of great strength and moment,

With this regard their currents turn away,

And lose the name of action.

[Page]

LXII. EAGERNESS. CHIDING. INTREATING.

Ghosts of various characters press to be admitted into Charon's boat. Are repulsed by him and Mercury, on account of their coming loaded with their vices, follies, and wrong attachments.

[Lucian. DIAL. MO [...]T. CHAR. MERC. &c.]

Charon.

Chiding. LOOK you, gentlemen and ladies, this will never do. My boat is but smull; and old, and leaky into the bargain; so that, if it be either in the least overloaded, or not exactly trimmed, yon will be among the Stygian frogs presently, every single ghost of you. You come pushing and crowding in such shoals, Threatening and I know not how much luggage along with you, that you are like to repent of your being in such a hurry, at least those of you who cannot swim.

1st Ghost.

Intreating.But you don't consider, Mr. Ferryman, how much we are tired of dodging about here, where we have neither house nor home, Complaini. where there is nothing but mud, in which we sink over shoes, over boots, nor so much as a tree to hang a dog upon.Intreating. Pray, good Charon, push us over as fast as you can.

Char.

Chiding.What a plague ails the brainless ghost? Would you have me do impossibilities? Do Mercury, Exciting. Refusing. bear a hand a little. Push them back. Don't let above one come into the boat at a time; that you may examine them ghost by ghost, and make them strip, and leave their luggage, before they set a foot in the boat.

[Page]Merc.

Ay, ay, I'll take care of that,Promising. Charon.—Hold. Who are you? Refusing.

2d Ghost.

My name is Menippus, Submission. by trade a cynic philosopher. And to shew you how willing I am to be conformable, look you there, away go my wallet and my staff into the Styx. And as for my cloak, I did not bring it with me.

Merc,

That's my honest cynic. Approbation. Come into the boat, Menippus. Here is a ghost of sense for you. Go, go forward by the helm, where you may have good sitting, and may see all the passengers. —Your servant, Madam. Who may you be, if a man, I mean, if a god may be so bold?

3d Ghost.

Sir, I am the celebrated beauty, Affected Beauty. who rated my favours so high, as to receive a talent for a kiss. It is true a certain philosopher did grudge my price, Refusing. saying he had no notion of paying an exorbitant sum for so unpleasant a bargain as repentance. Contempt. But my comfort is, that it was a poor old-fellow, and a philosopher, that made this clownish speech, so different from what I was used to.

Merc.

Look you, Madam,Refusing. this country is not famous for gallantry. And, as you will make nothing of your beauty, where you are going, I must desire you to leave it all behind, or you don't set a foot in the Stygian ferry-boat.

3d Ghost.

Pray, Sir, excuse me.Intreat. Why must one be ugly, because one is dead?

Merc.

Come, come, Madam,Insist. with Blame and Sheer. off with your whole apparatus of temptation, if you mean to cross the Stygian pool. You must not only lay aside the paint on your cheeks, but the cheeks themselves. You must throw off not only the gorgeous attire of your head, but the hair, and the very skin, to the bare skull. So far from granting you a passage with all your [Page] finery about you, we shall expect you to strip off both skin and flesh to the very bones. So, Mrs. Beauty, if you please to step aside, and dispose of your tackle, and present yourself by and by, in the plain dress of a skeleton, we shall perhaps carry you over the water.

3d Ghost.

Vexation. Insisting.It is deadly hard; and—

Merc.

This is our way, Madam— Refusing. Stop— Who are you? You seem to brush forward, as who should say, "I am no small fool."

4th Ghost.

Pride.Why, Sir, I am no less person, than Lampichus the tyrant.

Merc.

Sneer. Refusing. Pray, good Mr. Lampichus the tyrant, where do you intend to stow all that luggage?

4th Ghost.

Intreat. Consider, Mercury, it is not proper that a king should travel without his conveniencies about him.

Merc.

Refusing.Whatever may be proper for you in quality of a king, you must allow me to determine of the necessaries of life requisite for you in quality of a ghost. Insisting. Blame. I shall therefore desire, that your tyrantship will be pleased to leave your bags of gold, your pride, and your cruelty, Apprehens. behind. For, if you were to go into our poor crazy wherry, with them, you would sink it, if there were no passenger but yourself.

4th Ghost.

Intreating. Pray, good Mercury, let me carry my diadem. ⁽¹⁾ It is much heavier than an old-fashioned wedding-ring. How will the ghosts know, that I am a king, without some thing of a royal ensign about me?

Merc.

Refusing.There is no difference, where you are going, between a king and a cobler, unless the cobler has been the better man, which happens commonly enough. Questioning.—But who are you, with your rosy gills, and your round paunch?

[Page]5th Ghost.

I am only a harmless good-natured fellow, known by the name of Damasias, Intreating. the parasite. You see I am naked, I hope, therefore, you will let me into the boat.

Merc.

I like such naked passengers as you.Refusing. Pray,Apprehens. do you think you can cross the Styx with such a load of flesh about you? One of your legs would sink the boat.

5th Ghost.

What, Vexation. must I put off my very flesh?

Merc.

Yes, surely. Insisting.

5th Ghost.

If I must, I must. Intreat. Now then, let me come.

Merc.

Hold. Refusing. What have you got under your arm?

5th Ghost.

It is only a little book of compliments and poems, in praise of great folks, Intreating. which I have written out, and keep ready by me, to put any name at the head of them, as occasion offers, you know.

Merc.

You silly fellow! Contempt. Do you think you will have occasion for panegyrics on the other side of the Styx? Questioning.

5th Ghost.

What, Disappoint. are there no great folks there?

Merc.

Why, you simpleton,Contempt. don't you know, that those, who were greatest in t'other world, are meanest in that you are going to? Besides, there are neither places nor pensions to give there.—Who are you pray?Questioning.

6th Ghost.

A conqueror. Chiding. Boasting. I am the famous—

Merc.

You shan't conquer me, Resolution. Refusing. I can tell you, Mr. Famous; and, therefore, if you don't throw your sword and your spear, and all these trophies, into the Styx, you shan't set a foot in the boat.

6th Ghost.

What must not my immortal Vexation. [Page] honours accompany me? If I had not thought of enjoying them in the other world, I had not taken the pains I did about them.

Merc.

ThreateningYou will see presently what honours judge Minos will confer on you for ravaging mankind, and deluging the world with blood— Stop. Questioning. Who are you?

7th Ghost.

Affec. Learn.Sir, I am an universal genius.

Merc.

Contempt. That is to say, in plain English, a Jack of all trades, and good at none.

7th Ghost.

Boasting.Why, Sir, I have written upon all manner of subjects. I have published ten volumes in folio, sixteen quartos, thirty-five octavos, nineteen volumes in twelves, and twenty-two pamphlets. I am a standard-author in astronomy, in natural history, in physic, in criticism, in history, in epic, tragic, and comic poetry, in metaphysics, in grammar, in—

Merc.

Contempt. Questioning. Plague on thy everlasting tongue; is it never to lie still any more? What mountain of a folio is that, thou hast under thy arm?

7th Ghost.

Intreating.Sir, it is only my common-place book.

Merc.

Contempt.Well, if you will go and dispose of it, and of your learned pride, and your scurrility to all your contemporary authors, and of your arrogance in pretending to be master of so many different subjects, and of your ostentation in giving yourself so many silly airs of learning needlessly; and come back in the dress and disposition of a modest well-behaved skelet [...], Questioning. Boasting. we shall think of giving you your passage. —Now, who are you?

8th Ghost.

Sir, I am worth a plum, as I can shew you by my ledger. Look you here.

‘"BALANCE Dr. Per. Con. Cr."’

Merc.

Chiding. What, in the name of Plutus, ⁽¹⁾ has [Page] silly ghost got in his pericranium? Dost think, Contempt. friend, that there is cheating, and usury, and stock-jobbing, in the lower regions? Refusing. Questioning. Stand out of the way.—Who are you?

9th Ghost.

Sir I am a gentleman, rat me. Foppery.

Merc.

Ay,Contempt. there's little doubt of your rotting, now you are dead. You was half rotten before you died.

9th Ghost.

Sir,Foppery. I have been the happiest of all mortals in the favour of the ladies, split me. The tender creatures could refuse me nothing. Boasting. I conquered whatever I tried, stab my vitals.

Merc.

I cannot but admire your impudence to tell me a lie. Don't you know, firrah,Chiding. that Mercury is a god? No lady, whose favours were worth having, ever cared a farthing for you, or any pig-tail'd puppy of your sort. Therefore let me have none of your nonsense; Command with Cont. but go and throw your snuff-box, your monkey airs, your rat me's, and your split me's, your pretensions to favours you never received, your foolish brains, and your chattering tongue: throw them all into the Styx, and then we shall perhaps talk to you.

10th Ghost.

I am an emperor, Boasting with Intr. and could bring three hundred thousand men into the field, and—

11th Ghost.

I am a female conqueror, Affec. with Intr. and have had princes at my feet. My beauty has been always thought irresistible, Affect. of Piety. nor has—

12th Ghost.

I am a venerable priest of the temple of Apollo, and you know, Mercury, whether the report of the Delphic oracles's being only a contrivance among us,Self-Vindication. be not a malicious fiction; and whether the priests, in all ages, and in all places, have not been, and will not always be eminent for their artless, undesigning simplicity, their contempt of riches, their honest opposition [Page] to the vices of the great, and their zeal in promoting truth and liberty of conscience, and—

13th Ghost.

Fawning.I have the honour to tell you Sir, I am the darling of the greatest prince on earth. I have kept in favour five and twenty years in spite of the hatred of a whole nation, and the arts of hundreds of rivals. There is not, I will take upon me to say, Sir, a fetch in politics, nor a contrivance for worming in, and screwing out, that I am not master of. I had I assure you,Whisp. Sir, (a word in your ear) I had my king as much at my command as a shepherd has his dog. Sir, I should be proud to serve you, Sir, if you—

14th Ghost.

Stiff Affec.I presume illustrious, Sir, you wont hinder me, of my passage, when I inform you,Learn. I only want to carry with me a few nostrums, a little physical Latin, and a small collection of learned phrases for expressing common things more magnificently, which if they were put into a vernacular tongue, would be too easily understood. Besides, I have, I believe—

15th Ghost.

Affect. with Wheedling. Boast. Great god of eloquence, you will not, I am persuaded, stop a famous lawyer and orator. I am master of every trope and figure that ever was heard of. I can make any cause good. By the time I have talked half an hour, there is not a judge on the bench, that knows which side the right is on, or whether there be any right on either side. And then, for brow-beating, and finding useful and seasonable demurs, quirks, and the like, I dare challenge—

16th Ghost.

Hypoc. and Fawn.Mercury. I do intreat you to let me come into the boat. I am sure, judge Minos, will pass a very favourable sentence on me. For it is well known, that no body ever was a more exact observer of the religious ceremonies appointed by authority, and established by [Page] custom, than myself. And what was alledged against me, of my being given to censoriousness, pride, and private sins, is all false—almost—and—

17th Ghost.

I am sure, Mercury,Confidence. I shall be very well received by judge Minos, judge Rhadamanthus, and judge Aeacus. For I never did harm to any body; but was always ready to do any kindness in my power. Self-Vindication. And there is nothing can be alledged against me, worth naming. For it is not true, that I believed neither god nor future state. I was no Atheist, as has been alledged, but only a free-thinker.

18th Ghost.

Pray, Mercury,Intreating. Pity. let a brave soldier come into the boat. See what a stab in my back I died of.

19th Ghost.

Pray, Mercury, don't keep out an industrious citizen, who died of living too frugally.

20th Ghost.

Pray, Mercury, let an honest farmer pass, who was knocked on the head for not selling corn to the poor for a song.

Merc.

Hoity, toity! What have we got! Impatience. Why don't you all bawl together? Now, in the name of the three Furies, Alecto, Tysiphone, and Megara, of the Vegoves, the Numina laeva, and all the Robigus's and Averruncus's that stand on Aulus Gellius's list of mischievous deities, what must we do, Charon?

Char.

Push them away. Anger. Push them into the Styx. There is not one of them fit to be carried over. Chiding. One comes loaded with pride of beauty and lust, another with arrogance and cruelty, another with falsehood and flattery, another with love of fame, and desire of boundless dominion, another with false learning, another with learned pride, another with spiritual pride and hopocrisy, another with avarice and curlishness, another with foppery and false pretensions to ladies[Page]favours, another with political craft, bribery, and corruption, another with law quirks, another with quackish nostrums, and another with priostcraft; and they expect, that my poor little old half rotten wherry should carry them and all their nasty luggage over at one lift. Why, Mercury, it would require such a vessel, as those they will build at the island of Albion two thousand years hence, which will be called first rate men of war, Determin. to carry such a cargo. Therefore we must e'en put off, with this half dozen of passengers, and, perhaps, by the time we come back, some of them will be stripped to the buff, I mean to the bones, and disencumbered of their respective appurtenances, so as to be fit for the voyage.

Merc.

Agreeing.We have nothing else for it, Charon. Therefore, gentlemen and ladies, if you don't clear the way, Threatening Commandi. I must be rude to you. Fall back, fall back. I have not room to push the boat off—

[Standing a tiptoe, and looking as at a distant object]

O—Methinks,Doubting. I see a couple of modest-looking ghosts whom I should know, Inviting. Approbation standing at a distance. Ay, Ay, it is the same. Hark ye, you good people, come this way. You seem to have shaken off all your useless lumber. I remember you You lived in a little cottage on the side of a hill in the Chersonesu, Cimbrica. You were always good, honest, contented creatures.

Char.

Kindness. Take them in, Mercury. They are worth an hundred of your cumbrous emperors, conquerors, beauties, and literati [...] Come, let us push off.

[Page]

LXIII. ACCUSATION. From Cicero's ORATION against Verres, entitled DIVINATIO [...].

HAVING formerly had the honour of being quaestor in Sicily, Apology. and leaving that people with such grateful impressions of me on account of my behaviour, while I was among them, as, I hope, will not soon be effaced, it appeared, that as they had great dependence upon their former patrons for the security of their properties, they likewise reposed some degree of confidence in me. Those unhappy people being plundered and oppressed, Pity. have made frequent and public applications to me, intreating, that I would undertake the defence of them, and their fortunes; which, they told me, they were encouraged to request of me, by promises I had given them (of the sincerity of which they had had several substantial proofs) that if ever they should have occasion for my friendship, Promising. I would not be wanting in any respect in which I could be useful to them.Intreating. The time was now come, they told me, when they had but too much occasion to claim my promise; for that they were now in want of protection, not for their property only,Pity. but even for their lives, and for securing the very being of the province. That for three years they had suffered,Accusation. by the injustice of Caius Verres, every hardship, with which during impiety, rapacious insolence, and wanton cruelty could distress a miserable and helpless people. It gave me no small concern, Vexation. to find myself obliged either to falsify my promise to those, who had reposed a confidence in [Page] me, or to undertake the ungrateful part of an accuser, instead of that which I have always chosen, I mean of a defender. I referred them to the patronage of Quintus Caecilins, Declin. who succeeded me in the quaestorship of the province. I was in hopes, I should thus get free of the disagreeable office,Vexation. they had solicited me to engage in.Accusation. But to my great disappointment, they told me, so far from their having any hopes from Caecilius, their distresses had been heightened by him; and that he had, by his conduct, during his quaestorship, made their application to me more necessary, than otherwise it would have been.Apology. You see, therefore, Fathers, that I am drawn to engage this cause by duty, fidelity, and commiseration, for the discussed; and that though I may seem to take the accusing side, it is, in fact, the defence of the oppressed, that I undertake, the defence of many thousands, of many great cities, of a whole province. And indeed, though the cause were of less consequence than it is; though the Sicilians had not requested my assistance; and though I had not been by my promise, and my connexions with that unfortunate people, obliged to undertake their defence, though I had professedly commenced this prosecution with a view to the service of my country merely; that a man infamous for his avarice▪ Accusation. impudence, and villainy, whose rapaciousness, and other crimes of various kinds, are notorious, not in Sicily only, but in Achaia, Asia, Minor, Cilicia, Panphilia, and even here at home; that such a man might, at my instance, be brought upon his trial, and receive the punishment he deserves; though I had had no other view in this prosecution, Self-Vindication. than that justice should be done upon a cruel oppressor and the distressed be delivered; what F [...]eman could have blamed my proceeding? [Page]How could I do a more valuable service to the Commonwealth? What ought to be more acceptable to the Roman people, to our allies, or to foreign nations? What more desirable towards securing the properties, privileges and lives of mankind, than examplary justice, inflicted on notorious abusers of power? Deplorable is the situation of the tributary states and provinces of the commonwealth. Oppressed, plundered, Pity ruined, by those who are set over them, they do not now presume to hope for deliverance. All they desire, is a little alleviation of their distresses. They are willing to submit their cause to the justice of a Roman senate. But they, who ought to undertake their vindication, are their enemies. Accus. They who ought to commence the prosecution against their oppressors, deserve themselves, to be brought upon their trial for their own mal-administration.

It is sufficiently known to you, Fathers,Teaching Explaining. that the law for recovery of tributes unjustly seized, was intended expressly for the advantage of the allied and tributary states. For in cases of injustice done by one citizen to another, redress is to be had by action at common law. The present cause is, therefore, to be tried by the law of recovery. And, under the umbrage of that law, and in hopes of redress by it, the province of Sicily, with one voice, accuses Verres of plundering her of her gold and silver, of the riches of her towns, her cities, and temples, Accus. and of all she enjoyed under the protection of the Roman commonwealth, to the v [...]e of many millions, &c.

From his other orations against Verres.

The time is come, Fathers,Teaching or Explaining. when that which has long been wished for, towards allaying [Page] the envy, your order has been subject to, and removing the imputations against trials, is (not by human contrivance, Awe. Informing. but superior direction) effectually put in our power. An opinion has long prevailed, not only here at home, but likewise in foreign countries, both dangerous to you, and pernicious to the state, viz. That, in prosecutions, men of wealth are always safe, however clearly convicted. There is now to be brought upon his trial before you,Accus. to the confusion, I hope, of the propagators of this slanderous imputation, one, whose life and actions condemn him in the opinion of all impartial persons; but who, according to his own reckoning, and declared dependance upon his riches, is already acquitted; I mean C [...]ias Verres. I have undertaken this prosecution,Apology. Fathers, at the general desire, and with the great expectation of the Roman people, not that I might draw envy upon that illustrious order, of which the accused happens to be; but with the direct design of clearing your justice and impartiality before the world. Exciting. For I have brought upon his trial, one, whose conduct has been such, that in passing a just sentence upon him, you will have an opportunity of re-establishing the credit of such trials; of recovering whatever may be lost of the favour of the Roman people; and of satisfying foreign states and kingdoms in alliance with us,Insisting. Accus. or tributary to us. I demand justice of you, Fathers, upon the robber of the public treasury, the oppressor of Asia Minor, and Pamphylia, the invader of the rights and privileges of Romans, the scourge and curse of Sicily. Exciting. If that sentence is passed upon him which his crimes deserve, your authority Fathers, will be venerable and sacred in the eyes of the public. But if his great riches should bias you in his favour, I shall still gain [Page] one point, viz. To make it apparent to all the world, that what was wanting in this case was not a criminal, nor a prosecutor; but justice, and adequate punishment. And,Apprehens. to confess the very truth, fathers, though various snares have been laid for me, by sea and land, by Verres, which I have partly avoided by my own vigilance, partly baffled with the help of my friends; I have never been so apprehensive of danger from him as now. Nor does my anxiety about my own insufficiency for conducting such a trial, nor the awe, with which so great a concourse of people strikes me, alarm my apprehensions so much, as the wicked arts and designs, which I know he has framed, against Marcus Glabrio, the praaetor, against the allied and tributary states, against the whole senatorial rank, and against myself. Accus. For he makes no scruple publicly to declare, "That in his opinion, they alone have reason to fear being called to account, who have only amassed what is sufficient for themselves. That, for his part, he has prudently taken care to secure what will be sufficient for himself and many others besides. That he knows there is nothing so sacred, but it may be made free with, nothing so well secured, but it may be come at by a proper application of money." It is true,Contempt. we are so far obliged to him, that he joins with his daring wickedness, such bare-faced folly, that it must be our own egregious and inexcusable fault, if we are deceived by him. For, as those acts of violence, Accus. by which he has gotten his exorbitant riches, were done openly, so have his attempts to pervert judgment, and escape due punishment, been public, and in open defiance of decency. He has accordingly said, that the only time he ever was afraid, was, when he found the prosecution commenced [Page] against him by me; lest he should not have time enough to dispose of a sufficient number of presents in proper hands. Nor has he attempted to secure himself by the legal way of defence upon his trial. And, indeed, where is the learning, the eloquence, or the art, which would be sufficient to qualify any one for the defence of him whose whole life has been a continual series of the most atrocious crimes? To pass over the shameful irregularities of his youth, what his quaetorship, the first public employment he held, what does it exhibit, but one continued scene of villanies; Cneius Carbo plundered of the public money by his own treasure; a consul stripped and betrayed; an army deserted and reduced to want; a province robbed; the civil and religious rights of a people's violated. The employment he held in Asia Minor and Pamphylia, what did it produce, but the ruin of those countries; in which houses, cities, and temples were robbed by him. There he acted over again the scene of his quaestorship, bringing, by his bad practices, Cneius Dolobella, whose substitue he was, into disgrace with the people, and then deserting him; not only deserting, but even accusing and betraying him. What was his conduct in his praetorship here at home? Let the plundered temples, and public works neglected, that he might embezzle the money intended for carrying them on, bear witness. How did he discharge the office of a judge? Let those who suffered by his injustice, answer. But his praetorship in Sicily, crowns all his works of wickedness; and finishes a lasting monument to his infamy. The mischiefs done by him in that unhappy country, during the three years of his iniquitous administration, are such, that many years under the wisest and best of praetors, will not be [Page] sufficient to restore things to the condition, in which he found them. For it is notorious, that, during the time of his tyranny, Pity. the Sicilians neither enjoyed the protection of their own original laws, of the regulations made for their benefit, by the Roman senate, upon their coming under the protection of the commonwealth, nor of the natural and unalienable rights of men. Accus. No inhabitant of that ruined country has been able to keep possession of any thing, but what has either escaped the rapaciousness, or been neglected by the satiety of that universal plunderer. His nod has decided all causes in Sicily, for these three years. And his decisions have broken all law, all precedent, all right. The sums he has, by arbitrary taxes, and unheard of impositions, extorted from the industrious poor, are not to be computed. The most faithful allies of the commonwealth have been treated as enemies. Roman citizens have, like slaves been put to death with tortures. The most atrocious criminals, for money, have been exempted from the deserved punishments; and men of the most unexceptionable characters condemned, and banished unheard. The harbours, though sufficiently fortified, and the gates of strong towns, opened to pirates and ravagers. The soldiery and sailors, belonging to a province under the protection of the commonwealth, starved to death. Whole fleets, to the great detriment of the province, suffered to perish. The ancient monuments of either Sicilian or Roman greatness, the statues of heroes and princes, carried off; and the temples stripped of the images. The infamy of his lewdness has been such, as decency forbids to describe. Nor will I, by mentioning particulars, put those unfortunate persons to fresh pain, who [Page] have not been able to save their wives and daughters from his impurity. And these his atrocious crimes, have been committed in so public a manner, that there is no one, who has heard of his name, but could reckon up his actions.

Having, by his iniquitous sentences, filled the prisons with the most industrious and deserving of the people, he then proceeded to order numbers of Roman citizens to be strangled in the goals; Depreca. so that the exclamation, "I am a citizen of Rome, Accus." which has often, in the most distant regions, and among the most barbarous people, been a protection, was of no service to them; but, on the contrary, brought a speedier, and more severe punishment upon them.

Challeng.I ask, now, Verres, what you have to advance against this charge? Will you pretend to deny it? Will you pretend that any thing false, that even any thing, aggravated, is alleged against you? Had any prince, or any state, committed the same outrage against the privilege of Roman citizens, Remons should we not think we had sufficient ground for declaring immediate war against them?Accus. What punishment ought, then, to be inflicted upon a tyrannical and wicked praetor, who, dared, at no greater distance than Sicily, within sight of the Italian coast, to put to the infamous death of crucifixion, that unfortunate and innocent citizen, Publius Gavius Cosanus, Pity. only for his having asserted his privilege of citizenship, and declared his intention of appealing to the justice of his country against a cruel oppressor, Accus. who had unjustly confined him in prison at Syracuse, from whence he had just made his escape. Pity. The unhappy man arrested, as he was going to embark for his native country, is brought before the wicked praetor. Accus. With eyes darting fury, and a countenance distorted with cruelty, he orders [Page] the helpless victim of his rage, to be stripped, and rods to be brought; accusing him, but without the least shadow of evidence, or even of suspicion, Pity. Depreca. of having come to Sicily as a spy. It was in vain, that the unhappy man cried out, "I am a Roman citizen, I have served under Lucius Pretius, who is now at Panormus, and will attest my innocence." The blood-thirsty praeter, Accus. deaf to all he could urge in his own defence, ordered the infamous punishment to be inflicted. Thus, Fathers,Pity. was an innocent Roman citizen publicly mangled with scourging; whilst the only words he uttered amidst his cruel sufferings, were, Depreca."I am a Roman citizen." With these he hoped to defend himself from violence and infamy. Accus. But of so little service was this privilege to him, that while he was thus asserting his citizenship, Horror. the order was given for his execution—for his execution upon the cross.

O liberty! Lamenta.—O found once delightful to every Roman ear!—O sacred privilege of Roman citizenship!—once sacred!—now trampled upon!Exciting to Vindica. But what then! Is it come to this? Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his whole power of the Roman people, in a Roman province, within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture, with fire and red hot plates of iron, and at the last put to the infamous death of the cross, a Roman citizen? Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, nor the tears of pitying spectators, nor the majesty of the Roman commonwealth, nor the fear of the justice of his country, restrain the licentious and wanton cruelty of a monster, who, in confidence of his riches, strikes at the root of liberty, and sets mankind at defiance?

I conclude with expressing my hopes, that your wisdom, and justice, Fathers, will not, by suffering [Page] the atrocious and unexampled insolence of Caiu [...] Verres to escape the due punishment, leave room to apprehend the danger of a total subversion of authority, and introduction of general anarchy and confusion.

LXIV. TERROR. DISCOVERY of secret Wickedness.

The ghost of Hamlet king of Denmark, murdered by his brother, in concert with his queen, appears to Hamlet his son.

[Shakes. HAMLET.]

Horatio.

Alarm. Starting.

LOOK! my lord, it comes!

Hamlet.

Angels and Ministers of grace defend us!—⁽¹⁾

Trembling.

Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damn'd;

Bring with thee airs from Heav'n or blasis from hell,

Be thy intents wicked or charitable,

Thou com'st in such a questionable ⁽²⁾ shape,

That I will speak to thee. I'll call thee Hamlet,

Earnest.

King, Father, Royal Dane! O answer me,

Why thy bones hears'd in canonized earth,

[Page]Have burst their cerements? ⁽¹⁾ Why the sepulchre,

Wherein we saw thee quietly inurn'd,

Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws,

To cast thee forth again? What may this mean,

That thy dead corps again in warlike steel

Revisits thus the glimpses of the moon,

Making night hideous?

Say, why is this?

Questioning.

What would'st thou have done for thee?

Ghost.

⁽²⁾ I am thy father's spirit,

Horror.

to earth return'd

Foul murder to disclose—List then, O Hamlet!—

'Tis given out, that sleeping in my garden,

A serpent stung me. So the ear of Denmark

Is, by a forged process of my death,

Grossly abused. But know, thou princely youth,

The serpent, that did sting thy father dead,

Now wears his crown.

Complaint of Injury.

Sleeping within an alcove,

On my security thy uncle stole

With juice of cursed he be non distill'd,

And in the porches of mine ears did pour

The leprous poison, whose contageous nature

Holds such an enmity with the life of man,

That with a sudden vigour it doth curdle

The thin and wholesome blood. So did it mine,

And instantly a tetter bark'd about,

Most lazar like, with vile and loathsome crust,

All my smooth body.

Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand,

Of life, of crown, of queen, at once bereft.

Cut off ev'n in the blossom of my sins;

No reck'ning made, but sent to my account,

With all my imperfections on my head.

[Page]

Exciting.

If thou hast nature in thee, bear it not.

Let not the royal bed of Denmark be

Aversion.

A couch for filthiness, and beastly incest.

But howsoever thou purfu'st redress,

Cautioning.

Taint not thy mind, nor let thy soul contrive

Against thy mother aught. Leave her to heav'n,

Anguish.

And to those thorns, that in her bosom lodge,

To goard and sting her. Fare thee well at once.

The glow-worm shews the morning to be near,

His ineffectual fire begins to pale.

Farewel. Remember me.

LXV. EXHORTATION. REPROACHING.

The Athenians, being unsuccessful in the war against Philip of Macedon, assembled, in great dejection, in order to consult what measures were to be taken to retrieve their seemingly desperate affairs. Demosthenes endeavours to encourage them, by shewing them, that there was nothing to fear from Philip, if they prosecuted the war in a proper manner.

[Demost. PHILIP. ORAT.]

ATHENIANS!

Apology.HAD this assembly been called together on an unusual occasion, I should have waited to hear the opinions of others, before I had offered my own; and if what they proposed had seemed to me judicious, I should have been silent; Submission. if otherwise, I should have given my reasons for differing from those, who had spoken before me.Apology. But as the subject of our present deliberations has been often treated by others, I hope I shall be excused, though I [Page] rise up first to offer my [...]pinion. Had the schemes, formerly proposed, been successful, there had been no occasion for the present consultation.

First, then, my countrymen,Encouragi. let me intreat you not to look upon the state of our affairs as desperate, though it be unpromising. For, as on one hand, to compare the present with times past, matters has indeed a very gloomy aspect; Concern. so, on the other, if we extend our views to future times, I have good hopes,Hope. that the distresses, we are now under, will prove of greater advantage to us,Doubting. than if we had never fallen into them. If it be asked, what probability there is of this, I answer, I hope, it will appear, that it is our egregious misbehaviour alone, that has brought us into these disadvantageous circumstances. Reproach. From whence follows the necessity of altering our conduct,Directing. Hope. and the prospect of bettering our circumstances by doing so. If we had nothing to accuse ourselves of;Apprehens. and yet found our affairs in their present disorderly condition; we should not have room left even for the hope of recovering ourselves. But,Exciting. my countrymen, it is known to you, partly by your own remembrance, and partly by information from others, how gloriously the Lacedaemonian war was sustained, Courage. in which we engaged in defence of our own rights, against an enemy powerful and formidable; in the whole conduct of which war nothing happened unworthy the dignity of the Athenian state; Approbation and this within these few years past. My intention in recalling to your memory this part of our history is, To shew you,Exciting. that you have no reason to fear any enemy, if your operations be wisely planned, and vigorously executed; as,Apprehens. on the contrary, that if you do not exert your natural[Page]strength in a proper manner, you have nothing to look for but disappointment and distress; Exciting. and to suggest to you, that you ought to profit by this example of what has actually been done by good conduct against the great power of the Lacedaemonians,Courage. so as in the present war to assert your superiority over the insolence of Philip; Reproach. which it is evident from experience may be effected, Encouragi. if you resolve to attend diligently to those important objects, which you have of late shamefully neglected. Regr. The enemy has indeed gained considerable advantages by treaty, as well as by conquest. For it is to be expected, that princes and states will court the alliance of those, who, by their counsels and arms, seem likely to procure for themselves and their confederates distinguished honours and advantages. Encouraging But, my countrymen, though you have, of late, been too supinely negligent of what concerned you so nearly;Earnestness. if you will even now, resolve to exert yourselves unanimously, each according to his respective abilities and circumstances, the rich, by contributing liberally towards the expense of the war, and the rest by presenting themselves to be enrolled, to make up the deficiencies of the army, and navy; if, in short, you will at last resume your own character, Encouraging and act like yourselves, it is not yet too late, Rever. with the help of Heaven, to recover Reproach. what you have lost, and Courage. to inflict the just vengeance on your insolent enemy. Philip is but a mortal. He cannot, like a god, secure to himself, beyond the possibility of disappointment, the acquisitions he has made.Exciting. There are those, who hate him; there are, who fear, and there are who envy him; and of these some, who seem most inseparably connected with him.Reproach. These, your inactivity obliges, at present, to stifle their real [Page]sentiments, which are in your favour. Exciting. But when will you, my countrymen, when will you rouse from your indolence, and bethink yourselves of what is to be done? Apprehens. When you are forced to it by some fatal disaster? When irresistible necessity drives you?Rousing Shame. What think ye of the disgraces which are already come upon you? Is not the past sufficient to stimulate your activity? Or do ye wait for somewhat,Reproving with Contempt. yet to come, more forcible and urgent? How long will you amuse yourselves with enquiring of one another after news, as you ramble idly about the streets? Rousing Shame. Contempt. What news so strange ever came to Athens, as, that a Macedonian should subdue this state, and lord it over Greece? Again, you ask one another, "What, is Philip dead?" "No," it is answered, "but he is very ill! Chiding. How foolish this curiosity! What is it to you, whether Philip is sick or well? Suppose he were dead. Your inactivity would soon raise up against yourselves another Philip in his stead. For it is not his strength, that has made him what he is; but your indolence, which has, of late, been such, that you seem neither in a condition to take any advantage of the enemy, nor to keep it, if it were gained by others for you.

But what I have hitherto observed to your reproach, Recollecting. will be of no service towards retrieving the past miscarriages, unless I proceed to offer a plan for raising the necessary supplies of money, shipping, and men.

The orator then goes on to treat of ways and means. But that part of his speech being less entertaining, and his demands of men, money, and shipping, being pitiful, compared with the immense funds, and stupendous armaments, we are accustomed to, I [Page] leave it out. Afterwards he shews Philip's insolence by producing his letters to the Euboeans; and then makes remarks on them.

Regret.The present disgraceful state of your affairs, my countrymen, as it appears from the insolent strain of the letters I have just read, may not, perhaps, be a very pleasing subject, for your reflections. Reluctance. And if, by avoiding the mention of disagreeable circumstances, their existence could be prevented or annihilated, there would be nothing to do, but to frame our speeches so as to give the most pleasure to the hearers. Apprehens. But, if the unseasonable smoothness of a speech tends to lull a people into a fatal security, how shameful is such self-deceit! Reproach. How contemptible the weakness of putting off the evil day, and through fear of being shocked at the sight of what is disordered in our affairs, Apprehens. to suffer the disorder to increase to such a degree, as will soon be irretrievable! Courage. Wisdom, on the contrary, directs, that the conductors of a war always anticipate the operations of the enemy; Contempt. instead of waiting to see what steps he shall take. Superiority of genius shews itself by taking the start of others;Courage. as in marching to battle, it is the general, who leads, and the common soldiers that follow—Whereas you, Repr. with Indignation. Athenians, though you be [...] master of all that is necessary for war, as shipping, cavalry, infantry, and funds, have not the spirit to make the proper use of your advantages; Rous. Shame. but suffer the enemy to dictate to you every motion you are to make. If you hear that Philip is in the Chersonesus, you order troops to be sent thither. If at Pylae, forces are to be detached to secure that post. Wherever he makes an attack, there you stand upon your defence. You attend him in all his motions, Chiding. as soldiers do their [Page] general. Chiding. But you never think of striking out of yourselves any bold and effectual scheme for bringing him to reason, by being beforehand with him.Contempt. A pitiful manner of carrying on war at any time: but,Apprehens in the critical circumstances you are now in, utterly ruinous. However you might trifle, so long as things were in a tolerable state of safety, you will not, I hope, think of going on in the same way, now that the very being of the state is come to be precarious. Hope. I would willingly flatter myself with the hope, that things being come to a crisis, the hasty strides made by Philip toward the conquest of this commonwealth, will prove the means of defeating his design. Had he proceeded deliberately and prudently, Sarcasm. you seem so disposed to peace, that I do not imagine, you would have troubled yourselves about his taking a few towns and provinces, but would have given him leave, without molestation, to affront your standards and flags at his pleasure. But now, that you see him making rapid advances toward your capital, perhaps you may at last be alarmed, if you be not lost to all sense of prudence, honour, or safety.

O shame to the Athenian name! Rousing Shame. We undertook this war against Philip, in order to obtain redress of grievances, Sarcasm. and to force him to indemnify us for the injuries he had done us. And we have conducted it so successfully, that we shall, by and by, think ourselves happy, if we escaped being defeated and ruined. For,Apprehens. who can think, that a prince, of his restless and ambitious temper, will not improve the opportunities and advantages which our indolence and timidity present him? Will he give over his designs against us, without being obliged to it?Remonstrant Alarm. And who will oblige him? Who will restrain his [Page] fury? Soliciting. Shall we wait for assistance from some unknown country? Intreating. In the name of all that is sacred, and all that is dear to us, let us make an attempt with what forces we can raise, if we should not be able to raise as many as we would wish. Indignation. Let us do somewhat to curb this insolent tyrant of his pursuits. Charge, with Reproof. Let us not trifle away the time in hearing the ineffectual wranglings of orators, Apprehens. while the enemy is strengthening himself, and we are declining, and our allies growing more and more cold to our interest, and more apprehensive of the consequences of continuing on our side.

LXVI. Villainous SURMISING. JEALOUSY.

Iago artfully endeavours to excite Othello to jealousy against his innocent wife Desdemona, to be revenged on Othello for a supposed injury.

[Shakesp. OTHEL.]

Iago.

Question.

DID Michael Cassio, when you woo'd my lady,

Craft.

Know of your love?

Othello.

Indiffe.

He did from first to last. Why dost thou ask?

Iago.

Insinuating.

But for a satisfaction of my thought;

No farther harm.

Oth.

Doubting.

Why of [...]h [...] thought, Iago?

Iago.

Insinuating.

I did not think he had been acquainted with it.

Oth.

Declar.

O yes; and went between us very often.

Iago.

Surmising.

Indeed!

Oth.

Anxiety.

Ay indeed. Discern'st thou aught from that?

Is he not honest?

[Page]Iago.

Honest, my Lord?

Surmising.

Oth.

Honest, ay, honest!

Anxiety.

Iago.

My Lord—for aught—for aught— I know.

Oth.

What dost thou think of?

Anxiety.

Iago.

Think of, my Lord!

Oth.

Think of, my Lord!

Anxiety.

Why dost thou echo me,

As if there were some monster in thy thought

Too hideous to be shewn.

Suspicion.

Thou dost mean something.

I heard thee say but now, thou lik'd'st not that;

When Cassio left my wife:

Questioning. Suspicion.

What didst not like?

And when I told thee, he was of my counsel,

In my whole course of wooing, thou cry'dst "Indeed!"

And didst contract and purse thy brows together,

As if thou then had'st shut up in thy brain

Some horrible conceit. If thou dost love me,

Earnest.

Shew me thy thought.

Iago.

My Lord, you know I love you.

Fawning.

Oth.

I think thou dost

And as I know thou'rt full of honesty,

Suspicion.

And weigh [...]st thy words, before thou giv'st them breath,

Therefore these stops of thine fright me the more:

Apprehens.

For such things in a false disloyal knave,

Are tricks of custom; but in a man, that's just,

They're distillations working from the heart,

Which passion cannot rule.

Earnest.

Therefore I tell thee,

Thou dost conspire against thy friend, Iago,

Charg.

If thou but think'st him wrong'd, and mak'st his ear

[Page]

Pret.

A stranger to thy thought.

Iago.

Reluct.

I do beseech you,

From one, that so imperfectly conceits,

Your wisdom would not build yourself a trouble

Out of my scattering and unsure observance.

It were not for your quiet, nor your good,

Nor for my manhood, honesty, and wisdom,

To let you know my thoughts.

Oth.

Questioning.

What dost thou mean?

Iago.

Pretended Reluct.

Good name in man, or woman, dear my Lord,

Is the immediate jewel of their souls.

Contempt.

Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something—nothing—

'Twas mine—'tis his—it has been slaves to thousands:

Concern.

But he who filches from me my good name,

Robs me of that, which makes not him the richer,

And makes me poor indeed.

Oth.

Charging.

I'll know thy thoughts.

Iago.

Refusing.

You cannot, if my heart were in your hand; ⁽¹⁾

Caution.

Beware, my Lord, beware of jealousy,

Horror.

That ghastly green-ey'd monster, which doth make

The meat it feeds on. ⁽²⁾ The injur'd husband's happy,

Who, certain of his fate, loves not his traitress:

Anguish.

But, oh, what cruel minutes tell he o'er,

Who dotes, yet doubts; suspects, yet strongly loves.

Oth.

O misery!

[Aside.]

[Page]Iag.

Poor, and content, is rich, and rich enough:

But wealth unbounded is as poor as winter

To him, who ever fears, he shall be poor.

Pretend.

—

I doubt, this hath a little dash'd your spirits.

Symp.

Oth.

Not a jot. Not a jot. Farewel.

Pretend.

If thou dost more perceive, let me know more.

Indiff.

[Exit Iago.]

Why did I marry? This honest fellow, doubtless,

Jealousy.

Sees, and knows more, much more, than he unfolds.

He knows all qualities, with a learn'd spirit

Of human dealings ⁽¹⁾ —Should I prove her faithless,

Anguish.

Tho' that her charms were bodied with my heart,

Threatning.

I'd read it into twain, to throw her from me.

LXVII. COMPLAINT. INTREATING.

The speech of Adherbal, son of Micipsa, king of Numidia, complaining to the Roman senate, and imploring assistance against the violence of Jugurtha, adopted, and left co-heir of the kingdom, by Micipsa, with himself and Hiempsal, which last Jugurtha had procured to be murdered.

[Sal. BELL. JUGURTHIN.]

FATHERS,

IT is known to you, that king Micipsa, Explaining. my father, on his death-bed, left in charge to [Page] Jugurtha, his adopted son, conjunctly with my unfortunate brother Hiempsal, and myself, the children of his own body, the administration of the kingdom of Numidia;Submis. directing us to consider the senate and people of Rome, as proprietors of it. He charged us to use our best endeavours to be serviceable to the Roman commonwealth, in peace and war; assuring us, that your protection would prove to us a defence against all enemies, and would be instead of armies, fortifications, and treasures.

Grief.While my brother and I were thinking of nothing, but how to regulate ourselves according to the directions of our deceased father;—Jugurtha—the most infamous of mankind!— breaking through all ties of gratitude, and of common humanity, Compl. and trampling on the authority of the Roman commonwealth, procured the murder of my unfortunate brother, and has driven me from my throne, and native country, though he knows I inherit, from my grandfather Masinissa, and my father Micipsa, the friendship and alliance of the Romans.

Grief.For a prince to be reduced, by villainy, to distressful circumstances, is calamity enough; but my misfortunes are heightened by the consideration, that I find myself obliged to solicit your assistance, Fathers, for the services done you by my ancestors; not for any I have been able to render you in my own person. Compl. Jugurtha has put it out of my power to deserve any thing at your hands, and has forced me to be burthensome, before I could be useful, to you. And yet, if I had no plea, but my undeserved misery, who, from a powerful prince, the descendant of a race of illustrious monarchs, find myself without any fault of my own, destitute of every support, and reduced to the necessity of [Page] begging foreign assistance against an enemy, Submis. who has seized my throne and kingdom, Intr. if my unequalled distresses were all I had to plead, it would become the greatness of the Roman commonwealth, the arbitrese of the world, to protect the injured, Excit. to Vindic. and to check the triumph of daring wickedness over helpless innocence. But, to provoke your vengeance to the utmost, Jugurtha has driven me from the very dominions, which the senate and people of Rome gave to my ancestors, and from whence my grandfather, and my father, under your umbrage, expelled Syphax, and the Carthaginians. Thus, Fathers, your kindness to our family is defeated, and Jugurtha in injuring me, throws contempt on you.

O wretched prince! O cruel reverse of fortune! O father Micipsa! Lamen. Is this the consequence of your generosity; that he, whom your goodness raised to an equality with your own children, should be the murderer of your children! Horror. Lamen. Must then, the royal house of Numidia always be a scene of havock and blood? While Carthage remained, we suffered, as was to be expected, all sorts of hardships from their hostile attacks; our enemy near; our only powerful ally, the Roman commonwealth, at a distance; while we were so circumstanced, we were always in arms, and in action. When that scourge of Africa was no more, Glim. Hope. Horror. we congratulated ourselves on the prospect of establishing peace. But instead of peace, behold the kingdom of Numidia, drenched with royal blood, and the only surviving son of its late king flying from an adopted murderer, and seeking that safety in foreign parts, which he cannot command in his own kingdom.

Whither! —O whither shall I fly? Angu. Distr. Dread. If I return to the royal palace of my ancestors, my father's throne is seized by the murderer of my brother. [Page]What can I there expect, but that Jugurtha should hasten to imbrue in my blood,Horror. Dist. those hands which are now reeking with my brother's? If I were to fly for refuge, or for assistance, to any other court, from what prince can I hope for protection, if the Roman commonwealth gives me up? From my own family or friends,Grief. I have no expectations. My royal father is no more. He is beyond the reach of violence, and out of hearing of the complaints of his unhappy son. Were my brother alive, our mutual sympathy would be some alleviation. But he is hurried out of life in his early youth, by the very hand, which should have been the last to injure any of the royal family of Numidia. Horror. The bloody Jugurtha has butchered all, whom he suspected to be in my interest. Some have been destroyed by the lingering torment of the cross; others have been given a prey to wild beasts, and their anguish made the sport of men more cruel than wild beasts. If there be any yet alive, they are shut up in dungeons, there to drag out a life more intolerable than death.

Subm. Intr.Look down, illustrious senators of Rome, from that height of power, to which you are raised, on the unexampled distresses of a prince, who is, by the cruelty of a wicked intruder, become an outcast from all mankind. Subm. Caut. Horror. Let not the crafty insinuations of him, who returns murder for adoption, prejudice your judgment. Do not listen to the wretch who has butchered the son and relations of a king, Accus. who gave him power to sit on the same throne with his own sons. I have been informed that he labours by his emissaries, to prevent your determining any thing against him in his absence, pretending that I magnify my distress, and might, for him, have staid in peace, in my own kingdom. [...]omp. But, if ever the time [Page]comes, when the due vengeance, from above, shall overtake him, he will then assemble in the very same manner as I do. Then he, who now, hardened in wickedness, triumphs over those whom his violence has laid low, will, in his turn, feel distress, and suffer for his impious ingratitude to my father, and his blood thirsty cruelty to my brother.

O murdered, butchered brother! Lamen. O dearest to my heart—now gone for ever from my sight.—But why should I lament his death? He is indeed deprived of the blessed light of heaven, of life and kingdom, at once, by the very person, who ought to have been the first to hazard his own life in defence of any one of Micipsa's family: But as things are, my brother is not so much deprived of these comforts, as delivered from terror, from flight, from exile, and the endless train of miseries, which render life to me a burden. He lies full low, Horror. gored with wounds, and festering in his own blood. But he lies in peace. Angu. He feels none of the miseries which rend my soul with agony and destraction; whilst I am set up a spectacle to all mankind, of the uncertainty of human affairs. So far from having it in my power to revenge his death, I am not master of the means of securing my own life. So far from being in a condition to defend my kingdom from the violence of the usurper, I am obliged to apply for foreign protection for my own person.

Fathers! Senators of Rome! Vehem. Solicit. the arbiters of the world! To you I fly for refuge from the murderous fury of Jugurtha. By your affection for your children, by your love for your country, by your own virtues, by the majesty of the Roman commonwealth, by all that is sacred, and all that is dear to you; deliver a wretched prince [Page] from undeserved, unprovoked injury; and save the kingdom of Numidia, which is your own property, from being the prey of violence, usurpation, and cruelty.

LXVIII. ACCUSATION. PITY.

Pleading of Lysias the orator in favour of certain orphans, defrauded by an uncle, executor to the will of their father.

[Dion. Halicarn.]

VENERABLE JUDGES!

IF the cause, which now comes under your cognizance,Subm. Apol. Avers. were not of extraordinary importance, I should never have given my consent, that it should be litigated before you. For it seems to me shameful, that near relations should commence prosecutions against one another; and I know, that, in such trials, not only the aggressors, but even those, who resent injuries too impatiently, Subm. Pity. must appear to you in a disadvantageous light. But the plaintiffs, who have been defrauded of a very large sum of money, and cruelly injured by one who ought to have been the last to hurt them;Accus. Pity. have applied to me as a relation, Apol. to plead their cause, and procure them redress. Pity. And I thought I could not decently excuse myself from undertaking the patronage of persons in such distressful circumstances, with whom I had such close connections. For the sister of the plantiffs, the niece of Diogiton the defendant,Apol. is my wife. When the plaintiffs intreated me, as they did often, to undertake the management of the suit, I advised them to refer the difference between them and [Page] their uncle the defendant,Avers. to private arbitration; thinking it the interest of both parties to conceal, as much as possible, from the knowledge of the public, that there was any dispute between them. But as Diogiton knew, Accus. that it was easy to prove him guilty of detaining the property of the plaintiffs his nephews, he foresaw, that it would, by no means answer his purpose, to submit his cause to the decision of arbitrators. He has, therefore, determined to proceed to the utmost extremity of injustice, at the hazard of the consequences of a prosecution.

I most humbly implore you,Subm. Intr. venerable judges, to grant the plaintiffs redress, if I shew you, as I hope I shall in the most satisfactory manner, that the defendant,Pity. Blame. though so nearly related, to the unhappy orphans, the plaintiffs, has treated them in such a manner, as would be shameful among absolute strangers.

I beg leave to lay before you,Subm. venerable judges, the subject of the present prosecution, as follows:

Diodotus and Diogiton were brothers, Narration. the children of the same father and the same mother. Upon their father's decease, they divided between them his moveables; but his real estate they enjoyed conjunctly. Diodotus growing rich, Diegiton offered him his only daughter in marriage. ⁽¹⁾ By her Diodotus had two sons and a daughter. Diodotus happening afterwards to be enrolled, in his turn, to go to the war under Thrasyllus, he called together his wife, his brother's daughter, and his wife's brother, and his own brother, who was likewise his father-in-law, and both uncle and grandfather to his [Page] children. He thought, he could not trust the care of his children in properer hands, than those of his brother. He leaves in his custody, his will, with five talents ⁽¹⁾ of silver. He gives him an account of seven talents, and forty minae besides, which were out at interest, and a thousand minae, which were due to him by a person in the Chersonesus. He had ordered in his will, that in case of his death, one talent, and the household furniture, should be his wife's. He bequeathed, farther, to his daughter, one talent, and twenty minae, and thirty Cyzicenian stateres, and the rest of his estate equally between his sons. Conc. Accus. Settling his affairs thus, and leaving a copy of his will, he sets out along with the army. He dies at Ephesus.—Diogiton conceals from his daughter the death of her husband. He gets into his hands the will of his deceased brother, by pretending, that it was necessary for him to shew it as a voucher, in order to his transacting some affairs for his brother, during his absence. At length, when he thought the decease of his brother could not much longer be concealed, he formally declares it.Pity. The family goes into mourning. They stay one year at Piraeum, where their moveables were.Narration. In this time the produce of all that could be sold of the effects, being spent, he sends the children to town, and gives his daughter, the widow of his brother Diodotus, to a second husband, and with her five thousand drachme, of which the husband returns him one thousand as a present. When the eldest son came to man's estate, about eight years after the departure of Diodotus, Diogiton calls the children together; Accus. tells them, that their father had left them twenty minae of silver and [Page] thirty stateres. Pretend. Conc. "I have laid out (says he) of my own money, for your maintenance and education, a considerable sum. Nor did I grudge it, while I was in flourishing circumstances, and could afford it. But, by unforeseen and irremediable misfortunes, I am reduced to an incapacity of continuing my kindness to you. Therefore,Advis. as you (speaking to the eldest son) are now of an age to shift for yourself, I would advise you to resolve upon some employment, by which you may gain a subsistence."

The poor fatherless children were thunderstruck, upon hearing this barbarous speech. Shock. Distr. They fled in tears to their mother, and, with her, came to request my protection. Finding themselves stripped of the estate left them by their father, and reduced by their hard hearted uncle and grandfather, to absolute beggary, they intreated, Intr. that I would not desert them too; but for the sake of their sister, my wife, would undertake their defence. The mother begged, that I would bring about a meeting of the relations, to reason the matter with her father; and said, that though she had never before spoke in any large company, especially of men, she would endeavour to lay before them the distresses and injuries of her family.

Diogiton, being with difficulty, brought to the meeting, Accus. the mother of the plaintiffs asked him, how he could have the heart to use her sons in such a manner. "Are [...]ou not, Sir,Remons. (says she) the uncle and the grandfather of the two fatherless youths! Are they not the children of your own brother, and of your own daughter? How could they be more nearly related to you, unless they were your own sons? And, though you despised all human authority, you ought to reverence the [Page] gods, who are witnesses of the trust reposed in you by the deceased father of the unhappy youths."

Narr.She then enumerated the several sums, the property of the deceased, which had been received by Diogiton, Accus. and charged him with them, producing authentic evidence for every particular. Remons. "You have driven, (says she) out of their own house, the children of your own daughter, in rags, unfurnished with the common decencies of life. You have deprived them of the effects, and of the money left them by their father. But you want to enrich the children you have had by my step mother; which, without doubt,Sev. Charge. you might lawfully and properly do, if it were not at the expense, and to the utter ruin of those, whose fortunes were deposited in your hands, and whom, from affluence, you want to reduce to beggary, impiously despising the authority of the gods, injuring your own daughter, and violating the sacred will of the dead."

Narr. Pity.The distressed mother having vented her grief in such bitter complaints as these, we were all, by sympathy, so touched with her afflictions, and the cruelty of her injurious father, Blame. Pity. that, when we considered, in our own minds, the hard usage, which the young innocents had met with, when we remembered the deceased Diodotus, and thought how unworthy a guardian he had chosen for his children, there was not one of us who could refrain from tears. And I persuade myself, venerable Judges, that you will not be unaffected with so calamitous a case, when you come to consider, attentively, the various aggravations of the defendant's proceedings. Accus. Such unfaithfulness, in so solemn a trust, were it to pass unpunished, and consequently, to become [Page] common, would destroy all confidence among mankind, so that nobody would know how, or to whom, he could commit the management of his affairs, in his absence, or after his death. The defendant, at first, would have denied his having had any effects of his brother's left in his hands. And when he found, he could not get off that way, he then produced an account of sums, laid out, as he pretended, by him for the children, to such a value, as is beyond all belief; no less, than seven talents of silver and seven thousand drachmae. All this, he said,Wonder. had been expended in eight years, in the clothing and maintenance of two boys, and a girl. And when he was pressed to shew how their expenses could amount to such a sum, he had the impudence to charge five obolio a day for their table; and for shoes, and dying their clothes, ⁽¹⁾ and for the barber, he gave in no particular account, neither by the month, nor by the year; but charged in one gross sum a talent of silver. For their father's monument, he pretends to have been at the expense of five thousand drachmae, of which he charges one half to the account of the children. But it is manifest, that it could not cost twenty minae. His injustice to the children appears sufficiently in the following article alone, if there were no other proof of it. He had occasion to buy a lamb for the feast of Bacchus, which cost, as he pretends, ten drachmae; and of these he charges eight to the account of his wards.

Had the defendant been a man of any principle, Accus. he would have bethought himself of laying out to advantage the fortune left in his hands by [Page] the deceased, for the benefit of the fatherless children. Had he bought with it lands or houses, the children might have been maintained out of the yearly rents, and the principal have been kept entire. But he does not seem to have once thought of improving their fortune; but on the contrary, to have contrived only how to strip them.

Narration.But the most atrocious (for a single action) of all his proceedings, is what follows. When he was made commander of the gallies, along with Alexis, the son of Aristodicus, and according to his own account, had been, on accasion of fitting out the fleet, and himself, at the expense of forty-eight minae, out of his own private purse— he charges his infant-wards with half this sum. Accus. Wonder. Whereas the state not only exempts minors from public offices, but even grants them immunity, for one year, at least, after they come of age. And when he had fitted out for a voyage to the Adriatic, a ship of burden to the value of two talents, he told his daughter, the mother of his wards, that the adventure was at the risque, and for the benefit of his words. But, when the returns were made, and he had doubled the sum by the profits of the voyage— the gains were, he said, all his own. The fortune of his wards was to answer for the damages—but was not to be at all the be [...]e for the advantages! Accus. If, in this manner, one is to trade at the peril and loss of others, and engross to himself the whole profite; it is not difficult to conceive how his partners may come to be undone, while he enriches himself.

Aversion.To lay before you all the particulars, which have come to our knowledge, of this compli [...]d scene of wickedness, would but disgust and shock you.Affir. We have witnesses here to prove [Page] what we have alledged against this cruel invader of the property of helpless innocents, Pity with Blame. his own near relations, entrusted to his charge by his deceased brother.

[The witnesses examined.]

You have heard, venerable Judges,Submis. Affirm. the evidence given against the defendant. He himself owns the actual receipt of seven talents, and forty minae of the estate of the plaintiffs. To say nothing of what he may have, Accus. or rather certainly has, Grant. gained by the use of this money; I will allow, what every reasonable person will judge more than sufficient for the maintenance of three children, with a governor and a maid, a thousand drachmae, a year,Affir. which is something less than three drachmae a day. In eight years this amounts to eight thousand drachmae. So that, upon balancing the account, there remain due to the plaintiffs, of the seven talents and forty minae, six talents and twenty minae. For the defendant cannot pretend, that the estate of the plaintiffs has suffered by fire, by water, or by any other injury, than what himself has done it. . . .

[The rest is wanting.]

[Page]

LXIX. CONSULTATION.

The speech of Satan, in his infernal palace of Pandaemonium, in which he proposes to the consideration of his angels, in what manner it would be proper to proceed, in consequence of their defeat, and fall.

[Milt. Parad. Lost. B. II.

Maj. with Distress.

POWERS, and Dominions! Deities of Heav'n!

For (since no deep within her gulph can hold

Courage.

Celestial vigour, though opprest and fall'n)

I give not Heav'n for lost. From this descent

Celestial virtues rising will appear

More glorious, and more dread, than from no fall,

And trust themselves to fear no second fate.

Author:

Me though just right, and the fix'd laws of Heav'n,

Did first create your leader, next free choice,

With what besides, in council, or in fight,

Hath been atchiev'd of merit; yet this loss

Thus far at least, recover'd, hath much more

Establish'd in a safe un-envied throne,

Yielded with full consent. The happier state

In Heav'n, which follows dignity might draw

Apprehens.

Envy from each inferior; but who here

Will envy whom the highest place exposes

Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim,

Compl. Courage.

Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share

Of endless pain. With this advantage then

To union, and firm faith, and firm accord,

More than can be in Heav'n, we now return

To claim our just inheritance of old,

Surer to prosper than prosperity

[Page]Could have assured us, and by what best way,

Whether of open war, or covert guile,

We now debate. Who can advise, may speak.

Consid.

LXX. FIERCENESS. DESPERATION.

The speeeh of the fallen angel Moloch, exciting the infernal crew to renew the wa [...] against the Messiah.⁽¹⁾

[Ibid.]

MY sentence is for open war.

Cour.

Cont.

Of wiles

More inexpert, I boast not. Then let those

Contrive, who need; unworthy of our might.

Cour.

For while they sit contriving, shall the rest,

Millions, now under arms, who longing wait

The signal to ascend,

Cont. Rage.

sit ling'ring here

Heav'n's fugitives, and for their dwelling place

Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame,

The prison of his tyranny who reigns

By our delay!—⁽²⁾ No—let us rather choose,

Fierce. Cour.

Arm'd with hell flames and fury, all at once

O'er Heav'ns high towr's to force resistless way,

Turning our tortures into horrid arms

Against our torturer. When to meet the noise

Of his terrific engine, he shall hear

Infernal thunder, and for lightning see

Black fire, and horror, shot with equal rage

Amongst his angels; and his throne itself

Mix'd with Tartarean sulphur and strange fire,

[Page]

Recol.

His own invented torments.—But perhaps

The way seems difficult, and steep to scale

With adverse wing, against a higher foe.—

Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench

Of that forgetful lake benumb not still,

That, in our proper motion, we ascend

Up to our native seat. Descend and fall

To us is adverse. Who but felt of late

When our fierce foe hung on our broken rear,

Insulting, and pursu'd us through the deep;

Slow.

With what compulsion, and laborious flight

We sunk thus low?—

Arg.

Th' ascent is easy then.—

Th' event is fear'd.—Should we again provoke.

Our enemy, some worse way he may find

To our destruction; if there be in hell

Fear to be worse destroy'd.—What can be worse

Than to dwell here, driv'n out from bliss, condemn'd

Comp.

In this abhorred deep to utter woe,

Where pain of unextinguishable fire

Must exercise us without hope of end,

The vassals of his anger, when the scourge

Inexorable, and the tort'ring hour

Call us to penance?—More destroy'd than thus

Fierce.

We must be quite abolish'd, and expire.

What fear we then?—What doubt we to incense

His utmost ire; which, to the height enrag'd,

Will either quite consume us, and reduce

Complain. Cour.

To nothing this essential; happier far

Than miserable to have eternal being.

Or if our substance be indeed divine,

And cannot cease to be, we are, at worst,

On this side nothing. And by proof we feel

Our pow'r sufficient to disturb his Heav'n,

And with perpetual inroads to alarm,

[Page]Though inaccessible, his fatal throne;

Malice.

Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.

Fury.

⁽¹⁾

LXXI. CONSIDERATION. DISSUASION. DIFFIDENCE.

The speech of the fallen angel Belial, in answer to the foregoing.

[Ibid.]

I Should be much for open war, O peers!

As not behind in hate; if what was urg'd

Main reason to persuade immediate war,

Did not dissuade me most,

Delib.

and seem to cast

Ominous conjecture on the whole success;

When he, who most excels in feats of arms,

In what he counsels,

Apprehens.

and in what excels

Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair,

And utter dissolution, as the scope

Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.

But what revenge?—The tow'rs of Heav'n are fill'd

With armed watch, that render all access

Impregnable. Oft on the bord'ring deep

Encamp their legions; or with flight obscure,

Arg. Apprehens.

Scout far and wide into the realms of night,

Scorning surprize.—Or could we break our way

By force, and at our heels all hell should rise

With blackest insurrection to confound

Heav'n's purest light; yet our great enemy,

All incorruptible, would on his throne

Sit unpolluted, and th' aethereal mould,

Incapable of stain,

Awe.

would soon expel

Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire

Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope

[Page]

Horror.

Is flat despair. We must exasperate

Our conqueror to let loose his boundless rage,

And that must end us; that must be our cure,

To be no more.—Sad cure!—For who would lose,

Tho' full of pain, this intellectual being,

These thoughts that wander through eternity—

To perish utterly; for ever lost▪

In the wide womb of uncreated night,

Arg.

Devoid of sense and motion?—But will he,

So wise, let loose at once his utmost ire,

Belike through impotence, or unawares,

To give his enemies their wish, and end

Courage. Anguish.

Them in his anger, whom his anger saves

To punish endless?—"Wherefore cease we then,"

Say they, who counsel war; "we are decreed,

Reserv'd and destined to eternal woe.

Despair.

Whatever doing, what can we suffer more?

What can we suffer worse?"

Arg.

Is this then worst,

Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms?

Terror.

What, when we fled amain, pursu'd and struck

By Heav'n's afflicting thunder, and besought

The deep to shelter us; this place then seem'd

A refuge from those wounds: Or when we lay

Chained on the burning lake? That sure was worse.

Apprehens.

What if the breath, that kindled these grim fires,

Awak'd, should blow them into sevenfold rage,

And plunge us in the flames? Or from above

Should intermitted vengeance arm again

Horror.

His red right hand to plague us? What, if all

Her stores were opened; and this firmament

Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire,

Impendent horrors, threat'ning hideous fall

One day upon our heads, while we, perhaps,

Designing or exhorting glorious war,

[Page] Caught in a fiery tempest shall be hurl'd,

Each on his rock transfix'd, the sport and prey

Of wrecking, whirlwinds, or for ever sunk

Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains,

There to converse with everlasting groans,

Argu.

Unrespited, unpitied, unreliev'd,

Ages of hopeless end!—This would be worse.

Appr.

—

War, therefore, open, or conceal'd,

Dissua.

alike

My voice dissuades.—.

"Shall we then live thus vile!

Remons. with Cont.

The race of Heav'n

Thus trampled, thus expell'd, to suffer here

Chains and these torments!" Better these than worse,

Dissua. Arg.

By my advice. To suffer, as to do,

Our strength is equal; nor the law unjust,

That so ordains. This was at first resolv'd,

If we were wise, against so great a foe

Contending, and so doubtful what might fall.

I laugh when those, who at the spear are bold,

Cont.

And vent'rous, if that fail them, shrink and fear

What yet they know must fellow; to endure

Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain,

The sentence of their conqu'ror. This is now

Our doom; which if with courage we can bear,

Encou.

Our foe supreme, in time, may much remit

His anger, and, perhaps, thus far remov'd

Not mind us, not offending, satisfy'd,

With what is punish'd; whence these raging fires

Will slacken, if his br [...]th stir not their flames.

Our pure essence then will overcome

Their noxious vapour, or inur'd, not feel,

Or chang'd, at length, and to the place conform'd

In temper, and in nature, will receive,

Familiar, the fierce heat, and void of pain,

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light▪

Besides what hope the never-ending flow

[Page]Of future days may bring; what chance, what change,

Worth waiting. Since our present lot appears,

For happy, dismal; yet, for ill, not worst,

If we procure not to ourselves more woe.

LXXII. SUBMISSION. COMPLAINT. INTREATING.

The speech of Seneca the philosopher to Nero, complaining of the envy of his enemies, and requesting the emperor to reduce him back to his former narrow circumstances, that he might no longer be an object of their malignity,

[The substance is taken from Corn. Tacit. ANNAL. xiv.]

Submis.MAY it please the imperial Majesty of Caesar favourably to accept the humble submissions and grateful acknowledgements of the weak, though faithful guide of his youth. ⁽¹⁾

Grat.It is now a great many years since I first had the honour of attending your imperial Majesty as preceptor. And your bounty has rewarded my labours with such affluence, as has drawn upon me, Compl. what I had reason to expect, the envy of many of those persons, who are always ready to prescribe to their prince, where to bestow, Apol. and where to withhold his favours. It is well known, that your illustrious ancestor, [Page]Augustus, bestowed on his deserving favourites, Agrippa, and M [...]cenas, honours, and emoluments suitable to the dignity of the benefactor, and to the services of the receivers: Nor has his conduct been blamed. My employment about your imperial Majesty has, indeed, been purely domestic: I have neither headed your armies, nor assisted at your councils. But you know, Sir, (though there are some, who do not seem to attend to it) that a prince may be served in different ways, some more, others less conspicuous, and that the latter may be, to him, as valuable as the former.

"But what" says my enemies,Pride. Remon. "shall a private person, of equestrian rank, and a provincial by birth, be advanced to an equality with the patricians? Shall an upstart, of no name, nor family, rank with those, who can by the statues, which make the ornament of their palaces, reckon backward a line of ancestors, long enough to tire out the fasti? ⁽¹⁾ Shall a philosopher who has written, for others precepts of moderation, and contempt of all that is external, himself live in affluence and luxury? Shall he purchase estates, and lay out money at interest? Shall he build palaces, plant gardens, and adorn a country, at his own expense, and for his own pleasure?"

Caesar has given royally, Grat. Apol. as became imperial magnificence. Seneca has received what his prince bestowed; nor did he ever use: he is only guilty of—not refusing. Caesar's rank places him above the reach of invidious malignity. Seneca is not, Compl. nor can be high enough to despise the envious. As the overloaded soldier, or traveller, Fatigue. would be glad to be relieved of [Page] his burden, so I, in this last stage of the journey of life, now that I find myself unequal to the lightest cares, Intreating. beg that Caesar would kindly ease me of the trouble of my unwieldy wealth. I beseech him to restore to the imperial treasury, from whence it came, what is to me superfluous and cumbrous. The time and the attention, which I am now obliged to bestow upon my villa, and my gardens, I shall be glad to apply to the regulation of my mind.— Caesar is in the flower of life.Grat. Intr. Apology. Long may he be equal to the toils o [...] government! His goodness will grant to his worn out servant, leave to retire. It will not be derogatory from Caesar's greatness, to have it said, that he bestowed favours on some, who, so far from being intoxicated with them, shewed, that they could be happy when (at their own request) divested of them.

LXIII. JEALOUSY.

Iago goes on to inflame Othello's jealousy (see page 228) against his innocent wife. Othello is by him worked up to rage.

[Shakes. OTHEL.]

Iago.

Plotting.

[Alone]

I Will in Cassio's lodging drop this handkerchief,

That he may find it; then persuade the Moor,

His wife did give it—Trifles light as air,

Are to the jealous confirmation strong

Malicious Joy.

As proofs from holy writ. This will work mischief.

Dangerous conceits are in their nature poisons,

Which at the first are scarce found to distaste;

But with a little action on the blood,

[Page] Burn, like the mines of sulphur.

[Othello appears.]

'Tis as I said.

Look where he comes! Not all the drowsy potions,

That e'er calm'd raging anguish to repose,

Shall medicine thee to that blessed sleep,

Which thou ow'd'st the past night.

Enters Othello. Does not see Iago.

Oth.

Ha! false to me!

Perturbat.

Iago.

How now, noble general?

Soothing.

No more of that.

Oth.

Avaunt! Be gone!

Rage.

Thou'st set me on the rack.

Better, unknowing, to be much abus'd,

Than but to doubt the least.

Pret. Surpr.

Iago.

How my Lord?

Oth.

What sense had I of her unfaithfulness?

Regret for lost repose.

I thought not of it; felt no injury;

I slept untroubled; I wak'd free and cheerful.

O now,

Augu. of Grief.

farewel for ever blessed peace

Of mind: Farewel the tranquil breast.

The plumea troops, the thunders of the war,

The fire of valour, and the pride of triumph.

Othello is a wicked woman's mock'ry.

Pret. Surpr.

Iago.

Is't possible, my Lord, you should be thus. . .

Oth.

Villain!

Rage.

Be sure thou prove my love a traitress,

[Catching him by the throat.Threat.]

Or, by the worth of mine eternal soul,

'Twere better for thee to have been born a dog,

Than answer my wak'd wrath.

Pret. Surpr. with Vexat.

Iago.

Is it come to this! Good Heav'n defend me!

Pret. Repr. of Ingrat.

Are you a man? Have you a soul, or sense?

I've done. Take my office—

Pret.

Wretched fool,

[Page]

Self-Accus.

That liv'st to make thine honesty a vice!

Aston.

O monstrous world! What times are we fall'n upon?

Repr. of Ingrat.

To be direct and honest, is not safe.

I thank you for this profit, and henceforth

I'll love no friend; since love breeds such offence.

[Going.]

Oth.

Recol.

Nay stay—thou should'st be honest.

Iag.

Pret. sense of Injury.

I should be wise; for honesty's a fool,

That loses what it works for.

Oth.

In my anguish

Apol.

I think my wife is honest, and think she is not.

I think that thou art just, and that thou art not.

I'll have some proof.

Regr.

Her name, ⁽¹⁾ that was as fresh,

Fury.

As Dian's ⁽²⁾ visage, is now begrim'd and black,

As mine own face. If there be cords or knives,

Poison, or fire, or suffocating steams,

I'll not endure it. Would I were but satisfy'd.

Iago.

Pret. Conc.

I see, Sir, you are eaten up with passion.

I do repent me that I ever started it.

Oth.

Anxiety.

Give me a living reason she's disloyal.

Iag.

Pret. Reluc.

I do not like the office:

But since I'm enter'd in this cause so far,

Apol.

Urg'd on by foolish honesty of friendship,

I must go on, or bear the name of slander.

I lay in the same room with Cassio lately,

Narr. Expian.

And being troubled with a raging tooth,

I could not sleep. There is a kind of men,

So loose of soul, that in their sleep, will multer

Love. Caution.

All their affairs. One of this kind is Cassio.

In sleep I heard him say, "Sweet Desdemona!

Vexat. Rage.

Let us be wary; let us hide our loves.

O cursed fate, that gave thee to the Moor."

[Page]Oth.

O monstrous! I will tear her limb from limb.

Iag.

Nay; but be calm.

Soothing.

This may be nothing yet

She may be honest still. But tell me this,

Question.

Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief

Spotted with strawberries, in your wife's hand;

Oth.

I gave her such a one.

Alarm.

'Twas my first gift.

Iag.

That I knew not.

Accus.

But such a handkerchief

(I'm sure, it was the same) did I to-day

See Cassio wipe his beard with.

Oth.

O that the slave had twenty thousand lives!

Desperation.

One is too poor—too weak for my revenge.

Iag.

Yet be patient, Sir.

Oth.

O blood, blood, blood!

Bound. Fury.

Hot, reeking blood shall wash the pois'nous stain,

Which fouls mine honour. From this hour, my thoughts

Shall ne'er look back, nor ebb to humble love,

'Till a capacious, and wide revenge,

Horror.

Equal to their gross guilt swallows them up,

Come, go with me apart. I will withdraw,

To furnish me with some swift means of death

For the fair sorc'ress, and her smooth adulterer,

Plotting.

Grat. Pert. Acknowl.

From hence thou'rt my lieutenant.

Iag.

As you will, Sir.

[Page]

LXXIV. CRAFT. FOOLISH FEAR. VEXATION.

Mascarille, a crafty servant in the interest of Leander, his master's son, contrives to send his old master into the country, and, in the mean time, persuades his friend Anselm, that he is dead, suddenly; and, on that pretext, borrows of him a sum of money for Leander.

[See Moliere, L'ETOURDI.]

Ans.

Surprise. WHAT, my good friend Pandolph dead!

Masc.

Concern. Surprise.I don't wonder the news surprises you.

Ans.

To die so very suddenly!

Masc.

Concern.It is a very hurrying way of doing things, to be sure. But who can make people live, you know, if they will die?

Ans.

Question.But how does your young master take it?

Masc.

Whim. Grief. Take it! why worse than he would a kicking. He welters on the ground like a wounded adder, and says he will absolutely go into the same grave with his dear papa. If it were not that they who take on so violently, do not, for the most part, hold it long, I should expect him to go quite compompous about it.— But—a—you must know,Apology. Sir, that we are all in a pucker at our house. The old gentleman must be buried, you know, and that requires some of the ready. And my young master, if he were in his best wits, knows no more than a broomstick, where to find a penny of money. For you know, the old one, rest his soul, kept all that same as snug as if he had thought the daylight [Page] would melt it. Now, Sir,Asking Favour. you would do us a great kindness if you will be so good as to help us with a score or two of pieces, till we can turn ourselves round a little.

Ans.

Hum—

[Aside.]

He will have a good estate. Anxiety. Avarice. Resolution. And will not grudge to pay handsome interest.

[To Masc.]

I will come to him immediately, and bring the money with me; and try to comfort him a little.

[He goes.Anxiety. Alarm. Gives the money. Is deceived by an artificial corps laid out on the bed. Returns full of anxiety.]

Lawkaday! what a sad thing this is. He was but sixty-eight, or sixty-nine; about the same age with myself. It frightens me to think of it. Suppose I should die suddenly too. I believe I had better think of repenting, and making my peace. It is true, he was a little asthmatic, and,Courage. thank God, no body has better lungs—hem—hem— hem—than myself,—Well, but I must go,Haste. and send neighbour Cloak'um, the undertaker, as I promised.

[Going, he meets the supposed dead man, who had been stopped on his way to his country-house, by persons, who informed him of the falsehood of the reports which had occasioned his setting out.]

Ah! Sudden Fear. mercy on my soul! What is that! My old friend's ghost! They say, none but wicked folks walk. I wish I were at the bottom of a coal-pit! Law! How pale, and how long his face is grown since his death. He never was handsome. And death has improved him very much the wrong way.—Pray, Intreating. do not come near me. I wished you very well when you was alive. But I could never abide a dead man cheek by jowl with me. Rest your soul! Trembling. Rest your soul, I pray! Vanish, vanish, in the name of—

Pandolph.

What the plague is the matter, Wonder. [Page] old friend! Are you gone out of your wits. I came to ask your advice; but

Ans.

Intr. Tell me, then, pray, without coming a step nearer, Trem. what you would have me do for the repose of your soul. Ah, ah, eh, eh, mercy on us! no nearer pray! If it be only to take your leave of me, that you are come back, I could have excused you the ceremony with all my heart.

[Pandolph comes nearer, to convince Anselm, that he is not dead. He draws back,Protest. as the other advances.]

Or if you— mercy on us—no nearer, pray—or if you have wronged any body, as you always loved money a little, I give the word of a frightened christian, I will pray, as long as you please, for the deliverance and repose of your departed soul. Intr. My good, worthy, noble friend, do, pray, disappear, as ever you would wish your old friend Anselm, to come to his senses again.

Pand.

Mirth.

[laughing.]

If I were not most confoundedly out of humour, I could be diverted to a pitch. Remon. But prithee now, old friend, what is in the wind; that you will have me to be dead? This is some contrivance of that rogue Mascarille; Susp. I guess by what I have just found out of his tricks.

Ans.

Fear.Ah, you are dead, too, su [...] Did not I see your corps laid out upon your own bed, and. . .

Pand.

Remon. What the duce! I am dead, and know nothing of it! But, don't you see that I am not dead?

Ans.

Fear.You are clothed with a body of air, which resembles your own person, when you was alive—only—you'll excuse me —a good deal plainer. Intr. But, pray, now, don't assume a figure more frightful. I am within a hair's breadth of losing my senses already; and if you [Page] should turn yourself into a giant, with saucereyes, or black horse without a head, or any of the ugly shapes—I ask pardon—you apparitions sometimes put on, I am sure I should go clean o' one side at the least glimpse of you. Pray, Earn. Intr. then, in the name of the blessed virgin, and all the saints, male and female, be so good as to vanish quietly, and leave your poor frightened old friend wit enough to keep him out of a mad-house. Vexat.

Pand.

This is undoubtedly that rogue Mascarille's manufacture. He has, for some gracious purpose, contrived to send me to the country on a fool's errand, and I suppose,Encour. in my absence, he has, to answer some other pious end, persuaded you that I am dead. Come, give me thy hand and thou wilt be convinced I am not dead more than thyself. Reluct.

Ans.

[drawing back.]

What was it I saw laid out upon the bed then?Encour.

Pand.

How should I know? It was not I, Reluct. however.

Ans.

If I were sure you are not dead, I should not be afraid to touch you:Shudd. Encou. but the hand of a dead man must be so co—o—o—old!

Pand.

Prithee now give over. I tell you, it is nothing but Mascarille's invention.

[He seizes Anselm's hand, who sereams out.Terr. Returns Cour.]

Ans.

Ah! St Anthony preserve me!—Ah —ah—eh—eh—Why — why — after all, your hand is not so co—o—o—old, neither. Of the two, it is rather warmer than my own. Can it be, though, that you are not dead? Encour.

Pand.

Not I.

Ans.

I begin to question it a little myself. Recol. But still my mind misgives me plagui [...]y about the corps I saw laid out upon your bed. If I could but find out what that was—

[Page]Pand.

Encour. Pshaw, prithee, what signifies it what it was? As long as you see plainly I am not dead.

Ans.

Retol.Why yes, as you say, that is the point. But yet the corps upon the bed haunts me. But—

[pauses]

I'll be hang'd if it be not as you say. Vexation. Mascarille is a rogue. But, if you be not dead, I am in two sweet scrapes. One is, the danger of being dubbed Mascarille's fool. The other of losing fifty pieces, I furnished him for your interment

Pand.

Discovery.O, you have lent him money, have you? Then the secret is out.

Ans.

Apology. Yes; but you know, it was upon the credit of your estate, and for your own personal benefit. For, if you had been dead, you must have been buried, you know. And Mascarille told me, your son could come at no ready cash, you know.Insinuating. So that I hope you will see me paid, you know.

Pand.

Refusing.I'll be hang'd if I do. I have enough to pay on that score otherwise.

Ans.

Vexation.I'll pluck off every single grey hair that is upon my old foolish head.—What! to have no more wit at this time of life!—I expect nothing else than that they should make a farce in praise of my wisdom, and act me, till the town be sick of me.

[Exeunt different ways.]

[Page]

LXXV. EXHORTATION.

The speech of Galgacus the general of the Caledonii, The Caledonii were, according to Ptolemy, the inhabitants of the interior parts of what before the unto a was called Scotland, now North-Britain. in which he exhorts the army he had assembled, in order to expel the Romans, to fight valiantly against their foes under Jul. Agricola.

Corn. Tacit. VIT. AGRIC.

COUNTRYMEN, and FELLOW-SOLDIERS!

WHEN I consider the cause, Cour. for which we have drawn our swords, and the necessity of striking an effectual blow, before we sheath them again, I reel joyful hopes arising in my mind, that this day an opening shall be made for the restoration of British liberty, and for shaking off the infamous yoke of Roman slavery. Caledonia is yet free. Vexat. The all-grasping power of Rome has not yet been able to seize our liberty. Cour. But it is only to be preserved by valour. By flight it cannot: Warn. for the sea confines us; and that the more effectually, as being possessed by the fleets of the enemy. As it is by arms, that the brave acquire immortal fame, so it is by arms that the sordid must defend their lives and properties, or lose them. You are the very men, my friends,Encour. who have hitherto set bounds to the unmeasurable ambition of the Romans. In consequence of your inhabiting the more inaccessible parts of the island, to which the shores of those countries on the continent, which are enslaved by the Romans, are invisible, you have hitherto [Page] hitherto been free from the common disgrace, and the common sufferings. You lie almost out of the reach of fame itself. Warn. But you must not expect to enjoy this untroubled security a [...]y longer, unless you bestir yourselves so effectually, as to put it out of the power of the enemy to search out your retreats, and disturb your repose. If you do not, curiosity alone will set them a prying, and they will conclude that there is somewhat worth the labour of conquering, in the interior parts of the island, merely because they have never seen them. What is little known, is often coveted, because so little known. And you are not to expect, that you should escape the ravage of the general plunderers of mankind, by any sentiment of moderation in them. When the countries, which are more accessible, come to be subdued, they will then force their way into those, Accus. which are harder to come at. And if they should conquer the dry land, over the whole world, they will then think of carrying their arms beyond the ocean, to see, whether there be not certain unknown regions, which they may attack, and reduce under subjection to the Roman [...] empire. For we see, that if a country is thought to be powerful in arms, the Romans attack it, because the conquest will be glorious; if inconsiderable in the military art, because the victory will be easy; if rich, they are drawn thither by the hope of plunder; if poor, by the desire of fame. The east and the west, the south and the north, the face of the whole earth, is the scene of their military atchievements; the world is too little for their ambition, and their avarice. They are the only nation ever known to be equally desirous of conquering a poor kingdom as a rich one.Horr. Their supreme joy seems to be ravaging, fighting, and shedding [Page] of blood; and when they have unpeopled a region, so that there are none left alive able to bear arms, they say, they have given peace to that country.

Nature itself has peculiarly endeared to all men, their wives, and their children. Tender. But it is known to you my countrymen, that the conquered youth are daily draughted off to supply the deficiencies in the Roman army. Horror. The wives, the sisters, and the daughters of the conquered are either exposed to the violence, or at least corrupted by the arts of these cruel spoilers. The fruits of our industry, Accus. are plundered to make up the tributes imposed on us by oppressive avarice. Britons sow their fields; and the greedy Romans reap them.Compl. Our very bodies are worn out in carrying on their military works, and our toils are rewarded by them with abuse and stripes. Those, who are born to slavery, are bought and maintained by their master. Indig. But this unhappy country pays for being enslaved, and feeds those who enslave it. And our portion of disgrace is the bitterest, as the inhabitants of this island are the last, who have fallen under the galling yoke. Our native bent against tyranny, is the offence, Accus. which most sensibly irritates those lordly usurpers. Our distance from the seat of government, and our natural defence by the surrounding ocean, render us obnoxious to their suspicions: for they know, that Britons are born with an instinctive love of liberty; and they conclude, that we must be naturally led to think of taking the advantage of our detached situation, to disengage ourselves one time or other, from their oppression.

Thus, my countrymen, and fellow-soldiers,Warn. suspected and hated, as we ever must be by the Romans, there is no prospect of our enjoying even a tolerable state of bondage under them. [Page] Let us,Cour. then, in the name of all that is sacred, and in defence of all that is dear to us, resolve to exert ourselves, if not for glory, at least for safety; if not in vindication of British honour, at least in defence of our lives. Commed. How near were the Brigantines ⁽¹⁾ to shaking off the yoke—led on too by a woman?—They burnt a Roman settlement: they attacked the dreaded Roman legions in their camp. Regr. Had not their partial success drawn them into a fatal security, the business was done. Cour. And shall not we of the Caledonian region, whose territories are yet free, and whose strength entire, shall we not, my fellow-soldiers, attempt somewhat, which may shew these foreign ravagers, that they have more to do than they think of, before they be masters of the whole island.

Remons.But, after all, who are these mighty Romans! Are they gods, or mortal men, like ourselves? Do we not see, that they fall into the same errors, and weaknesses, as others? Does not peace effeminate them? Does not abundance debauch them? Does not wantonness enervate them?Cour. Do they not even go to excess in the most unmanly vices? And can you imagine, that they,Cour. Regr. who are remarkable for their vices, are likewise remarkable for their valour? What, then, do we dread?—Shall I tell you the very truth, my fellow-soldiers? it is by means of our intestine divisions, that Romans have gained so great advantages over us. They turn the mismanagements of their enemies to their own praise. They boast of what they have done, and say nothing of what we might have done, had we been so wise as to unite against them.

[Page] What is this formidable Roman army? Cont. Is it not composed of a mixture of people from different countries, some more, some less, disposed to military atchievements; some more, some less, capable of bearing fatigue and hardship. They keep together, while they are successful. Cour. Attack them with vigour: distress them: you will see them more disunited among themselves, than we are now. Can any one imagine, that Gauls, Germans, and—with shame I must add,Regr. Britons, who basely lend, for a time, their limbs, and their lives, to build up a foreign tyranny; Cour. can one imagine, that these will not be longer enemies than slaves? Or that such an army is held together by sentiments of fidelity, or affection? No: the only body of union among them is fear. And, whenever terror ceases to work upon the minds of that mixed multitude, they,Cont. who now fear, will then hate their tyrannical masters. On our side, there is every possible incitement to valour. The Roman courage is not, as ours, Cour. inflamed by the thought of wives and children in danger of falling into the hands of the eneemy. The Romans have no parents, as we have, to reproach them, if they should desert their infirm old age. Cont. They have no country here to fight for. They are a motly collection of foreigners, in a land wholly unknown to them, cut off from their native country, hemmed in by the surrounding ocean, and given, I hope, a prey into our hands, without all possibility of escape. Let not the sound of the Roman name affright your ears. Nor let the glare of gold or silver, upon their armour, dazzle your eyes. It is not by gold, or silver, that men are either wounded or defended; though they are rendered a richer prey to the conquerors. Cour. Let us boldly attack this disunited rabble. We shall find among themselves [Page] a reinforcement to our army. The degenerated Britons, who are incorporated into their forces, will, through shame of their country's cause deserted by them, quickly leave the Romans, and come over to us. The Gauls, remembering their former liberty, and that it was the Romans who deprived them of it, will forsake their tyrants, and join the assertors of freedom. The Germans, who remain in their army, will follow the example of their countrymen, the Usipii, who so lately deserted. And what will there be then to fear? A few half-garrisoned forts; Cont. a few municipal towns inhabited; by worn-out old men, discord universally prevailing, occasioned by tyranny in those who command, Cour. and obstinacy in those who should obey. On our side, an army united in the cause of their country, their wives, their children, their aged parents, their liberties, their lives. At the head of this army—I hope I do not offend against modesty in saying,Apol. there is a General ready to exert all his abilities, such as they are, and to hazard his life in leading you to victory, and to freedom.

Encour.I conclude, my countrymen, and fellow-soldiers, with putting you in mind, that on your behaviour this day depends your future enjoyment of peace and liberty, or your subjection to a tyrannical enemy, with all its grievous consequences. When, therefore, you come to engage—think of your ancestors—and think of your posterity.

[Page]

LXXVI. DOUBTING. VEXATION. AFFECTATION of LEARNING. COMPULSION. &c. [See Moliere's MARRIAGE FORCE.]

Longhead solus, with an open letter in his hand.

I WAS wrong to proceed so far in this matter so hastity. To fix the very day, Vexation. Apprehens. and then fail. Her father will prosecute me, to be sure, and will recover heavy damages too, Apology. Blame. as he threatens me. But then, what could I do? Could I marry with the prospect I had before me? To tell me, she married to get free from restraint, and that she expected, I should make no inquiry into her conduct, more than she would into mine! Apprens. Courage. If she speaks so freely before marriage, how will she act after? No, no, I'll stand his prosecution. Recollecti. Desire. Better be a begger than a cuckold.—But hold.—Perhaps I am more afraid than hurt. She might mean only innocent freedom—She is a charming girl. Doubt. Desire. Apprehens. Anxiety. But I am thirty years older than she in—I would wish to marry her; but I should not like what I am afraid will be the consequence. What resolution shall I take? I'll be hang'd, if I know what to do. On one hand, beauty inviting; Desire. Apprehens. Vexation. on the other, cuckoldom as ugly as the d—l. On one hand, marriage; on the other a law-suit. I am in a fine dilemma.—Lancelot Longhead; Lancelet Longhead;

[striking himself on the forehead.]

I'll tell you what, old friend, I doubt you are but a simpleton all this while, that have been thinking yourself a little Solomon. I'll e'en go and consult with some friends, what [Page] I must do.Doubt. For I cannot determine, within myself, whether I had better try to make it up with the family, and go on with my intended marriage, or set them at defiance, and resolve to have nothing to do with matrimony.—If any body advises me to marry, Confid. Resolution. I'll venture it, I think. Let me see, what wise, sagacious people are there of my acquaintance?—Oh—my two neighbours, Dr. Neverout, and Dr. Doubty; men of universal learning! Ill go to them directly. And here is Dr. Neverout coming out of this house very fortunately.

Neverout,

Anger.

[talking to one in the house.]

I tell you, friend, you are a silly fellow, ignorant of all good discipline, and fit to be banished from the republic of letters. Affectat. of Learning. I will undertake to demonstrate to you by convincing arguments, drawn from the writings of Aristotle himself, the philosopher of philosophers, that ignarus es, you are an ignorant fellow: that ignarus eras, you was an ignorant fellow; that ignarus fuisti, you have been an ignorant fellow; that, ignarus fueras, you had been an ignorant fellow; and that, ignarus eris, you will be an ignorant fellow, through all the genders, cases, numbers, voices, moods, tenses, and persons, of all the articles, the nouns, the pronouns, the verbs, the participles, the adverbs, prepositions, interjections, and conjunctions.

Longh.

Wonder.Somebody must have used him very ill, to make him call so many hard names. Dr. Neverout, Civil. your servant. A word with you, if you please, Sir.

Nev.

Contempt. You pretend to reason! You don't so much as know the first elements of the art of reasoning. Learned Pride. You don't know the difference between a category and a predicament, nor between a major and a minor,

[Page]Longh.

His passion blinds him so, he does not see me. Doctor, I kiss your hands. Civil. May one . . .

Nev.

Do you know what a blunder you have committed? Do you know,Contempt. Pride. what it is to be guilty of a syllogism in Balordo? Your major is foolish, your minor impertinent, and your conclusion ridiculous.

Longh.

Pray, Doctor, what is it,Enquiring. that so disturbs your philosophy?

Nev.

The most atrocious provocation in the world. Anger. Pride. An ignorant fellow would defend a proposition the most erroneous, the most abominable, the most execrable that ever was uttered or written.

Longh.

May I ask, what it is? Inquiring. Apprehens.

Nev.

Mr. Longhead, all is ruined. The world is fallen into a general depravity. A degree of licentiousness, that is alarming,Reproach. reigns universally; and the governours of states have reason to be ashamed of themselves, who have power in their hands for maintaining good order among mankind, and suffer such enormities to pass unpunished.

Longh.

What is it, pray, Sir?Inquiring. Accus.

Nev.

Only think, Mr. Longhead, only think, that in a christian country, a person should be allowed to use an expression publicly, that one would think would frighten a nation; an expression, that one would expect to raise the devil! Only think of—"The form of a hat!"—There, Mr. Longhead,Amazement. there's an expression for you! Did you think you should have lived to hear such an expression as— "The form of a hat?"

Longh.

How, Sir?Enquiring. I don't understand wherein the harm of such an expression consists.

Nev.

I affirm and insist upon it,Positive. with [Page] hands and feet, pugnis et calcibus, unguibus, et rostro, that to say, "The form of a hat," is as absurd, as to say, that, datur vacuum in rerum naturâ, there is a vacuum in nature.

[Turning again to the person with whom he had been disputing in the house.Displeasure. Contempt.]

Yes, ignorant creature a hat is an inanimate substance, and therefore form cannot be predicated of it.Learned Pride. Ga, illiterate wretch, and read Aristotle's chapter of qualities. Go, study Aquinas, Burgersdicius, and Scheiblerus, of the ten predicaments. Go; and then say "The form of a hat," if you dare. Satisfac.

Longh.

O, I thought, Doctor, something worse than all this had happened.

Nev.

Apprehen. Ostentation of Learning.What would you have worse, unless a comet were to come from beyond the orbit of Saturn, and either burn the world by its near approach; drown it by attracting the sea, and raising a tide three miles high; or force it from its orbit by impinging against it, and make it either fly out into infinite space, or rush to the sun the entre of our system. Apprehen. Except this, what can be worse than confounding language, destroying qualities, demolishing predicaments, and, in short, overturning all science from the foundation. For Logic is the foundation of science.

Longh.

Consulting. Intreating.Why, it may be a bad thing for what I know. But, pray, Doctor, let a body speak with you.

Nev.

Anger.

[To the person in the house.]

An impertinent fellow!

Longh.

Intreating.He is so; but I want your advice, Doctor, in. . .

Nev.

Anger. Intreating.A blockhead!

Longh.

Well, I own he is so; but no more of that, Pride. . pray, good Doctor.

Nev.

To pretend to dispute with me!

[Page]Longh.

He is very much in the wrong, Consulting. Intreating, Asking Advice. to be sure. But now let me ask you a question, Doctor. You must know, Sir, that I have been thinking of marrying. Only I am a little afraid of that, you know of; the misfortune for which no body is pitied. Now I should be glad you would, as a philosopher, give me your opinion on this point.

Nev.

Rather than admit such an expression, Angu. I would deny substantial forms, and abstract entities.

Longh.

Plague on the man!Vexation. Intreating. He knows nothing of what I have been saying. Why Dr. Neverout, I have been talking to you this hour, and you give me no answer.

Nev.

I ask your pardon. Apol. I was engaged in supporting truth against ignorance: but now I have done. If what I have said will not convince, let the ignorant be ignorant still. What would you consult me upon?Intreating.

Longh.

I want to talk with you about an affair of consequence.

Nev.

Good.Enquiring. And what tongue do you intend to use in the conversation with me?

Longh.

What tongue? Why,Wonder. the tongue I have in my mouth.

Nev.

I mean, what language; what speech? Enquiring. Do you intend to talk with me in Latin, Greek, or Hebrew?

Longh.

Not I.Wonder. I don't know one of them from another.

Nev.

Then you will use a modern language, I suppose, as the Italian, perhaps,Enquir. which is sweet and musical. Vexation. Enquiring.

Long.

No.

Nev.

The Spanish, which is majestic and sonorous.

Longh.

No. Vexation.

[Page]Nev.

Enquiring.The English, which is copious and expressive.

Longh.

Vexation. Enquiring. No.

Nev.

The High Dutch is but an indifferent language. You won't I suppose, make use of it in this conversation.

Longh.

Vexation. Enquiring. No.

Nev.

And the Low Dutch is worse still. Will you talk to me in Turkish? It is a lofty language.

Longh.

Vexation. Enquiring. No.

Nev.

What think you of the Syriac, the Arabic, the Chaldaic, the Persian, the Palmyrene? Do you choose any of them?

Longh.

Vexation. Enquiring. No.

Nev.

What language then?

Longh.

Vexation.Why the language we are talking now.

Nev.

Satisfac.Oh! you will speak in the vernacular tongue? If so, please to come on the left side. The right ear is for the foreign, Learned Pride. and the learned languages.

Longh.

Here is a deal of ceremony with such sort of people. Vexation. Intreating. I want to consult you, Doctor, about an affair of consequence.

Nev.

O! I understand you. You want my opinion upon some of the difficulties in philosophy, Affected Learning. as, for example; Whether substance and accident, are terms synonymous or equivocal, with regard to the being?

Longh.

No that is not it.

Nev.

Vexation. Affect.Whether Logic is an art, or a science?

Longh.

Vexation. No, no. I don't care a half-penny which.

Nev.

Affect.If it has for its object the three operations of the mind, or the third only.Vexation.

Longh.

That is not the affair.

[Page]Nev.

Whether, properly speaking,Affect. there are six categories, or only one?

Longh.

I don't care,Vexat. if there were six bushels of catechisms. That is not what I want. I am. . .

Nev.

Perhaps you want to know whether the conclusion is of the essence of the syllogism? Affect. Vexat.

Longh.

No, no no. It is not about any such point; but [...]. . .

Nev.

Whether the essence of good is appetibility, or suitableness. Affect.

Longh.

I am going to tell you my business, Vexat. if. . .

Nev.

You would know, perhaps,Affect. if the good and the end are reciprocal?

Longh.

Not a bit. Vexat.

Nev.

Whether the end influences, Affect. us by its real essence, or by its intentional?

Longh.

No, no, it is quite another affair, Vexat. I tell you.

Nev.

You must explain yourself, then;Affect. for I have mentioned the most difficult points, and those, that are commonly agitated in the schools in our times.

Longh.

I should have told you my business an hour ago, if you would have heard me.Vexat.

Nev.

Pronounce then.Affect. Intr.

Longh. and Nev. together

The affair I want to consult Speech was given to man on you about, Dr. Neverout, is this; Affect. I have had purpose, that by it he might express his thoughts: thoughts of marrying a young lady, who is and as the thoughts are the images of things, very handsome, and much to my liking. I have so words are the images of our thoughts. Make asked her father's consent, and he has granted use therefore of words to explain to me your it. Only I am afraid. . . thoughts. . .

[Page]Longh.

Impat. Plague on this everlasting talker. Who is like to be the wiser for him; if he will not so much as hear what one has to say to him? I'll go to Dr. Doubty. Perhaps he will be more reasonable. Joy. Civil.—And, very fortunately, here he comes. I will consult him at once.—Dr. Doubty, I beg your wise advice about a matter of great concern to me.

Doubt.

Affect. Learn.Be pleased, good Mr. Longhead, to alter your phraseology. Our philosophy directs to give out no decisive propositions; but to speak of all things with uncertainty; and always to suspend our judgment. Therefore you ought not to say—"I beg your advice," but —"I seem to beg it."

Longh.

Su [...]pr.I seem! What signifies talking of seems; when I am here on the spot with you?

Doubt.

Affect.That is nothing to the purpose. You may imagine a thousand things, in which there is no reality.

Longh.

Wond. What! is there no realty in my being here talking with Dr. Doubty?

Doubt.

Affect.It is uncertain; and we ought to doubt of every thing. You appear to my external senses to be here, as I, perhaps, to yours. But nothing is certain. All things are doubtful.

Longh.

Wond. Sure, Dr. Doubty, you are disposed to be merry. Here am I: there are you: here is no seem; no uncertainty; nothing doubtful; but all as plain as the nose on your face. Chid. In [...]. Let us, for shame, drop these whims, and talk of my business. You must know, Dr. Doubty, that I have had thoughts of marrying, and should be glad of your opinion and advice.

Doubt.

Affect.I don't know, that you have had thoughts of marrying.

Longh.

Vexat. Affect.But I tell it you.

Doubt.

That may be, or it may not be.

[Page]Longh.

The young lady I had made choice of, is very young, and very handsome. Anxiety.

Doubt.

That may be or it may not be. Affecta. Anxiety.

Longh.

Do you think, I shall do wisely in marrying her?

Doubt.

You may do wisely, Affect. for aught I know, or you may do unwisely, for aught I know.

Longh.

I am very much in love with the young lady.Anxiety.

Doubt.

That is not impossible. Affect. Anxiety.

Longh.

But, as she is much younger than me, I am afraid of, you know what.

Doubt.

You may be afraid, Affect. for aught I know.

Longh.

Do you think,Anxiety. I should run the hazard of being a cuckold, if I should marry her?Affect.

Doubt.

There is no natural impossibility in it. But, if you should, you may, perhaps, Affect. not be the first, nor the last. But all things are uncertain.

Longh.

But what would you do, Anxiety. if you were in my place, Dr. Doubty?

Doubt.

It is uncertain, as all things are.Affect.

Longh.

But what do you advise me to do?Anxiety. Indiff.

Doubt.

What you please.

Longh.

I shall go [...]d. Vexation. Indiff.

Doubt.

I wash my hands of it.

Longh.

A plague on the old dreamer! Anger. Indiff.

Doubt.

Happen what will, I am clear.

Longh.

I'll make you change your cuckow-note, you old philosophical hu [...]dru [...], Passion. you—

[beats him]

—I will—

[beats him]

I'll make you say somewhat else, than "All things are doubtful; all things are uncertain"—

[beats him]

I will, you old fusty pedant.

Doubt.

Ah!—oh!—eh! Compl.—What beat a philosopher!—Ah!—oh!—eh!

[Page]Longh.

Stiff [...].Be pleased, Dr. Doubty

[mimicking the Doctor]

to alter your phraseology. Your phylosophy directs you to give out no decisive propositions; but to speak of all things with uncertainty, and always to suspend your judgment.—Therefore, you ought not to say—"I have been beaten;" but—"I seem to have been beaten."

Doub.

Anger. Threat. Indiff. Anger.I will have you prosecuted with the utmost rigor of the law.

Longh.

I wash my hands of it.

Doub.

I will shew the marks of the blows I have received from you.

Longh.

Indiff.You may imagine a thousand things in which there is no reality.

Doub.

Anger.I will go directly to a magistrate, and have a warrant for you.

[Exit Doubty.]

Longh.

There is no natural impossibility in it.Indiff.

Enter Captain Pinkum, with two swords in one hand, and a cane in the other.

Pink.

Respect.Mr. Longhead, I am your most obedient, most humble servant.

Longh.

Indiff.Sir, your servant.

Pink.

Respect.Sir, I have the honour of waiting on you, to let you know, that, as you was pleased to disappoint us yesterday, which was the day fixed by yourself for your marriage with my sister, you and I must settle that affair in an honourable way.

Longh.

Vexation.Why, Sir, it is with regret that I failed you; but. . .

Pink.

Respect. Oh! Sir, there's no harm as we shall order matters.

[Page]Longh.

I am sorry it so happens.Vexat. But some little scruples chanced to come into my mind about the difference between our ages, which, you know, is pretty considerable. And I put off the marriage for a little time, only that I might consider of it, and advise with my friends. And now, that the day is past, I think it may be better for us both, that it be let alone altogether.

Pink.

Sir, as you please.Respect. You know it is not an object of any consequence. But, Sir, what, I have done myself the honour of waiting on you for, is only to beg the favour of you, Sir, to choose which you please of these two swords. They are both good, I assure you, Sir,Affirm. and as fairly matched as I could. If my judgment deserves any regard, you need not hesitate long. Either of them is very fit for a gentleman to be run through with.

Longh.

Sir, I don't understand you.Surprise.

Pink.

O, Sir, I wonder at that. Respect. The thing is not hard to be understood. It is no more than this, Sir, that if a gentleman promises a lady marriage, and, especially, if he fixes the day and fails of performing his contract, the relations, of the lady (whose character and fortune in [...]e are injured by it, you know, Sir) generally think it proper to commence a prosecution against the gentleman; and the law gives, in those cases, heavy damages. My father had thoughts of prosecuting you, Sir, as he wrote you. But as law is tedious, we chose rather, Sir, upon second thoughts, to vindicate the honour of our family in a more expeditious way. Therefore, if you please, Sir, I will endeavour to whip you through the lungs in the neatest manner now practised in the army. And I offer you your choice of one of these two swords, to defend [Page] yourself with. This, you must own, Sir, is treating you genteelly. For, you know, I could run you through the body now, without giving you the opportunity of defending yourself.—Please, Sir, to make your choice.

Longh.

Refus.Sir, your humble servant. I shall make no such choice, I assure you.

Pink.

Respect.Sir—you must, if you please, fight me. You shall have fair play, upon my honour.

Longh.

Refus.Sir, I have nothing to say to you,

[Going.]

Sir, your humble servant.

Pink.

Respect. O dear Sir,

[stopping him]

you must excuse me for stopping you. But you and I are not to part, till one or t'other drops, I assure you, Sir.

Longh.

Mercy on us! Was ever such a bloody-minded fellow!

Pink.

Sir, I really have a little business upon my hands; so that I must beg you will give me leave to run you through as soon as possible.

Longh.

Refus.But I don't intend that you shall run me through at all. For I will have nothing to say to you.

Pink.

Respect.If you mean, Sir, that you won't fight me, I must do myself the honour of telling you, that you are in a little mistake, Sir. For the order of such things is this, Explan. Sir. First, a gentleman happens to affront another gentleman or a family, as you have done ours, Sir. Next, the gentleman affronted, or some one of the family, in order to vindicate their honour, challenges to single combat, the gentleman who did the injury, as I have done you, Sir. Then the gentleman who did the injury, perhaps, refuses to fight. The other proceeds to take the regular course of beating [counting on his fingers [bruising, kicking, cuffing, pulling by the nose, [Page] and ears, rolling in the dirt, and stamping on him, till the breath be fairly out of his body, and there is an end of him, and of the quarrel, you know. Or if the gentleman, who happened to do the injury, will fight, which, to be sure, is doing the thing genteelly, you know; why then, one, or t'other is decently run through the body, and there is an end of the matter another way, you know. Now, Sir,Respect. you see plainly, that my proceedings are regular, and gentleman-like—gentleman-like— absolutely. So Sir, once more, and but once more, will you be pleased to accept of one, or t'other, of these two swords?

Longh.

Not I, truly.Refus. Respect.

Pink.

Why then, Sir, the first step I am to take, you know, is to cane you, which I humbly beg leave to proceed to accordingly.—

[Canes him.]

Longh.

Ah! —eh!—oh! Compl. Respect.

Pink.

Then, Sir, the next operation is cuffing—no, I am wrong; kicking is next.

[Kicks him.]

Longh.

Hold, hold. Is the d—l in you?Compl. Oh! I am bruised all over!

Pink.

Sir, I ask your pardon, Respect. if I have offended you; I did not mean it, I assure you, Sir. All I want, is to vindicate the honour of our family. If you had fulfilled your contract, you had spared me all this trouble. Besides,Haste. I am really pressed for time; therefore must take the liberty of proceeding, as expeditiously as possible, to the remaining operations of cuffing you, pulling you by the nose and ears, rolling you in the dirt, and stamping the breath out of your body. Come, Sir, if you please.

Longh.

Hold a little, pray,—Oh! Respect. Intreat.—my bones are bruised to jelly. Compl. Intreat.—Is there no way of compounding this affair but by blood and murder?

[Page]Pink.

Respect. O yes, Sir. You have only to fulfil your contract, and all will be well.

Longh.

Distress.

[Aside.]

What the duce must I do?—I had better be cuckolded, I believe, than trod to death. Reluctance.—

[To him.]

I am willing—I am willing—to perform the contract.—Oh! my poor bones!—Oh!

Pink.

Respect. Joy. Complais.Sir, you are a gentleman, every inch of you. I am very glad to find you are come to a right way of thinking. I assure you, Sir, there is no man in the world, for whom I have a greater regard, nor whom I should rather wish to have for a brother-in-law. Inviting. Come, Sir, the ceremony shall be performed immediately.

[Exeunt.]

LXXVII. WARNING. BLAMING. COMMENDATION. INSTRUCTION.

The substance of Isocrates's Areopagitic oration, which is celebrated by Dion Halicarn.

Tom. II. p. 40.

Apology.I DOUBT not, Athenians, but many of you will wonder what should excite me to address you upon public affairs, as if the state were in immediate danger, whilst, to you, we seem to be in perfect safety, a general peace prevailing, and the commonwealth secured by formidable fleets and armies, and strengthened by powerful allies, Triumph. and tributary states, to support the public expenses, and co-operate with us in every emergency. All which circumstances seeming to be in our favour, I suppose most of those who now hear me, imagine, we have nothing to do, but congratulate ourselves on our [Page] happiness, and enjoy ourselves in peace; and that it is only our enemies, who have any thing to fear. I therefore, take for granted,Contempt. Athenians, you do, in your own minds, despise my attempt to alarm you; and that, in your imaginations, Pride. Alarm. you already grasp the empire of all Greece. But what would you think, my countrymen, if I should tell you, it is on account of the seemingly favourable circumstances, I have mentioned, that I am apprehensive. My observation has presented me so many instances of states, which at the very time they seemed to be at the height of prosperity, were in fact upon the brink of ruin; that I cannot help being alarmed at the security, in which I see my country, at present sunk. When a nation is puffed up with an opinion of her own strength and safety; it is then that her counsels are likely to be rash and imprudent, and their consequences fatal. The condition of kingdoms, as of individuals, is variable. Caution. Permanent tranquillity is seldom seen in this world. And with circumstances the conduct both of individuals and of nations, is commonly seen to change. Instruct. Prosperity generally produces arrogance, rashness, folly. Want and distress, naturally suggest prudent and moderate resolutions. Therefore, it is not so easy, as at first view it may seem, to determine, which condition i [...], for the purpose of real happiness, the most to be desired for individuals; or, with a view to national prosperity, which state one should wish public affairs to be in, during his own life, and that of his children; whether of perfect superiority to danger and fear, or of circumstances requiring caution, frugality, and attention. For that condition, which is most desired by mankind, I mean of perfect prosperity, generally brings with it the causes, [Page] and the fore-runners of misfortune; whilst narrower circumstances commonly lead on to care, prudence and safety. Of the truth of this observation, better proofs can [...]ot be desired, than those which the histories of our own commonwealth, and of Lacedaemon, furnish. Was not the taking of our city, Arguing. [...] the barbarians, the very cause of our applying, with such diligence, to the a [...] of w [...] and government, Apprehens. as set us at the head of Gre [...]? But when our s [...]ess against our enemies misled us into the imagination, that our power was [...]conq [...]nable, we soon found ourselves on the v [...]ga of destruction. Arguing. The Lacedaemonians, likewise, from inhabiting a f [...] [...]bse [...]e towns, came, through a diligent attention to the military art, Contempt. to conquer P [...]p [...]nes [...]. And, upon this, increasing their power by sea and land, they were soon puffed up to such a height of pride and folly, as brought them into the same dangers, which we had run into.

Arguing.Whoever attends to these particulars, and yet thinks our commonwealth in a safe condition, Apprehens. [...]oust be entremely thoughtless, especially as our affairs are now i [...] [...]or [...] state, than at the pe [...]d I [...]r to; for we have both the [...] of the other states of Greece, and the hostility of the king of P [...]rs [...] to fear.

Blame.When I [...]des these things, I am in doubt, whether, I should conclude that you have [...] all ca [...] for the public safety; or that you [...] not indifferent, but wholly ignorant of the present dangerous state of our affairs. May it not be said,Contempt. Alarm. that we have l [...]st the cities of Thrace; that we have squandered above a thousand talents in military pay, by which we have gained nothing; that we have drawn upon ourselves the suspicion of the other [Page]states of Greece, and the enmity of the barbarous king; ⁽¹⁾ and that we are necessitated to take the side of the Thehans, and have lost our own natural allies? Blame. And for these signal advantages we have twice appointed public thanksgivings to the gods: and shew, in our deliberations, the tranquillity, which could only be proper, if all went in perfect safety. Nor is it to be wondered, that we fall into wrong measures, and consequent misfortunes. Intr. Nothing is to be expected to go right in a state, unless its governors know how by prudence and sagacity, to consult the generall advantage. Fortune may, occasionally, bring partial success, and temporary prosperity;Blame. but upon this there can be no dependence. When the command of all Greece fell into our hands in consequence of the naval victory gained by Conon and Timotheus, we could not keep what we were in actual possession of. The very constitution of our commonwealth is gone wrong, and we have not the least thought of entering upon ways and means to se [...] it right; Instruct. whilst we all know that it is not the surrounding of a only with high and strong walls, not assembling together a multitude of people that makes a great and flourishing state, but wholesome laws, a wise police, and a faithful administration. Desire.

How much, therefore, is it to be wished, that the commonwealth could be brought back to the condition in which the wise legislat [...] of Solon placed it (than whom no one ever had the good of the people more at heart) and to which Clisthenes restored it, when enslaved by the thirty tyrants, whom he expelled; re-establishing the commonwealth in the hands of the people according to the original constitution. Instruct. It is [Page] notorious, that in the happier times, when the republic was administered according to the original constitution, Blame. there was not, as since, a nominal liberty, with a real tyranny; but that the people were accustomed to other principles, than those, which now lead them to consider democracy as the same with anarchy, liberty with licentiousness; and that their happiness consists in the unpunished violation of the laws. In those times, Commend. the equal distribution of justice, which prevailed, brought adequate punishment upon those who deserved it, and conferred the due honours upon such as had earned them by their virtue. Preferment, Blame. to stations of power and trust, was not,Commend. in those days, open to all promiscuously. They, who appeared to the public to have the best claim by merit and character, obtained them. For they wisely considered, that to promote to high stations men of superior eminence for virtue, was the likeliest means to excite a general emulation among persons of all ranks, even to the lowest; Instruct. as the people are constantly observed to form their manners upon the model of their superiors. Blame. Instead of the public treasures plundered to fill the coffers of private persons; it was common to see large sum [...] of private wealth voluntarily contributed for defraying the public expense. Commend. In those times, the difficulty was, to prevail with the persons qualified for filling important stations,Blame. to assume them: whereas in our days, all, are aspiring to preferment, worthy and unworthy, qualified and unqualified. In those times,Commend. they, who refused, were the most solicited to assume high stations; as it was considered that merit is commonly diffident of itself. Blame. In our days, they, who elbow others, and thrust themselves forward, obtain the most readily, what they, by this very conduct, [Page] shew themselves the most unworthy of.Cont. Our ancestors did not look upon a place of authority as an emolument; but as a charge: Commend. Cont. the successor did not enquire what his predecessor had gained, while he held his employment,Commend. but what he had left undone, that the deficiency might be supplied, as soon as possible. They held it proper, that the administration should be trusted to those, who had the most to lose, in case of a subversion of the state; but so, that no riches, or power, should screen any person from an enquiry into his conduct, nor from suffering adequate punishment, in case of delinquency. The rich thought extreme poverty in the lower people a reflection upon them, as having failed in their patronage of them; and the poor, far from envying the wealth of their superiors, rejoiced in it; considering the power of the rich as their protection. Sensible of the supreme importance of right education toward the happiness of a state, they bestowed the strictest attention upon forming the manners of the youth to modesty, truth, valour, and love of their country. Nor did they think it sufficient to lay a foundation of good principles in the minds of young people, and leave them, after they were grown up, to act as they pleased: on the contrary, the manners of adult persons were more strictly inspected, than those of the youth; and the general censorship was vested in this very court of Areopagus, of which none could be members, but persons eminent for their birth, and their virtues; so that it is not to be wondered, that this court bore, at that time, a character superior to that of all the other councils of Greece.

It is from ignorance, that they speak,Cont. who would persuade us, that there is nothing more necessary toward making a state great and happy, [Page] than a body of good laws. The laws, by which our commonwealth was governed in her most flourishing times, were known to all the other states of Greece, and they might adopt as many of them,Remon. as they pleased. But were all the other states of Greece—was any of them, upon as advantageous a foot as the Athenian Republic? Instr. What chiefly tends to the establishment of a state, is, a police found in habitual modesty, temperance, integrity, valour, and patriotism. The general prevalence of these dispositions in a people, is not brought about by laws or sanctions; but by education, example, and a judicious exertion of the discretionary power, which is, and ought to be, in the hands of magistrates, whereby they discountenance vice, without directly punishing it, and draw the subjects into that voluntary rectitude of behaviour, which force will never produce. Cont. Laws heaped upon laws, and sanctions added to sanctions, shew an unruly and perverse disposition in the people, who would not otherwise require such various terrors to restrain them.Commend. The sagacity of governours appears in their shewing, that they have the address to plant their laws in the hearts of a tractable and obedient people.Instr. The most tremendous sanctions will be incurred by men of ungovernable dispositions: but those, whose minds have received from education and good police, a proper bent, will behave well, though left to themselves. The business, therefore, is not so much, to find ways of punishing offenders, as to form the minds of the people so, that they shall have no disposition to offend.

Self-Def.I hope no Athenian, who hears me this day, will shew such malice, as to accuse me of attempting to promote innovations. Apology. To advise, that we should return to the institutions of our [Page] ancestors, is, surely, a very different matter from proposing innovations. And to propose the reestablishment of those arts of government, which we know to have been judicious, from their producing the most desireable effects, is far enough from shewing a love of novelty. Experience may teach us,Alarm. if we be disposed to learn, what we have to expect, if we go on in the track we are now in;Encour. and what the consequences will be, if we restore the commonwealth to the condition in which our wise ancestors established and maintained it.Instruct. Let us attend to the effects which our conduct will have upon those, we are most concerned with, viz. The other states of Greece, our rivals, and the Persians our enemies. Repr. The truth is too notorious to be dissembled: we have, by our misconduct, and neglect of the public concerns, brought matters to such a pass, that part of the rival states despise, and part hate us. And, as for the Persian monarch, we have his sentiments of us in his letters.

I have in perfect sincerity declared to you,Apology. Athenians, as far as my judgment reaches, the precarious state of the commonwealth at present; with its causes and cure. Advis. You will shew your wisdom and your patriotism, by taking into your serious consideration these important objects; and setting yourselves with speed and diligence to find out, and carry into execution, the most proper and effectual means of redressing those evils, which, otherwise, Alarm. will draw after them the most ruinous consequences.

[Page]

LXXVIII. BLUNT REPROOF. WARNING. OFFERING FRIENDSHIP.

The speech of the Scythian ambassadors to Alexander, who was preparing war against them.

[Q. Curt. xii.]

IF your person were as gigantic as your desires, the world would not contain you.Respect. Your right hand would touch the east, and your left the west, at the same time. You grasp at more than you are equal to. From Europe you reach Asia: from Asia you lay hold on Europe. And if you should conquer all mankind, you seem disposed to wage war with woods and snows, with rivers and wild beasts, and to attempt to subdue nature. Warn. But have you considered the usual course of things? Have you reflected, that great trees are many years a growing to their height,Cont. and are cut down in an hour. It is foolish to think of the fruit only, without considering the height you have to climb, to come at it.Warning. Take care lest, while you strive to reach the top, you fall to the ground with the branches you have laid hold on. The lion, when dead, is devoured by ravens; and rust consumes the hardness of iron. There is nothing so strong, but it is in danger from what is weak. It will, therefore, be your wisdom to take care how you venture beyond your reach. Remon. Besides, what have you to do with the Scythians, or the Scythians with you? We have never invaded Macedon: Why should you attack Scythia? We inhabit vast desarts, and pathless woods, where we do not want to hear of the name of Alexander. Cour. We are not disposed to submit to slavery; [Page] and we have no ambition to tyrannise over any nation. That you may understand the genius of the Scythians, we present you with a yoke of oxen, an arrow, and a goblet. We use these respectively in our commerce with friends, and with foes. We give to our friends the corn, which we raise by the labour of our oxen. With the goblet we join with them in pouring drink-offerings to the gods; and with arrows we attack our enemies. We have conquered those, who have attempted to tyrannise over us in our own country, and likewise the kings of the Medes and Persians, when they made unjust war upon us; and we have opened to ourselves a way into Egypt. Accus. You pretend to be the punisher of robbers; and are yourself the general robber of mankind. You have taken Lydia: you have seized Syria: you are master of Persia: you have subdued the Bactrians; and attacked India. All this will not satisfy you, unless you lay your greedy and unsatiable hands upon our flocks and our herds. Remon. How imprudent is your conduct? You grasp at riches, the possession of which only increases your avarice. You increase your hunger by what should produce satiety; so that the more you have, the more you desire. But have you forgotten how long the conquest of the Bactrians detained you? While you were subduing them, the Sogdians revolted. Your victories serve no other purpose, than to find you employment by producing new wars. Instr. Warn. For the business of every conquest is two-fold; to win and to preserve. And though you may be the greatest of warriors, you must expect that the nations you conquer, Cour. will endeavour to shake off the yoke as fast as possible. For what people chooses to be under foreign dominion? If you will cross [Page] the Tanais, you may travel over Scythia, and observe how extensive a territory we inhabit. But to conquer us is quite another business. Your army is loaded with the cumbrous spoils of many nations.Warn. You will find the poverty of the Scythians, at one time, too nimble for your pursuit; Threat. and, at another time, when you think we are fled far enough from you, you will have us surprise you in your camp. For the Scythians attack with no less vigour than they fly. Remon. Why should we put you in mind of the vastness of the country you will have to conquer? The desarts of Scythia are commonly talked of in Greece; and all the world knows that our delight is to dwell at large, and not in towns or plantations. Advice. It will therefore be your wisdom to keep, with strict attention, what you have gained. Warn. Catching at more, you may lose what you have. We have a proverbial saying in Scythia, "That Fortune has no feet; and is furnished only with hands, to distribute her capricious favours, and with fins to elude the grasp of those to whom she has been bountiful.." You give yourself out to be a god, Repr. Cont. the son of Jupiter Hammon. It suits the character of a god to bestow favours on mortals, not to deprive them of what they have. But, if you are no god, Advice. Repr. reflect on the precarious condition of humanity. You will thus shew more wisdom than by dwelling on those subjects which have puffed up your pride, and made you forget yourself. You see how little you are likely to gain by attempting the conquest of Scythia. Offer. On the other hand, you may, if you please, have in us a valuable alliance. Friend. Instr. We command the borders of both Europe and Asia. There is nothing between us and Bactria but the river Tanais; and our territory extends to Thrace, which, [Page] as we have heard, borders on Macedon. Offer. If you decline attacking us in a hostile manner, you may have our friendship. Nations, which have never been at war, are on an equal footing. Warn. But it is in vain that confidence is reposed in a conquered people. There can be no sincere friendship between the oppressors and the oppressed. Even in peace, the latter think themselves entitled to the rights of war against the former. Offer. We will, if you think good, enter into a treaty with you, according to our manner, which is, not by signing, sealing, and taking the gods to witness, as is the Grecian custom; but by doing actual services. Bluntn. The Scythians are not used to promise, but to perform without promising. And they think an appeal to the gods superfluous; for that those who have no regard for the esteem of men, will not hesitate to offend the gods by perjury. Advice. You may therefore consider with yourself, whether you had better have a people of such a character, (and so situated, as to have it in their power either to serve you, or to annoy you, according as you treat them) for allies, or for enemies.

LXXIX. OUTCRY. EXAMINATION. SELF-DEFENCE. CHIDING. LAMENTATION. THREATENING. REFUSAL. RELUCTANT COMPLIANCE.

[See Moliere's L'AVARE.]

Scrapely.

THIEVES! Robbers! Thieves! Outcry. Robbers! Thieves! Robbers! Traitors! Murderers! Justice! Help! Lament. I am robbed! I am ruined! I am dead! I am buried! O my money, my money! My guineas! My [Page] golden guineas! My thousand guineas! My precious treasure! My comfort! My support! My life! My all is ga [...]e, plundered, robbed, carried off, Extra. Distress. strong-box and all! O that I had never been born! O that the earth would open, and swallow me up alive!

[Throws himself down on the floor. Lies some time, as stupified with the fall, then gathers himself up.]

Oh! oh! oh! Who has done this? Who has robbed me? Who has got my money? Where is the thief? the murderer, the traitor? Where shall I go to find him? Where shall I search? Where shall I not search? Outcry. Is he gone this way?

[Running to the right.]

Is he gone that way?

[Running the contrary way.]

Stop thief, stop thief, stop thief! Here is nobody. Are they all gone out of the house? They have robbed me, and are all gone off. My son, my daughter, my servants are all concerned; they have conspired together to ruin me.Listening. Seizing. Lament.—Heh!

[Listening]

What do you say? Is he caught, villain!

[Catching himself.]

I have you.—Alas, I have caught myself, I am going out of my senses; and that is not to be wondered at.Distress.—I will go to a magistrate. I will have every body examined, that ever was in my house. I will have half the town imprisoned, tried and hanged; and if I cannot, with all this, recover my money, I will hang myself.

Returns with Justice Nosewell.

Just. Nosewell.

Affect. Wisdom.Let me alone. I know what I have to do, I'll warrant you. This is not the first piece of roguery I have found out. If I had but a purse of ten guineas for every fellow I have been the hanging of, there are not many of his Majesty's Justices of the peace, would carry their heads higher. Questioning. There were, you say, in your strong-box?

[Page]Scr.

A thousand guineas well told. Lament. Wonder. Weeping.

Nose.

A thousand guineas! A large sum!

Scr.

A thousand guineas of gold. Hoo, hoo, hoo!

[Weeps.]

Nose.

Have you any suspicion of any particular person? Questioning.

Scr.

Yes, I suspect every body. Lament. Affect. Wisdom.

Nose.

Your best way, Sir, will be, to keep very quiet, and not to seem to suspect any one, till you can lay hold of some proof or presumption, at least. Then you may proceed to the rigour of the law.

[While they are talking without the door of Scrapely's house, James, the cook, comes out, and speaks with his face from them, leaving directions with the scullion boy.]

James.

You understand me, Jack.Directing. I shall be back presently. Kill him directly Put him in boiling water. Scrape him, and hang him up.

Scr.

What, the rogue who has robbed me?Anger. Do hang him, drown him, burn him, slay him alive.

James.

I mean a pig, Sir,Submis. that is come from Mr. Rackum, your honour's worship's steward in the country.

Scr.

Pig, me no pigs, Sir.Anger. I have other things to think of than pigs.—You may be the rogue for what I know of. A cook may carry off a strong-box as soon as another man. Intreat. Examine him, pray, good Mr. Justice Nosewell.

Nose.

Don't frighten yourself, friend.Affect. Wisdom. I am not a man who loves to blaze things abroad.

James.

Sir, you honour, I ask your honour's pardon; I am a little hard of hearing, your honour. Often h [...]t, and often cold, your honour. Your honour's worship, sups, this evening with my master's honour's worship, [Page] I suppose, and your honour's worship would, mayhap, like to have a little plate of something tossed up to your honour's worship's liking, mayhap.Flattery. If your honour's worship pleases to let me know what your honour's worship fancies, I will do my best to please your honour's worship.

Nosew.

Affect. No, no, my business with you is quite another matter. F [...]d, it will be your wisdom not to conceal any thing from your master. It will be the better for you.

James.

Flattery.Sir, your honour, I assure your honour's worship, I will do my very best to please your honour's worship, upon my honour. If there be a better way than another,Desire. I will use it, as far as I have minterials and ingratitudes. I wish my master's honour's worship would go to the expense of a few morrels and truffles, and a little right East-India catchup. Flattery. Accus. There's your high flavour, your honour. And our niggardly steward, Flattery. hang him, downright spoils my master's honour's worship. I could engage to send up as pretty a little collation, Accus. as your honour's worship could wish to sit down to, if that narrow hearted soul, Rackum our steward, did not clip my wings with the sciffars of his niggardliness

Sch.

Arguing.Hold your tongue, you scoundrel. We don't want to hear your nonsense about eating. Hold your tonge, and answer to the questions, which Justice Nosewell is going to put to you about the money I have lost, and which I suppose you have taken.

James.

Surprise. I take your honour's worship's money, Self-Dei. Sir! Mercy defend me from thinking of such a thing! I did not so much as know that your honour's worship had lost any money.

Scr.

Threaten. Yes, you rogue, I have lost money, and I'll have you and twenty others hang'd if I don't recover it.

[Page]James.

Mercy defend me, your honour!Anxiety. Self-Defen. Why should your honour's worship suspect me of such a thing? Did your honour's worship ever know me rob your honour's worship of a farthing, or a farthing's worth?

Nosew.

Hold, Mr. Scrapely.Affect. Wisdom. Directing. There is no need of scolding. My Clerk shall administer to him the oath. Here, Mr. Longscroll, administer the oath to this man. Not the common oath. No body minds kissing the book now-a-days. Give him the great oath.

[Clerk comes forward.]

Clerk.

Fall down on your knees before his worship, and say after me.Affect. Auth. Auth.

[James kneels before the Justice, in great trepidation.]

May the d—l.

James.

May the d—l. Fear.

Clerk.

The great d—l. Auth.

James.

The gre—e—e—at d—l. Tremb.

Clerk.

The great d—l of d—ls. Auth.

James.

The gre—e—e—at d—l of d—ls. Terror. Auth.

Clerk.

With his great iron claws.

James.

With his gre—e—e—at iron—Ah! Fright. Mercy defend me, Intreating. your noble honour's worship, I am frightened out of my wits! I can't say any more of this dreadful oath. I expect the d—l to came up through the ground before my very nose in a minute. I'll tell your honour's worship all the whole truth without the oath, if your honour's worship will but give me a little time to fetch breath.

Nosew.

Rise then, James.Affect. Wisdom. Don't frighten yourself; but frankly confess the foul fact like an honest christian.

[To Scrapely.]

I knew he would not trifle with the great oath. We shall have a full confession presently.

James.

Why then—why then—I confess the foul fact frankly, and like an honest christian, Self-Defen. [Page] that I do not know who has taken my master's worship's money, no more than the child that was unborn forty years ago, as I am a sinner to be saved for ever and ever, and amen.

Nosew.

Affect. O that won't do, James. You must kneel down again, Wisdom. Threatening and take all the whole great oath. And, if you won't give up the truth, my clerk shall write your mittimus to prison, James.

James.

Fright. O mercy defend me! O your noble honour's worship, have mercy on a poor harmless criminal, Self-Defen. that is as innocent of the fact he is convicted of, as your honour's worship, or your honour's worship's clerk, there where he stands. If I ever do such a thing again, your worship shall hang me twenty times over. For I am sure I never touched my master's honour's worship's money, nor any man's money, in all my born days, in an unfair or unconscionable way, saving your honour's worship's presence, and my master's honour's worship's presence, and. . .

Enter Smoothly leading in Mariana, Scrapely's daughter.

Smooth.

Submission. Behold, Sir, you son and daughter, present themselves to beg your pardon, favour, and blessing.

Scr.

Anger.My son (if you be my son) and my daughter may hang themselves. That is all the blessing I have to bestow on them, or myself. O my dear strong-box! Lament. Weeping. O my lost guineas! O poor ruined, beggared old man! Hoo! hoo! hoo!—

[Weeps.]

Smooth.

Submission.Sir, if you please to look upon our union with a favourable eye, no uneasiness about your strong-box need trouble your repose. It shall be forth-coming immediately.

[Page]Scr.

What do you say? My strong-box? Surprise and Joy. With all that was in it? The thousand guineas? The whole thousand? Shall it be forth-coming? If you make your words good, you shall eat my daughter, if you please, and my son too.

James.

I told your honour's worship,Self-Defen. I knew nothing of your honour's worship money.

Scr.

Where is my precious, Desire. Joy. Blame with Submission. precious treasure, my life, my joy, my all?

Mar.

Sir, your unreasonable anxiety about money, which appears on the present, as on many former occasions, in your lamentations about what, to a man of your fortune, are trifles, has been the cause of constant anxiety to yourself, Apology. and all your family, and has forced me upon what I am ashamed of.Grat. Esteem. This worthy gentleman has long had a regard for me, much above my deserving. He has always declared, that he desired no fortune with me.Blame with Submission. Your excessive penuries denied me the decencies of dress suitable to your daughter. I thought myself entitled to some part of what you can very well spare. Apology. I took the liberty of having your strong-box seized, that I might have wherewith to furnish myself suitably to the daughter of a man of fortune, and the bride of a man of fortune. Esteem. His generous heart could not bear the thought of my taking any thing from you, which you did not choose to give me. He therefore insists upon my delivering you up the strong-box, Intreating. if you require it. But I am in hopes, Sir, you will not only grant me the trifling sum contained in it, but allow me a fortune suitable to your estate, and to the gentleman's, who is so kind as to marry me without the prospect of any.

Scr.

Where must I have it?Peevishness. Can I make money? Where is my strong-box? If this gentleman has married you without a fortune, let [Page] him keep you without a fortune. Where is my strong-box? He cannot say, I ever promised him a fortune with you. Where is my strong-box?

Enter Mr. Sagely.

Sage.

Demand.Mr. Scrapely, this gentleman, my nephew, has, in consequence of a long mutual affection between him and your daughter, married her this day. He has a fortune sufficient to maintain his lady and family, without any addition by marriage; and he desires nothing with your daughter. But as it is well known, you can afford to give her a fortune, I insist upon it, though he is indifferent about the matter, that you sign this bond, which is ready filled up, for twenty thousand pound, which is much less than you ought to give with your daughter to such a son-in-law.

Scr.

Affected Surprise. Mist. Threat.Mr. Sagely! Are you out of your wits? I twenty thousand pound! Where should I have the tenth part of twenty thousand pound?

Sage.

Harkye, Mr. Scrapely,

[takes him aside]

I know enough of your tricks, your smuggling, your extortion, and the like (you know I know enough of them) to hang you. If, therefore, you don't directly sign this bond, I will go and lay the informations against you before the proper persons: so that before you be a day older, you may depend on being safe in custody.

Scr.

Vexat. Fear. Mist.

[Aside.]

O d—l on him. He has me. I feel the noose under my left ear already.

[To him.]

Why, Mr. Sagely, twenty thousand pound is a great sum. How should I raise twenty thousand pound? I believe I might, with the help of some friends, raise two thousand; but—

Sage.

Threat.Will you sign and seal directly; or shall I go, and inform directly? I ask you only this once.

[Going.]

[Page]Scr.

Hold; you are so hasty. Fear. Madness. Vexation. Self-Def. Let me see the bond.

[Aside.]

I wish I had you in a private place, and a knife at your throat; I'd soon spoil your informing.

[To him.]

I will sign and seal. But I know not where the money is to come from.

James.

Now, Sir, I hope you are satisfied. Complaint. I am intirely conscious of meddling with your honour's worship money; that I am a conscionable man, and not such a rogue, a your honour's worship

[makes a long pause]

was pleased to take me for you.

LXXX. DISSUASION.

The wise advice of Charidemus, an Athenian exile at the court of Darius, when he was asked his opinion of the event of the warlike preparations making by Darius against Alexander.

[Q. Curt. L. III.]

PERHAPS your majesty may not bear the truth from the mouth of a Grecian and an exile; and if I do not declare it now, Apology. I never will; perhaps I may never have another opportunity. Your majesty's numerous army, Warning. drawn from various nations, and which unpeoples the east, may seem formidable to the neighbouring countries. The gold, the purple, Contempt. and the splendour of arms, which strike the eyes of beholders, make a shew which surpasses the imagination of all who have not seen it. The Macedonian army, Alarm. with which your majesty's forces are going to contend, is, on the contrary, grim and horrid of aspect, and clad in iron. The irresistible phalanx, is a body of men,Comm. [Page] who in the field of battle, fear no onset, being practised to hold together, man to man, shield to shield, and spear to spear; so that a brazen wall might as soon be broke through. In advancing, in wheeling to right or left, in attacking in every exercise of arms, they act as one man. They answer the slightest sign from the commander, as if his soul animated the whole army. Every soldier has a knowledge of war sufficient for a general. And this discipline, by which the Macedonian army is become so formidable, was first established, [...]t. and has been all along kept up, by a stand contempt of what your majesty's troops are so vain, I mean of gold and silver. The bare earth serves them for beds. [...]n. Whatever will satisfy nature, is their luxury. Their repose is always shorter than the night. Your majesty may, therefore, judge, whether the Thes [...]n, Acarnanian, and Aetolian cavalry, and the Macedonian Phalanx—an army, [...]tempt that [...] spite of all opposition, over-run half the world—are to be repelled by a multitude (however numerous) armed with slings, and stakes, hardened at the points by fire. [...]e. To be upon equal terms with Alexander, your majesty ought to have an army composed of the same sort of troops. And they are no where to be had, but in the same countries, which produced those conquerors of the world. It is therefore my opinion, that if your majesty were to apply the gold and silver, which now so superstuously adorns your men, to the purpose of having and army from Greece, to to contend with Greeks, you might have some chance for success; [...]m. otherwise I see no reason to expect any thing else, than that you army should be defeated, as all the others have been, who have encountered the irresistible Macedonians.

[Page]

LXXXI. A SERMON. ⁽¹⁾

THE end of preaching is twofold:Teach. To instruct mankind in the several truths contained in scripture; and, To persuade them to live agreeably to the laws of the Christian religion. It is, therefore, my present purpose, my brethren, to endeavour, with the Divine assistance, to promote your spiritual and temporal happiness, by desiring your attention to what shall be spoken to you from the following passage of the Epistle of the Apostle Paul to Titus, the second chapter, and eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth verses.

"The grace of God, which bringeth salvation, hath appeared to all men, teaching us, that denying ungodliness, and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world, looking for the blessed hope, and glorious appearance of the great God, and our Saviour, Jesus Christ."

We may represent to ourselves the great Apostle of the Gentiles, speaking as follows: for [Page] it is, I think, probable, he meant what follows:

"The favour of God, to which we owe all that we enjoy, or hope for, particularly our deliverance from Heathen ignorance and immorality, and the prospect of future rescue from the tyranny of Satan, ⁽¹⁾ and from death; ⁽²⁾ this divine goodness is, in the Christian revelation, gloriously displayed before mankind; the new religion being established upon the unquestionable evidence of miracles, prediction, and its own internal character, and that of its divine Author, and of its propagators, who are ready to lay down their lives in attestation of the truth of his resurrection from the dead; ⁽³⁾ of the reality of which they are sure beyond the possibility of mistake, and cannot be suspected of a design to deceive others, having no worldly temptation to propagate, but much to conceal, or deny the fact.

"And this heavenly religion giveth full satisfaction to the anxious and inquisitive mind, upon the most interesting subjects; where the light of nature, and the sagacity of philosophers had left men in great uncertainty, as, Wherein the chief good of man consisteth: Who is the only object of worship, and how he is to be acceptably worshipped: Of the other orders of beings, inferior to the one indivisible and unoriginated Supreme, but superior to us; and how we are concerned with them: How evil, and, particularly, death, came into God's world: Of the future redress of the disorderly state, in which this world is at present: The will of God, or duty of man, fixed by laws authoritatively promulgated:—What will be the effect of repentance and reformation: How, and [Page] when the good, and the wicked are to receive their respective retributions of reward and punishment: The possibility of rising from the dead demonstrated by actual resurrections, especially that of Christ himself: That the whole human species is to be raised from the dead, in bodies, and that the heathen nations of Elysian fields, and of Tartarus, as well as of transmigration of some souls into other bodies, without end, and of the re-union of others to the Deity, are fables and fictions; and that all mankind are to be judged at one time, and that it is to be done by Christ: That the retribution for the virtuous is glory, honour, and immortality; and of obdurate wickedness, final destruction from the presence of God, and the glory of his power; both sentences irreversible.

"And the new religion inculcates, in the most powerful manner, the necessity of forsaking the impious superstitions, Aversion. and vicious abominations, allowed, or not reformed, by the heathen religions, as the worship of deisied men, and of innumerable imaginary gods and goddesses, celestial, terrestrial, and infernal, with rites, absurd, obscene and cruel; the promiscuous, excessive and unnatural indulgence of fleshly lust; the arbitrary violation of the matrimonial union by causeless separation; the horrid practices of exposing children; of self-murder; or inflicting arbitrary revenge, and the like.⁽¹⁾ And this blessed religion doth also prohibit, in general, the indulgence of every wicked disposition (for its authority reacheth to the heart) and every wicked practice; Teaching. all malice, hatred, envy, injustice, selfishness, pride, covetousness, intemperance, lasciviousness, anger, revenge, backbiting, lying, craft, uncharitable[Page]zeal, impiety, prophane swearing, blasphemy, obscenity, idleress, sedition, rebellion, and neglect of public and private religion. The Christian law forbiddeth all unwarrantable pursuit of the three great objects of the desires of wicked and worldly men, viz. riches, power, and pleasure; and it requireth the faithful and unreserved performance of our whole threefold duty.

"First, That which respecteth ourselves, the due regulation of every passion, appetite, and inclination of our nature; and a proper attention to, and careful cultivation of, all our powers, bodily and mental, so that the wise ends of the beneficent Giver of them may best be answered, and the least disappointed; therefore no one can justly pretend to be a sincere proselyte to the new religion, who does not study to be humble, meek, forgiving, pure in heart, sincere, diligent in improving his knowledge and virtue, courageous in the cause of truth, temperate, frugal, industrious, decent, cautious, fearful of offending, penitent for his weaknesses, heavenly-minded, and richly furnished with every grace and virtue, flourishing, and growing, and rising to higher and higher degrees of perfection continually.

"The second head of duty required by the new religion, is, That which respecteth our fellow-creatures, viz. The conscientious observance of justice, negative and positive, as to the interests of the body, the soul, the reputation, and the worldly estate of our neighbour; and over and above mere justice, a generous disposition to shew kindness on every proper occasion, and in every prudent manner, to all within our reach; and the discharge of [Page] every relative duty according to our respective situations of governors, subjects, countrymen, parents, children, husbands, wives, masters, servants, and the rest.

"The third head of duty, required by the new religion, is, That which respecteth our Creator, viz. Thinking and speaking, Veneration. and acting in the constant fear, and sense of the universal presence of Almighty God; with love and gratitude to him for all his goodness to us, especially for his last and best gift, the Christian religion; worshipping Him in spirit and truth, both publicly and privately; obedience to all his laws; acceptance, upon due examination, of the blessed religion of his Son, and adherence to it in spite of the terrors of persecution, with an unreserved submission to its heavenly precepts, ⁽¹⁾ sincerely repenting of, and thoroughly reforming all our faults; with gratitude to our illustrious Deliverer from Satan, sin, and death, and observance of his institution for commemorating his sufferings and death.

"And this heavenly religion teacheth us to expect the future glorious appearance of its divine Author, to restore this ruined world, to put an end to the tyranny of Satan. ⁽²⁾ to abolish death, and to judge the whole human race, both those who shall then be alive, and also all who have lived in all parts of the earth, from the creation of man, who shall universally be restored to life, by the same power which first gave them life; and to reward [Page] them according to their respective characters, to fix the penitent and virtuous, Joy. in a state of safety and everlasting happiness, and condemn the obdurate to utter destruction."Horror. Alarm.

This is, in part, the vast and weighty sense of the passage of Scripture, from which I have chosen to speak to you at this time. And what is there, my Christian brethren, of consequence to us, with regard either to our peace, of mind here, or our happiness hereafter, that is not virtually comprehended in this short passage of three verses? What various matter for consideration is here suggested? [...]ear. To think of the state we are at present in, and of the task prescribed us, of which you have heard only the principal heads, which task if we do not labour to perform, with the fidelity which becomes those, who know, that the all-piercing eye is upon them, it were better we had never been born—to think of this, is it not enough to make us tremble at ourselves?Joy.—To consider the prospect we have, and the hope set before us, if we endeavour, with sincere diligence, to act worthily our part—is it not enough to overwhelm us with rapture? Excit. If we are not stocks and stones, if we have in us either hope or fear, desire of our own hap [...]ness, or horror at the thought of misery and ruin; Alarm. here is what ought to alarm us to the highest pitch. There is not one here present, whose condition may not hereafter be blissful or calamitous, beyond imagination. And which of the two it shall be, depends upon every individual himself. Then surely no man, who thinks for a moment, can imagine, that the period of our present existence, however transient, is to be trifled with. No one, who has ever heard of a future appearance of a general Judge, as in the text, can think it a matter of indifference what [Page] life he leads. Hear the voice of inspiration on this important point: "Be not deceived. God is not to be mocked. Whatsoever a man soweth, that he shall also reap. ⁽¹⁾ God shall render to every man according to his works; to them, who by patient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory, honour, immortality, and everlasting life; but to them who are contentious, and obey not the truth, but obey unrighteousness, indignation, and wrath, tribulation and anguish, upon every soul that worketh wickedness, of the Jew first, and also of the Gentile; for there is no respect of persons with God." ⁽²⁾—What can be more awful than this warning! It is not for vain parade, like the triumphant entry of a conqueror, that the son of man is to come with the sound of the trumpet, attended with hosts of angels, and armed in flaming fire. Every one of us is interested in the solemn business of that dreadful pay. It is, therefore, my Christian brethren, in the sincerity of my heart, Protesta. and the agony of my soul, ⁽³⁾ that I stand forth to warn you, in the name of the great and terrible One, Alarm. who sitteth upon the throne of heaven, whose creatures we are, and to whom we must answ [...]r, and to declare to you without flattery, without reserve, that there is no safety, no chance of escape for you, but by a constant and faithful attention to the performance of every one of the duties I have mentioned to you, and a fixed aversion against every one of the vices I have pointed out, and all others. You have the word of God for it. And his word shall stand; he will do all his pleasure; ⁽⁴⁾ and the Judge of the earth will do what is right. Remonst. ⁽⁵⁾ Would you have the pre [...] her say smooth [Page] things? Would you have him betray the truth of God? Shall he, like a faithless hireling, ⁽¹⁾ leave his flock unwarned a prey to the Enemy of mankind? Would you have him heap on his own soul, the damnation of a whole people. Protestation. ⁽²⁾ No, not for the riches on this wide world. By the help of God, I will be faithful to my trust. Warning. I will set before you life, and death, the blessing, and the curse. ⁽³⁾ It shall appear, in that day, when you and I shall stand before the general judgment-seat, that I have done the duty of my office, and, if you listen not, those above, who now look on, though to us invisible, shall witness against you, that you have murdered your own souls.

Alarm.I would not have you imagine, that it is so easy a matter to secure your own salvation, as to render care on your part, and apprehension on mine, unnessary. He, who best knew, has declared, that the way to happiness is strait, and the gate narrow; that the way to destruction is broad and the gate wide; and that the number of those who shall reach happiness, will be small, compared with that of those, who shall go to destruction. Fear. ⁽⁴⁾ Can I then address you with indifference, when I know that you are in danger?—But why should I say you?— I am myself in danger. Every individual, who shall come to salvation, will be one escaped from extensive ruin and wreck.

Comfort.Yet I would not have you think, my Christian brethren, that the charge of your souls is a burden too grievous to be borne; or your duty, a task impossible to be performed. Tho' it is true, that the reward offered, and the punishment threatened, by the Christian religion, [Page] are motives sufficient if we think aright, to excite in us desires and fears to carry us through any abstinence from pleasure or any suffering of punishment; though this is true, yet so little does our kind and merciful Lord deserve the character of a hard task-master, that all he requires of us—of us, who enjoy these happy times, untroubled with the terrors of persecution—all he requires of us, is—To be happy here, and hereafter. Even in the life that now is. ⁽¹⁾ I appeal to the feelings of every man of common decency in this assembly (for I hold not the abandoned profligate a judge of what virtue is, or what its effect,) I appeal to every heart that is not hardened beyond feeling, whether virtue is not, even in this world, its own reward? And I ask thy conscience, O sinner, whether vice be not its own tormentor? Canst thou say, the imaginary pleasure, the profit and the honour, which vice bestows, are sufficient to arm thee against the pang of guilt? Does not its envenomed sting often pierce thee thro' that weak, though three-fold armour of defence, to the very soul? What, then,Anguish. dost thou gain by thy fatal attachment, if thou art not by it secured from suffering? Remonst. Thou hast but one objection, and that, God knows, a wretched one, against a life of strict virtue; that it may chance to deprive thee of some fancied pleasures, and subject thee to certain imaginary austerities. Now, if thy favourite vices were capable of affording thee, at present, a pleasure untainted, unpoisoned, and of securing thee against all pain; and thou knewest, that virtue is, in the present state, pure misery, thou mightest pretend thy scheme of life had the whole advantage [Page] against a course of virtue, as far as this world goes; and for the next, thou mightest, if thou wert desperate enough, set it at defiance. But thou darest not pretend,Challenging that vice will yield thee, even in this life, the copious harvest of substantial happiness which virtue gives. Which of thy lawless pleasures, affords, on reflection, an untroubled enjoyment? Does the smile of the great, bought with perjury, light up in thy soul the sun-shine of und [...]sturbed tranquillity? Does the glittering trash, by unjust means wrested from the reluctant hand of industry, satisfy the ever-craving thirst of gold? Does lawless lust indulged, does virgin innocence betrayed, do broken marriage-vows, yield, on reflection, a continual feast to thy mind? Horror. In what condition is thy breast from the moment of conceiving wickedness, to that of its execution? Does the dark conspirator enjoy himself in quiet? Can happiness dwell with anxiety, tumult, and horror? Will sweet peace take up her habitation with discordant desires, with warring passions, with fear of discovery, with apprehension of public shame, and exemplary punishment? Is the reflection on revenge, gratified by the shedding of blood, Trepidation a subject of calm enjoyment? Why then, is the murderer afraid to be alone? What is it, that breaks his slumbers, whilst all nature is at rest? Why does he start at every noise? What does he see? With what does his sacred imagination fill the void? Does not the horror of his conscience even raise the murdered out of the earth again? Whence came the frightful imaginations of charnel houses opening, and graves casting forth their dead? What is it, but guilt, that presents the bloody apparition of the mangled innocent, dumb and ghastly before the eyes of the assassin? We know, that the dead, [Page] (excepting a few raised by miracle) are to sleep till the resurrection. Yet the murderer does not find himself safe, even when the hapless victim of his cruelty is dust. Despair. The pang of remorse proves so intolerable that a violent death is relief. He flies from his internal tormentor to the more friendly halter or dagger. To deliver himself from his present ceaseless gnawings, he is content to lose this blessed light: he throws himself headlong into eternity, and, committing the crime, which cuts itself off from repentance, seals his own damnation. Such are the fruits of atrocious wickedness. Do not, therefore, O presumptuous sinner!Charging. I charge thee on thy soul, do not pretend, that the ways of vice are ways of pleasantness, or that her paths are peace. ⁽¹⁾ The history of mankind—thy own feelings—will give thee the lye.

Didst thou but consider,Contempt. what figure thou makest in the eye of the discerning among thy own species, thou wouldst think of altering thy conduct. Thy wisdom is easily understood to be at best but low cunning. Sarcasm. Thy honours are but the applause of fools, dazzled by thy riches, or of knaves, who flatter thee for what they hope to gull thee of. Thy arts over-reach only the weak, or the unguarded. The eye of experience pierces the cob-web veil of hypocrisy; Awe. not to mention a more penetrating eye, which thou art sure thou canst not deceive. But go on, if thou wilt. Sarcasm. Take the advantage, while thou canst, of thy honest neighbour, who suspects not thy worthlessness. It will not be long that thou wilt have it in thy power to overreach any one. Craft is but for a day. O fool! whom art thou deceiving? Even thy wretched self. And of what art thou cheating thyself? Of thy reputation, [Page] thy prosperity, and thy peace; to say nothing of thy miserable soul; which thou art consigning to the enemy of man, for what thou ha [...] better a thousand times be without, if the future consequences were nothing. Remember I have told thee what thou acquirest by lawless means, whether thou hast been used to dignify it by the name of proj [...], pleasure, or honour; and the wickedness thou drinkest in with greediness, will either poison thy life, or else must be disgorged, with the horrible pangs of remorse. Teach. Where then will be thy gains? I say therefore, were there no state ordained for us beyond the present, the wisdom of a man would direct his choice to virtue. To be conscious of that cloudless serenity within, which proceeds from passions subdued under the superior authority of reason; Joy. to feast upon that uninterrupted joy, which this vain world can neither give, nor take away; to bless, and be blessed, to love, and be loved, to be eyes to the blind, and feet to the lame, ⁽¹⁾ to be a guardian angel to his fellow-creatures; to serve Him, whose service is the glory of those who sit enthroned in heaven, ⁽²⁾ to have neither th [...], nor wish, would not do him honour, if published before the universe, what sense of dignity, what self-enjoyment must not this consciousness yield? I tell thee, thoughtless libertine! there is more joy, in repenting of, and flying from vice, nay, in suffering for virtue, than ever thou wilt taste in the cloying draught of swinish impurity, ⁽³⁾ What, then, must be the undisturbed fruition of that which makes the happiness of every superior nature?

Alarm. Rever.But this life is not all. There is—there is full surely, another state abiding us. The soul of man feels itself formed for something greater, [Page] than all that is here below; and it cannot think what is noblest in its nature to be given in vain. The power of lifting its thought to its Creator; the unconquerable dread of an account hereafter to be given; the thirst for immortality (to say nothing of that surest proof given by the Messenger of Heaven, who shewed us, in himself, man actually raised from the grave to immortality) ⁽¹⁾ all these confirm that there is a life to come. And if there is—what is thy prospect, O remorseless abdurate?

The present state would teach thee if thou wouldst be taught, Remons. what will be prevalent in the future. Teaching. The world is now under the moral government of the One Supreme. The life to come will be under the same direction.Appr. The present state of things, for the most part, brings on vice the present punishments of fear, remorse, with worldly shame, and often bitter poverty, and death, from a constitution shattered, by vice, or from the iron hand of justice. Joy. The natural course of this world rewards the virtuous with peace of mind, with approbation from every worthy character, and generally, with length of days, prosperity, and affluence. ⁽²⁾ What does this conclude? Is it not from hence evident,Arguing. that when the temporary irregularity of the present state which hinders equal retribution from being universal, when the influence of the Enemy ⁽³⁾ is at an end, under which this world now groans, ⁽⁴⁾ and, when at the appointed time, order shall spring out of confusion; then, what now appears in part will prevail universally; then virtue will rise superior; and evil be, for ever, sunk to its proper place.

[Page] Rousing Shame.To a generous mind there is little need of terror. Such are better won to goodness by the view of its own apparent excellence, which wants only to be held forth to be perceived; is no sooner perceived, Grief. Rousing Shame. than admired. But, alas, I sadly fear the generous-minded are but few. For, if otherwise, how could the number of the wicked be what it is. Every hardened sinner is one lost to all that is truly great or worthy in the rational nature. And are there any in this assembly, is there one, fallen to so low an ebb of sentiment, so stupified beyond all feeling, as to go on to offend, without remorse, against the goodness of his heavenly Father? Think, wretched mortal, that thou art insulting the very power, Softness. which supports thee in thy insolence against itself. The gentle mercy of the Almighty, like the fructifying moisture of the spring droppeth on thee from on high;Rage. and, instead of producing the fruit of repentance in thee, i [...], by thy impiety, dashed back in the face of Heaven. Remons. What could thy best friend on earth, what could pitying angels, what could the Author of all good, do for thee that has not been done? Thy Creator hath given thee reason to distinguish between good and evil; to know what is thy life, and what will seal thy ruin. He hath placed conscience in thy breast, to warn thee in the momen [...] [...]y guilt. He hath sent down to thee, Ha [...], whom he had dearest in all heaven, to give thee yet ampler instruction in the way to bliss.Mov. Pity. And the Son condescended to come with the same willingness as the Father sent him, though with the certain knowledge, that, like a patriot rising in defence of his country, Reproach. his coming must cost him his life. The richest blood, that ever flowed, has been shed for thy worthlessness, and for such as thou art [Page] Shame and torture have been despised for the sake of bringing thee to good. And wilt thou grudge to forego a little sordid pleasure,Pity. to shew thyself greateful for all this goodness? Go with me then, to Golgotha, and insuit thy suffering Saviour in his agonies. Behold there a sight, which the sun would not look upon.⁽¹⁾ View with dry eyes, what made angels weep. Harden thy heart at an object, which rent the rocks, ⁽²⁾ and brought the dead out of their graves.⁽³⁾ His arms stretched on the cursed ⁽⁴⁾ tree, invite thee to bliss. Awe. Though now feeble and languid, they will quickly raise a world from the grave, and lay the angel of death full low. I am not describing a fancied scene. The witnesses of the death and resurrection of Jesus have sealed the truth of what they saw with their blood. Affir. Remons. But canst thou find a heart to crucify him afresh, ⁽⁵⁾ by persisting in the crimes, which brought on him this cruel death? If thou hast been so wicked, bethink thee of thy obstinacy. It thou dost, even now, Warning. Encourag. repent, he has prayed for thee, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."⁽⁶⁾ Behold how deadly pale his sacred countenance! Pity. Weak. Cruel are the agonies, which rend his tender frame. His strength fails; his heart breaks; the strong pangs of death are on him. Now he utters his last solemn words—"It is finished. ⁽⁷⁾ What is finished? The suffering part,Path. Question. Pity. Joy. to which his dear love for mankind, exposed him. The rest is victory and triumph; and the salvation of a world will reward his glorious toil. But what salvation? Path. Quest. Informing. Not of the obdurate, with all their vices about them; but of the heart-bleading penitent, whose [Page] streaming sorrows have washed away his impurity, Pity. Aversion. Comfort. and who has bid a last farewel to vice, and to every temptation, which leads to it. To such the blessed gospel which I preach, speaks nothing but peace. For them it has no terrors. Be of good cheer, then, my disconsolate, broken-hearted mourner. Though thy sins have been as scarlet, they shall be white as the wool, which never received the tincture. ⁽¹⁾ They shall be blotted out, as if they were covered with a cloud. ⁽²⁾ They shall no more come into remembrance. ⁽³⁾ For our God is long suffering, and of great mercy, and will abundantly pardon. ⁽⁴⁾

Beseech.O suffer then, my unthinking fellow-creatures, suffer the word of exhortation. ⁽⁵⁾ Every encouragement, every invitation, is on the side of virtue. It has the promises of this life, and of that which is to come. ⁽⁶⁾ Let me beseech you by the superior love of your Maker; by the streaming blood of the Saviour, and by the worth of your immortal souls; to cast off your ruinous vices, and to return to Him, who is ready to receive the returning sinner, and never casts him out, who comes to Him.⁽⁷⁾ Listen! Oh listen to him, who speaketh from heaven. It is not the voice of an enemy. It is your heavenly Father, Awe. who calls you. Behold! the very Majesty of the universe bends forward from his throne to invite you. He veils uncreated brightness to allure you to return to your own happiness. He proclaims himself the "Lord merciful and gracious, long-suffering and abundant in goodness."⁽⁸⁾ He condescends to assure you with an oath, that he has no pleasure in the [Page] death of him that dies. ⁽¹⁾ He encourages, Beseeching. he threatens, he promises, he remonstrates, he laments, he wooes his wretched creatures, as if his own unchanging happiness depended on theirs. He leaves the door of mercy open: he gives them space to repent, he does not take them by surprize. Return—O yet return to the Father of spirits, my poor deluded wanderers! Whom have ye forsaken? Pity. What have you been in pursuit of? Whose conduct have you put yourselves under? You have forsaken the fountain of your happiness. You have pursued your own ruin. You have given yourselves up to the guidance of the enemy of souls. But it is not, even now, too late to retrieve all; Encourag. all may yet be well, if you will yet be wise. Grief.

Can you shut your ears, and steel your hearts against all that is tender? Are you determined on your own ruin? Must I then lose my crown of rejoicing? ⁽²⁾ Must I be deprived of the joy of our mutual endless congratulations, for our escape from the hideous wreck of souls? Complain. Must I reap no fruit of my labour of love? ⁽³⁾ Shall the blessed message ⁽⁴⁾ from heaven prove your death, which was intended to be your life? Alarm. ⁽⁵⁾ If you will not listen to the still small voice, ⁽⁶⁾ which now speaks to you from the mercy-seat, the time will quickly come, when your ears, if they were of rock, will be pierced by the thunder of that voice which will terrify this great world from the throne of judgment. Think, O hardened offender, think, the time will quickly come, when, as sure as thou now hearest this [Page] awful warning, thou shalt hear (—it would be thy wisdom to think thou now hearest—) the sound of that trumpet, ⁽¹⁾ which will startle the silent dust, and break the slumbers, which were begun before the general flood. Think, that thou beholdest the whole species around thee, covering the face of the earth beyond the reach of sight. Terror. ⁽²⁾ Think of universal trepidation and amazement, ⁽³⁾ to which all the routed armies, the cities sacked, the fleets dashed in pieces, the countries whelmed by inundation, and the nations swallowed by earthquakes, which make the terrors of history, are but the diversions of a stage-play. Behold the heavens involved in flame: the brightness of the sun extinguished by the superior lustre of the throne; and the heavens and the earth ready to fly away from the terrible face of Him, who sitteth upon it. ⁽⁴⁾ Imagine thyself called forth; thy life and character displayed before men and angels. Guilt. Thy conscience awakened, ⁽⁵⁾ and all thy offences full in the eye of thy remembrance. What will then be thy defence, when thy various uncancelled guilt is charged upon thy soul? No frivolous shuffle will blind the avenging Judge. Alarm. The very counsel now rejected by thee against thyself, ⁽⁶⁾ if thou hadst never had another invitation to repentance, will condemn thee; the very warning given thee this day will be thy undoing.

Horror.To attempt a description of the terrors hidden under those dreadful words, "Depart from me ye cursed! into everlasting fire, prepared for the Devil and his angels;"⁽⁷⁾ to reach, as it were, over the brink of the bottomless pit, to [Page] look down where ten thousand volcanoes are roaring, and millions of miserable beings tossed aloft in the fiery whirlwind of the eruption; what employment would this be for human imagination! But what human imagination can conceive how fearful a thing it is to fall into the hands of the living God? Fear with Wonder. ⁽¹⁾ When we see a raging hurricane tear up the rooted oaks, and shake the ancient hills on which they grow; when we hear of the mountainous ocean dashing with ease, the strong-jointed ships in pieces, overflowing a continent, and sweeping whole towns before it; when we see the black thunder-cloud pour down its cataract of fire; whose burst shivers the massy tower or solid rock; or when we read of the subterraneous explosions heaving up the ground, shattering kingdoms, and swallowing nations alive to one destruction; do not such scenes exhibit to us a tremendous view of power? And whose power is it that works these terrifying effects? The laws of nature are the living energy of the Lord of nature. And what are thou, Remons. wretched warm of earth, to resist such power? Fear. But what we see at present, is but part of his ways. ⁽²⁾ What the direct exertions of omnipotence against his hardened enemies will produce; what the condition of those will be, who stand in the full aim of its fury—Where is the imagination to be found equal to the conception, or tongue to the description of such terrors? Appre. Horror. Earn. Depreca. Yet this may be the situation of some, now known to us.— O frightful thought! O horrible image!— Forbid it, O Father of mercy! If it be possible, let no creature of thine ever be the object of that wrath, against which the strength of thy whole creation united would stand but as the moth against the thunder-bolt! Alas,Grief. it is [Page] not the appointment of Him, who would have all saved, that brings destruction on any one. On the contrary, it is his very grace that brings salvation. ⁽¹⁾ He has no pleasure in the death of him, who will die. It is the rebellion of the enemy, and the unconquerable obduracy of those who take part with him, that hath given a being, to the everlasting fire, which otherwise had never had been kindled. ⁽²⁾

Relief.But let us withdraw our imagination from this scene, whose horror overcomes humanity. Let us turn our view to joys, Joy. of which the supreme joy is, That every one of us, if our own egregious fault and folly hinder not, may be partaker of them.. Every one of us may, if he will, gain his portion in that state, which the word of truth holds forth to the present weakness of human understanding under all the emblems of magnificence and delight. Delight. To walk in white robes; ⁽³⁾ to eat of the fruit of the tree of life ⁽⁴⁾ to sit on thrones; ⁽⁵⁾ and to wear crowns; ⁽⁶⁾ to be clothed with the glory of the firmament of heaven, and of the stars; ⁽⁷⁾ what do these images present to our understandings, but the promised favour of the One supreme; the approbation of the general judge; the total purification of our nature; and an assured establishment in immortal honour and felicity? This, Rapt. and much more than eye hath seen, or ear heard, or heart conceived, ⁽⁸⁾ is laid up for those who properly receive that saving grace of God, which hath appeared to all men, who study to live soberly, righteously and godly, in this present world, as those who look for [Page] the blessed hope, and future glorious appearance of our Saviour Jesus Christ. ⁽¹⁾

Thus have I (my dear fellow creatures, Ser. Remons. and fellow christians; my flock, for whose inestimable souls I am to answer to the great Shepherd) thus have I, in much weakness, but in perfect integrity of heart, endeavoured to excite you, Concern. and myself, to a more strict attention, than I fear is commonly given, to the care of all cares, the business of all businesses. I have,Charg. for this purpose, given you, in an explanatory paraphrase, on the text, an abridged view of your threefold duty. Warn. I have fairly warned you of your danger, if you neglect or violate, habitually, any part of it. I have put you in mind, that it is but too common to neglect the great salvation, ⁽²⁾ whilst with a reasonable diligence, Remons. and at no greater expense of hardship or suffering, generally with less, than vice exposes men to, it might be made sure. Arguing. I have appealed to your own feelings, whether virtue be not the best wisdom, if there were no future state. I have laid before you some of the arguments for the reality of a world to come, with a view of the probabilities, from what we see in the present state, of what will be the immensely different consequences of virtue and of vice, in the future. I have tried to rouse your sense of gratitude and of shame. I have set your suffering Saviour before your view.Rous. Sense of Gratitude and Shame. Beseeching. I have invited you in the name of your heavenly Father to return to him and to your own happiness. I have entreated you by your regard—(I hope you are not altogether without regard) for your weak, but faithful pastor, the servant of your souls. I have put you in mind [Page] of the future appearance of our Saviour, Mod. Alar [...] and Judge; and of the sentences of approbation, and condemnation, under one, or other of which, every human individual will be comprehended, from which there is no appeal. Grief. If these considerations be not sufficient to stir up, in your minds, a sense of danger, and of duty, I know not what more, Pity with Veneration. I can, at present, do for you, but to retire, from this place of public instruction, to my closet, and there to pour out my soul for you before the Father of spirits, that He, who has access to all hearts, may touch your hearts with such prevailing influence, that the great end of preaching may be gained with you, in spite of that fatal indifference, and obstinacy, which so often baffles all human power and art.

Tenderness. Veneration.I commit the salvation of your precious souls to the great Overseer of souls. ⁽¹⁾ To Him, as to the Restorer of this ruined world, the Conqueror of Satan, ⁽²⁾ the Abolisher of death, ⁽³⁾ Light of mankind, ⁽⁴⁾ and the future Judge of the quick and the dead, be ascribed, by every being in Heaven, and on earth, ⁽⁵⁾ blessing and honour, and power, to the glory of God, ⁽⁶⁾ the Father Almighty, the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, whose supreme and unequalled dominion is over all, from everlasting to everlasting. Amen.

Notes

(1).

Narration requires very little of what is properly called expression, in pronouncing it; I have, however, ordered the emphatical words in this, and all the lessons, to be printed in Italics, for the reader's help. See in the ESSAY, Narration, and the other passions put upon the margin of the lessons.

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(2).

Of the manner of pronouncing matter contained in a parenthesis, see the ESSAY, p. 14.

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(3).

A small elevation of the voice will be proper here, to express moderate wonder. See Wonder.

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(1).

This sentence is to be spoken somewhat quicker than the rest, to express earnestness.

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(2).

The words, often giving and seldom demanding, being antith [...]sist to one another, must be expressed with such an emphasis, as may point out the a [...]tit [...]ss, or opposition.

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(1).

The reader is, once for all desired to take notice, that I have not scrupled to alter both the sense and the words in many, if not most, of the following passages, taken both from the ancients and the moderns. For my design was to put together a set of lessons useful for practice, which did not restrict me to the very words of any author. I have endeavoured to make each lesson a complete piece; which obliged me to insert matter of my own I have excluded improper sentiments, and have substituted modern expressions, for some antiquated ones, which I thought young people would be puzzled to understand; and I have inserted a few fancies, which occured to me in copying out some of the passages, to render them more diverting to youth, whose taste long experience has given me some knowledge of.

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(1).

The ancients, every body knows, lay on conches at table.

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(2).

This may be spoken with as much of the action proper to fear, (See Fear in the ESSAY, p. 23) as can be conveniently applied.

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(1).

See Admiration, in the ESSAY, page 29 [...]

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(1).

Enumeration requires a short pause between the particulars.

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(1).

See in the ESSAY, the articles Arguing, Teaching, &c. page 26.

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(1).

Every body knows, that all the ancients from Aristotle's time, held the Ptolemaic system, viz. of the earth's being unmoveable in the centre of the universe, and the whole heavens turning round her.

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(1).

The gravity of look and manner is to be kept up as much in reading this, as if it were Aristotle's or Horace's serious directions on the same subject.

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(1).

The word heavy to be dragged out as expressing distress. See Complaining, page 32.

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(2).

This sentence [Can his guards, &c.] to be spoken with fear. See Fear, page 23.

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(3).

If he is agitated, &c. to be spoken full-mouthed, as boasting. See Boasting, page. 24.

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(1).

To be spoken quick and loud.

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(2).

To be spoken boldly,

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(3).

To be spoken faintly, and with pity. See Pity page 22.

↵

(4).

To be spoken slowly and with veneration. See Veneration, page 27.

↵

(1).

To be spoken hollow and full-mouthed.

↵

(2).

To be spoken with a quivering voice.

↵

(3).

Though petitions are commonly presented in writing, yet they may be imagined to be addressed to the prince viva v [...]e, and sometimes [...]

↵

(1).

This is to be spoken in the same manner as if one was finding fault in earnest. For it is the character of Humour to mean the contrary of what it seems to mean. And though the matter was originally part of a Letter, it may be imagined as spoken.

↵

(2).

The speaker will naturally utter these words, silly figure, with a shrug.

↵

(1).

See Melancholy, page 22.

↵

(2).

The words pining pain cannot be spoken too slowly. See Complaining, page 32.

↵

(3).

These four lines are to be spoken slowly; and with a torpid uniformity of tone.

↵

(4).

The speaker is to seem toused here, as by a sudden pang.

↵

(5).

These four words to express extreme anguish.

↵

(6).

A stop before and after the words, O cruel love, which are to be expressd with acclamations of anguish.

↵

(1).

A long pause.

↵

(1).

There are three pretty long pauses to be made in this line, at the words, states, gods, and ear. The words, Celestial states! may be spoken with the right arm extended, the palm upwards, and the look directed toward the right, as addressing that part of the assembly. The words immortal gods! with the left arm extended, in the same manner, (the right continuing likewise extended) and the look directed toward the left hand part of the assembly. And the words, give ear, with the look bent directly forward. See Authority, page 25.

↵

(1).

At the words, What god shall enter, the left arm, which should continue extended, with the right, to the beginning of this fourth line of the speech, may be drawn in, and placed upon the hip, while the right is brandished with the clenched fist, as in threatening. See Boasting, page 24.

↵

(2).

The speaker will naturally here point downward with the fore finger of his right hand.

↵

(3).

"Let each," &c.] The speaker may here again extend both arms as before, the open palms upwards, casting a look over the whole room, suppose to be filled with the gods.

↵

(4).

The speaker will do well here, to have his arms in any other posture, rather than extended; because, after the pause in the middle of the line, the right arm must be extended with great solemnity.

↵

(1).

The reader will hardly need to be told, that such matter ought to be expressed with a raised voice.

↵

(2).

These three lines to be spoken quicker than the rest.

↵

(1).

To be spoken quick from the words, Where should to desolation.

↵

(1).

A pupil, in order to his expressing properly this lesson, must be let a little into the author's plot; that by Peter is meant the Pope, by Martin, the Lutheran church, and by Jack, the Calvinists. That in this passage he exposes the doctrine of the wafer's being transubstantiated into the real body of Christ; the Papists refusing the cup to the laity; the arrogance of the Popes; and the evils arising from persecution.

↵

(1).

Saint Dominic was the inventor of the inquisition.

↵

(2).

To be spoken quick to the end.

↵

(3).

Separation of the Protestants from the Romish church.

↵

(4).

The words, mend the heart, may be expressed with the right hand laid upon the breast.

↵

(5).

I question whether all readers of this line [Our author shuns, &c.] understand it as the author meant it. The sense, in plain prose, would be, "Our author thinks it beneath him to endeavour to affect you by the common subject of tragic distress, as the fall of a prince or statesman, or the misfortunes occasioned by love."

↵

(1).

The words, What bosom beats not, may be spoken with the right hand pressed to the breast.

↵

(2).

So may the word, virtue.

↵

(1).

He published Remarks on Cato, in the year 1712.

↵

(1).

He wrote a Treatise to prove, that the decay of public spirit proceeds from the Italian Opera.

↵

(1).

"Thyself how wond'rous," &c. The sense, in prose, would be, "If thy works be so wonderfully excellent, thine own original excellence is unspeakable, and inconceivable." It is not, I believe, generally understood so, else readers would not (as I have heard many) make a pause between the word then and unspeakable.

↵

(2).

The reader need scarce be told, that such matter ought to be expressed with as much smoothness and liquidity of utterance as possible.

↵

(1).

"Ye in heav'n." This is generally ill pointed. These words are a complete sentence. The meaning is, "I call on you [Angels] to praise God in your celestial habitation." And then the poet goes on to call on the terrestrials to join their humble tribute.

↵

(2).

"Thou sun of this," &c. To be spoken a little more ore rotundo, or full-mouthed, than the foregoing, to image the stupendous greatness of a world of fire, equal as supposed by astronomers, to a million of earths.

↵

(1).

This line [I'll tell you, friend," &c.] may be expressed in a sort of important half-whisper, and with significant looks, and nods, as if a grand secret was told.

↵

(1).

I have put a pause after make, though contrary to general rule, to mark the antithesis between find and make, more distinctly.

↵

(2).

"All sly, slow things," to be pronounced very slowly, and with a cunning look.

↵

(3).

"All that we feel," &c. to be expressed with the right hand laid upon the breast.

↵

(1).

—"Comes not to the heart," to be spoken with the right hand laid upon the breast. And—"Marcellus exil'd feels," below.

↵

(2).

The words, "Hector's Ghost," may be spoken with start, and the attitude of fear. See Fear, page 23.

↵

(3).

"Hurling," to be expressed by throwing out the arm. with the action of hurling.

↵

(4).

"O light of Trojans," &c. to be expressed by opening the arms with the action of welcoming.

↵

(1).

The words, "sad remembrance," may be spoken with a sigh, and the right hand laid upon the breast.

↵

(1).

"The spectre," &c. These two lines, and the ghost's speech, are to be spoken in a deep and hollow voice, slowly and solemnly, with little rising or falling, and a torpid inertia of action.

↵

(1).

"He said, and," &c. Here the voice resumes its usual key.

↵

(1).

"Troy is no more," Such short periods, comprehending much in a few words, may often receive additional force by a pause (not exceeding the lenght of a semicolon) between the nominative and the verb, or between the verb and what is governed by it; which, otherwise, is contrary to rule.

↵

(1).

The pupil, if he has not read the TEMPLE OF FAME, must be informed of the plot of the poem, viz. The author represents numbers of the pursuers of fame, as reparing, in crowds, to the temple of that goddess, in quest of her approbation, who are differently received by her, according to their respective merits, &c.

↵

(2).

"Those ills," &c. The meaning of this line (which is not too obvious) is, "Our being guilty of such extravagancies, shews how eager we were to obt [...]i [...] [...] name."

↵

(1).

—"The secret joy," to be expressed with the hand laid upon the breast.

↵

(2).

To be spoken as melodiously as possible.

↵

(3).

"What could thus high," &c. [...]st o [...] spoken with a lower voice than the foregoing.

↵

(1).

The edition from which this is taken, viz. Church's, is in my opinion, incomparably preferable, for correctness, to all the others.

↵

(2).

Hypocrisy.

↵

(3).

Clothed.

↵

(4).

Bowing.

↵

(5).

Returned his salution.

↵

(1).

Saying his prayers.

↵

(2).

Meddle.

↵

(3).

Creature.

↵

(4).

Pass.

↵

(5).

Truth.

↵

(6).

Know.

↵

(1).

Conquer.

↵

(2).

In teaching the right utterance of this scene, the pupil must be let into the plot of it, if he has not read or seen the play. He must be made to understand, that Falstaff, a fat, old, humorous, worthless, needy knight, has, in the former part of the play, made love to Mrs. Ford and Mrs. Page, with a view, merely, of getting money of them, and that they concert this interview, and its consequences, on purpose to be revenged on him for his attempt to corrupt them; while Ford is jealous in earnest; and Falstaff from time to time, communicates to him, under the name of Brook, not knowing him to be Mrs. Ford's husband, an account of his intrigues and their bad success.

↵

(1).

Though these lines contain descriptions, or characters, they may be expressed with action, almost as if they were speeches. This first line, "Boastful and rough," &c. may be spoken with the action of Boasting. See Boasting in the Essay, page 24. The next with that of tempting. See Tempting, page 30. The soldier's character may be represented by the arms a-kimbo, the lips pouting out, and a blustering manner of reading the line. The scrivener's with the eyes turn'd a squint: a low voice, and the action of shame. See Shame, page 23. The Quaker's with the words spoken through the nose, and the appearance of affectation of piety. See Affectation, page 30.

↵

(1).

English readers may not, perhaps, know, that Helluo signifies Glutton.

↵

(2).

That is, a surf [...]it of fresh salmon was thy death.

↵

(3).

The glutton will indulge appetite (so indeed will every habitual offender in every kind) in spite of all consequences.

↵

(1).

—"conscious of the integrity," &c. may be expressed with the right hand laid on the breast.

↵

(1).

To be spoken with the right hand on the breast.

↵

(1).

—"this fond desire," may be spoken with the right hand laid on the breast.

↵

(2).

"Eternity!—thou pleasing," &c. requires an eye fixed with profound thoughtfulness, on one point throughout this line.

↵

(1).

—"My death, my life." &c. Long pauses between, and pointing, or looking at the sword, in pronouncing "my death," and at the book, in pronouncing "my life." and so in "my bane, and antidote." and in the two following lines.

↵

(2).

"The soul," &c. may be pronounced with the right hand laid upon the breast.

↵

(3).

"The stars," &c. may be spoken with the eyes raised toward Heaven, and the arms moderately spread.

↵

(4).

—"thou shalt flourish." &c. The right hand upon the breast.

↵

(5).

"Unhurt." &c. The arms spread again as before.

↵

(6).

—"the crush," &c. The hands brought together with force.

↵

(1).

"Retire," is to be spoken as a whole sentence, and with the greatest force of threatening. See Anger, page 31.

↵

(2).

"and to thy speed," to be spoken quick.

↵

(1).

"O Father," &c. must be spoken quick, as people do, when they mean to prevent imminent mischief.

↵

(1).

Dr. Arbuthnot.

↵

(2).

"The world had wanted."—Thus far ought to be spoken with great emphasis, as if somewhat very important were coming; and the remaining part of the line, "many an idle song," in a ludicrous manner.

↵

(3).

"With serious anguish," &c. may be spoken as if sick. See Sickness, page 35.

↵

(4).

Alluding to Horace's "Nonumque prematur in annum."

↵

(1).

Pitholeon. The name of a foolish ancient poet.

↵

(2).

"Curl invites," &c. Mr. Pope was, it seems, ill used by Curl, a bookseller, by the writer of a Journal, Newspaper and by a "parson much bemus'd in beer.

↵

(1).

The pupil, if he has not seen MACBETH, must be informed, that Duncan, one of the ancient kings of Scotland, was, according to Buchanan and other historians, murdered by Macbeth, one of the nobles of that kingdom, at the instigation of his lady, in their own house, in order to Macbeth's ascending the throne; and that Shakespeare, in this scene, intends to represent her troubled in her sleep with guilt and fear.

↵

(1).

There must be but little emphasis used in expressing what Lady Macbeth says, because it is but dreaming.

↵

(2).

"One, two," must be spoken as counting a great clock.

↵

(1).

"Ulysses!" is to be spoken as a whole sentence.

↵

(1).

"Good Peter Quince," &c. To be spoken with a great affectation of wisdom; but in a clumsy and rustic manner.

↵

(1).

Hercules.

↵

(2).

Lichas.

↵

(1).

This bombastic passage (probably intended to ridicule some play written in Shakespeare's time) cannot be too much mouthed and ranted.

↵

(2).

Phoebus's.

↵

(1).

Theseus, her first, and Menelaus, her second husband.

↵

(1).

It was by the handkerchief, that he knew his baseness was discovered by his lady.

↵

(1).

This passage cannot be expressed with life without something of the action of swimming.

↵

(1).

The character of Brutus being cool courage, his speech is to be expressed accordingly.

↵

(1).

"If dream'd." The impression being so strong, that she was in doubt, whether it was a dream or reality.

↵

(2).

"In vain," &c. The pupil must be told, that this means, "No matter whether any earthly creature is awake to admire your beauty."

↵

(1).

It may, perhaps, seem strange to some, that such a lesson as this should have a place. But, besides the diversion of seeing drunkenness well imitated, the moral is good. For this very frolick costs Cassio his place.

It is needless to mark the emphatical words in this passage. For drunkenness destroys all emphasis and propriety.

↵

(1).

The pupil must, if he does not know it, be told a little of the plot, viz. That Schylock had sent Tubal in search of his daughter, whom his ill usage, and the importunity of her lover, had occasioned to elope from his house. And that Antonio was a merchant, mortally hated by Schylock, who had borrowed a sum of money of Schylock on the terms of his forfeiting a pound of his flesh, wherever Schylock pleased to cut it, in case of his failing to discharge the debt on the day it was due.

↵

(1).

This speech begins calm and cool. See Tranquillity, page 20. Teaching, page 26, &c.

↵

(1).

"To carry on," &c. The antithesis, in this sentence, must be carefully marked in pronouncing it.

↵

(1).

Laud. Pride. See Courage, page 24.

↵

(1).

Reaching out his hand, as to snatch it. The first eight lines to be spoken with the eyes starring, and fixed on one point in the air, where he is supposed to see the dagger. See Despair, page 22. Malice 32.

↵

(1).

Drawing his dagger, and looking on it, and then on that in the air as comparing them.

↵

(2).

A long pause. He recollects and composes himself a little, and gives over fixing his eyes upon the air-drawn dagger.

↵

(3).

Plotting is always to be expressed with a low voice. Especially such a passage as this, to the end.

↵

(1).

See the note, page 174.

↵

(2).

See Affectation, hypocritical, page 30.

↵

(1).

Portia speaks all, to "Stop him, guards," without looking off the bond.

↵

(1).

"To b [...]—or not to be."—The thought, at length, would run thus, "Is death the total destruction of consciousness? Or do the dead still con [...] to think and act, though in a different manner from that of the present state?" The [...]he [...] in the second line is different, viz. "Whether is ru [...] mercie to put an end to life, when it becom [...] irks [...]n?"

↵

(1).

—But to die—To sleep—No more." The pauses must be equal. The sense, at length being, "Is dying only falling asleep, and nothing else?"

↵

(2).

"Devoutly to be wish'd." To be spoken with the eyes raised earnestly to heaven▪ See Veneration, page 20.

↵

(3).

—"Whose bourne." That is, border, or coast.

↵

(1).

Diadems are thought to have been only a sort of ring to go round the head, like a wreath.

↵

(1).

The god of riches.

↵

(1).

Hamlet, standing in conversation with Horatio and Marcellus, is supposed to be turned from the place where the ghost appears, and is seen by Horatio. When Horatio gives the word, that the ghost appears, Hamlet turne hastily round toward it in great consternation, and expresses his fear in the first line, "Angels and Minister," &c. Then, after a long pause, looking earnestly at the spectre, he goes on. "Be thou a spirit," &c. See Fear, p. 23.

↵

(2).

Questionable, means inviting question [...]. The ghost appeared in a shape so interesting to the young prince, viz. That of his father, that he could not help venturing to speak to it, though with great reluctance from fear.

↵

(1).

Cerements are the medicated swathings put about a dead body, to preserve it longer from putrefaction; from cera wax.

↵

(2).

The speech of the ghost to be spoken without action, very slow and solemn, with little variation of voice, and in a hollow dreary tone.

↵

(1).

Iago. You cannot, &c.] That is, "I hardly know [...] myself, what to think; and yet I cannot help suspecting Cassio"

↵

(2).

—doth make the meat it feeds on] That is, "Jealousy creates to itself, out of nothing, grounds of suspicion."

↵

(1).

He knows all qualities, &c.] That is, "He knows the characters of men and women, and is learned in human nature."

↵

(1).

Among the ancients, marriage was allowed between persons very nearly related.

↵

(1).

See for the value of talents, minae, drachmae, and stateres. Gronov. DE PECU [...]. VIT.

↵

(1).

In those simple ages, the cloth, or stuff, of which the clothes of persons, even of high rank, were made, was commonly manufactured, from the wool to the dying, at home.

↵

(1).

The author represents Satan's hostility as directed against the Supreme Being. But this seems (with all deference) to be incredible. For no created being can, without losing all use of reason, imagine itself a match for Omnipotence.

↵

(2).

"No, let, us," &c. to, "But perhaps," can hardly be over-acted, if the dignity of the speaker be kept up in pronouncing the passage. At the words, "But perhaps," &c. the angel composes himself again.

↵

(1).

The voice, instead of falling toward the end of this line, as usual, is to rise; and in speaking the word revenge, the fierceness of the whole speech ought, as it were, to be expressed in one word.

↵

(1).

Seneca was one of Nero's preceptors; and the emperor seemed, during the first part of his reign, to have profited much by his instructions. The egregious [...]ollies, and enormous, unprovoked cruelties he afterwards committed, of which his ordering Seneca to put himself to death, is among the most flagrant, seem hardly otherwise accountable, than by supposing that he lost the use of his reason.

↵

(1).

The Fasti, or Calendars, or, if you please, Almanacs, of the ancients, had, as our Almanacs, tables of kings, consuls, &c.

↵

(1).

"Her name" that is, her character, or reputation.

↵

(2).

"Dian's visage." Diana is represented in the heathen mythology, as a goddess of extraordinary purity.

↵

(1).

The Brigantines, according to Ptolemy, inhabited what is now called Yorkshire, the bishopric of Durham, &c.

↵

(1).

Of Persia.

↵

(1).

I did not know where to find a single sermon containing a sufficient variety of species of matter, for exercising, generally, the talents of a preacher. The reader will perceive, that the discourse in composed with a direct [...]ew to expression or delivery. And whoever has considered the strain of the popular addresses of the prophets and apostles, and of the Fathers, and best French preachers, to say nothing of the orations of Demost [...], Cicero, and the rest, will not, I hope, be offended at a v [...]oucity of remonstrance, and description, unusual in our English sermons; which are, otherwise, the best.

↵

(1).

Acts xxvi. 18.

↵

(2).

Heb. ii. 14, 15.

↵

(3).

Acts i. 3.

↵

(1).

Rom. i.

↵

(1).

The gospels, and particularly that by St. Matthew, in the 5th, 6th, and seventh chapters of which we have the peculiar laws of christianity summed up, probably, were not at this time, written.

↵

(2).

Rev. xxi.

↵

(1).

Gal. vi. 7.

↵

(2).

Rom. ii. [...]

↵

(3).

Rom. ix. 1, 2, 3.

↵

(4).

Isa. xlvi. 10.

↵

(5).

Gen. xviii. 29.

↵

(1).

John x. 13.

↵

(2).

Ezek. iii. 18, 19.

↵

(3).

Deut. xi 26.

↵

(4).

Matt. vii. 13.

↵

(1).

1 Tim. vi. 6.

↵

(1).

Prov. iii. [...].

↵

(1).

Job xxix. 15.

↵

(2).

Rev. iv.

↵

(3).

2 Pet. ii. 22.

↵

(1).

1 Cor. xv. 20.

↵

(2).

Prov. iii. 16.

↵

(3).

Mat. xiii. 39.

↵

(4).

Rom. viii. [...]0—24.

↵

(1).

Matt. xxvii. 45.

↵

(2).

Ibid. 53.

↵

(3).

Ibid. 53.

↵

(4).

Gal. iii. 13.

↵

(5).

Heb. vi. 6.

↵

(6).

Luke xxiii. 34.

↵

(7).

John xix. 30.

↵

(1).

Isa. i. 18.

↵

(2).

Isa. xliv. 22.

↵

(3).

Ibid lxv. 17.

↵

(4).

Ibid lv. 7.

↵

(5).

Heb. xiii. 22.

↵

(6).

1 Tim. iv. 8.

↵

(7).

John vi. 37.

↵

(8).

Exod. xxxiv. 6.

↵

(1).

Ezek. xxxiii. 11.

↵

(2).

1 Thess. ii. 19.

↵

(3).

1 Thess. i. 3.

↵

(4).

The literal signification of the Greek word: [...] which our English word Gospel (i. e. Good-book) expresses but weakly.

↵

(5).

2 Cor. ii. 16.

↵

(6).

1 Kings xix. 12.

↵

(1).

1 Cor. xv. 52.

↵

(2).

Rev. xx. 12.

↵

(3).

Rev. vi. 14, 15, 16.

↵

(4).

Rev. xx. 11.

↵

(5).

Ibid. 12.

↵

(6).

Luke vii. 30.

↵

(7).

Matt. xxv. 41.

↵

(1).

Heb. x. 31.

↵

(2).

Joh xxvi. 14.

↵

(1).

Tit ii. 11. the text.

↵

(2).

Mat. xxv. 41.

↵

(3).

Rev. iii. 4. vi. 11. vii. 9, 13, 14.

↵

(4).

Rev. ii. 7. xxii. 2, 14.

↵

(5).

Rev. iii. 21.

↵

(6).

Rev. ii. 10. iii 11. 1 Pet vi. 4. James i. 12. 2 Tim. iv. 8. 1 Cor. ix. 25.

↵

(7).

Dan. xii. 3.

↵

(8).

2 Cor. ii. 9.

↵

(1).

Titus ii. 11, 12, 13.

↵

(2).

Heb. ii. 3.

↵

(1).

1 Pet. ii. 25.

↵

(2).

Mat. xii. 29.

↵

(3).

2 Tim. i. 10.

↵

(4).

John viii. 12. xii. 46.

↵

(5).

Rev. v. 13.

↵

(6).

Phil. ii. 11.

↵

CONCLUSION.

[Page]

I HOPE the judicious reader will think the labour, I have bestowed in collecting, and altering, where proper, the foregoing LESSONS, not wholly lost. Though a greater number of passages might have been put together (which likewise must have enhanced the bulk and price of the book) I hope it will be owned, that this collection affords such a competent variety, that whoever can express, or deliver, properly, all the matter contained in these LESSONS, need be at no great loss in speaking any kind of matter, that can come in his way.

There are in the LESSONS, several humours, or passions, for expressing which there are no directions nominally given in the ESSAY: But in the ESSAY there are directions for expressing the principal humours, or passions, which commonly occur, and the others are generally referable to them. For example, there is not in the ESSAY such an article as HYPOCRISY which occurs in the LESSONS, page 183: but there is AFFECTATION of piety, in the ESSAY, page 30, which is the same thing under a different name, and so of others, which every reader's understanding will enable him to trace out with the help of the INDEX.

Masters of places of education, and private tutors, may easily enlarge the practice of their pupils, on the plan here given, to what extent they please; this part of education being, like all others, endless. The youth may be directed to translate from the ancients, especially the orators and then, the master correcting their translations, and marking the emphatical words with lines under them, and the various humors, or passions, on the margin, they may be instructed to commit the substance of them to memory, so as to be able without having too often recourse to their papers to speak them with ease and gracefulness, and with propriety as to tone of voice; looks and gesture.

TABLE of the LESSONS.

[Page]

I. NARRATION. Found. of the Rom. commonwealth. Sal. Page 61

II. Narr. Story of Damon and Pythias. Val. Max. Page 63

III. Narr. Story of Damocles. Cic Tusc. Quest. Page 64

IV. Narr. Rom. Charity. Val. Max. Plin. Page 65

V. Description. Character of Catiline. Sal. Bel. Catil. Page 67

VI. Arguing. Of moral certainty. Grace [...]f. Page 68

VII. Arguing. Absurdity of Atheism. Cic. Page 70

VIII. Sneer. Receipt to make an epic poem. Swift. Page 72

IX. Remonstrance, and contempt of pride. Mont. Page 74

X. Horrors of war. Pope's Hom. II. Page 75

XI. Petitioning with Dejection. Pens. Ing. Page 76

XII. Praise under the appearance of blame. Ibid. Page 78

XIII. A love-sick shepherd's Complaint. Philips. Page 79

XIV. Remonstrance. Pons. Ing. Page 80

XV. Authority and forbidding. Pope's Hom. Page 81

XVI. Sublime Description. Spect. Page 83

XVII. Description, sublime and terrible, Pope's Hom. Page 84

XVIII. Complaint. Pens. Ing. Page 85

XIX. Terrible Description. Philips. Page 86

XX. Ridicule. Tale of a Tub. Page 88

XXI. Exhortation. Pope. Page 91

XXII. Affectation of learning. Swift. Page 93

XXIII. Adoration. Milton. Page 97

XXIV. Peevishness. O [...]way. Page 99

XXV. Contempt. Pope. Page 101

XXVI. Clownish Bashfulness. Steele. Page 104

XXVII. Mournful Description. Dryd. Virg. Page 107

XXVIII. Rusticity. Affectation. Steele. Page 110

XXIX. Asking. Reproof. Approbation. Pope. Page 113

XXX. Polite Conversation. Steele. Page 115

XXXI. Serious Meditation. Young. Page 118

XXXII. Seeming Civility. Spenser. Page 119

XXXIII. Trepidation. Vexation. Shakes. Page 121

XXXIV. Various Characters. Pope. Page 126

XXXV. Reconciliation. Steele. Page 129

XXXVI. Characters. Pope. Page 134

XXXVII. Anxiety. Resolution. Addison. Page 136

XXXVIII. Anger. Threatening Milton. Page 138

XXXIX. Deprecation. Recollection. Ib. Page 139

XL. Vexation. Pertness. Cringing. Pope. Page 140

XLI. Desperation. Milton. Page 142

XLII. Walking in sleep. Shakesp. Page 144

XLIII. Intreating. Complaint. Refusal. Pope's Hom. Page 146

XLIV. Low Humour. Shakes. Page 150

XLV. Chiding. Pope's Hom. Page 155

[Page]XLVI. Remorse. Affection, &c. Steele. Page 156

XLVII. Discontent. Protting, &c. Shakes. Page 16 [...]

XLVIII. Joy. Trouble. Flattery. Fear, &c. Milton. Page 163

XLIX. Ang [...]. Transport. Steele. Page 165

L. Reproof. [...] Curt. Page 169

LI. Commanding. Intreating. Warning. Sal. Page 171

LII. Drun [...]ess. Shakes. Page 172

LIII. Vexation. Spiteful Joy. Ib. Page 174

LIV. Self-Vindication. Reproof. Sal. Page 176

LV. Plotting. Cruelty. Horror. Shakes. Page 180

LVI. Affection, Joy, &c. Milton. Page 18 [...]

LVII. Intercession. Obstinacy. Cruelty, &c. Shakes. Page 183

LVIII. Conjugal Affection, &c. Pope's Hom. Page 189

LIX. Remorse. Obduracy. Shakes. Page 193

LX. Reproaching. Exciting to Self-defence. Liv. Page 195

LXI. Doubting. Vexation, &c. Shakes. Page 200

LXII. Eagerness. Chiding. Intreating, Lucian. Page 202

LXIII. Accusation. Cic. Page 211

LXIV. Terror. Discovery of Wickedness, Shakes. Page 220

LXV. Exhortation. Reproaching. Demosth. Page 222

LXVI. Surmising. Jealousy. Shakes. Page 228

LXVII. Complaint. Intreating. Sal. Page 231

LXVIII. Accusation. Pity. Dion Halicarn. Page 236

LXIX. Consultation. Milton. Page 244

LXX. Fierceness. Desperation. Ib. Page 245

LXXI. Consideration. Dissuasion. Diffidence. Ib. Page 247

LXXII. Submission. Complaint. Intreating. Tacit. Page 250

LXXIII. Jealousy. Shakes. Page 252

LXXIV. Craft. Fear. Vexation. Moliere. Page 256

LXXV. Exhortation. Tacit. Page 261

LXXVI. Doubting. Vexation. Pedantry, &c. Moliere, Page 267

LXXVII. Warning. Blaming. Commendation, &c. Isoer. Page 280

LXXVIII. Blunt Reproof. Warning. &c. Q. Curt. Page 288

LXXIX. Outcry. Examination. Self-Defence, &c. Moliere. Page 291

LXXX. Dissuasion. Q. Curt. Page 299

LXXXI. Sermon. Page 301

INDEX OF PASSIONS, or HUMOURS, in the ESSAY and LESSONS.

[Page]

ACCUSATION 211, 212, 213, 214, 215, 217, 218, 219, 234, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242, 243, 254, 255, 262, 263, 289, 294. See Blaming.

Acquitting 25. See Approbation.

Admiration 29, 83, 84, 97, 98, 102, 103, 127, 133, 142, 158. See Commendation.

Adoration 97. See Praise.

Advice 80, 120, 123, 140, 149, 153, 185, 188, 287, 290, 291. See Cautioning, Warning, Alarm.

Affectation 30, 111, 112, 135, 151, 152, 180, 203, 206, 207, 208, 268, 273, 274, 275, 292, 293, 294, 295, 296. See Hypocrisy, Formality.

Affection 156, 157, 182, 190, 192. See Love. Tenderness.

Affirmation 25, 90, 242, 277, 315. See Positiveness.

Agony 196. See Complaint, Distress, Anguish, Trouble.

Agreeing 25, 2 [...]0. See Yielding.

Alarm 118, 120, 122, 139, 198, 199, 220, 227, 255, 257, 281, 282, 287, 299, 300, 306, 307, 308, 312, 317, 318, 322. See Fear, Terror, Fright.

Amazement 163, 269. See Surprise.

Anger 31, 93, 95, 129, 131, 132, 138, 141, 209, 269, 270, 275, 276, 293, 296. See Rage, Peevishness, Fury, Indignation.

Anguish 74, 79, 95, 133, 144, 145, 165, 176, 194, 201. 222, 231, 235, 249, 253, 309. See Distress, Complaint, Agony, Trouble.

Answering 184, 186. See Informing, Teaching, Explaining.

Anxiety 95, 96, 116, 122, 135, 136, 137, 146, 158, 174, 176, 177, 194, 200, 228, 254, 257, 267, 275, 295. See Distress, Vexation, Trouble, Perplexity.

Apology 114, 123, 165, 166, 199, 211, 212, 214, 222, 2 [...]6, 250, 251, 252, 254, 256, 260, 266, 267, 271, 280, 286, 287, 297, 299. See Self-Defence.

Applause 152, 186, 187, 188. See Commendation, Praise, Approbation.

Apprehension 85, 115, 117, 136, 137, 147, 151, 154, 158, 164, 166, 170, 182, 191, 192, 194, 201, 204, 20 [...], 215, 223, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 244, 247, [Page] 248, 267, 269, 270, 282, 313, 319. See Fear, Terror, Fright.

Approbation 101, 102, 113, 162, 210, 223. See Commendation, Praise, Applause

Arguing 26, 68, 70, 71, 103, 179, 180, 246, 247, 248, 249, 282, 313. See Teaching, Explaining.

Asking 111, 112, 257, 269. See Questioning.

Astonishment 254, See Wonder, Surprise, Amazement.

Attention 21, 104, 107, 145. See Respect, Esteem.

Authority 25, 81, 95, 132, 151, 152, 183, 185, 244, 295. See Commanding, Directing, Ordering, Dictating.

Aversion 33, 67, 102, 103, 104, 112, 128, 139, 191, 201, 222, 236, 237, 242, 303, 316. See Hatred.

Awe 75, 81, 86, 87, 92, 110, 136, 147, 182, 214, 247, 311, 315. See Reverence, Adoration, Respect, Esteem.

Aukwardness 104. See Clownishness, Bashfulness, Bluntness.

BASHFULNESS 104. See Clownishness, Aukwardness, Bluntness.

Benevolence 133. See Love, Kindness.

Beseeching 76, 77, 147, 321. See Intreating.

Blaming 103, 203, 204, 237, 240, 243, 267, 282, 283, 284, 297. See Chiding, Peevishness.

Blaspheming 143.

Bluntness 288, 291. See Bashfulness, Aukwardness, Clownishness.

Boasting 24, 74, 127 153, 205, 206, 207, 208. See Pride, Affectation.

Bombast 151.

Buffoonery 20. See Humour, Mirth.

CAUTIONING 94, 105, 153, 222, 230, 234, 254, 281. See Advising, Alarm, Warning.

Challenging 82, 156, 170, 218, 310. See Pride, Boasting, Chiding. Characters 126.

Charging 228, 240, 315, 321. See Accusing, Blaming, Chiding.

Cheerfulness 20. See Mirth, Humour.

Chiding, 100, 202, 205, 206 207, 209, 225, 226, 227, 274. See Blaming, Accusing, Reproaching.

Clownishness. 112. See Bashfulness, Aukwardness.

Comfort 86, 95, 136, 137, 167, 168, 191, 308, 316.

Commanding 25, 132, 107, 210, See Authority, Ordering, Directing, Dictating.

Commendation 33, 171, 264, 284, 285, 286, 300. See Approbation, Praise, Admiration.

Complaint 32, 79, 80, 85, 105, 190, 201, 202, 221, 131, 232, 234, 244, 250, 251, 263, 275, 279, 317. See Anguish, Agony, Grief.

[Page]Complaisance 129, 279, 280. See Kindness, Civility.

Complimenting 157. See Complaisance.

Compunction 193. See Remorse, Trouble, Guilt, Self-Condemnation.

Concern 78, 104, 114, 223, 230, 238, 254, 321. See Anxiety, Grief, Anguish, Distress

Condemning 26, 188. See Chiding, Accusing.

Confession 156. See Compunction.

Confidence 64, 209, 245. See Courage, Self-Defence.

Confusion 123, 124, 133, 136, 165, 166, 187, 188. See Distress, Complaint, Compunction.

Congratulation 78. See Joy.

Consideration 162, 247, 268.

Consultation 244. See Questioning, Asking,

Contemplation 136. See Consideration.

Contempt 70, 74, 82, 86, 87, 91, 92, 93, 101, 102, 103, 104, 127, 138, 155, 160, 161, 162, 177, 178, 179, 180, 196, 203, 205, 206, 207, 215, 225, 226, 227, 230, 245, 249, 265, 266, 268, 269, 270, 285, 286, 288, 290, 299, 300, 311.

Contriving 154. See Consultation, Consideration.

Courage 24, 64, 91, 199, 107, 109, 130, 137, 160, 180, 190, 191, 196, 200, 201, 223, 224, 244, 245, 248, 257, 259, 261, 264, 265, 266, 268, 288, 289, 302. See Confidence, Daring.

Craft 135, 228, 256. See Fawning, Cringing, Surmising.

Cringing 113, 141. See Craft.

Cruelty 32, 176, 183, 184, 186, 187.

Curiosity 29, 105, 136, 186.

DARING 163. See Courage.

Death 35, See Fainting.

Declamation 66. See Authority, Ordering.

Declaration 186, 228 See Explaining.

Declining 212. See Refusing, Denying.

Dejection 76, 77, 92, 115, 186. See Grief, Anxiety, Trouble.

Deliberation 247. See Consideration.

Delight 21, 71, 114, 320. See Satisfaction, Pleasure.

Demanding 279. See Insisting.

Denying 25, 151. See Refusing.

Deprecation 80, 86, 115, 128, 139, 190, 193, 218, 219, 319, See Awe, Reverence, Piety, Apprehension, Fear.

Description 67, 83, 84, 86, 107, 114, 119, 163, 190.

Desire 28, 136, 164, 267, 283, 297. See Love, Delight, Pleasure.

Despair 22, 80, 87, 142, 143, 144, 188, 189, 194, 195, 245, 248, 311. See Fear, Apprehension, Horier.

[Page]Desperation or Fury 255. See Anger, Peevishness.

Determining 210. See Insisting, Resolution.

Devotion 77, 172. See Reverence, Awe, Piety.

Dictating 88, 96. See Authority, Ordering, Insisting.

Differing 25.

Diffidence 247. See Anxiety, Fear, Trouble.

Dignity 129. See Esteem, Respect, Reverence, Awe.

Directing 102, 122, 150, 152, 176, 187, 223, 293, 295. See Authority.

Disappointment 174, 188, 205. See Vexation.

Disapprobation 78, 81, 166. See Displeasure, Peevishness, Anger.

Discontent 160, 161, 162. See Trouble, Anxiety, Peevishness.

Discovering 220, 222. See Horror, Surprize.

Dismissing 26, 141. See Approbation, Displeasure.

Displeasure 130, 147, 169. See Anger, Peevishness.

Disputing 270.

Distraction 35. See Rage, Fury, Frenzy.

Distress 100, 160, 166, 167, 189, 233, 239, 244, 280, 292. See Anguish, Grief, Vexation.

Dissuasion 249, 299.

Dotage 34. See Weakness.

Doubting 64, 152, 153, 181, 187, 200, 210, 223, 228, 267. See Anxiety, Vexation.

Dread 233. See Fear, Terror, Fright, Trembling.

Drunkenness 172.

EAGERNESS 127, 202. See Desire.

Earnestness 92, 94, 106, 112, 134, 135, 220, 224, 229, 259, 319. See Desire.

Encouraging 145, 152, 153, 223, 224, 249, 259, 260, 261, 287, 315, 317. See Approbation.

Enquiry 21, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 155, 164, 166, 168, 269, 271, 272. See Question.

Envy 32. See Aversion, Malice, Hatred.

Esteem 92, 297. See Respect.

Examination 291. See Question, Enquiry.

Exciting 91, 92, 105, 114, 123, 160, 161, 166, 171, 195, 200, 202, 214, 219, 222, 223, 233, 306, 321. See Courage, Honour.

Exclamation 139. See Outcry.

Excusing 141.

Execration 90, 100, 175. See Hatred, Aversion Anger, Rage.

Exhorting 25, 91, 154, 222, 261. See Advice.

Expiring 128. See Weakness, Fainting, Death.

Explaining 176, 231, 254, 278. See Teaching, Instruct.

Exprobation 147. See Reproaching.

[Page]FAINTING 35. See Weakness, Expiring, Death.

Fatigue 32, 251. See Weakness.

Fawning 208, 229. See Flattery.

Fear 23, 65, 74, 76, 96, 111, 120, 122, 236, 146, 160, 163, 164, 182, 190, 201, 256, 257, 2 [...]8, 295, 298, 308, 319. See Dread.

Fierceness 245, 246.

Firmness 130, 131, 137.

Flattery 163, 164, 294. See Fawning.

Folly 34.

Foppery 127, 207. See Affectation, Pertness.

Forbidding 25, 81, 185, 187, 188. See Displeasure.

Forgiving 133.

Formality 127. See Affectation.

Frenzy 168.

Fright 295, 296. See Fear, Terror, Dread.

Fury 247, 254. See Anger, Rage.

GIVING 29, 90, 188. See Granting.

Granting 27, 189, 243. See Giving.

Gratitude 133, 140, 159, 167, 178, 182, 250, 251, 255, 297. See Esteem, Respect.

Gravity 21. See Seriousness.

Grief 22, 92, 94, 107, 108, 110, 128, 192, 232, 234, 255, 314, 317, 319, 321. See Anxiety, Anguish, Vexation.

Guilt 145, 181, 194, 318. See Remorse, Horror, Compunction. Trouble, Self-Condemnation, Obduracy.

HASTE 123, 124, 189, 257, 279. See Trepidation, Hurry.

Hatred 142, 149. See Aversion.

Honour 198. See Exciting.

Hope 28, 132, 172, 194, 195, 223, 227, 233. See Pleasure, Joy, Satisfaction.

Horror 67, 75, 87, 107, 108, 110, 133, 142, 145, 180, 230, 233, 234, 235, 248, 255, 262, 263, 306, 310, 318, 319. See Agony, Fright, Anguish.

Humility 116, 176. See Modesty, Submission.

Humour, 93, 150. See Mirth.

Hurry 65, 123. See Haste, Trepidation.

Hypocrisy 183, 186, 208. See Affectation, Formality.

JEALOUSY 33, 131, 228, 231, 252, See Agony, Love, Hatred, Horror, Complaint, Rage.

Imagination 165, 166. See Wonder.

Impatience 209, 274. See Vexation, Peevishness, Anger.

Inculcating 171, 172. See Teaching, Insisting.

Indifference 110, 111, 112, 113, 115, 128, 231, 275. See Tranquillity.

Indignation 226, 228, 263. See Anger.

[Page]Informing 101, 105, 110, 114, 125, 150, 214, 315. See Teaching, Explaining, Instruction.

Insinuation 228, 260. See Fawning, Flattery.

Insisting 203, 204, 214. See Positiveness, Authority, Ordering, Commanding.

Instruction 280, 281, 283, 284, 286, 287, 289. See Teaching, Authority, Explaining.

Insult 149, 192. See Anger, Pride.

Intercession 183, 186, 193, 196. See Kindness, Love, Pity.

Intoxication 31. See Drunkenness.

Intreating 8 [...], 94, 133, 146, 158, 159, 171, 185, 191, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 207, 209, 211, 228, 233, 234, 237, 239, 250, 252, 257, 258, 259, 270, 271, 272, 273, 274, 293, 295, 297. See Distress, Love, Kindness.

Inviting 89, 121, 164, 210, 280. See Kindness.

Joy 21, 105, 116, 132, 156, 159, 163, 164, 165, 168, 176, 183, 252, 274, 280, 297, 306, 312, 313, 315, 320. See Pleasure.

Irritating 130, 131. See Anger, Reproaching, Accusing.

Judging 25.

KINDNESS 196, 210. See Inviting, Affection.

LAMENTATION 79, 167, 168, 190, 219, 233, 235, 291, 292, 293, 296. See Grief, Auguish, Distress, Agony.

Listening 144, 161, 182. See Seriousness, Esteem, Gravity, Anxiety.

Love 28, 159, 163, 254. See Tenderness, Affection.

MAJESTY 244. See Esteem. Respect.

Malice 32, 144, 184, 247, 252. See Hatred, Aversion, Spiteful, joy.

Meditation 118. See Seriousness, Attention, Anxiety.

Meekness 201. See Submission, Modesty.

Melancholy 22. See Grief, Anxiety, Concern, Vexation, Distress.

Mirth 20, 238. See Humour.

Mock-praise 126. See Contempt.

Modesty 21. See Submission, Humility.

NARRATION 61, 63, 64, 65, 67, 81, 86, 134, 135, 139, 155, 160, 161, 163, 175, 176, 189, 192, 237, 238, 240, 242, 254. See Explaining, Teaching, Instruction.

Neglect 102. See Contempt.

OBDURACY 143, 144, 193, 194. See Guilt.

Obsequiousness 96. See Submission, Humility, Modesty.

Obstinacy 25, 183, 184. See Obduracy.

Offence 111, 130, 140, 141, 165. See Anger.

[Page]Offering 290, 291. See Giving, Granting.

Ordering 124 See Authority, Commanding, Insisting.

Ostentation 270. See Pride, Affectation.

Outcry 291, 292. See Exclamation.

PARDONING 26 See Granting.

Passing Sentence 186, 187.

Peevishness 32, 89, 94, 96, 99, 127, 297. See Anger, Vexation

Perplexity 21, 75. See Anxiety, Concern.

Persuasion 30, 167. See Advice.

Pertness 140. See Foppery.

Perturbation 253, 254. See Trouble, Anxiety, Fear, Trepidation.

Petitioning 76. See Intreating.

Piety 130, 135, 183. See Adoration, Reverence.

Pity 22, 66, 107, 108, 111, 150, 166, 168, 183, 192, 209, 211, 213, 217, 218, 219, 236, 237, 238, 240, 243, 314, 315, 316, 317, 321. See Sympathy.

Pleading 183. See Intreating.

Pleasure 164, 185. See Joy.

Plotting 106, 160, 162, 180, 252, 255. See Anxiety.

Politeness 115. See Civility.

Pomp 86. See Majesty.

Positiveness 270. See Insisting.

Praise 78, 97, 98, 158, 166. See Piety, Approbation, Commendation.

Praying 129. See Intreating, Intercession.

Pressing 278. See Intreating, Insisting.

Pride 24, 93, 95, 127, 134, 135, 137, 138, 142, 143, 160, 170, 179, 204, 251, 268, 269, 270, 272, 281. See Contempt.

Promising 30, 177, 203, 211. See Kindness.

Protesting 159, 258, 307. See Affirming.

QUESTION 64, 74, 83, 89, 93, 94, 101, 104, 105, 106, 109, 110, 111, 117, 122, 125, 138, 139, 160, 174, 175, 179, 184, 185, 186, 188, 189, 204, 205, 206, 221, 228, 229, 230, 255, 256, 292, 315. See Enquiry.

RAGE 131, 143, 245, 253, 254. See Anger.

Raillery 20. See Humour, Sarcasm.

Rant 152, 161. See Bombast.

Rapture 160, 166, 169, 320. See Piety, Joy, Love Transport.

Recollection 89, 128, 132, 139, 166, 168, 225. 246, 254, 259, 267. See Seriousness, Consideration, Reflection.

Reconciliation 90, 129. See Kindness.

Reflection 142, 200. See Consideration, Remembrance.

[Page]Refusing 26, 146, 148, 188, 202, 203, 204, 205, 230, 260, 278, 279, 291. See Anger, Peevishness.

Regret 142, 161, 198, 199, 224, 226, 232, 264, 265. See Grief, Concern.

Relief 320. See Joy.

Reluctance 226, 230, 254, 259, 280, 291. See Aversion, Hatred, Anger, Refusing.

Remonstrance 74, 76, 77, 79, 80, 99, 100, 101, 132, 170, 172, 196, 197, 198, 199, 218, 227, 239, 249, 251, 258, 264, 286, 288, 289, 290, 307, 309, 313, 314, 315, 319, 321. See Arguing.

Remorse 24, 77, 133, 156, 158, 193. See Guilt.

Remembrance 163. See Reflection.

Reproaching 100, 123, 130, 160, 195, 197, 222, 314. See Chiding.

Reproving 25, 90, 113, 114, 122, 130, 139, 155, 169 176, 179, 184, 187, 199, 223, 224, 225, 226, 228, 253, 269, 287, 288, 290. See Chiding, Blaming, Peevishness, Displeasure,

Resolution 77, 136, 138, 148, 149, 156, 158, 164, 205. See Firmness.

Respect 103, 107, 110, 115, 116, 117, 178, 276, 277, 278, 279, See Esteem, Reverence.

Revenge 32. See Anger, Rage, Fury.

Reverence 185, 224, 312. See Respect, Esteem.

Ridicule 88. See Contempt, Humour, Mirth.

Rusticity 110. See Bashfulness, Clownishness, Aukwardness.

SARCASM 131, 227, 311. See Reproaching.

Satisfaction 136, 137, 270, 272. See Tranquillity, Joy, Pleasure, Approbation.

Seizing 274. See Anger.

Self-Condemnation 124, 133, 142, 143, 167, 254. See Remorse, Guilt.

Self-Defence 100, 130, 148, 153, 154, 176, 177, 180, 207, 209, 212, 286, 295, 296, 297, 299. See Apology.

Self-Denial 157, 159. See Modesty.

Sense of Injury 254. See Offence, Complaint, Vexation.

Seriousness 118, 130, 156, 182, 185. See Attention, Concern.

Shame 23, 133, 157, 158, 197, 225, 227, 314, 321.

Shock 239.

Shuddering 259.

Sickness 32, 128, 161.

Sincerity 199.

Sloth 31.

[Page]Smartness 151, 152.

Smoothness 127.

Sneaking 127, 188.

Sneer 72, 95, 101, 126, 148, 176, 197, 203.

Softness 314.

Solicitation 77, 228.

Soothing 253, 255.

Spiteful Joy 175, 176.

Starting 158, 180, 220.

Sternness 147.

Stiffness 276.

Strutting 127. See Pride, Affectation, Formality.

Submission 77, 86, 89, 90, 199, 132, 146, 154, 156, 157, 183, 203, 222, 232, 233, 234, 236, 237, 243, 250, 293, 296, 297. See Humility, Modesty.

Suffering 103. See Complaint.

Sullenness 132. See Peevishness.

Surmising 228, 229. See Craft.

Surprize 89, 90, 111, 123, 125, 132, 139, 140, 253, 254, 256, 274, 277, 294. See Wonder, Astonishment, Amazement.

Suspicion 145, 229, 258. See Doubting, Anxiety.

Sympathy 146, 231. See Pity.

TEACHING 26, 72, 88, 91, 92, 94, 101, 104, 127, 151, 172, 188, 213, 301, 303. See Explaining, Instruction, Inculcating.

Tempting 30, 164. See Fawning, Wheedling.

Tenderness 159, 183, 184, 192, 263, 322. See Love.

Terror 84, 147, 194, 220, 248, 294, 318. See Fear, Dread, Fright, Trembling.

Thirst of Blood 186, 187. See Cruelty.

Thoughtfulness 201. See Anxiety, Concern.

Threatening 82, 90, 120, 138, 141, 156, 183, 187, 189, 202, 206, 210, 231, 253, 276, 290, 294, 296, 298. See Anger, Rage, Offence.

Tranquillity 20.

Transport 159, 165. See Rapture.

Trembling 220, 257, 258, 295. See Fear.

Trepidation 65, 75, 84, 87, 91, 109, 121, 123, 128, 132, 158, 310. See Haste, Anxiety, Concern, Trouble,

Triumph 137, 187, 189, 280. See Joy, Pride.

Trouble 163. See Distress.

Trouble of Conscience 144. See Remorse.

VENERATION 27, 83, 92, 97, 137, 305, 322. See Praise, Adoration, Pity.

Vexation 22, 85, 95, 105, 106, 121, 124, 125, 134, 139, 140, 141, 155, 174, 195, 196, 200, 201, 204, 205, 211, 253, 254, 256, 259, 260, 261, 267, 271, 272, 273, 274, [Page] 275, 276, 277, 298. See Concern, Anxiety, Trouble.

Vindication 166. See Self-Defence, Kindness.

— of an Enemy 142.

WALKING in sleep 31, 144.

Warning 93, 108, 122, 147, 156, 171, 172, 261, 262, 263, 280, 288, 289, 290, 291, 299, 308, 315, 321. See Alarm.

Weakness 128, 315. See Fainting.

Weeping 128, 293, 296. See Grief.

Welcoming 184. See Kindness.

Wheedling 1 [...]1, 163, 208. See Flattery.

Whispering 208. See Anxiety.

Wonder 25, 66, 70, 71, 78, 89, 91, 93, 94, 104, 105, 110, 111, 113, 114, 125, 145, 157, 161, 162, 164, 166, 181, 241, 242, 257, 268, 271, 274, 293, 319. See Surprize, Admiration, Astonishment.

YIELDING 187. See Agreeing.

THE END

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Title statement

The art of speaking. Containing, I. An essay; in which are given rules for expressing properly the principal passions and humours, which occur in reading, or public speaking; and II. Lessons taken from the ancients and moderns (with additions and alterations where thought useful) exhibiting a variety of matter for practice; the emphatical words printed in italics; with notes of direction referring to the essay. : To which are added, a table of the lessons, and an index of the various passions and humours in the essay and lessons. : [Three lines in Latin from Cicero]

Burgh, James, 1714-1775.

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2011-05.

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N21584

ID [TCP]

N21584

ID [STC]

Evans 28373

ID [NOTIS]

APX3217

ID [IMAGE-SET]

28373

ID [EVANS-CITATION]

99019983

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— The art of speaking. Containing, I. An essay; in which are given rules for expressing properly the principal passions and humours, which occur in reading, or public speaking; and II. Lessons taken from the ancients and moderns (with additions and alterations where thought useful) exhibiting a variety of matter for practice; the emphatical words printed in italics; with notes of direction referring to the essay. : To which are added, a table of the lessons, and an index of the various passions and humours in the essay and lessons. : [Three lines in Latin from Cicero], Burgh, James, 1714-1775..

Extent

322, [14] p. ; 18 cm. (12mo)

by Thomas Hall, for James White, Court Street, and Ebenezer Larkin, Cornhill.,. Printed at Boston, :: MDCCXCV. [1795]. (Attributed to James Burgh in the Dictionary of national biography.) (Errors in paging: p. 122 numerals inverted; p. 134 misnumbered 431.)

Creation

Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.

Editorial practices

EEBO-TCP is a partnership between the Universities of Michigan and Oxford and the publisher ProQuest to create accurately transcribed and encoded texts based on the image sets published by ProQuest via their Early English Books Online (EEBO) database (http://eebo.chadwyck.com). The general aim of EEBO-TCP is to encode one copy (usually the first edition) of every monographic English-language title published between 1473 and 1700 available in EEBO.

EEBO-TCP aimed to produce large quantities of textual data within the usual project restraints of time and funding, and therefore chose to create diplomatic transcriptions (as opposed to critical editions) with light-touch, mainly structural encoding based on the Text Encoding Initiative (http://www.tei-c.org).

The EEBO-TCP project was divided into two phases. The 25,363 texts created during Phase 1 of the project have been released into the public domain as of 1 January 2015. Anyone can now take and use these texts for their own purposes, but we respectfully request that due credit and attribution is given to their original source.

Users should be aware of the process of creating the TCP texts, and therefore of any assumptions that can be made about the data.

Text selection was based on the New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature (NCBEL). If an author (or for an anonymous work, the title) appears in NCBEL, then their works are eligible for inclusion. Selection was intended to range over a wide variety of subject areas, to reflect the true nature of the print record of the period. In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so.

Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as <gap>s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor.

The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.

Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).

Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site.