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- text-align: right} - -.tdc { - text-indent: 0; - padding: 0; - text-align: center} - -/* End Tables */ - -.copy { - font-size: small; - text-align: center} - -.smcap { - font-variant: small-caps} - -/* Images */ -img { - border: none; - max-width: 100%} - -.figcenter { - clear: both; - margin: 2em auto; - text-align: center} - -.figcenter p { - max-width: 600px} - -/* Footnotes */ -.footnotes { - margin: 2em auto; - border: 4px double #004200} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-weight: normal; - font-size: x-small; - line-height: .1em; - text-decoration: none; - white-space: nowrap /* keeps footnote on same line as referenced text */} - -.footnote p:first-child { - text-indent: -2.5em} - -.footnote p { - margin: 1em; - padding-left: 2.5em} - -.label { - width: 2em; - display: inline-block; - text-align: right; - text-decoration: none} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - color: silver; - position: absolute; - right: 5px; - font-weight: normal; - font-size: small; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote { - background-color: #E6E6FA; - border: #004200 double 4px; - color: black; - margin: 2em auto; - padding: 1em} - -/* Poetry */ - -.poetry { - display: table; - margin: auto} - -.poem { - margin: auto; - display: inline-block; - text-align: left} - -.poem .stanza { - margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em} - .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 0.5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i12 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i14 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i15 {display: block; margin-left: 7.5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i18 {display: block; margin-left: 9em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i24 {display: block; margin-left: 12em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i26 {display: block; margin-left: 13em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 1.5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i30 {display: block; margin-left: 15em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Richard Hurd, Volume 2 (of 8), -by Richard Hurd - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Works of Richard Hurd, Volume 2 (of 8) - -Author: by Richard Hurd - -Release Date: September, 2016 [EBook #53012] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Wayne Hammond, Bryan Ness and the -Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from -the Google Books project.) - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF RICHARD HURD *** -</pre> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_i">i</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img id="coverpage" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="" /> -</div> - -<div class="transnote"> - -<h3>Transcriber’s Note:</h3> - -<p>This project uses utf-8 encoded characters. If some characters are -not readable, check your settings of your browser to ensure you have a -default font installed that can display utf-8 characters.</p> - -</div> - -<h1> -<small>THE</small><br /> -WORKS<br /> -<small>OF</small><br /> -RICHARD HURD, D.D.<br /> -<span class="large">LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER.</span><br /> -<br /> -<small>VOL. II.</small><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">ii</span></h1> - -<p class="copy"> -Printed by J. Nichols and Son,<br /> -Red Lion Passage, Fleet-Street, London. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_iii">iii</span></p> - -<p class="ph1"> -<small>THE</small><br /> -WORKS<br /> -<small>OF</small><br /> -RICHARD HURD, D.D.<br /> -<span class="large">LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER.</span><br /> - -<small>IN EIGHT VOLUMES.<br /> - -VOL. II.</small><br /> -<br /> -<img src="images/titlepage.png" alt="" /> -<br /> -<span class="medium table">LONDON:<br /> -<small>PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND.<br /> -1811.</small></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_iv">iv</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_v">v</span></p> - -<h2> -CRITICAL WORKS.<br /> -<br /> -<small>VOL. II.</small><br /> -</h2> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_vi">vi</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_vii">vii</span></p> - -<h2> -Q. HORATII FLACCI<br /> -EPISTOLAE<br /> -<span class="small">AD</span><br /> -<span class="large">PISONES,</span><br /> -<span class="small">ET</span><br /> -<span class="large">AUGUSTUM:</span><br /> -<span class="small">WITH AN ENGLISH</span><br /> -<span class="large">COMMENTARY AND NOTES:</span><br /> -<span class="small">TO WHICH ARE ADDED</span><br /> -<span class="large">CRITICAL DISSERTATIONS.</span><br /> -</h2> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_viii">viii</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_ix">ix</span></p> - -<h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS<br /> -<small>OF</small><br /> -THE SECOND VOLUME.</h2> - -<table> - <tr> - <td /> - <td class="tdr">Page.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc"><a href="#DISSERTATION_I"><span class="smcap">Dissertation I.</span><br /> - <i>On the Idea of Universal Poetry.</i></a></td> - <td class="tdrb">1</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc"><a href="#DISSERTATION_II"><span class="smcap">Dissertation II.</span><br /> - <i>On the Provinces of Dramatic Poetry.</i></a></td> - <td class="tdrb">27</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc"><a href="#DISSERTATION_III"><span class="smcap">Dissertation III.</span><br /> - <i>On Poetical Imitation.</i></a></td> - <td class="tdrb">107</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdc"><a href="#DISSERTATION_IV"><span class="smcap">Dissertation IV.</span><br /> - <i>On the Marks of Imitation.</i></a></td> - <td class="tdrb">243</td> - </tr> -</table> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_x">x</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xi">xi</span></p> - -<h2 id="CRITICAL_DISSERTATIONS">CRITICAL DISSERTATIONS.</h2> - -<table> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">I.</td> - <td><a href="#DISSERTATION_I">ON THE IDEA OF UNIVERSAL POETRY.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">II.</td> - <td><a href="#DISSERTATION_II">ON THE PROVINCES OF DRAMATIC POETRY.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">III.</td> - <td><a href="#DISSERTATION_III">ON POETICAL IMITATION.</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IV.</td> - <td><a href="#DISSERTATION_IV">ON THE MARKS OF IMITATION.</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<p class="author"> -<span style="margin-left: 10em;">VATIBVS ADDERE CALCAR,</span><br /> -VT STVDIO MAIORE PETANT HELICONA VIRENTEM.<br /> -<span class="smcap">Hor.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_xii">xii</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">1</span></p> - -<p class="ph1"> -<small>A</small><br /> - -DISSERTATION<br /> - -<small>ON THE</small><br /> - -IDEA OF UNIVERSAL POETRY.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">2</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">3</span></p> - -<h2 id="DISSERTATION_I">DISSERTATION I.<br /> - -<small>ON THE</small><br /> - -IDEA OF UNIVERSAL POETRY.</h2> - -<p>When we speak of poetry, as an <i>art</i>, we -mean <i>such a way or method of treating a subject, -as is found most pleasing and delightful -to us</i>. In all other kinds of literary composition, -pleasure is subordinate to <small>USE</small>: in poetry -only, <small>PLEASURE</small> is the end, to which use itself -(however it be, for certain reasons, always pretended) -must submit.</p> - -<p>This <i>idea</i> of the end of poetry is no novel -one, but indeed the very same which our great -philosopher entertained of it; who gives it as -the essential note of this part of learning—<small>THAT -IT SUBMITS THE SHEWS OF THINGS TO THE -DESIRES OF THE MIND: WHEREAS REASON DOTH -BUCKLE AND BOW THE MIND UNTO THE NATURE -OF THINGS</small>. For to <i>gratify the desires of the -mind</i>, is to <small>PLEASE</small>: <i>Pleasure</i> then, in the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">4</span> -idea of Lord Bacon, is the ultimate and appropriate -end of poetry; for the sake of which -it accommodates itself to <i>the desires of the -mind</i>, and doth not (as other kinds of writing, -which are under the controul of <i>reason</i>) <i>buckle -and bow the mind to the nature of things</i>.</p> - -<p>But they, who like a principle the better -for seeing it in Greek, may take it in the words -of an old philosopher, <span class="smcap">Eratosthenes</span>, who affirmed—ποιητὴν -πάντα στοχάζεσθαι ψυχαγωγίας, -οὐ διδασκαλίας—of which words, the -definition given above, is the translation.</p> - -<p>This <i>notion</i> of the end of poetry, if kept -steadily in view, will unfold to us all the mysteries -of the poetic art. There needs but to -evolve the philosopher’s idea, and to apply it, -as occasion serves. <i>The art of poetry</i> will be, -universally, <small>THE ART OF PLEASING</small>; and all its -<i>rules</i>, but so many <small>MEANS</small>, which experience -finds most conducive to that end;</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sic <small>ANIMIS</small> natum inventumque poema <small>JUVANDIS</small>.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Aristotle has delivered and explained these -rules, so far as they respect one species of -poetry, the <i>dramatic</i>, or, more properly -speaking, the <i>tragic</i>: And when such a writer, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">5</span> -as he, shall do as much by the other species, -then, and not till then, a complete <small>ART OF -POETRY</small> will be formed.</p> - -<p>I have not the presumption to think myself, -in any degree, equal to this arduous task: -But from the idea of this art, as given above, -an ordinary writer may undertake to deduce -some general conclusions, concerning <i>Universal -Poetry</i>, which seem preparatory to those -nicer disquisitions, concerning its <i>several sorts -or species</i>.</p> - -<p>I. It follows from that <small>IDEA</small>, that it should -neglect no advantage, that fairly offers itself, -of appearing in such a dress or mode of language, -as is most <i>taking</i> and agreeable to us. -We may expect then, in the language or style -of poetry, a choice of such words as are most -sonorous and expressive, and such an arrangement -of them as throws the discourse out of -the ordinary and common phrase of conversation. -Novelty and variety are certain sources -of pleasure: a construction of words, which is -not vulgar, is therefore more suited to the ends -of poetry, than one which we are every day -accustomed to in familiar discourse. Some -manners of placing them are, also, more agreeable -to the ear, than others: Poetry, then, is -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">6</span> -studious of these, as it would by all means, -not manifestly absurd, give pleasure: And -hence a certain musical cadence, or what we -call <i>Rhythm</i>, will be affected by the poet.</p> - -<p>But, of all the means of adorning and enlivening -a discourse by words, which are infinite, -and perpetually grow upon us, as our -knowledge of the tongue, in which we write, -and our skill in adapting it to the ends of -poetry, increases, there is none that pleases -more, than <i>figurative expression</i>.</p> - -<p>By <i>figurative expression</i>, I would be understood -to mean, here, that which respects -<i>the pictures or images of things</i>. And this -sort of figurative expression is universally -pleasing to us, because it tends to impress on -the mind the most distinct and vivid conceptions; -and truth of representation being of less -account in this way of composition, than the -liveliness of it, poetry, as such, will delight -in tropes and figures, and those the most -strongly and forceably expressed. And though -the <i>application</i> of figures will admit of great -variety, according to the nature of the subject, -and the <i>management</i> of them must be suited -to the taste and apprehension of the people, to -whom they are addressed, yet, in some way -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">7</span> -or other, they will find a place in all works of -poetry; and they who object to the use of -them, only shew that they are not capable of -being pleased by this sort of composition, or -do, in effect, interdict the thing itself.</p> - -<p>The ancients looked for so much of this force -and spirit of expression in whatever they dignified -with the name of <i>poem</i>, that Horace -tells us it was made a question by some, whether -comedy were rightly referred to this class, -because it differed only, in point of measure, -from mere prose.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Idcirco quidam, comoedia necne poema<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Esset, quaesivere: quod acer spiritus, ac vis,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nec <i>verbis</i>, nec rebus inest: nisi quod pede certo<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Differt sermoni, sermo merus—<br /></span> -<span class="author">Sat. l. I. iv.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But they might have spared their doubt, or -at least have resolved it, if they had considered -that comedy adopts as much of this <i>force and -spirit of words</i>, as is consistent with the <i>nature</i> -and <i>degree</i> of that pleasure, which it pretends -to give. For the name of poem will belong -to every composition, whose primary end -is to <i>please</i>, provided it be so constructed as to -afford <i>all</i> the pleasure, which its kind or <i>sort</i> -will permit. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">8</span></p> - -<p>II. From the idea of the <i>end</i> of poetry, it -follows, that not only figurative and tropical -terms will be employed in it, as <i>these</i>, by the -images they convey, and by the air of novelty -which such indirect ways of speaking carry -with them, are found most delightful to us, -but also that <small>FICTION</small>, in the largest sense of -the word, is essential to poetry. For its purpose -is, not to delineate truth simply, but to -present it in the most taking forms; not to reflect -the real face of things, but to illustrate -and adorn it; not to represent the fairest objects -only, but to represent them in the fairest -lights, and to heighten all their beauties up to -the possibility of their natures; nay, to <i>outstrip</i> -nature, and to address itself to our wildest -fancy, rather than to our judgment and cooler -sense.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Οὔτ’ ἐπιδερκτὰ τάδ’ ἀνδράσιν, οὔτ’ ἐπακουστὰ,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Οὔτε νόῳ περίληπτα—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>As sings one of the profession<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">1</a>, who seems to -have understood his privileges very well.</p> - -<p>For there is something in the mind of man, -sublime and elevated, which prompts it to -overlook obvious and familiar appearances, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">9</span> -and to feign to itself other and more extraordinary; -such as correspond to the extent of its -own powers, and fill out all the faculties and -capacities of our souls. This restless and aspiring -disposition, poetry, first and principally, -would indulge and flatter; and thence takes its -name of <i>divine</i>, as if some power, above <i>human</i>, -conspired to lift the mind to these exalted -conceptions.</p> - -<p>Hence it comes to pass, that it deals in -apostrophes and invocations; that it impersonates -the virtues and vices; peoples all creation -with new and living forms; calls up infernal -spectres to terrify, or brings down celestial -natures to astonish, the imagination; assembles, -combines, or connects its ideas, at pleasure; -in short, prefers not only the agreeable, -and the graceful, but, as occasion calls upon -her, the vast, the incredible, I had almost -said, the impossible, to the obvious truth and -nature of things. For all this is but a feeble -expression of that magic virtue of poetry, which -our Shakespear has so forcibly described in -those well-known lines—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rowling,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Doth glance from heav’n to earth, from earth to heav’n;<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">10</span> -<span class="i0">And, as Imagination bodies forth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Turns them to shape, and gives to aery nothing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A focal habitation and a name.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>When the received system of manners or -religion in any country, happens to be so constituted -as to suit itself in some degree to this -extravagant turn of the human mind, we may -expect that poetry will seize it with avidity, -will dilate upon it with pleasure, and take a -pride to erect its specious wonders on so proper -and convenient a ground. Whence it cannot -seem strange that, of all the forms in which -poetry has appeared, that of <i>pagan fable</i>, and -<i>gothic romance</i>, should, in their turns, be -found the most alluring to the true poet. For, -in defect of these advantages, he will ever adventure, -in some sort, to supply their place -with others of his own invention; that is, he -will mould every system, and convert every -subject, into the most amazing and miraculous -form.</p> - -<p>And this is that I would say, at present, of -these two requisites of universal poetry, namely, -<i>that licence of expression</i>, which we call the -<i>style</i> of poetry, and <i>that licence of representation</i>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">11</span> -which we call <i>fiction</i>. The <i>style</i> is, -as it were, the body of poetry; <i>fiction</i>, is its -soul. Having, thus, taken the privilege of a -poet to create a Muse, we have only now to -give her a voice, or more properly to <i>tune</i> it, -and then she will be in a condition, as one of -her favourites speaks, <span class="smcap">to ravish all the Gods</span>. -For</p> - -<p>III. It follows from the same idea of the -<i>end</i>, which poetry would accomplish, that not -only Rhythm, but <small>NUMBERS</small>, properly so called, -is essential to it. For this Art undertaking to -gratify all those desires and expectations of -pleasure, that can be reasonably entertained -by us, and there being a capacity in language, -the instrument it works by, of pleasing us very -highly, not only by the sense and imagery it -conveys, but by the structure of words, and -still more by the harmonious arrangement of -them in metrical sounds or numbers, and -lastly there being no reason in the nature of -the thing itself why these pleasures should not -be united, it follows that poetry will not be -that which it professes to be, that is, not -accomplish its own purpose, unless it delight -the ear with numbers, or, in other words, unless -it be cloathed in <small>VERSE</small>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">12</span></p> - -<p>The reader, I dare say, has hitherto gone -along with me, in this deduction: but here, I -suspect, we shall separate. Yet he will startle -the less at this conclusion, if he reflect on the -origin and first application of poetry among all -nations.</p> - -<p>It is every where of the most early growth, -preceding every other sort of composition; and -being destined for the <i>ear</i>, that is, to be either -sung, or at least recited, it adapts itself, even -in its first rude essays, to that sense of measure -and proportion in sounds, which is so natural -to us. The hearer’s attention is the sooner -gained by this means, his entertainment -quickened, and his admiration of the performer’s -art excited. Men are ambitious of -pleasing, and ingenious in refining upon what -they observe will please. So that musical cadences -and harmonious sounds, which nature -dictated, are farther softened and improved by -art, till poetry become as ravishing to the ear, -as the images, it presents, are to the imagination. -In process of time, what was at first -the extemporaneous production of genius -or passion, under the conduct of a <i>natural -ear</i>, becomes the labour of the closet, -and is conducted by artificial rules; yet still, -with a secret reference to the <i>sense</i> of hearing, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">13</span> -and to that acceptation which melodious sounds -meet with in the recital of expressive words.</p> - -<p>Even the prose-writer (when the art is -enough advanced to produce prose) having -been accustomed to have his ear consulted and -gratified by the poet, catches insensibly the -same harmonious affection, tunes his sentences -and periods to some agreement with -song, and transfers into his coolest narrative, -or gravest instruction, something of that music, -with which his ear vibrates from poetic -impressions.</p> - -<p>In short, he leaves measured and determinate -numbers, that is, <span class="smcap">Metre</span>, to the poet, -who is to please up to the height of his faculties, -and the nature of his work; and only reserves -to himself, whose purpose of giving -pleasure is subordinate to another end, the -looser musical measure, or what we call -<span class="smcap">Rhythmical Prose</span>.</p> - -<p>The reason appears, from this deduction, -why <i>all</i> poetry aspires to please by melodious -numbers. To <i>some</i> species, it is thought -more essential, than to others, because those -species continue to be <i>sung</i>, that is, are more -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">14</span> -immediately addressed to the ear; and because -they continue to be sung in concert with <i>musical -instruments</i>, by which the ear is still -more indulged. It happened in antient Greece, -that even tragedy retained this accompaniment -of musical instruments, through all its stages, -and even in its most improved state. Whence -Aristotle includes <i>Music</i>, properly so called, -as well as <i>Rhythm</i> and <i>Metre</i>, in his idea of -the tragic poem. He did this, because he -found the drama of his country, <small>OMNIBUS NUMERIS -ABSOLUTUM</small>, I mean in possession of all -the advantages which could result from the -union of <i>rhythmical</i>, <i>metrical</i>, and <i>musical</i> -sounds. Modern tragedy has relinquished -part of these: yet still, if it be true that this -poem be more pleasing by the addition of the -<i>musical</i> art, and there be nothing in the nature -of the composition which forbids the use of it, -I know not why Aristotle’s idea should not be -adopted, and his precept become a standing -law of the tragic stage. For this, as every -other poem, being calculated and designed -properly and ultimately to <i>please</i>, whatever -contributes to produce that end most perfectly, -all circumstances taken into the account, must -be thought of the nature or essence of the -kind. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">15</span></p> - -<p>But without carrying matters so far, let us -confine our attention to metre, or what we call -<i>verse</i>. This must be essential to every work -bearing the name of <i>poem</i>, not, because we -are only accustomed to call works written in -verse, <i>poems</i>, but because a work, which professes -to please us by every possible and proper -method, and yet does not give us this pleasure, -which it is in its power, and is no way -improper for it, to give, must so far fall short -of fulfilling its own engagements to us; that is, -it has not all those qualities which we have a -right to expect in a work of literary art, of -which <i>pleasure</i> is the ultimate <i>end</i>.</p> - -<p>To explain myself by an obvious instance. -History undertakes to <small>INSTRUCT</small> us in the -transactions of past times. If it answer this -purpose, it does all that is of <i>its nature</i>; and, -if it find means to <i>please</i> us, besides, by the -harmony of its style, and vivacity of its narration, -all this is to be accounted as pure gain: -if it instructed <small>ONLY</small>, by the truth of its -reports, and the perspicuity of its method, it -would fully attain its <i>end</i>. Poetry, on the -other hand, undertakes to <small>PLEASE</small>. If it employ -all its powers to this purpose, it effects all -that is of <i>its nature</i>: if it serve, besides, to -inform or instruct us, by the truths it conveys, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">16</span> -and by the precepts or examples it inculcates, -this service may rather be accepted, than required -by us: if it pleased <small>ONLY</small>, by its ingenious -fictions, and harmonious structure, it -would discharge its office, and answer its -<i>end</i>.</p> - -<p>In this sense, the famous saying of Eratosthenes, -quoted above—<i>that the poet’s aim is -to please, not to instruct</i>—is to be understood: -nor does it appear, what reason Strabo -could have to take offence at it; however it -might be misapplied, as he tells us it was, by -that writer. For, though the poets, no doubt -(and especially <small>THE POET</small>, whose honour the -great Geographer would assert, in his criticism -on Eratosthenes) frequently <i>instruct us</i> by a -true and faithful representation of things; yet -even this instructive air is only assumed for the -sake of <i>pleasing</i>; which, as the human mind -is constituted, they could not so well do, if -they did not instruct at all, that is, if <i>truth</i> -were wholly neglected by them. So that <i>pleasure</i> -is still the ultimate end and <i>scope</i> of the -poet’s art; and <i>instruction</i> itself is, in his -hands, only one of the <i>means</i>, by which he -would effect it<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">2</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">17</span></p> - -<p>I am the larger on this head to shew that it -is not a mere verbal dispute, as it is commonly -thought, whether poems should be written in -verse, or no. Men may include, or not include, -the idea of metre in their complex idea -of what they call a <i>Poem</i>. What I contend -for, is, that <i>metre</i>, as an instrument of -<i>pleasing</i>, is essential to every work of poetic -art, and would therefore enter into such idea, -if men judged of poetry according to its confessed -<i>nature and end</i>.</p> - -<p>Whence it may seem a little strange, that -my Lord Bacon should speak of <i>poesy as a -part of learning in measure of words</i> <small>FOR THE -MOST PART</small> <i>restrained</i>; when his own notion, -as we have seen above, was, that the essence -of poetry consisted <i>in submitting the shews of -things to the desires of the mind</i>. For these -<i>shews of things</i> could only be exhibited to the -mind through the <i>medium of words</i>: and it is -just as natural for the mind to desire that these -words should be <i>harmonious</i>, as that the -images, conveyed in them, should, be <i>illustrious</i>; -there being a capacity in the mind of -being delighted through its organ, the <i>ear</i>, as -well as through its power, or faculty of <i>imagination</i>. -And the wonder is the greater, because -the great philosopher himself was aware -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">18</span> -of the <i>agreement and consort which poetry -hath with music</i>, as well as <i>with man’s nature -and pleasure</i>, that is, with the pleasure which -naturally results from gratifying the imagination. -So that, to be consistent with himself, -he should, methinks, have said—<i>that poesy -was a part of learning in measure of words</i> -<small>ALWAYS</small> <i>restrained</i>; such <i>poesy</i>, as, through -the idleness or negligence of writers, is not so -restrained, not agreeing to his own idea of <i>this -part of learning</i><a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">3</a>.</p> - -<p>These reflexions will afford a proper solution -of that question, which has been agitated -by the critics, “Whether a work of fiction -and imagination (such as that of the archbishop -of Cambray, for instance) conducted, -in other respects, according to the rules of -the epic poem, but written in prose, may -deserve the name of <span class="smcap">Poem</span>, or not.” For, -though it be frivolous indeed to dispute about -names, yet from what has been said it appears, -that if metre be not incongruous to the nature -of an epic composition, and it afford a pleasure -which is not to be found in mere prose, metre -is, for that reason, essential to this mode of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">19</span> -writing; which is only saying in other words, -that an epic composition, to give all the pleasure -which it is capable of giving, must be -written in <i>verse</i>.</p> - -<p>But, secondly, this conclusion, I think, extends -farther than to such works as aspire to -the name of <i>epic</i>. For instance, what are we -to think of those <i>novels</i> or <i>romances</i>, as they -are called, that is, fables constructed on some -private and familiar subject, which have been -so current, of late, through all Europe? As -they propose pleasure for their end, and prosecute -it, besides, in the way of <i>fiction</i>, though -without metrical numbers, and generally, indeed, -in harsh and rugged prose, one easily -sees what their pretensions are, and under -what idea they are ambitious to be received. -Yet, as they are wholly destitute of measured -sounds (to say nothing of their other numberless -defects) they can, at most, be considered -but as hasty, imperfect, and abortive poems; -whether spawned from the dramatic, or narrative -species, it may be hard to say—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Unfinish’d things, one knows not what to call,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their generation’s so equivocal.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">20</span></p> - -<p>However, such as they are, these <i>novelties</i> -have been generally well received: <i>Some</i>, for -the real merit of their execution; <i>Others</i>, for -their amusing subjects; <i>All</i> of them, for the -gratification they afford, or promise at least, -to a vitiated, palled, and sickly imagination—that -last disease of learned minds, and sure -prognostic of expiring Letters. But whatever -may be the temporary success of these things -(for they vanish as fast as they are produced, -and are produced as soon as they are conceived) -good sense will acknowledge no work of art -but such as is composed according to the laws -of its <i>kind</i>. These <small>KINDS</small>, as arbitrary things -as we account them (for I neither forget nor -dispute what our best philosophy teaches concerning -<i>kinds</i> and <i>sorts</i>), have yet so far their -foundation in nature and the reason of things, -that it will not be allowed us to multiply, or -vary them, at pleasure. We may, indeed, -mix and confound them, if we will (for there -is a sort of literary luxury, which would engross -all pleasures at once, even such as are -contradictory to each other), or, in our rage -for incessant gratification, we may take up -with half-formed pleasures, such as come first -to hand, and may be administered by any -body: But true taste requires chaste, severe, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">21</span> -and simple pleasures; and true genius will only -be concerned in administering such.</p> - -<p>Lastly, on the same principle on which we -have decided on these questions concerning -the <i>absolute merits</i> of poems in prose, in -<i>all</i> languages, we may, also, determine another, -which has been put concerning the -<i>comparative merits</i> of <small>RHYMED</small>, and what is -called <small>BLANK</small> verse, in our <i>own</i>, and the other -<i>modern</i> languages.</p> - -<p>Critics and antiquaries have been sollicitous -to find out who were the inventors of rhyme, -which some fetch from the Monks, some from -the Goths, and others from the Arabians: -whereas, the truth seems to be, that <i>rhyme</i>, -or the consonance of final syllables, occurring -at stated intervals, is the dictate of nature, or, -as we may say, an appeal to the <i>ear</i>, in all languages, -and in some degree pleasing in all. The -difference is, that, in some languages, these consonances -are apt of themselves to occur so often -that they rather nauseate, than please, and so, -instead of being affected, are studiously avoided -by good writers; while in others, as in all the -modern ones, where these consonances are less -frequent, and where the quantity of syllables -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">22</span> -is not so distinctly marked as, of itself, to afford -an harmonious measure and musical variety, -there it is of necessity that poets have -had recourse to <i>Rhyme</i>; or to some other expedient -of the like nature, such as the <i>Alliteration</i>, -for instance; which is only another -way of delighting the ear by iterated sound, -and may be defined, <i>the consonance of initial -letters</i>, as rhyme is, the <i>consonance of final -syllables</i>. All this, I say, is of necessity, because -what we call verses in such languages -will be otherwise untuneful, and will not strike -the ear with that vivacity, which is requisite -to put a sensible difference between poetic -numbers and measured prose.</p> - -<p>In short, no method of gratifying the ear -by <i>measured sound</i>, which experience has -found pleasing, is to be neglected by the poet: -and although, from the different structure -and genius of languages, these methods will -be different, the studious application of such -methods, as each particular language allows, -becomes a necessary part of his office. He -will only cultivate those methods most, which -tend to produce, in a given language, the most -harmonious structure or measure, of which it -is capable. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</span></p> - -<p>Hence it comes to pass, that the poetry of -some modern languages cannot so much as -subsist, without rhyme: In others, it is only -embellished by it. Of the <i>former</i> sort is the -French, which therefore adopts, and with -good reason, rhymed verse, not in tragedy -only, but in comedy: And though foreigners, -who have a language differently constructed, -are apt to treat this observance of rhyme as an -idle affectation, yet it is but just to allow that -the French themselves are the most competent -judges of the natural defect of their own -tongue, and the likeliest to perceive by what -management such defect is best remedied or -concealed.</p> - -<p>In the <i>latter</i> class of languages, whose -poetry is only embellished by the use of -rhyme, we may reckon the Italian and the -English: which being naturally more tuneful -and harmonious than the French, may afford -all the melody of sound which is expected in -some sorts of poetry, by its <i>varied pause</i>, and -<i>quantity</i> only; while in other sorts, which are -more sollicitous to please the ear, and where -such solicitude, if taken notice of by the -reader or hearer, is not resented, it may be -proper, or rather it becomes a law of the English -and Italian poetry, to adopt <i>rhyme</i>. Thus, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</span> -our tragedies are usually composed in blank -verse: but our epic and Lyric compositions -are found most pleasing, when cloathed in -rhyme. Milton, I know, it will be said, is -an exception: But, if we set aside some -learned persons, who have suffered themselves -to be too easily prejudiced by their admiration -of the Greek and Latin languages, and still -more, perhaps, by the prevailing notion of the -monkish or gothic original of rhymed verse, -all other readers, if left to themselves, would, -I dare say, be more delighted with this poet, -if, besides his various pause, and measured -quantity, he had enriched his numbers, with -<i>rhyme</i>. So that his love of liberty, the ruling -passion of his heart, perhaps transported him -too far, when he chose to follow the example -set him by one or two writers of <i>prime note</i> -(to use his own eulogium), rather than comply -with the regular and prevailing practice of his -favoured Italy, which first and principally, as -our best rhymist sings,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With pauses, cadence, and well-vowell’d words,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the graces a good ear affords,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Made rhyme an art</span>—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Our comedy, indeed, is generally written -in <i>prose</i>; but through the idleness, or ill taste, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</span> -of our writers, rather than from any other just -cause. For, though rhyme be not necessary, -or rather would be improper, in the comedy -of our language, which can support itself in -poetic numbers, without the diligence of -rhyme; yet some sort of metre is requisite in -this humbler species of poem; otherwise, it -will not contribute all that is within its power -and province, to <i>please</i>. And the particular -metre, proper for this species, is not far to -seek. For it can plainly be no other than a -careless and looser Iambic, such as our language -naturally runs into, even in conversation, -and of which we are not without examples, in -our old and best writers for the comic stage. -But it is not wonderful that those critics, who -take offence at English epic poems in <i>rhyme</i>, -because the Greek and Latin only observed -<i>quantity</i>, should require English comedies to -be written in <i>prose</i>, though the Greek and -Latin comedies were composed in <i>verse</i>. For -the ill application of examples, and the neglect -of them, may be well enough expected from -the same men, since it does not appear that -their judgment was employed, or the reason -of the thing attended to, in either instance.</p> - -<p>And <small>THUS</small> much for the idea of <span class="smcap">Universal -Poetry</span>. It is the art of treating any subject -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</span> -in <i>such</i> a way as is found most delightful to -us; that is, <small>IN AN ORNAMENTED AND NUMEROUS -STYLE—IN THE WAY OF FICTION—AND IN -VERSE</small>. Whatever deserves the name of <small>POEM</small> -must unite these three properties; only in different -degrees of each, according to its nature. -For the art of every <i>kind</i> of poetry is only this -general art so modified as the <i>nature</i> of each, -that is, its more immediate and subordinate -end, may respectively require.</p> - -<p>We are now, then, at the well-head of the -poetic art; and they who drink deeply of this -spring, will be best qualified to perform the -rest. But all heads are not equal to these copious -draughts; and, besides, I hear the sober -reader admonishing me long since—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">Lusisti satis atque <small>BIBISTI</small>;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tempus abire tibi est, ne <small>POTUM LARGIUS AEQUO</small><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rideat, et pulset lasciva decentius <small>AETAS</small>.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">Thurcaston</span>,<br /> -<span class="i2"><small>MDCCLXV</small>.</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</span></p> - -<p class="ph1"><small>A</small><br /> - -DISSERTATION<br /> - -<small>ON THE</small><br /> - -<span class="x-large">PROVINCES OF THE DRAMA.</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</span></p> - -<h2 id="DISSERTATION_II">DISSERTATION II.<br /> - -<small>ON THE</small><br /> - -PROVINCES OF THE DRAMA.</h2> - -<p>In the former Essay, I gave an idea, or slight -sketch, of <i>Universal Poetry</i>. In this, I attempt -to deduce the laws of one of its kinds, -the <i>Dramatic</i>, under all its forms. And I -engage in this task, the rather, because, though -much has been said on the subject of the -drama, writers seem not to have taken sufficient -pains to distinguish, with exactness, its -several species.</p> - -<p>I deduce the laws of this poem, as I did -those of poetry at large, from the consideration -of its <i>end</i>: not the general end of poetry, -which alone was proper to be considered -the former case, but the proximate end of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</span> -this kind. For from these ends, in subordination -to that, which governs the genus, or -which all poetry, as such, designs and prosecutes, -are the peculiar rules and maxims of -each species to be derived.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The purpose of the Drama</span> is, universally, -“to represent human life in the way of -<i>action</i>.” But as such representation it made -for separate and distinct <small>ENDS</small>, it is, further, -distinguished into different <i>species</i>, which we -know by the names of <span class="smcap">Tragedy</span>, <span class="smcap">Comedy</span>, -and <span class="smcap">Farce</span>.</p> - -<p>By <span class="smcap">Tragedy</span>, then, I mean that species -of dramatic representation, whose <i>end</i> is -“<i>to excite the passions of</i> <small>PITY</small> <i>and</i> <small>TERROR</small>, -<i>and perhaps some others, nearly allied to -them</i>.”</p> - -<p>By <span class="smcap">Comedy</span> <i>that</i>, which proposeth, for the -<i>ends</i> of its representation, “<i>the sensation of -pleasure arising from a view of the truth of</i> -<small>CHARACTERS</small>, <i>more especially their specific -differences</i>.”</p> - -<p>By <span class="smcap">Farce</span> I understand, that species of the -drama, “<i>whose sole aim and tendency is to -excite</i> <small>LAUGHTER</small>.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</span></p> - -<p>The idea of these <i>three species</i> being then -proposed, let us now see, what conclusions -may be drawn from it. And chiefly in respect -of <i>Tragedy</i> and <i>Comedy</i>, which are most -important. For as to what concerns the -province of <i>Farce</i>, this will be easily understood, -when the character of the other two -is once settled. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAP_I">CHAP. I.<br /> - -<span class="medium">ON THE PROVINCES OF TRAGEDY AND -COMEDY.</span></h2> - -<p>From the idea of these two species, as -given above, the following conclusions, about -the <i>natures</i> of each, are immediately deducible.</p> - -<p>1. If the proper end of <small>TRAGEDY</small> be to <i>affect</i>, -it follows, “that <i>actions</i>, not characters, -are the chief object of its representations.” -For that which <i>affects</i> us most in the view of -human life is the observation of those signal -circumstances of <i>felicity or distress</i>, which -occur in the fortunes of men. But <i>felicity</i> -and <i>distress</i>, as the great critic takes notice, -depend on <i>action</i>; κατὰ τὰς πράξεις, εὐδαίμονες, -ἢ τουναντίον. They are then the calamitous -<i>events</i>, or fortunate <i>Issues</i> in human action, -which stir up the stronger <i>affections</i>, and agitate -the heart with <i>Passion</i>. The <i>manners</i> -are not, indeed, to be neglected. But they -become an inferior consideration in the views -of the tragic poet, and are exhibited only for -the sake of making the <i>action</i> more proper to -interest us. Thus our <i>joy</i>, on the <i>happy</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">33</span> -<i>catastrophe</i> of the fable, depends, in a good -degree, on the <i>virtuous character</i> of the -agent; as on the other hand, we sympathize -more strongly with him, on a <i>distressful issue</i>. -The <i>manners</i> of the several persons in the -drama must, also, be signified, that the <i>action</i>, -which in many cases will be determined -by them, may appear to be carried on with -<i>truth and probability</i>. Hence every thing -passing before us, as we are accustomed to see -it in real life, we enter more warmly into their -interests, as forgetting, that we are attentive -to a <i>fictitious scene</i>. And, besides, from -knowing the personal <i>good, or ill, qualities</i> -of the agents, we learn to anticipate their future -<i>felicity</i> or <i>misery</i>, which gives increase -to the <i>passion</i> in either case. Our acquaintance -with <span class="smcap">Iago’s</span> <i>close villainy</i> makes us -tremble for Othello and Desdemona beforehand: -and <span class="smcap">Hamlet’s</span> <i>filial piety and intrepid -daring</i> occasion the audience secretly to exult -in the <i>expectation</i> of some successful vengeance -to be inflicted on the incestuous murderers.</p> - -<p>2. For the same reason as tragedy takes for -its <i>object</i> the actions of men, it, also, prefers, -or rather confines itself to, such actions, as -are most <i>important</i>. Which is only saying, -that as it intends to <i>interest</i>, it, of course, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">34</span> -chuses the representation of those <i>events</i>, -which are most <i>interesting</i>.</p> - -<p>And this shews the defect of modern tragedy, -in turning so constantly as it does, on -<i>love subjects</i>; the effect of this practice is, -that, excepting only the rank of the actors -(which indeed, as will be seen presently, is of -considerable importance), the rest is below the -dignity of this drama. For the <i>action</i>, when -stripped of its accidental ornaments and reduced -to the <i>essential fact</i>, is nothing more -than what might as well have passed in a cottage, -as a king’s palace. The Greek poets -should be our guides here, who take the very -grandest events in their story to ennoble their -tragedy. Whence it comes to pass that the -<i>action</i>, having an essential dignity, is always -<i>interesting</i>, and by the simplest management -of the poet becomes in a supreme degree, -<i>pathetic</i>.</p> - -<p>3. On the same account, the <i>persons</i>, whose -actions Tragedy would exhibit to us, must be -of <i>principal rank and dignity</i>. For the actions -of these are, both in <i>themselves</i> and in -their <i>consequences</i>, most fitted to excite passion. -The <i>distresses</i> of private and inferior -persons will, no doubt, <i>affect</i> us greatly; and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">35</span> -we may give the name of <i>tragedies</i>, if we -please, to dramatic representations of them: -as, in fact, we have several applauded pieces -of this kind. Nay, it may seem, that the fortunes -of private men, as more nearly resembling -<i>those</i> of the generality, should be -most <i>affecting</i>. But this circumstance, in no -degree, makes amends for the loss of other and -much greater <i>advantages</i>. For, whatever be -the <i>unhappy incidents</i> in the story of private -men, it is certain, they must take faster hold -of the <i>imagination</i>, and, of course, impress -the heart more forcibly, when related of the -higher characters in life.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Τῶν γὰρ μεγάλων ἀξιοπενθεῖς<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Φῆμαι μᾶλλον κατέχουσιν.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Eurip. Hipp.</span> v. 1484.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Kings, Heroes, Statesmen, and other persons -of great and public authority, influence by -their <i>ill-fortune</i> the whole community, to -which they belong. The attention is rouzed, -and all our faculties take an alarm, at the apprehension -of such extensive and important -wretchedness. And, besides, if we regard the -<i>event</i> itself, without an eye to its <i>effects</i>, there -is still the widest difference between the two -cases. Those ideas of awe and veneration, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">36</span> -which opinion throws round the persons of -princes, make us esteem the very <i>same event</i> -in their fortunes, as more august and emphatical, -than in the fortunes of private men. In -the <i>one</i>, it is ordinary and familiar to our conceptions; -it is singular and surprizing, in the -<i>other</i>. The fall of a <i>cottage</i>, by the accidents -of time and weather, is almost unheeded; -while the ruin of a <i>tower</i>, which the neighbourhood -hath gazed at for ages with admiration, -strikes all observers with concern. So -that if we chuse to continue the absurdity, -taken notice of in the last article of planning -<i>unimportant action</i> in our tragedy, we should, -at least, take care to give it this foreign and -extrinsic <i>importance</i> of great <i>actors</i>: Yet our -passion for the <i>familiar</i> goes so far, that we -have tragedies, not only of private action, but -of <i>private persons</i>; and so have well nigh annihilated -the noblest of the two dramas -amongst us. On the whole it appears, that -as the proper object or tragedy is <i>action</i>, so it -is <i>important</i> action, and therefore more especially -the action of <i>great and illustrious men</i>. -Each of these conclusions is the direct consequence -of our idea of its <i>end</i>.</p> - -<p>The reverse of all this holds true of <small>COMEDY</small>. -For, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">37</span></p> - -<p>1. Comedy, by the very terms of the definition, -is conversant about <i>characters</i>. And -if we observe, that which creates the pleasure -we find in contemplating the lives of men, -considered as distinct from the <i>interest</i> we take -in their fortunes, is the contemplation of their -manners and humours. Their <i>actions</i>, when -they are not of that sort, which seizes our admiration, -or catches the affections, are not -otherwise considered by us, than as they are -sensible indications of the internal sentiment -and disposition. Our intimate consciousness -of the several turns and windings of our nature, -makes us attend to these pictures of human -life with an incredible curiosity. And herein -the proper entertainment, which comic representation, -<i>as such</i>, administers to the mind, -consists. By turning the thought on <i>event -and action</i>, this entertainment is proportionably -lessened; that is, the <i>end</i> of comedy is -less perfectly attained<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">4</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">38</span></p> - -<p>But here, again, though <i>action</i> be not the -main object of comedy, yet it is not to be neglected, -any more than <i>character</i> in tragedy, -but comes in as an useful accessary, or assistant -to it. For the <i>manners of men</i> only shew -themselves, or shew themselves most usually, -in <i>action</i>. It is this, which fetches out the -latent strokes of <i>character</i>, and renders the -inward <i>temper and disposition</i> the object of -sense. <i>Probable circumstances</i> are then imagined, -and a certain <i>train of action</i> contrived, -to evidence the <i>internal qualities</i>. There is -no <i>other</i>, or no <i>probable</i> way, but this, of -bringing us acquainted with them. Again; -by engaging his <i>characters</i> in a course of action -and the pursuit of some <i>end</i>, the comic poet -leaves them to express themselves undisguisedly, -and <i>without design</i>; in which the essence of -<i>humour</i> consists.</p> - -<p>Add to this, that when the <i>fable</i> is so contrived -as to attach the mind, we very naturally -fancy ourselves present at a course of <i>living</i> -action. And this illusion quickens our attention -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">39</span> -to the <i>characters</i>, which no longer appear -to us creatures of the poet’s fiction, but -actors in real life.</p> - -<p>These observations concerning the <i>moderated</i> -use of action in comedy, instruct us -what to think “of those intricate Spanish plots, -which have been in use, and have taken both -with us and some French writers for the -stage. The truth is, they have hindered -very much the main end of comedy. For -when these unnatural plots are used, the -mind is not only entirely <i>drawn off</i> from -the characters by those surprizing turns and -revolutions; but characters have no opportunity -even of being <i>called out</i> and displaying -themselves. For the actors of all characters -<i>succeed</i> and are <i>embarrassed</i> alike, when the -instruments for carrying on designs are only -<i>perplexed apartments</i>, <i>dark entries</i>, <i>disguised -habits</i>, and <i>ladders of ropes</i>. The -comic plot is, and must, indeed, be carried -on by <i>deceipt</i>. The Spanish scene does it -by deceiving the man <i>through his senses</i>: Terence -and Moliere, by deceiving him <i>through -his passions and affections</i>. This is the -right method: for the character is <i>not</i> called -out under the <i>first</i> species of deceipt: under -the <i>second</i>, the character does <i>all</i>.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">40</span></p> - -<p>2. As <i>character</i>, not <i>action</i>, is the object -of comedy; so the <i>characters</i> it paints must -not be of <i>singular and illustrious note</i>, either -for their <i>virtues</i> or <i>vices</i>. The reason is, that -such characters take too fast hold of the <i>affections</i>, -and so call off the mind from adverting -to the <i>truth</i> of the manners; that is, from receiving -the <i>pleasure</i>, which this poem <i>intends</i>. -Our <i>sense of imitation</i> is that to which the -comic poet addresses himself; but such pictures -of <i>eminent worth</i> or <i>villainy</i> seize upon -the <i>moral sense</i>; and by raising the strong -correspondent passions of <i>admiration</i> and <i>abhorrence</i>, -turn us aside from contemplating -the <i>imitation itself</i>. And,</p> - -<p>3. For a like cause, comedy confines its -views to the characters of <i>private and inferior -persons</i>. For the <i>truth of character</i>, which -is the spring of <i>humour</i>, being necessarily, as -was observed, to be shewn through the medium -of <i>action</i>, and the actions of the great being -usually such as excite the <i>pathos</i>, it follows of -course, that these cannot, with propriety, be -made the actors in comedy. Persons of high -and public life, if they are drawn agreeably to -our accustomed ideas of them, must be employed -in such a <i>course of action</i>, as arrests -the attention, or interests the passions; and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">41</span> -either way it diverts the mind from observing -the <i>truth</i> of manners, that is, it prevents the -attainment of the specific <i>end</i>, which comedy -designs.</p> - -<p>And if the reason, here given, be sufficient -to exclude the <i>higher characters</i> in life from -this <i>drama</i>, even where the representation is -intended to be <i>serious</i>, we shall find it still -more improper to expose them in any pleasant -or ridiculous light. ’Tis true, the follies and -foibles of the great will apparently take an -easier ridicule by representation, than those of -their inferiors. And this it was, which misled -the celebrated <span class="smcap">P. Corneille</span> into the opinion, -<i>that the actions of the great, and even of -kings themselves, provided they be of the ridiculous -kind, are as fit objects of comedy, as -any other</i>. But he did not reflect, that the -<i>actions</i> of the great being usually such, as interest -the intire community, at least scarcely -any other falling beneath vulgar notice; and -the higher <i>characters</i> being rarely seen or -contemplated by the people but with reverence, -hence it is, that in fact, <i>the representation of -high life</i> cannot, without offence to probability, -be made <i>ridiculous</i>, or consequently be -admitted into comedy under this view. And -therefore <span class="smcap">Plautus</span>, when he thought fit to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">42</span> -introduce these reverend personages on the -comic stage in his <span class="smcap">Amphitruo</span>, though he employed -them in no very serious matters, was -yet obliged to apologize for this impropriety in -calling his play a <i>Tragicomedy</i>. What he -says upon the occasion, though delivered with -an air of pleasantry, is according to the laws of -just criticism.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Faciam ut commista sit</i> <span class="smcap">Tragicocomoedia</span>.<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Nam me perpetuo facere, ut sit Comoedia</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Reges quo veniant et Dii</span>, <i>non par arbitror.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Quid igitur? Quoniam hic</i> <small>SERVOS QUOQUE PARTES HABET</small>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Faciam sit, proinde ut dixi</i>, <span class="smcap">Tragicocomoedia</span>.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Prol. in Amphit.</span><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And now, taking the <i>idea</i> of the <i>two dramas</i>, -as here opened, along with us, we shall be -able to give an account of several attributes, -<i>common</i> to both, or which further <i>characterize</i> -each of them. And,</p> - -<p>1. <i>A plot will be required in both.</i> For the -end of tragedy being to excite the affections <i>by</i> -action, and the end of comedy, to manifest the -truth of character <i>through</i> it, an artful <i>constitution -of the Fable</i> is required to do justice -both to the one and the other. It serves to -bring out the <i>pathos</i>, and to produce <i>humour</i>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">43</span> -And thus the general form or structure of the -two dramas will be one and the same.</p> - -<p>2. More particularly, <i>an unity and even -simplicity in the conduct of the fable<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">5</a> is a -perfection in each</i>. For the course of the -<i>affections</i> is diverted and weakened by the intervention -of what we call a <i>double plot</i>; and -even by a multiplicity of <i>subordinate events</i>, -though tending to a common <i>end</i>; and, of -<i>persons</i>, though all of them, some way, concerned -in promoting it. The like consideration -shews the observance of this <i>rule</i> to be essential -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">44</span> -to just comedy. For when the <i>attention</i> -is split on so many interfering objects, we are -not at leisure to observe, nor do we so fully -enter into, the <i>truth of representation</i> in any -of them; the <i>sense of humour</i>, as of the <i>pathos</i>, -depending very much on the continued and -undiverted operation of its <i>object</i> upon us.</p> - -<p>3. The two dramas agree, also, in this circumstance; -that the <i>manners</i> of the persons -exhibited should be <i>imperfect</i>. An absolutely -good, or an absolutely bad, character is foreign -to the purpose of each. And the reason -is, 1, That such a representation is <i>improbable</i>. -And <i>probability</i> constitutes, as we have seen, -the very essence of comedy; and is the <i>medium</i>, -through which tragedy is enabled most -powerfully to affect us. 2. Such <i>characters</i> -are improper to <i>comedy</i>, because, as was hinted -above, they turn the attention aside from contemplating -the <i>expression</i> of them, which we -call <i>humour</i>. And they are not less unsuited -to <i>tragedy</i>, because though they make a forcible -impression on the mind, yet, as Aristotle -well observes, they do not produce the passions -of <i>pity and terror</i>; that is, their <i>impressions</i> -are not of the nature of that <i>pathos</i>, by which -tragedy works its purpose. [κ. ίγ.] -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">45</span></p> - -<p>There are, likewise, some peculiarities, which -distinguish the two dramas. And</p> - -<p>1. <i>Though a plot be necessary to produce</i> -humour, <i>as well as the pathos, yet a</i> good -plot <i>is not so essential to comedy, as tragedy</i>. -For the pathos is the result of the <i>entire action</i>; -that is, of all the circumstances of the story -taken together, and conspiring by a probable -tendency, to a completion in the <i>event</i>. A -failure in the just arrangement and disposition -of the parts may, then, affect what is of the -essence of this drama. On the contrary, <i>humour</i>, -though brought out by <i>action</i>, is not -the effect of the <i>whole</i>, but may be distinctly -evidenced in a <i>single scene</i>; as may be eminently -illustrated in the two comedies of -Fletcher, called <i>The Little French Lawyer</i>, -and <i>The Spanish Curate</i>. The nice contexture -of the fable therefore, though it may give -<i>pleasure</i> of another kind, is not so immediately -required to the production of <i>that</i> -pleasure, which the nature of comedy demands. -Much less is there occasion for that -labour and ingenuity of contrivance, which is -seen in the intricacy of the Spanish fable. Yet -this is the taste of our comedy. Our writers -are all for plot and intrigue; and never appear -so well satisfied with themselves as when, to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">46</span> -speak in their own phrase, they contrive to have -a great deal of <i>business</i> on their hands. Indeed -they have reason. For it hides their inability -to colour <i>manners</i>, which is the proper but -much harder province of true comedy.</p> - -<p>2. <i>Tragedy succeeds best, when the subject -is</i> real; <i>comedy, when it is</i> feigned. What -would this say, but that tragedy, turning our -attention principally on the <i>action represented</i>, -finds means to <i>interest</i> us more strongly on -the persuasion of its being taken from <i>actual -life</i>? While comedy, on the other hand, can -neglect these scrupulous measures of <i>probability</i>, -as intent only on exhibiting <i>characters</i>; for -which purpose an <i>invented story</i> will serve -much better. The reason is, <i>real action</i> does -not ordinarily afford variety of incidents enough -to shew the <i>character</i> fully: <i>feigned action</i> -may.</p> - -<p>And this difference, we may observe, explains -the reason why tragedies are often -formed on the most <i>trite and vulgar subjects</i>, -whereas a <i>new</i> subject is generally demanded -in comedy. The <i>reality</i> of the story being of -so much consequence to interest the affections, -the more <i>known</i> it is, the fitter for the poet’s -purpose. But a <i>feigned</i> story having been -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">47</span> -found more convenient for the display of characters, -it grew into a rule that the story -should be always <i>new</i>. This disadvantage on -the side of the comic poet is taken notice of in -those verses of Antiphanes, or rather, as Casaubon -conjectures, of <i>Aristophanes</i>, in a play -of his intitled, Ποίησις. The reason of this -difference now appears.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">—Μακάριόν ἐστιν ἡ τραγῳδία<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ποίημα κατὰ πάντ’. εἴγε πρῶτον οἱ λόγοι<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ὑπὸ τῶν θεατῶν εἰσὶν ἐγνωρισμένοι,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Πρὶν καί τιν’ εἰπεῖν, ὡς ὑπομνῆσαι μόνον<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Δεῖ τὸν ποιητήν. Οἰδίπουν γάρ ἄν γε φῶ,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Τὰ δ’ ἄλλα πάντ’ ἴσασιν· Ὁ πατὴρ Λάïος,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Μήτηρ Ἰοκάστη, θυγατέρες, παῖδες τίνες·<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Τὶ πείσεθ’ οὗτος, τί πεποίηκεν····<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ἡμῖν δὲ ταῦτ’ οὐκ ἔστιν· ἀλλὰ πάντα δεῖ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Εὑρεῖν ὀνόματα καινὰ, τὰ διῳκημένα<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Πρότερον, τὰ νῦν παρόντα, τὴν καταστροφὴν,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Τὴν ἐσβολήν. ἀν ἕν τι τούτων παραλίπῃ,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Χρέμης τις, ἢ Φείδων τις ἐκσυρίττεται,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Πηλεῖ δὲ ταῦτ’ ἔξεστι καὶ Τεύκρῳ ποιεῖν.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>One sees, then, the reason why Tragedy -prefers real <i>subjects</i>, and even old ones; and, -on the contrary, why comedy delights in -feigned subjects, and new. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">48</span></p> - -<p>The same genius in the two dramas is observable, -in their draught of <i>characters</i>. Comedy -makes all its Characters <i>general</i>; Tragedy, -<i>particular</i>. The <i>Avare</i> of Moliere is -not so properly the picture of a <i>covetous man</i>, -as of <i>covetousness</i> itself. Racine’s <i>Nero</i>, on -the other hand, is not a picture of <i>cruelty</i>, but -of a <i>cruel man</i>.</p> - -<p>Yet here it will be proper to guard against -two mistakes, which the principles now delivered -may be thought to countenance.</p> - -<p>The <i>first</i> is with regard to <i>tragic</i> characters, -which I say are <i>particular</i>. My meaning is, -they are <i>more</i> particular than those of comedy. -That is, the <i>end</i> of tragedy does not require or -permit the poet to draw together so many of -those characteristic circumstances which shew -the manners, as Comedy. For, in the former -of these dramas, no more of <i>character</i> is -shewn, than what the course of the action necessarily -calls forth. Whereas, all or most of -the features, by which it is usually distinguished, -are sought out and industriously -displayed in the <i>latter</i>.</p> - -<p>The case is much the same as in <i>portrait -painting</i>; where, if a great master be required -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">49</span> -to draw a <i>particular face</i>, he gives the very -lineaments he finds in it; yet so far resembling -to what he observes of the same turn in other -faces, as not to affect any minute circumstance -of peculiarity. But if the same artist were to -design a <i>head</i> in general, he would assemble -together all the customary traits and features, -any where observable through the species, -which should best express the idea, whatever -it was, he had conceived in his own mind and -wanted to exhibit in the picture.</p> - -<p>There is much the same difference between -the two sorts of <i>dramatic</i> portraits. Whence -it appears that in calling the tragic character -<i>particular</i>, I suppose it only <i>less representative</i> -of the kind than the comic; not that the -draught of so much character as it is concerned -to represent should not be <i>general</i>: the contrary -of which I have asserted and explained at -large elsewhere [<i>Notes on the A. P.</i> v. 317.]</p> - -<p><i>Next</i>, I have said, the characters of just -comedy are <i>general</i>. And this I explain by -the instance of the <i>Avare</i> of Moliere, which -conforms more to the idea of <i>avarice</i>, than to -that of the real <i>avaricious man</i>. But here -again, the reader will not understand me, as -saying this in the strict sense of the words. I -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">50</span> -even think Moliere faulty in the instance given; -though, with some necessary explanation, it -may well enough serve to express my meaning.</p> - -<p>The view of the comic scene being to delineate -characters, this end, I suppose, will be -attained most perfectly, by making those characters -as <i>universal</i> as possible. For thus the -person shewn in the drama being the representative -of all characters of the same kind, -furnishes in the highest degree the entertainment -of <i>humour</i>. But then this universality -must be such as agrees not to our idea of the -<i>possible</i> effects of the character as conceived in -the abstract, but to the <i>actual</i> exertion of its -powers; which experience justifies, and common -life allows. Moliere, and before him -Plautus, had offended in this; that for a picture -of the <i>avaricious man</i>, they presented us -with a fantastic unpleasing draught of the -<i>passion of avarice</i>. I call this a <i>fantastic</i> -draught, because it hath no archetype in nature. -And it is, farther, an <i>unpleasing</i> one, -for, being the delineation of a <i>simple passion -unmixed</i>, it wanted all those</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">—Lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gives all the strength and colour of our life.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">51</span></p> - -<p>These <i>lights and shades</i> (as the poet finely -calls the intermixture of many passions, which, -with the <i>leading</i> or principal one, form the -human character) must be blended together in -every picture of dramatic manners; because -the avowed business of the drama is to image -real life. Yet the draught of the <i>leading</i> passion -must be as general as this <i>strife</i> in nature -permits, in order to express the intended character -more perfectly.</p> - -<p>All which again is easily illustrated in the -instance of painting. In <i>portraits of character</i>, -as we may call those that give a picture -of the <i>manners</i>, the artist, if he be of real -ability, will not go to work on the possibility -of an abstract idea. All he intends, is to shew -that some one quality <i>predominates</i>: and this -he images strongly, and by such signatures as -are most conspicuous in the operation of the -<i>leading passion</i>. And when he hath done -this, we may, in common speech or in compliment, -if we please, to his art, say of such a -portrait that it images to us not the <i>man</i> but -the <i>passion</i>; just as the ancients observed of -the famous statue of Apollodorus by Silarion, -that it expressed not the angry <i>Apollodorus</i>, -but his passion of <i>anger</i><a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">6</a>. But by this must -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">52</span> -be understood only that he has well expressed -the leading parts of the designed character. -For the rest he treats his <i>subject</i> as he would -any other; that is, he represents the <i>concomitant -affections</i>, or considers merely that general -symmetry and proportion which are expected -in a human figure. And this is to copy -nature, which affords no specimen of a man -turned all into a single passion. No metamorphosis -could be more strange or incredible. -Yet portraits of this vicious taste are the admiration -of common starers, who, if they find -a picture of a <i>miser</i> for instance (as there is no -commoner subject of moral portraits) in a collection, -where every muscle is strained, and -feature hardened into the expression of this -idea, never fail to profess their wonder and -approbation of it.—On this idea of excellence -Le Brun’s book of the <span class="smcap">Passions</span> must be said -to contain a set of the justest <i>moral portraits</i>: -And the <span class="smcap">Characters</span> of Theophrastus might -be recommended, in a <i>dramatic</i> view, as preferable -to those of Terence.</p> - -<p>The virtuosi in the fine arts would certainly -laugh at the former of these judgments. But -the latter, I suspect, will not be thought so -extraordinary. At least if one may guess from -the practice of some of our best comic writers, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">53</span> -and the success which such plays have commonly -met with. It were easy to instance in -almost all plays of character. But if the reader -would see the extravagance of building dramatic -manners on abstract ideas, in its full -light, he needs only turn to B. Jonson’s -<i>Every man out of his humour</i>; which under -the name of a <i>play of character</i> is in fact, an -unnatural, and, as the painters call it, <i>hard</i> -delineation of a group of <i>simply existing passions</i>, -wholly chimerical, and unlike to any -thing we observe in the commerce of real life. -Yet this comedy has always had its admirers. -And <i>Randolph</i>, in particular, was so taken -with the design, that he seems to have formed -his <i>muse’s looking-glass</i> in express imitation -of it.</p> - -<p>Shakespeare, we may observe, is in this as -in all the other more essential beauties of the -drama, a perfect model. If the discerning -reader peruse attentively his comedies with -this view, he will find his <i>best-marked</i> characters -discoursing through a great deal of their -<i>parts</i>, just like any other, and only expressing -their essential and leading qualities occasionally, -and as circumstances concur to give an easy -exposition to them. This singular excellence -of his comedy, was the effect of his copying -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">54</span> -faithfully after nature, and of the force and vivacity -of his genius, which made him attentive -to what the progress of the scene successively -presented to him: whilst <i>imitation</i> and <i>inferior -talents</i> occasion little writers to wind -themselves up into the habit of attending perpetually -to their main view, and a solicitude -to keep their favourite characters in constant -play and agitation. Though in this illiberal -exercise of their wit, they may be said to use -the <i>persons of the drama</i> as a certain facetious -sort do their <i>acquaintance</i>, whom they urge -and teize with their civilities, not to give them -a reasonable share in the conversation, but to -force them to play <i>tricks</i> for the diversion of -the company.</p> - -<p>I have been the longer on this argument, to -prevent the reader’s carrying what I say of the -superiority of <i>plays of character</i> to <i>plays of -intrigue</i> into an extreme; a mistake, into -which some good writers have been unsuspectingly -betrayed by the acknowledged truth -of the general principle. It is so natural for -men on all occasions, to fly out into extremes, -that too much care cannot be had to retain -them in a due medium. But to return from -the digression to the consideration of the -difference of the two dramas. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">55</span></p> - -<p>3. A sameness of <i>character is not usually -objected to in tragedy: in comedy, it would -not be endured</i>. The passion of <i>avarice</i>, to -resume the instance given above, being the -main object, we find nothing but a disgustful -repetition in a second attempt to delineate that -<i>character</i>. <i>A particular cruel man</i> only engrossing -our regard in <i>Nero</i>, when the train of -events evidencing such cruelty is changed, we -have all the novelty we look for, and can contemplate, -with pleasure, the very <i>same</i> character, -set forth by a different course of action, -or displayed in some other <i>person</i>.</p> - -<p>4. Comedy succeeds best when the scene is -laid <i>at home</i>, tragedy for the most part when -<i>abroad</i>. “This appears at first sight whimsical -and capricious, but has its foundation -in nature. What we chiefly seek in comedy -is a true image of life and <i>manners</i>, but we -are not easily brought to think we have it -given us, when dressed in foreign modes and -fashions. And yet a good writer must follow -his scene, and observe decorum. On the -contrary, ’tis the action in tragedy which -most engages our attention. But to fit a -domestic occurrence for the stage, we must -take greater liberties with the action than a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">56</span> -well-known story will allow.” [<i>Pope’s -Works</i>, vol. iv. p. 185.]</p> - -<p>Other <i>characters</i> of the two dramas, as well -<i>peculiar</i>, as <i>common</i>, which might be accounted for -from the just notion of them, delivered -above, I leave to the observation of the -reader. For my intention is not to write a -complete treatise on the drama, but briefly to -lay down such principles, from whence its <i>laws</i> -may be derived. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">57</span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAP_II">CHAP. II.<br /> - -<span class="medium">OF THE GENIUS OF COMEDY.</span></h2> - -<p>But it may not be amiss to express myself -a little more fully as to the <i>genius</i> of comedy; -which for want of passing through the hands -of such a critic as Aristotle, has been less -perfectly understood.</p> - -<p>Its <i>end</i> is the production of <i>humour</i>: or -which comes to the same thing, “of that -<i>pleasure</i>, which the <i>truth</i> of representation -affords, in the <i>exhibition</i> of the <i>private characters</i> -of life, more particularly their <i>specific -differences</i>.” I add this <i>latter</i> clause, -because the principal pleasure we take in contemplating -characters consists in noting those -<i>differences</i>. The general attributes of humanity, -if represented ever so truly, give us but -a slender entertainment. They, of course, -make a part of the drama; but we chiefly delight -in a picture of those peculiar <i>traits</i>, -which distinguish the species. Now these -discriminating marks in the characters of men -are not <i>necessarily</i> the causes of ridicule, or -pleasantry of any kind; but <i>accidentally</i>, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">58</span> -according to the nature or quality of them. -The vanity, and impertinent boasting of -<i>Thraso</i> is the natural object of <i>contempt</i>, and, -when truly and forcibly expressed in his own -character, provokes <i>ridicule</i>. The easy humanity -of <i>Mitio</i>, which is the leading part of -his character, is the object of <i>approbation</i>; -and, when shewn in his own conduct, excites -a <i>pleasure</i>, in common with all just <i>expression -of the manners</i>, but of a <i>serious</i> nature, as -being joined with the sentiment of <i>esteem</i>.</p> - -<p>But now as most men find a greater pleasure -in gratifying the passion of <i>contempt</i>, than the -calm instinct of <i>approbation</i>, and since perhaps -the constitution of human life is such, as -affords more exercise for the one, than the -other, hence it hath come to pass, that the -comic poet, who paints for the generality, and -follows nature, chuses more commonly to select -and describe those <i>peculiarities</i> in the -human character, which, by their nature, excite -<i>pleasantry</i>, than such as create a serious -regard and esteem. Hence some persons have -appropriated the name of <i>comedies</i> to those -dramas, which chiefly aim at producing <i>humour</i>, -in the more <i>proper</i> sense of the word; -under which view it means -such an expression -or picture of what is odd, or inordinate -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">59</span> -in each character, as gives us the -fullest and strongest image of the original, -and by the truth of the representation exposes -the <i>ridicule</i> of it.” And it is certain, -that comedy receives great advantage from representations -of this kind. Nay, it cannot -well subsist without them. Yet it doth not -exclude the other and more <i>serious</i> entertainment, -which, as it stands on the same foundation -of <i>truth of representation</i>, I venture to -include under the <i>common term</i>.</p> - -<p>Further, there are <i>two ways</i> of evidencing -the characteristic and predominant qualities of -men, or, of producing <i>humour</i>, which require -to be observed. The <i>one</i> is, when they are -shewn in the perpetual course and tenor of the -representation; that is, when the <i>humour</i> results -from the <i>general</i> conduct of the person -in the drama, and the discourse, which he -holds in it. The <i>other</i> is, when by an happy -and lively stroke, the characteristic quality is -laid open and exposed <i>at once</i>.</p> - -<p>The <i>first</i> sort of <i>humour</i> is that which we -find in the ancients, and especially Terence. -The <i>latter</i> is almost peculiar to the moderns; -who, in uniting these two species of <i>humour</i>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">60</span> -have brought a vast improvement to the comic -scene. The reason of this difference may perhaps -have been the singular simplicity of the -old writers, who were contented to take up -with such sentiments or circumstances, as -most naturally and readily occurred in the -course of the drama: whereas the moderns -have been ambitious to shew a more exquisite -and studied investigation into the workings of -human nature, and have sought out for those -peculiarly striking lineaments, in which the -essence of character consists. On the same -account, I suppose, it was that the ancients -had <i>fewer</i> characters in their plays, than the -moderns, and those more <i>general</i>; that is, -their dramatic writers were well satisfied with -picturing the most <i>usual</i> personages, and in -their most <i>obvious</i> lights. They did not, as -the moderns (who, if they would aspire to the -praise of <i>novelty</i>, were obliged to this route), -cast about for less <i>familiar</i> characters; and the -nicer and <i>less observed</i> peculiarities which distinguish -<i>each</i>. Be it as it will, the observation -is certain. Later dramatists have apparently -shewn a more accurate knowledge of human -life: and, by opening these new and untryed -veins of <i>humour</i>, have exceedingly enriched -the comedy of our times. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">61</span></p> - -<p>But, though we are not to look for the <i>two -species of humour</i>, before-mentioned, in the -same perfection on the simpler stages of <i>Greece -and Rome</i>, as in <i>our</i> improved Theatres, yet -the <i>first</i> of them was clearly seen and successfully -practised by the ancient comic masters; -and there are not wanting in them some few -examples even of the <i>last</i>. “The old man in -the <i>Mother-in-Law</i> says to his Son,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Tum tu igitur nihil adtulisti huc plus unâ sententiâ.</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>This, as an excellent person observed to me, -is true <i>humour</i>. For his character, which -was that of a lover of money, drew the observation -naturally and forcibly from him. -His disappointment of a rich succession made -him speak contemptibly of a moral lesson, -which rich and covetous men, in their best -humours, have no high reverence for. And -this too without <i>design</i>; which is important, -and shews the distinction of what, in the -more restrained sense of the word, we call -<i>humour</i>, from other modes of <i>pleasantry</i>. -For had a young friend of the son, an unconcerned -spectator of the scene, made the -observation, it had then, in another’s mouth, -been <i>wit</i>, or a designed <i>banter</i> on the father’s -disappointment. As, on the other hand, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">62</span> -when such characteristic qualities are exaggerated, -and the expression of them stretched -beyond <i>truth</i>, they become <i>buffoonry</i>, even -in the person’s <i>own</i>.”</p> - -<p>This is an instance of the <i>second species</i> of -humour, under its idea of exciting <i>ridicule</i>. -But it may, also, be employed with the utmost -<i>seriousness</i>; as being only a method of -expressing the <i>truth</i> of character in the <i>most -striking</i> manner. This same <i>old man</i> in the -Hecyra will furnish an example. Though a -lover of money, he appears, in the main, of -an honest and worthy nature, and to have -born the truest affection to an amiable and favourite -son. In the perplexity of the scene, -which had arisen from the supposed misunderstanding -between his <i>son’s</i> wife and his <i>own</i>, -he proposes, as an expedient to end all differences, -to retire with his wife into the country. -And to enforce this proposal to the young -man, who had his reasons for being against it, -he adds,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6"><i>odiosa est haec aetas adolescentulis:</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>E medio aequum excedere est: postremò nos jam fabula</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Sumus, Pamphile, senex atque anus</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>There is nothing, I suppose in these words, -which provokes a smile. Yet the <i>humour</i> is -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">63</span> -strong, as before. In his solicitude to promote -his son’s satisfaction, he lets fall a sentiment -truly characteristic, and which old men usually -take great pains to conceal; I mean, his acknowledgment -of <i>that suspicious fear of contempt, -which is natural to old age</i>. So true -a picture of life, in the representation of this -<i>weakness</i>, might, in other circumstances, have -created some <i>pleasantry</i>; but the <i>occasion</i>, -which forced it from him, discovering, at the -same time, the <i>amiable disposition</i> of the -speaker, covers the ridicule of it, or more properly -converts it into an object of our <i>esteem</i>.</p> - -<p>We have here, then, a kind of <i>intermediate</i> -species of <i>humour</i> betwixt the <i>ridiculous</i> and -the <i>grave</i>; and may perceive how insensibly -the <i>one</i> becomes the <i>other</i>, by the accidental -mixture of a virtuous <i>quality</i>, attracting <i>esteem</i>. -Which may serve to reconcile the -reader to the application of this <i>term</i> even to -such <i>expression</i> of the manners, as is perfectly -<i>serious</i>; that is, where the <i>quality represented</i> -is entirely, and without the least <i>touch</i> of -attending ridicule, the object of <i>moral approbation</i> -to the mind. As in that famous asseveration -of Chremes in the <i>Self-tormentor</i>:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Homo sum: humani nihil à me alienum puto.</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">64</span></p> - -<p>This is a strong expression of character; -and, coming unaffectedly from him in answer -to the cutting reproof of his friend,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Chreme, tantumne ab re tuâ’st otî tibi</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Aliena ut cures; ea quae nihil ad te adtinent?</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>hath the essence of true <i>humour</i>, that is, is a -<i>lively picture of the manners without design</i>.</p> - -<p>Yet in this instance, which hath not been -observed, the <i>humour</i>, though of a serious cast, -is heightened by a mixture of <i>satire</i>. For -we are not to take this, as hath constantly been -done, for a sentiment of pure humanity and -the natural ebullition of benevolence. We -may observe in it a designed stroke of satirical -resentment. <i>The Self-tormentor</i>, as we saw, -had ridiculed Chremes’ <i>curiosity</i> by a severe -reproof. Chremes, to be even with him, reflects -upon the <i>inhumanity</i> of his temper. -“You, says he, seem such a foe to humanity, -that you spare it not <i>in yourself</i>; I, on the -other hand, am affected, when I see it suffer -in <i>another</i>.”</p> - -<p>Whence we learn, that, though all which -is requisite to constitute comic humour, be a -<i>just expression of character without design</i>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">65</span> -yet such <i>expression</i> is felt more <i>sensibly</i>, when -it is further enlivened by <i>ridicule</i>, or quickened -by the poignancy of <i>satire</i>.</p> - -<p>From the account of comedy, here given, -it may appear, that the idea of this drama is -much enlarged beyond what it was in Aristotle’s -time; who defines it to be, <i>an imitation of -light and trivial actions, provoking ridicule</i>. -His notion was taken from the state and practice -of the Athenian stage; that is, from the -<i>old</i> or <i>middle</i> comedy, which answers to this -description. The great revolution, which the -introduction of the <i>new comedy</i> made in the -drama, did not happen till afterwards. This -proposed for its <i>object</i>, in general, <i>the actions -and characters of ordinary life</i>; which are -not, of necessity, ridiculous, but, as appears -to every observer, of a mixt kind, <i>serious</i> as -well as <i>ludicrous</i>, and within their proper -sphere of influence, not unfrequently, even -<i>important</i>. This kind of <i>imitation</i> therefore, -now admits the <i>serious</i>; and its scenes, even -without the least mixture of <i>pleasantry</i>, are -entirely <i>comic</i>. Though the common run of -<i>laughers</i> in our theatre are so little aware of -the extension of this <i>province</i>, that I should -scarcely have hazarded the observation, but for -the authority of <i>Terence</i>; who hath confessedly -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">66</span> -very little of the <i>pleasant</i> in his drama. Nay, -one of the most admired of his comedies hath -the gravity, and, in some places, almost the -solemnity of <i>tragedy itself</i>. But this <i>idea</i> of -comedy is not peculiar to the more polite and -liberal <i>ancients</i>. Some of the best <i>modern</i> -comedies are fashioned in agreement to it. -And an instance or two, which I am going to -produce from the stage of simple nature, may -seem to shew it the plain suggestion of common -sense.</p> - -<p>“The Amautas (says the author of the -<i>Royal Commentaries of</i> <span class="smcap">Peru</span>), who were -men of the best ingenuity amongst them, invented -<span class="smcap">Comedies</span> and <span class="smcap">Tragedies</span>; which, -on their solemn festivals, they represented -before the King and the Lords of his court. -The plot or argument of their <i>tragedies</i> was -to represent <i>their military exploits, and the -triumphs, victories, and heroic actions of -their renowned men</i>. And the subject or -design of their <i>comedies</i> was, to demonstrate -<i>the manner of good husbandry in cultivating -and manuring their fields, and to shew the -management of domestic affairs, with other -familiar matters</i>. These plays, continues -he, were not made up of obscene and dishonest -farces, but such as were of <i>serious</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">67</span> -<i>entertainment, composed of grave and acute -sentences</i>, &c.”</p> - -<p>Two things are observable in this brief account -of the Peruvian drama. <i>First</i>, that its -<i>species</i> had respect to the very different <i>objects</i> -of the <i>higher</i> or <i>lower</i> stations. For the <i>great -and powerful</i> were occupied in <i>war</i>: and -<i>agriculture</i> was the chief employment of <i>private -and ordinary life</i>. And, in this distinction, -these <i>Indian</i>, perfectly agreed with -the old Roman poets; whose <small>PRAETEXTATA</small> -and <small>TOGATA</small> shew, that they had precisely the -same ideas of the drama. <i>Secondly</i>, we do -not learn only, what difference there <i>was</i> betwixt -their tragedy and comedy, but we are -also told, what difference there was <i>not</i>. It -was not, that one was <i>serious</i>, and the other -<i>pleasant</i>. For we find it expressly asserted of -<i>both</i>, that they <i>were of grave and serious entertainment</i>.</p> - -<p>And this last will explain a similar observation -on the Chinese, <i>who</i>, as <span class="smcap">P. de Premere</span> -acquaints us, <i>make no distinction betwixt tragedies -and comedies</i>. That is, <i>no distinction</i>, -but what the different <i>subjects</i> of each make -necessary. They do not, as our European -dramas, differ in this, that the <i>one</i> is intended -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">68</span> -to make us <i>weep</i>, and the other to make us -<i>laugh</i>.</p> - -<p>These are full and precise testimonies. For -I lay no stress on what the Historian of <i>Peru</i> -tells us, <i>that there were no obscenities in their -comedy</i>, nor on what an encomiast of <i>China</i> -pretends, <i>that there is not so much as an obscene -word in all their language</i><a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">7</a>: as being -sensible, that though indeed these must needs -be considerable abatements to the <i>humour</i> of -their comic scenes, yet, their ingenuity might -possibly find means to remedy these defects by -the invention and dextrous application of the -<i>double entendre</i>, which, on our stage, is found -to supply the place of rank <i>obscenity</i>, and, -indeed, to do its office of exciting <i>laughter</i> -almost as well.</p> - -<p>But, as I said, there is no occasion for this -<i>argument</i>. We may venture, without the -help of it, to join these authorities to <i>that</i> of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">69</span> -Terence; which, together, enable us to conclude -very fully, in opposition to the general -sentiment, that <i>ridicule</i> is not of the <i>essence -of comedy</i><a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">8</a>.</p> - -<p>But, because the general practice of the -<i>Greek and Roman theatres</i>, which strongly -countenance the other opinion, may still be -thought to outweigh this single <i>Latin poet</i>, -together with all the <i>eastern and western barbarians</i>, -that can be thrown into the balance, -let me go one step further, and, by explaining -the rise and occasion of this <i>practice</i>, demonstrate, -that, in the present case, their authority -is, in fact, of no moment.</p> - -<p>The form of the Greek, from whence the -Roman and our drama is taken, though generally -<i>improved</i> by reflexion and just criticism, -yet, like so many other great inventions, was, -in its original, the <i>product</i> of pure chance. -Each of its species had sprung out of a <i>chorus-song</i>, -which was afterwards incorporated into -the legitimate drama, and found essential to -its true form. But <i>reason</i>, which saw to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">70</span> -establish what was <i>right</i> in this fortuitous conformation -of the drama, did not equally succeed -in detecting and separating what was -<i>wrong</i>. For the <i>occasion</i> of this chorus-song, -in their religious festivities, was widely different: -the business <i>at one time</i>, being to express -their gratitude, in celebrating the praises -of their gods and heroes; at <i>another</i>, to indulge -their mirth, in jesting and sporting -among themselves. The character of their -drama, which had its rise from hence,<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">9</a> conformed -exactly to the difference of these <i>occasions</i>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">71</span> -<i>Tragedy</i>, through all its several successive -stages of improvement, was serious and -even solemn. And a gay or rather buffoon -spirit was the characteristic of <i>comedy</i>.</p> - -<p>We see, then, the <i>genius</i> of these two -poems was accidentally fixed in agreement to -their respective <i>originals</i>; consequent writers -contenting themselves to embellish and perfect, -not <i>change</i>, the primary form. The practice -of the ancient stage is then of no further authority, -than as it accords to just criticism. -The solemn cast of their <i>tragedy</i>, indeed, -bears the test, and is found to be suitable to -its real nature. The same does not appear of -the burlesque form of <i>comedy</i>; no reason -having been given, why <i>it</i> must, of necessity, -have the <i>ridiculous</i> for its object. Nay the -effects of improved criticism on the later Greek -comedy give a presumption of the direct contrary. -For, in proportion to the gradual -refinement of this <i>species</i> in the hands of its -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">72</span> -greatest masters, the buffoon cast of the comic -drama was insensibly dropt and even grew into -a severity, which departed at length very -widely from the original idea. The admirable -scholar of <span class="smcap">Theophrastus</span>, who had been tutored -in the exact study of human life, saw so -much of the genuine character of true comedy, -that he cleansed it, at once, from the greater -part of those buffoonries, which had, till his -time, defiled its nature. His great imitator, -Terence, went still further; and, whether impelled -by his native humour, or determined by -his truer taste, mixed so little of the <i>ridiculous</i> -in his comedy, as plainly shews, it might, in -his opinion, subsist entirely without it. His -<i>practice</i> indeed, and the theory, here delivered, -nearly meet. And the conclusion is, -that <i>comedy</i>, which is the image of private -life, may take either character of <i>pleasant</i> or -<i>serious</i>, as it chances, or even <i>unite</i> them into -one piece; but that the <i>former</i> is, by no -means, more essential to its constitution, than -the <i>latter</i>.</p> - -<p>I foresee but one objection, that can be -made to this theory; which has, in effect, -been obviated already. “It may be said, that, -if this account of <i>comedy</i> be just, it would -follow, that it might, with equal propriety, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">73</span> -admit the gravest and most affecting events, -which inferior life furnishes, as the lightest. -Whereas it is notorious, that distresses of a -deep and solemn nature, though faithfully -copied from the fortunes of private men, -would never be endured, under the name of -<i>comedy</i>, on the stage. Nay, such representations -would rather pass, in the public -judgment, for legitimate <i>tragedies</i>; of which -kind, we have, indeed, some examples in -our language.”</p> - -<p>Two things are mistaken in this objection. -<i>First</i>, it supposes, that deep distresses of -every kind are inconsistent with comedy; the -contrary of which may be learnt from the -<span class="smcap">Self-tormentor</span> of Terence. <i>Next</i>, it insinuates, -that, if deep distresses of any kind -may be admitted into comedy, the <i>deepest</i> -may. Which is equally erroneous. For the -<i>manners</i> being the proper object of comedy, -the <i>distress</i> must not exceed a certain degree -of <i>severity</i>, lest it draw off the mind from -them, and confine it to the <i>action</i> only: as -would be the case of <i>murder</i>, <i>adultery</i>, and -other atrocious crimes, infesting <i>private</i>, as -well as <i>public</i>, life, were they to be represented, -in all their horrors, on the stage. -And though some of these, as <i>adultery</i>, have -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">74</span> -been brought, of late, into the comic scene, -yet it was not till it had lost the atrocity of -its nature, and was made the subject of mirth -and pleasantry to the fashionable world. But -for this happy disposition of the times, comedy, -as managed by some of our writers, -had lost its nature, and become <i>tragic</i>. And, -yet, considered as <i>tragic</i>, such representations -of low life had been improper. Because, where -the intent is to <i>affect</i>, the subject is with more -advantage taken from <i>high life</i>, all the circumstances -being, there, more peculiarly adapted -to answer that end.</p> - -<p>The solution then of the difficulty is, in one -word, this. All <i>distresses</i> are not <i>improper</i> -in comedy; but such only as attach the mind -to the <i>fable</i>, in neglect of the <i>manners</i>, which -are its chief object. On the other hand, all -<i>distresses</i> are not <i>proper</i> in tragedy; but such -only as are of force to interest the mind in the -<i>action</i>, preferably to the observation of the -<i>manners</i>; which can only be done, or is done -most effectually, when the <i>distressful event</i>, -represented, is taken from <i>public life</i>. So that -the <i>distresses</i>, spoken of, are equally unsuited -to what the natures <i>both</i> of <i>comedy and tragedy</i>, -respectively, demand. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">75</span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAP_III">CHAP. III.<br /> - -<span class="medium">OF M. DE FONTENELLE’S NOTION OF -COMEDY.</span></h2> - -<p>Notwithstanding the pains I have taken, -in the preceding chapters, to establish my -theory of the comic drama, I find myself -obliged to support it still further against the -authority of a very eminent modern critic. -M. de Fontenelle hath just now published two -volumes of plays, among which are some comedies -of a very singular character. They are -not only, in a high degree, <i>pathetic</i>; but the -scene of them is laid in <i>antiquity</i>; and great -personages, such as <i>Kings</i>, <i>Princesses</i>, &c. -are of the drama. He hath besides endeavoured -to justify this extraordinary species of -comedy by a very ingenious preface. It will -therefore be necessary for me to examine this -new system, and to obviate, as far as I can, -the prejudices which the name of the author, -and the intrinsic merit of the plays themselves, -will occasion in favour of it.</p> - -<p>His system, as explained in the preface to -these comedies, is, briefly, this. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">76</span></p> - -<p>“The <i>subject</i> of dramatic representation, -he observes, is some event or action of <i>human -life</i>, which can be considered only in -two views, as being either that of <i>public</i>, or -of <i>private</i>, persons. The end of such representation, -continues he, is to <i>please</i>, -which it doth either by engaging the attention, -or by moving the passions. The <i>former</i> -is done by representing to us such -events as are <i>great, noble, or unexpected</i>: -The <i>latter</i> by such as are <i>dreadful, pitiable, -tender, or pleasant</i>. Of these several sources -of <i>pleasure</i>, he forms what he calls a <i>dramatic -scale</i>, the extremes of which he admits -to be altogether inconsistent; no art being -sufficient to bring together the <i>grand</i>, the -<i>noble</i>, or the <i>terrible</i>, into the same piece -with the <i>pleasant or ridiculous</i>. The impressions -of these objects, he allows, are -perfectly opposed to each other. So that a -tragedy, which takes for its subject a <i>noble</i>, -or <i>terrible</i> event, can by no means admit -the <i>pleasant</i>. And a comedy, which represents -a <i>pleasant</i> action, can never admit the -<i>terrible</i> or <i>noble</i>. But it is otherwise, he -conceives, with the intermediate species of -this scale. The <i>singular</i>, the <i>pitiable</i>, the -<i>tender</i>, which fill up the interval betwixt the -<i>noble</i> and <i>ridiculous</i>, are equally consistent -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">77</span> -with tragedy and comedy. An uncommon -stroke of Fortune may as well befall a peasant -as a prince. And two lovers of an inferior -condition may have as lively a passion -for each other, and, when some unlucky -event separates them, may deserve our pity -as much, as those of the highest fortune. -These situations then are equally suited to -both dramas. They will only be modified -in each a little differently. From hence he -concludes, that there may be <i>dramatic representations</i>, -which are neither perfectly -tragedies nor perfectly comedies, but yet -partake of the nature of each, and that in -different proportions. There might be a -species of <i>tragedy</i>, for instance, which should -unite the <i>tender</i> with the <i>noble</i> in any degree, -or even subsist entirely by means of -the <i>tender</i>: And of <i>comedy</i>, which should -associate the <i>tender</i> with the <i>pleasant</i>, or -even retain the <i>tender</i> throughout to a certain -degree to the entire exclusion of the -<i>pleasant</i>.</p> - -<p>“As to his laying the <i>scene</i> of his comedy -in Greece, he thinks this practice sufficiently -justified by the practice of the French writers, -who make no scruple to lay their scene -abroad, as in <i>Spain</i> or <i>England</i>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">78</span></p> - -<p>“Lastly, for what concerns the introduction -of great personages into the comic drama, -he observes that by <i>ordinary life</i>, which he -supposes the proper subject of comedy, he -understands as well that of Emperors and -Princes, at times when they are only men, -as of inferior persons. And he thinks it -very evident that what passes in the ordinary -<i>life</i>, so understood, of the greatest men, is -truly comic<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">10</a>.”</p> - -<p>This is a simple exposition of M. de Fontenelle’s -idea of comedy, which, however, he -hath set off with great elegance and a plausibility -of illustration, such as writers of his -class are never at a loss to give to any subject -they would recommend.</p> - -<p>Now, tho’ the principal aim of what I have -to offer in confutation of this system be to -combat the ingenious writer’s notion of comedy, -yet as the tenor of his <i>preface</i> leads -him to deliver his sentiments also of tragedy, -I shall not scruple intermixing, after his example, -some reflexions on this latter drama.</p> - -<p>M. de Fontenelle sets out with observing, -that the end of dramatic representation is to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">79</span> -<i>please</i>. This end is very general. But he -explains himself more precisely, by saying, -“<i>this pleasure is of two kinds, and consists -either in attaching the mind or affecting it</i>.” -And this is not much amiss. But his further -explanation of these terms is suspicious. “The -mind, says he, is <small>ATTACHED</small> by the representation -of what is <i>great</i>, <i>noble</i>, <i>singular</i>, -or <i>unexpected</i>: It is <small>AFFECTED</small> by what is -<i>terrible</i>, <i>pitiable</i>, <i>tender</i>, or <i>pleasant</i><a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">11</a>.” In -this enumeration he forgets the merely <i>natural</i> -draught of the manners. Yet this is surely -one of the means by which the drama is enabled -to <i>attach</i> the spectator. With me, I -confess, this is the first excellence of comedy. -Nor could he mean to include this source of -pleasure under his <i>second</i> division. For tho’ -a lively picture of the manners may in some -sort be said to <i>affect</i> us, yet certainly not as -coming under the consideration of what is -<i>terrible</i>, <i>pitiable</i>, <i>tender</i>, or <i>ridiculous</i>, but -simply of what is <i>natural</i>. The picture is -<i>pleasant</i> or otherwise, as it chances; but is -always the source of entertainment to the observer. -When the pleasantry is high, it takes -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">80</span> -indeed the passion of <i>ridicule</i>. In other instances, -it can scarcely be said to <i>move</i>, -“emouvoir.” Now this I take to be a very -considerable omission. For if the observation -of character be a <i>pleasure</i>, which comedy is -more particularly qualified to give, and which -is not in any degree so compatible with tragedy, -does not this bid fair for being the <i>proper</i> -end of comedy? Human life, he says, -which is the subject of the drama, can only be -regarded in two views, as either that <i>of the -great and principally of kings</i>, and that of -<i>private men</i>. Now the <i>attachments</i> and <i>emotions</i>, -he speaks of, are excited more powerfully -and to more advantage in a representation -of the <i>former</i>. That which is <i>peculiar</i> to a -draught of <i>ordinary life</i>, or which is attained -<i>most perfectly</i> by it, is the delight arising from -a just exhibition of the manners. No, he will -say. The <i>pleasant</i> belongs as peculiarly to a -picture of common life, as the <i>natural</i>. Surely -not. Common life <i>distorted</i>, or what we call -<i>farce</i>, gives the entertainment of <i>ridicule</i> more -perfectly than comedy. The only pleasure, -which an exposition of <i>ordinary life</i> affords, -distinct from that we receive from a view of -<i>high life</i> on the one hand, and ordinary life -<i>disfigured</i> on the other, is the satisfaction of -contemplating the <i>truth of character</i>. However -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">81</span> -then this species of representation may be -improved by incorporating other kinds of excellence -with it, is not <i>this, of pleasing</i> by -the <i>truth</i> of character, to be considered as the -<i>appropriate</i> end of comedy?</p> - -<p>I don’t dispute the propriety of serious or -even affecting comedies. I have already explained -myself as to this point, and have shewn -under what restrictions <i>the weeping comedy</i>, -<i>la larmoyante comedie</i>, as the French call it, -may be admitted on my plan. The main -question is, whether there be any foundation -in nature for two distinct and separate species -<i>only</i> of the drama; or whether, as he pretends, -a certain <i>scale</i>, which connects by an -insensible communication the several modifications -of dramatic representation, unites and -incorporates the two species into one.</p> - -<p>It is true the laws of the drama, as formed -by Aristotle out of the Greek poets, can of -themselves be no rule to us in this matter; -because these poets had given no example of -such intermediate species. This, for aught -appears to the contrary, may be an extension of -the province of the drama. The question then -must be tried by the success of this new practice, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">82</span> -compared with the general dictates of -common sense.</p> - -<p>For I perfectly agree with this judicious critic, -that we have a right to inquire if, in what concerns -the stage, we are not sometimes governed -by <i>established customs</i> instead of rules; for -<i>Rules</i> they will not deserve to be esteemed, -till they have undergone the rigid scrutiny of -reason<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">12</a>.</p> - -<p>In respect of the <i>Practice</i>, then, it must be -owned, there are many stories in private life -capable of being worked up in such a manner -as to move the passions strongly; and, on the -contrary, many subjects taken from the great -world capable of diverting the spectator by a -pleasant picture of the manners. And lastly, -it is also true, that both these ends may be -affected together, in some degree, in either -piece. But here is the point of enquiry. -Whether if the end in view be to <i>affect</i>, this -will not be accomplished <small>BETTER</small> by taking a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">83</span> -subject from the public than private fortunes -of men: Or, if the End be to <i>please by the -truth of character</i>, whether we are not likely -to perceive this pleasure more <small>FULLY</small> when the -story is of private, rather than of public life? -For, as Aristotle said finely on a like occasion, -<i>we are not to look for every sort of pleasure -from tragedy</i> [or comedy] <i>but that which is -peculiarly proper to each</i><a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">13</a>. “Human life” -this writer says, “can be considered but as -<i>high</i> or <i>low</i>;” and “a representation of it -can please only as it <i>attaches</i>, or <i>affects</i>.” -I ask then, to which sort of life shall the dramatic -poet confine himself, when he would -endeavour to raise these <i>affections</i> or these <i>attachments</i> -to the highest pitch. The answer -is plain. For if the poet would excite the tender -passions, they will rise higher of necessity, -when awakened by noble subjects, than if called -forth by such as are of ordinary and familiar -notice. This is occasioned by what one may -call a <span class="smcap">transition of the Passions</span>: that affection -of the mind which is produced by the impression -of great objects, being more easily -convertible into the stronger degrees of pity -and commiseration, than such as arises from a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">84</span> -view of the concerns of common life. The -more <i>important</i> the interest, the greater part -our minds take in it, and the more susceptible -are we of <i>passion</i>.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, when the intended pleasure -is to result from strong pictures of human -nature, this will be felt more entirely, and -with more sincerity, when we are at leisure to -attend to them in the representation of inferior -persons, than when the rank of the speaker, -or dignity of the subject, is constantly drawing -some part of our observation to itself. In a -word, though <i>mixed dramas</i> may give us pleasure, -yet the pleasure, in either kind, will be -<small>LESS</small> in proportion to the mixture. And the -<i>end</i> of each will be then attained <small>MOST PERFECTLY</small> -when its character, according to the -ancient practice, is observed.</p> - -<p>To consider then the writer’s favourite position, -that <i>le pitoyable</i> and <i>le tendre</i> are -“common both to tragedy and comedy.” The -position, in general, is true. The difficulty is -in fixing the degree, with which it ought to -prevail in each. If <i>passion</i> predominates in a -picture of private life, I call it a <i>tragedy</i> of -private story, because it produces the <i>end</i> which -tragedy designs. If <i>humour</i> predominates in a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">85</span> -draught of public life, I call it a <i>comedy</i> of -public story, because it gives the <i>pleasure</i> of -pure comedy. Let these then be two new -species of the drama, if you please, and let new -names be invented for them. Yet, were I a -poet, I should certainly adhere to the old -practice. That is, if I wanted to produce <i>passion</i>, -I should think myself able to raise it -highest on a great subject. And if I aimed to -<i>attach</i> by <i>humour</i>, I should depend on catching -the whole attention of the spectator more successfully -on a familiar subject.</p> - -<p>But by a <i>familiar subject</i>, this critic will -say, he means, as I do, a subject taken from -<i>ordinary life</i>; and that the affairs of kings -and princes may very properly come into comedy -under this view. Besides the reason -already produced against this innovation, I -have this further exception to it. The business -of comedy, he will allow, is in part at least to -exhibit the <i>manners</i>. Now the princely or -heroic comedy is singularly improper for this -end. If persons of so distinguished a rank be -the actors in comedy, propriety demands that -they be shewn in conformity to their characters -in real life. But now that very politeness, -which reigns in the courts of princes and the -houses of the great, prevents the <i>manners</i> from -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">86</span> -shewing themselves, at least with that distinctness -and <i>relief</i> which we look for in dramatic -characters. Inferior personages, acting with -less reserve and caution, afford the fittest occasion -to the poet of expressing their genuine -tempers and dispositions. Or, if a picture of -the manners be expected from the introduction -of great persons, it can be only in tragedy, -where the importance of the interests and the -strong play of the passions strip them of their -borrowed disguises, and lay open their true -characters. So that the princely, or <i>heroic</i>, -comedy is the least fitted, of any kind of -drama, to furnish this pleasure.</p> - -<p>The ancients appear to have had no doubt at -all on the matter. The tragedy on low life, -and comedy on high life, were refinements altogether -unknown to them. What then hath -occasioned this revolution of taste amongst us? -Principally, I conceive, these three things.</p> - -<p>1. The comedy on high life hath arisen -from a <i>different state of government</i>. In the -free towns of Greece there was no room for that -distinction of high and low comedy, which the -moderns have introduced. And the reason -was, the members of those communities were -so nearly on a level, that any one was a representative -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">87</span> -of the rest. There was no standing -subordination of royalty, nobility, and commonalty, -as with us. Their way of ennobling -their characters was, by making them Generals, -Ambassadors, Magistrates, &c. and then, in -that public view, they were fit personages for -tragedy. When stripped of these ensigns of -authority, they became simple citizens.</p> - -<p>Amongst us, persons of elevated rank make -a separate order in the community, whose private -lives however might, no doubt, be the -subject of comic representation. Why then -are not these fit personages for comedy? The -reason has been given. They want <i>dramatic -manners</i>. Or, if they did not, their elevated -and separate estate makes the generality conceive -with such reverence of them, that it -would shock their notions of high life to see -them employed in a course of comic adventures. -And of this M. de Fontenelle himself -was sufficiently sensible. For, speaking in -another place of the importance which the -tragic action receives from the dignity of its -persons, he says, “When the actions are of -such a kind as that, without losing any -thing of their beauty, they might pass between -inferior persons, the names of kings -and princes are nothing but a foreign ornament, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">88</span> -which the poet gives to his subject. -Yet <i>this ornament, foreign as it may be, is -necessary: so fated are we to be always -dazzled by titles</i><a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">14</a>.” Should he not have -seen then, that this pageantry of titles, which -is so requisite to raise the dignity of the tragic -drama, must for the same reason prevent the -familiarity of the comic? The great themselves -are, no doubt, in this, as other instances, above -<i>vulgar</i> prejudices. But the dramatic poet -writes for the people.</p> - -<p>2. The tragedy on low life, I suspect, has -been chiefly owing to our <i>modern romances</i>: -which have brought the tender passion into -great repute. It is the constant and almost -sole object of <i>le pitoyable</i> and <i>le tendre</i> in our -drama. Now the prevalency of this passion -in all degrees hath made it thought an indifferent -matter, whether the story, that exemplifies -it, be taken from low or high life. As -it rages equally in both, the pathos, it was believed, -would be just the same. And it is -true, if tragedy confine itself to the display of -this passion, the difference will be less sensible -than in other instances. Because the concern -terminates more directly in the <i>tender pair</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">89</span> -themselves, and does not so necessarily extend -itself to others. Yet to heighten this same -pathos by the <i>grand</i> and <i>important</i>, would -methinks be the means of affording a still -higher pleasure.</p> - -<p>3. After all, that effusion of <i>softness</i> which -prevails to such a degree in all our dramas, -comic as well as tragic, to the exclusion of every -other interest, is, perhaps, best accounted for -by this writer. As the matter is delicate, I -chuse to give it in his own words: “On s’imagine -naturellement, que les piéces Grecques -& les nôtres ont été jugées au même tribunal, -à celui d’un public assés egal dans les deux -nations; mais cela n’est pas tout-a-fait vrai. -Dans le tribunal d’Athenes, <i>les femmes</i> -n’avoient pas de voix, ou n’en avoient que -très peu. Dans le tribunal de Paris, c’est -précisément le contraire; ici il est donc -question de plaire aux femmes, qui assurément -aimeront mieux le pitoyable & le tendre, -que terrible et même le grand.” He -adds, “<i>Et je ne crois pas au fond qu’elles -ayent grand tort</i>.” And what gallant man -but would subscribe to this opinion?</p> - -<p>On the whole, this attempt of M. de Fontenelle, -to innovate in the province of comedy, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">90</span> -puts one in mind of that he made, many years -ago, in pastoral poetry. It is exactly the -same spirit which has governed this polite -writer in both adventures. He was once for -bringing courtiers in masquerade into <i>Arcadia</i>. -And now he would set them unmasked on the -comic stage. Here, at least, he thought they -would be in place. But the simplicity of pastoral -dialogue would not suffer the one; and -the familiarity of comic action forbids the -other. It must be confessed, however, he -hath succeeded better in the example of his -comedies, than his pastorals. And no wonder. -For what we call the <i>fashions</i> and <i>manners</i> -are confined to certain conditions of life, -so that <i>pastoral courtiers</i> are an evident contradiction -and absurdity. But, the <i>appetites -and passions</i> extending through all ranks, -hence low tricks and low amours are thought -to suit the minister and sharper alike. However -it be, the fact is, that M. de Fontenelle -hath succeeded best in his <i>comedies</i>. And as -his theory is likely to gain more credit from -the success of his practice than the force of his -reasoning, I think it proper to close these remarks -with an observation or two upon it.</p> - -<p>There are, I observed, three things to be -considered in his comedies, his <i>introduction of</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">91</span> -<i>great personages, his practice of laying the -scene in antiquity, and his pathos</i>.</p> - -<p>Now to see the impropriety of the <i>first</i> of -these innovations, we need only observe with -what art he endeavours to conceal it. His -very dexterity in managing his comic heroes -clearly shews the natural repugnance he felt in -his own mind betwixt the representation of -such characters, and even his own idea of the -comic drama.</p> - -<p>The <span class="smcap">Tyrant</span> is a strange title of a comedy. -It required singular address to familiarize this -frightful personage to our conceptions. Which -yet he hath tolerably well done, but by such -expedients as confute his general theory. For, -to bring him down to the level of a comic character, -he gives us to understand, that the -<i>Tyrant</i> was an usurper, who from a very mean -birth had forced his way into the tyranny. -And to lower him still more, we find him represented, -not only as odious to his people, -but of a very contemptible character. He further -makes him the tyrant only of a small -Greek town; so that he passes, with the modern -reader, for little more than the Mayor of -a corporation. There is also a plain illusion -in making a <i>simple citizen</i> demand his daughter -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">92</span> -in marriage. For under the cover of this -word, which conveys the idea of a person in -lower life, we think very little of the dignity -of a free citizen of Corinth. Whence it appears -that the poet felt the necessity of unkinging -this tyrant as far as possible, before -he could make a comic character of him.</p> - -<p>The case of his <span class="smcap">Abdolonime</span> is still easier. -’Tis true, the structure of the fable requires -us to have an eye to royalty, but all the pride -and pomp of the regal character is studiously -kept out of sight. Besides, the affair of -royalty does not commence till the action -draws to a conclusion, the persons of the -drama being all simple particulars, and even of -the lowest figure through the entire course of it.</p> - -<p>The King of Sidon is, further, a paltry sovereign, -and a creature of Alexander. And -the characters of the persons, which are indeed -admirably touched, are purposely contrived to -lessen our ideas of sovereignty.</p> - -<p>The <span class="smcap">Lysianasse</span> is a tragedy in form, of -that kind which hath a happy catastrophe. -The <i>persons</i>, <i>subject</i>, every thing so important, -and attaches the mind so intirely to the -event, that nothing interests more. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">93</span></p> - -<p>As to his <i>laying the scene in antiquity, and -especially in the free towns of Greece</i>, I would -recommend it as an admirable expedient to all -those who are disposed to follow him in this -new province of heroic comedy. For amongst -other advantages, it gives the writer an occasion -to fill the courts of his princes with <i>simple -citizens</i>, which, as was observed, by no means -answer to our ideas of nobility. But in any -other view I cannot say much for the practice. -It is for obvious reasons highly inconvenient. -Even this writer found it so, when in one of -his plays, the <span class="smcap">Macate</span>, he was obliged to -break through the propriety of ancient manners -in order to adapt himself to the modern -taste. His duel, as he himself says, “<i>a l’air -bien françois et bien peu grec</i>.” The reader, -if he pleases, may see his apology for this -transgression of decorum. Or, if there were no -inconvenience of this sort, the representation -of characters after the <i>antique</i> must, on many -occasions, be cold and disgusting. At least none -but professed scholars can be taken with it.</p> - -<p>Nor is the usage of the Latin writers any -precedent. For, besides that Horace, we -know, condemned it as suitable only to the -infancy of their comic poetry, the manners, -laws, religion of the Greeks were in the main -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">94</span> -so similar to their own, that the difference -was hardly discernible. Or if it were otherwise -in some points, the neighbourhood of this famous -people and the intercourse the Romans -had with them, would bring them perfectly -acquainted with such difference. And this last -reflexion shews how insufficient it was for the -author to excuse his own practice from the -authority of his countrymen; who, says he, -“never scruple laying their scene in Spain or -England.” Are the manners of ancient -Greece as familiar to a French pit, as those of -these two countries?</p> - -<p>Lastly, I have very little to object to the -<i>pathos</i> of his comedy. When it is subservient -to the <i>manners</i>, as in the <span class="smcap">Testament</span> and <span class="smcap">Abdolonime</span>, -I think it admirable. When it -exceeds this degree and takes the attention intirely, -as in the <span class="smcap">Lysianasse</span>, it gives a pleasure -indeed, but not the pleasure appropriate to -comedy. I regard it as a faint imperfect species -of tragedy. After all, I fear the <i>tender -and pitiable</i> in comedy, though it must afford -the highest pleasure to sensible and elegant -minds, is not perfectly suited to the apprehensions -of the generality. Are they susceptible -of the soft and delicate emotions which the -fine distress in the <i>Testament</i> is intended to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">95</span> -raise? Every one indeed is capable of being -delighted through the <i>passions</i>; but they must -be worked up, as in tragedy, to a greater -height, before the generality can receive that -delight from them. The same objection, it -will be said, holds against the finer strokes of -character. Not, I think, with the same force. -I doubt our sense of imitation, especially of -the <i>ridiculous</i>, is quicker than our humanity. -But I determine nothing. Both these pleasures -are perfectly consistent. And my idea -of comedy requires only that the <i>pathos</i> be -kept in subordination to the <i>manners</i>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">96</span></p> - -<h2 id="CHAP_IV">CHAP. IV.<br /> - -<span class="medium">OF THE PROVINCE OF FARCE.</span></h2> - -<p>Thus much then for the general idea of <span class="smcap">Comedy</span>. -If considered more accurately, it is, -further, of <i>two kinds</i>. And in considering -these we shall come at a just notion of the -province of <small>FARCE</small>. For this <i>mirror of private -life</i> either, 1. reflects such qualities and characters, -as are common <i>to human nature at -large</i>: or, 2. it represents the whims, extravagances, -and caprices, which characterize the -folly of <i>particular persons or times</i>.</p> - -<p>Again, <i>each</i> of these is, further, to be subdivided -into <i>two species</i>. For 1. the representations -of <i>common nature</i> may either be -taken <i>accurately</i>, so as to reflect a <i>faithful -and exact image</i> of their original; which alone -is <i>that</i> I would call <small>COMEDY</small>, as best agreeing -to the description which Cicero gives of it, -when he terms it <small>IMAGINEM VERITATIS</small>. Or, -they may be forced and overcharged above the -simple and just proportions of <i>nature</i>; as when -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">97</span> -the excesses of a <i>few</i> are given for <i>standing</i> -characters, when not the man is described, but -the <i>passion</i>, or when, in the draught of the -man, the leading feature is extended beyond -measure: And in these cases the representation -holds of the lower province of <span class="smcap">Farce</span>. In -like manner, 2. the other <i>species</i>, consisting -in the representation of <i>partial nature</i>, either -transcribes such characters as are peculiar to -<i>certain countries or times</i>, of which <i>our comedy</i> -is, in great measure, made up; or it -presents the image of <i>some real individual -person</i>; which was the distinguishing character -of the <i>old comedy</i> properly so called.</p> - -<p>Both these kinds evidently belong to <small>FARCE</small>: -not only as failing in that general and universal -imitation of nature, which is alone deserving -the name of comedy, but, also, for this reason, -that, being more directly written for the present -purpose of discrediting certain <i>characters</i> -or <i>persons</i>, it is found convenient to exaggerate -their peculiarities and enlarge their features; -and so, on a double account, they are to be -referred to that <i>class</i>.</p> - -<p>And thus the <i>three forms of dramatic composition</i>, -the only ones which good sense -acknowledges, are kept distinct: and the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">98</span> -proper <small>END</small> and <small>CHARACTER</small> of each, clearly -understood.</p> - -<p>1. <i>Tragedy and Comedy</i>, by their lively -but faithful representations, cannot fail to <i>instruct</i>. -Such natural exhibitions of the human -character, being set before us in the clear -mirror of the drama, must needs serve to the -highest <i>moral uses</i>, in awakening that instinctive -approbation, which we cannot withhold -from <i>virtue</i>, or in provoking the not less -necessary detestation of <i>vice</i>. But this, though -it be their best <i>use</i>, is by no means their -primary <i>intention</i>. Their proper and immediate -<i>end</i> is, to <small>PLEASE</small>: the <i>one</i>, more especially -by interesting the <i>affections</i>; the <i>other</i>, -by <i>a just and delicate imitation of real life</i>. -<i>Farce</i>, on the contrary, professes to <i>entertain</i>, -but this, in order more effectually to serve the -interests of virtue and good sense. Its proper -<i>end</i> and purpose (if we allow it to have any -reasonable one) is, then, to <small>INSTRUCT</small>. Which -the reader will understand me as saying, not -of what we know by the name of <i>farce</i> on the -modern stage (whose <i>prime</i> intention can -hardly be thought even that low one, ascribed -to it by Mr. Dryden, <i>of</i> entertaining <i>citizens, -country gentlemen, and Covent Garden fops</i>), -but of the legitimate <i>end</i> of this <i>drama</i>; known -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">99</span> -to the Ancients under the name of the <i>old -Comedy</i>, but having neither name nor existence, -properly speaking, among the Moderns. -Of which we may say, as Mr. Dryden did, -but with less propriety, of Comedy, “<i>That it -is a sharp manner of</i> instruction <i>for the -vulgar, who are never well amended, till -they are more than sufficiently exposed</i>.” -[Pref. to Trans. of Fresnoy, p. xix.]</p> - -<p>2. Though tragedy and comedy respect the -<i>same general</i> <small>END</small>, yet pursuing it by <i>different -means</i>, hence it comes to pass, their <small>CHARACTERS</small> -are wholly different. For tragedy, aiming -at <i>pleasure</i>, principally through the <i>affections</i>, -whose flow must not be checked and interrupted -by any counter impressions: and comedy, -as we have seen, addressing itself <i>principally</i> -to our <i>natural sense of resemblance -and imitation</i>; it follows, that the <i>ridiculous</i> -can never be associated with tragedy, without -destroying its <i>nature</i>, though with the <i>serious -comic</i> it very well consists.</p> - -<p>And here the <i>practice</i> coincides with the -<i>rule</i>. All exact writers, though they constantly -mix <i>grave and pleasant</i> scenes together -in the same <i>comedy</i>, yet never presume to do -this in <i>tragedy</i>, and so keep the two species of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">100</span> -<i>tragedy and comedy</i> themselves perfectly distinct. -But,</p> - -<p>3. It is quite otherwise with <i>comedy</i> and -<i>farce</i>. These almost perpetually run into -each other. And yet the reason of the thing -demands as intire and perfect a separation in -this case, as in the other. For the perfection -of <i>comedy</i> lying in the accuracy and fidelity of -universal representation, and <i>farce</i> professedly -neglecting or rather purposely transgressing -the limits of common nature and just decorum, -they clash entirely with each other. And <i>comedy</i> -must so far fail of giving the <i>pleasure</i>, -appropriate to its design, as it allies itself with -<i>farce</i>; while <i>farce</i>, on the other hand, forfeits -the <i>use</i>, it intends, of promoting popular ridicule, -by restraining itself within the exact -rules of <i>Nature</i>, which Comedy observes.</p> - -<p>But there is little occasion to guard against -this <i>latter</i> abuse. The danger is all on the -other side. And the passion for what is now -called <i>Farce</i>, the shadow of the Old Comedy, -has, in fact, possessed the modern poets to -such a degree that we have scarcely one example -of a comedy, without this gross mixture. -If any are to be excepted from this censure in -Moliere, they are his <i>Misanthrope</i> and <i>Tartuffe</i>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">101</span> -which are accordingly, by common allowance, -the best of his large collection. In -proportion as his other plays have less or more -of this farcical turn, their true value hath been -long since determined.</p> - -<p>Of our own comedies, such of them, I mean, -as are worthy of criticism, Ben Jonson’s <i>Alchymist</i> -and <i>Volpone</i> bid the fairest for being -written in this genuine unmixed manner. Yet, -though their merits are very great, severe Criticism -might find something to object even to -these. The <span class="smcap">Alchymist</span>, some will think, is -exaggerated throughout, and so, at best, belongs -to that species of comedy, which we -have before called <i>particular and partial</i>. At -least, the extravagant pursuit so strongly exposed -in that play, hath now, of a long time, -been forgotten; so that we find it difficult to -enter fully into the humour of this highly-wrought -character. And, in general, we may -remark of such characters, that they are a -strong temptation to the writer to exceed the -bounds of truth in his draught of them at <i>first</i>, -and are further liable to an imperfect, and even -unfair sentence from the reader <i>afterwards</i>. -For the welcome reception, which these pictures -of prevailing <i>local</i> folly meet with on the stage, -cannot but induce the poet, almost -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">102</span> -without design, to inflame the representation: -And the want of <i>archetypes</i>, in a little time, -makes it pass for immoderate, were it originally -given with ever so much discretion and justice. -So that whether the <i>Alchymist</i> be farcical or -not, it will <i>appear</i>, at least, to have this note -of Farce, “That the principal character is exaggerated.” -But then this is all we must -affirm. For as to the <i>subject</i> of this Play’s -being a <i>local folly</i>, which seems to bring it -directly under the denomination of Farce, it -is but just to make a distinction. Had the <i>end -and purpose</i> of the Play been to expose <i>Alchymy</i>, -it had been liable to this objection. -But this mode of <i>local folly</i>, is employed as -the <i>means</i> only of exposing <i>another</i> folly, extensive -as our Nature and coeval with it, namely -<i>Avarice</i>. So that the subject has all the requisites -of true <i>Comedy</i>. It is just otherwise, -we may observe, in the <i>Devil’s an Ass</i>; which -therefore properly falls under our censure. -For there, the folly of the time, <i>Projects and -Monopolies</i>, are brought in to be exposed, as -the <i>end and purpose</i> of the comedy.</p> - -<p>On the whole, the <i>Alchymist</i> is a Comedy -in just form, but a little <i>Farcical</i> in the extension -of one of its characters. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">103</span></p> - -<p>The <span class="smcap">Volpone</span>, is a subject so manifestly -fitted for the entertainment of all times, that -it stands in need of no vindication. Yet neither, -I am afraid, is this Comedy, in all respects, -a complete model. There are even -some Incidents of a farcical invention; particularly -the <i>Mountebank Scene</i> and <i>Sir Politique’s -Tortoise</i> are in the taste of the <i>old -comedy</i>; and without its rational purpose. -Besides, the <i>humour</i> of the dialogue is sometimes -on the point of becoming inordinate, as -may be seen in the pleasantry of <i>Corbaccio’s -mistakes through deafness</i>, and in other instances. -And we shall not wonder that the -best of his plays are liable to some objections -of this sort, if we attend to the <i>character</i> of -the writer. For his nature was severe and -rigid, and this in giving a strength and manliness, -gave, at times too, an intemperance to -his satyr. His taste for ridicule was strong -but indelicate, which made him not over-curious -in the choice of his <i>topics</i>. And lastly, -his <i>style</i> in picturing characters, though masterly, -was without that elegance of <i>hand</i>, -which is required to correct and allay the force -of so bold a colouring. Thus, the bias of his -nature leading him to Plautus rather than -Terence for his model, it is not to be wondered -that his wit is too frequently caustic; his -raillery coarse; and his humour excessive. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">104</span></p> - -<p>Some later writers for the stage have, no -doubt, avoided these defects of the exactest of -our old dramatists. But do they reach his -excellencies? Posterity, I am afraid, will -judge otherwise, whatever may be now thought -of some more fashionable comedies. And if -they do not, neither the state of general manners, -nor the turn of the public taste, appears -to be such as countenances the expectation of -greater improvements. To those who are -not over-sanguine in their hopes, our forefathers -will perhaps be thought to have furnished -(what, in nature, seem linked together) -the fairest example of <i>dramatic</i>, as of <i>real -manners</i>.</p> - -<p>But here it will probably be said, an affected -zeal for the honour of our old poets has -betrayed their unwary advocate into a concession, -which discredits his whole pains on this -subject. For to what purpose, may it be -asked, this waste of dramatic criticism, when, -by the allowance of the idle speculatist himself, -his theory is likely to prove so unprofitable, -at least, if it be not ill-founded? The -only part I can take in this nice conjuncture, -is to screen myself behind the authority of a -much abler critical theorist, who had once the -misfortune to find himself in these unlucky -circumstances, and has apologized for it. The -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">105</span> -<i>objection</i> is fairly urged by this fine writer; -and in so profound and speculative an age, as -the present, I presume to suggest no other -answer, than he has thought fit to give to it. -“Speculations of this sort, says he, do not bestow -genius on those who have it not; they -do not, perhaps, afford any great assistance -to those who have; and most commonly the -men of genius are even incapable of being -assisted by speculation. To what use then -do they serve? Why, to lead up <i>to the -first principles of beauty</i> such persons as -love reasoning and are fond of reducing, under -the controul of philosophy, subjects that -appear the most independent of it, and -which are generally thought abandoned to -the caprice of taste<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">15</a>.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">106</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">107</span></p> - -<p class="ph1"><small>A</small><br /> - -DISCOURSE<br /> - -<small>ON</small><br /> - -<span class="x-large">POETICAL IMITATION.</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">108</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">109</span></p> - -<h2 id="DISSERTATION_III">DISSERTATION III.<br /> - -<small>ON</small><br /> - -<span class="large">POETICAL IMITATION.</span></h2> - -<p>I undertake, in the following discourse, -to consider <small>TWO QUESTIONS</small>, in which the credit -of almost all great writers, since the time -of <i>Homer</i>, is vitally concerned.</p> - -<p>First, “<i>Whether that Conformity in Phrase -or Sentiment between two writers of different -times, which we call</i> <span class="smcap">Imitation</span>, <i>may -not with probability enough, for the most -part, be accounted for from general causes, -arising from our common nature; that is, -from the exercise of our natural faculties -on such objects as lie in common to all observers?</i>” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">110</span></p> - -<p>Secondly, “<i>Whether, in the case of confessed -Imitations, any certain and necessary -conclusion holds to the disadvantage -of the natural</i> <small>GENIUS</small> <i>of the imitator?</i>”—<span class="smcap">Questions</span>, -which there seems no fit method -of resolving, but by taking the matter pretty -deep, and deducing it from its <i>first principles</i>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">111</span></p> - -<h3>SECTION I.</h3> - -<p>All <i>Poetry</i>, to speak with Aristotle and -the Greek critics (if for so plain a point authorities -be thought wanting) is, properly, <i>imitation</i>. -It is, indeed, the noblest and most -extensive of the mimetic arts; having all creation -for its object, and ranging the entire circuit -of universal being. In this view every -wondrous <i>original</i>, which ages have gazed at, -as the offspring of creative fancy; and of which -poets themselves, to do honour to their inventions, -have feigned, as of the immortal panoply -of their heroes, that it came down from heaven, -is itself but a <i>copy</i>, a transcript from some -brighter page of this vast volume of the universe. -Thus all is <i>derived</i>; all is <i>unoriginal</i>. -And the office of genius is but to select the -fairest forms of things, and to present them in -due <i>place</i> and <i>circumstance</i>, and in the richest -colouring of <i>expression</i>, to the imagination. -This primary or original <i>copying</i>, which in -the ideas of Philosophy is <i>Imitation</i>, is, in the -language of Criticism, called <span class="smcap">Invention</span>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">112</span></p> - -<p>Again; of the endless variety of these <i>original -forms</i>, which the poet’s eye is incessantly -traversing, those, which take his attention -most, his active mimetic faculty prompts him -to convert into fair and living <i>resemblances</i>. -This magical operation the <i>divine</i> philosopher -(whose fervid fancy, though it sometimes obscures<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">16</a> -his reasoning, yet never fails to clear -and brighten his imagery) excellently illustrates -by the similitude of a <i>mirror</i>; “<i>which</i>, -says he, <i>as you turn about and oppose to the -surrounding world, presents you instantly -with a</i> <small>SUN</small>, <small>STARS</small>, <i>and</i> <small>SKIES</small>; <i>with your</i> -<small>OWN</small>, <i>and every</i> <small>OTHER</small> <i>living form; with -the</i> <small>EARTH</small>, <i>and its several appendages of</i> -<small>TREES</small>, <small>PLANTS</small>, <i>and</i> <small>FLOWERS</small><a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">17</a>.” Just so, -on whatever side the poet turns his imagination, -the shapes of things immediately imprint -themselves upon it, and a new corresponding -creation reflects the old one. This shadowy -ideal world, though unsubstantial as the <i>American -vision of souls</i><a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">18</a>, yet glows with such -apparent life, that it becomes, thenceforth, -the object of other mirrors, and is itself <i>original</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">113</span> -to future reflexions; This secondary or derivative -image, is that alone which Criticism -considers under the Idea of <span class="smcap">Imitation</span>.</p> - -<p>And here the difficulty, we are about to -examine, commences. For the poet, in his -quick researches through all his stores and -materials of <i>beauty</i>, meeting every where, in -his progress, these <i>reflected forms</i>; and deriving -from them his stock of imagery, as well -as from the real subsisting objects of nature, -the reader is often at a loss (for the poet himself -is not always aware of it) to discern the -<i>original</i> from the <i>copy</i>; to know, with certainty, -if the <i>sentiment</i>, or <i>image</i>, presented -to him, be directly taken from the <i>life</i>, or be -itself, a lively transcript, only, of some former -copy. And this difficulty is the greater, because -the <i>original</i>, as well as the <i>copy</i>, is always -at hand for the poet to turn to, and we -can rarely be certain, since both were equally -in his power, which of the two he chose to -make the object of his own <i>imitation</i>. For it -is not enough to say here, as in the case of -<i>reflexions</i>, that the latter is always the weaker, -and of course betrays itself by the degree of -faintness, which, of necessity, attends a <i>copy</i>. -This, indeed, hath been said by one, to whose -judgment a peculiar deference is owing. <span class="smcap">Quicquid -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">114</span> -alteri simile est, necesse est minus -sit eo, quod imitatur</span><a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">19</a>. But it holds only -of strict and scrupulous <i>imitations</i>. And of -such alone, I think, it was intended; for the -explanation follows, <i>ut umbra corpore, & -imago facie, & actus histrionum veris affectibus</i>; -that is, where the artist confines himself -to the single view of taking a faithful and -exact transcript. And even this can be allowed -only, when the copyist is of inferior, or -at most but of equal, talents. Nay, it is not -certainly to be relied upon even <i>then</i>; as may -appear from what we are told of an inferior -painter’s [Andrea del Sarto’s] copying a portrait -of the divine Raphael. The story is well -known. But, as an aphorism, brought to determine -the merits of <i>imitation</i>, in general, -nothing can be falser or more delusive. For, -1. Besides the supposed <i>original</i>, the object -itself, as was observed, is before the poet, and -he may catch from thence, and infuse into his -piece, the same glow of real life, which animated -the <i>first copy</i>. 2. He may also take -in circumstances, omitted or overlooked before -in the <i>common</i> object, and so give new and -additional vigour to his imitation. Or, 3. He -may possess a stronger, and more plastic -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">115</span> -genius, and therefore be enabled to touch, -with more force of expression, even those particulars, -which he professedly imitates.</p> - -<p>On all these accounts, the difficulty of distinguishing -betwixt <i>original</i>, and <i>secondary</i>, -imitation is apparent. And it is of importance, -that this <i>difficulty</i> be seen in its full -light. Because, if the <i>similarity</i>, observed in -two or more writers, may, for the most part, -and with the highest probability, be accounted -for from <i>general principles</i>, it is superfluous -at least, if not unfair, to have recourse to the -<i>particular</i> charge of <i>imitation</i>.</p> - -<p>Now to see how far the same common principles -of nature will go towards effecting the -<i>similarity</i>, here spoken of, it is necessary to -consider very distinctly.</p> - -<p>I. <span class="smcap">The matter</span>; <i>and</i></p> - -<p>II. <span class="smcap">The manner</span>, <i>of all poetical imitation</i>.</p> - -<p>I. In all that range of <i>natural objects</i>, over -which the restless imagination of the poet -expatiates, there is no subject of picture or -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">116</span> -imitation, that is not reducible to one or other -of the <i>three following classes</i>. 1. The <i>material -world, or that vast compages of corporeal -forms, of which this universe is compounded</i>. -2. <i>The internal workings and movements of -his own mind, under which I comprehend the -manners, sentiments, and passions.</i> 3. <i>Those -internal operations, that are made objective -to sense by the outward signs of gesture, attitude, -or action.</i> Besides these I know of -no source, whence the artist can derive a single -sentiment or image. There needs no new distinction -in favour of <i>Homer’s gods</i>, <i>Milton’s -angels</i>, or <i>Shakespear’s witches</i>; it being -clear, that these are only <i>human</i> characters, -diversified by such attributes and manners, as -superstition, religion, or even wayward fancy, -had assigned to each.</p> - -<p>1. The material universe, or what the -painters call <i>still life</i>, is the object of that -species of poetical imitation, we call <i>descriptive</i>. -This beauteous arrangement of natural -objects, which arrests the attention on all sides, -makes a necessary and forceable impression on -the human mind. We are so constituted, as -to have a quick <i>perception</i> of beauty in the -<i>forms</i>, <i>combinations</i>, and <i>aspects</i> of things -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">117</span> -about us; which the philosopher may amuse -himself in explaining from remote and insufficient -considerations; but consciousness and -common feeling will never suffer us to doubt -of its being entirely <i>natural</i>. Accordingly we -may observe, that it operates universally on all -men; more especially the young and unexperienced; -who are not less transported by the -<i>novelty</i>, than <i>beauty</i> of material objects. But -its impressions are strongest on those, whom -nature hath touched with a ray of that celestial -fire, which we call true <i>genius</i>. Here the workings -of this instinctive sense are so powerful, -that, to judge from its effects, one should -conclude, it perfectly intranced and bore away -the mind, as in a fit of rapture. Whenever -the form of natural beauty presents itself, -though but casually, to the mind of the poet; -busied it may be, and intent on the investigation -of quite other objects; his imagination -takes fire, and it is with difficulty that he restrains -himself from quitting his proper pursuit, -and stopping a while to survey and delineate -the enchanting image. This is the character -of what we call a <i>luxuriant fancy</i>, which -all the rigour of art can hardly keep down; -and we give the highest praise of judgment to -those few, who have been able to discipline -and confine it within due limits. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">118</span></p> - -<p>I insist the more on this strong <i>influence of -external beauty</i>, because it leads, I think, to a -clear view of the subject before us, so far as it respects -<i>descriptive poetry</i>. These <i>living forms</i> -are, without any change, presented to observation -in every age and country. There needs -but opening the eyes, and these forms necessarily -imprint themselves on the fancy; and -the love of <i>imitation</i>, which naturally accompanies -and keeps pace with this <i>sense of beauty</i> -in the poet, is continually urging him to translate -them into <i>description</i>. These descriptions -will, indeed, have different degrees of <i>colouring</i>, -according to the force of genius in the -imitator; but the <i>outlines</i> are the same in all; -in the weak, faint sketches of an ordinary -Gothic designer, as in the living pictures of -<i>Homer</i>.</p> - -<p>An instance will explain my meaning. -Amidst all that diversity of natural objects, -which the poet delights to paint, nothing is -so <i>taking</i> to his imagination, as <i>rural scenery</i>; -which is, always, the <i>first</i> passion of <i>good</i> -poets, and the <i>only</i> one that seems, in any -degree, to animate and inspirit <i>bad</i> ones. -Now let us take a description of such a scene; -suppose that which <i>Aelian</i> hath left us of the -Grecian <small>TEMPE</small>, given from the life and without -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">119</span> -the heightenings of poetic ornament; and we -shall see how little the imagination of the most -fanciful poets hath ever done towards improving -upon it. <i>Aelian’s</i> description is given in these -words.</p> - -<p>“The Thessalian <span class="smcap">Tempe</span> is a place situate -between Olympus and Ossa; which are -mountains of an exceeding great height; and -look, as if they once had been joined, but -were afterwards separated from each other, -by some god, for the sake of opening in the -midst that large plain, which stretches in -length to about five miles, and in breadth a -hundred paces, or, in some parts, more. -Through the middle of this plain runs the -<i>Peneus</i>, into which several lesser currents -empty themselves, and, by the confluence -of their waters, swell it into a river of great -size. This vale is abundantly furnished -with all manner of <i>arbours and resting -places</i>; not such as the arts of human industry -contrive, but which the bounty of -spontaneous nature, ambitious, as it were, -to make a shew of all her beauties, provided -for the supply of this fair residence, in the -very original structure and formation of the -place. For there is plenty of <i>ivy</i> shooting -forth in it, which flourishes and grows so -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">120</span> -thick, that, like the generous and leafy vine, -it crawls up the trunks of tall trees, and -twining its foliage round their arms and -branches, becomes almost incorporated with -them. The flowering <i>smilax</i><a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">20</a> also is there -in great abundance; which running up the -acclivities of the hills, and spreading the -close texture of its leaves and tendrils on all -sides, perfectly covers and shades them; so -that no part of the bare rock is seen; but -the whole is hung with the verdure of a -thick, inwoven herbage, presenting the most -agreeable spectacle to the eye. Along the -level of the plain, there are frequent tufts of -trees, and long continued ranges of arching -bowers, affording the most grateful shelter -from the heats of summer; which are further -relieved by the frequent streams of clear -and fresh water, continually winding through -it. The tradition goes, that these waters are -peculiarly good for bathing, and have many -other medicinal virtues. In the thickets and -bushes of this dale are numberless <i>singing</i> -birds, every where fluttering about, whose -warblings take the ear of passengers, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">121</span> -cheat the labours of their way through it. -On the banks of the <i>Peneus</i>, on either side, -are dispersed irregularly those <i>resting places</i>, -before spoken of; while the river itself glides -through the middle of the lawn, with a soft -and quiet lapse; over-hung with the shades -of trees, planted on its borders, whose intermingled -branches keep off the rays of the -sun, and furnish the opportunity of a cool -and temperate navigation upon it. The -worship of the gods, and the perpetual fragrancy -of sacrifices and burning odours, further -consecrate the place, &c.” [<i>Var. Hist.</i> -lib. III. c. 1.]</p> - -<p>Now this picture, which Aelian took from -nature, and which any one, if he hath not -seen the several parts of it subsisting together, -may easily compound for himself out of that -stock of rural images which are reposited in -the memory, is, in fact, the substance of -all those luscious and luxuriant paintings, -which poetry hath ever been able to <i>feign</i>. -For what more is there in the <i>Elysiums</i>, the -<i>Arcadias</i>, the <i>Edens</i>, of ancient and modern -fame? And the common <i>object</i> of all these -pictures being continually present to the eye, -what way is there of avoiding the most exact -agreement of representation in them? Or how -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">122</span> -from any <i>similarity</i> in the materials, of which -they are formed, shall we infer an <i>imitation</i>?</p> - -<p>This agreeable scenery is, for an obvious -reason, the most frequent object of description. -Though sometimes it chuses to itself a -dark and sombrous imagery; which nature, -again, holds out to imitation; or fancy, which -hath a wondrous quickness and facility in opposing -its ideas, readily suggests. We have -an instance in the picture of that <i>horrid and -detested vale</i> which Tamora describes in <span class="smcap">Titus -Andronicus</span>. It is a perfect contrast to -Aelian’s, and may be called an <i>Anti-tempe</i>. Or, -to see this opposition of images in the strongest -light, the reader may turn to <i>L’Allegro</i> and -<i>Il Penseroso</i> of Milton; where he hath artfully -made, throughout the two poems, the -same kind of subjects excite the two passions -of <i>mirth</i> and <i>melancholy</i>.</p> - -<p>When the reader is got into this train, he -will easily extend the same observation to other -instances of <i>natural description</i>; and can -hardly avoid, after a few trials, coming to this -short conclusion, “that of all the various delineations -in the poets, of the <small>HEAVENS</small>, in -their vicissitude of times and seasons; of -the <small>EARTH</small>, in its diversity of <i>mountains</i>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">123</span> -<i>valleys</i>, <i>promontories</i>, &c. of the <small>SEA</small>, under -its several aspects of <i>turbulence</i>, or <i>serenity</i>; -of the <i>make</i> and <i>structure</i> of <small>ANIMALS</small>, &c. -it can rarely be affirmed, that they are <i>copies</i> -of one another, but rather the genuine -products of the same creating fancy, operating -uniformly in them all.”</p> - -<p>Yet, notwithstanding this <i>identity</i> of the -subject-matter in natural description, there is -room enough for true Genius to shew itself. -To omit other considerations for the present, -it will more especially appear in the <i>manner of -Representation</i>; by which is not meant the -language of the poet, but simply the <i>form</i> -under which he chuses to present his imagery -to the fancy. The reader will excuse my -adding a word on so curious a subject, which -he will readily apprehend from the following -instance.</p> - -<p>Descriptions of the <i>morning</i> are very frequent -in the poets. But this appearance is -known by so many attending circumstances, -that there will be room for a considerable variety -in the pictures of it. It may be described -by those <i>stains of light</i>, which streak and diversify -the clouds; by the peculiar <i>colour of -the dawn</i>; by its <i>irradiations</i> on the <i>sea</i>, or -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">124</span> -<i>earth</i>; on some peculiar objects, as <i>trees</i>, -<i>hills</i>, <i>rivers</i>, &c. A difference also will arise -from the <i>situation</i>, in which we suppose ourselves; -if on the <i>sea shore</i>, this <i>harbinger of -day</i> will seem to break forth from the <i>ocean</i>; -if on the <i>land</i>, from the extremity of a large -plain, terminated, it may be, by some remarkable -object, as a <i>grove</i>, <i>mountain</i>, &c. -There are many other <i>differences</i>, of which -the same precise <i>number</i> will scarcely offer itself -to two poets; or not the <i>same individual</i> -circumstances; or not <i>disposed</i> in the same -manner. But let the same identical circumstance, -suppose the <i>breaking or first appearance -of the dawn</i>, be taken by different writers, -and we may still expect a considerable diversity -in their <i>representation</i> of it. What we may -allow to all poets, is, that they will <i>impersonate</i> -the morning. And though this idea of it -is <i>metaphorical</i>, and so belongs to another -place, as respecting the <i>manner</i> of imitation -only; yet, when once considered under this -<i>figure</i>, the <i>drawing</i> of it comes as directly -within the province of <i>description</i>, as the real, -<i>literal</i> circumstances themselves. Now in descriptions -of the morning under this idea of a -<i>person</i>, the very same <i>attitude</i>, which is -made analogous to the <i>circumstance</i> before -specified, and is to suggest it, will, as I said, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">125</span> -be represented by different writers very differently. -<i>Homer</i>, to express <i>the rise or appearance -of this person</i>, speaks of her <i>as -shooting forth from the ocean</i>:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">——ΑΠ ΩΚΕΑΝΟΙΟ ΡΟΑΩΝ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">ΩΡΝΥΘ.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><i>Virgil, as rising from the rocks of Ida.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Jamque jugis summae surgebat Lucifer Idae,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Ducebatque diem.</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><i>Shakespear</i> hath closed a fine description of -the morning with the same <i>image</i>, but expressed -in a very different manner.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">——<i>Look what streaks</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east:</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Night’s candles are put out: and</i> <span class="smcap">jocund day</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Stands tiptoe on the misty mountains top</span>.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The reader, no doubt, pronounces on first -sight, this description to be <i>original</i>. But -why? There is no part of it, which may not -be traced in other poets. The <i>staining of the -clouds</i>, and <i>putting out the stars</i>, are circumstances, -that are almost constantly taken notice -of in representations of the morning. And -the last <i>image</i>, which strikes most, is not -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">126</span> -essentially different from that of Virgil and -Homer. It would express the <i>attitude</i> of a -person impatient, and in act to make his appearance. -And this is, plainly, the <i>image</i> -suggested by the other two. But the difference -lies here. Homer’s <i>expression</i> of this -<i>impatience</i> is <i>general</i>, ΩΡΝΥΘ. So is Virgil’s, -and, as the occasion required, with less -energy, <small>SURGEBAT</small>. Shakespear’s is <i>particular</i>: -that impatience is set before us, and pictured -to the eye in the circumstance of <i>standing -tiptoe</i>; the attitude of a winged messenger, in -act to shoot away on his errand with eagerness -and precipitation. Which is a beauty of the -same kind with that Aristotle so much admired -in the ΡΟΔΟΔΑΚΤΥΛΟΣ of Homer. “This -image, says he, is peculiar and singularly -proper to set the object before our eyes. -Had the poet said ΦΟΙΝΙΚΟΔΑΚΤΥΛΟΣ, -the colour had been signified too <i>generally</i>, -and still worse by ΕΡΥΘΡΟΔΑΚΤΥΛΟΣ. -ΡΟΔΟΔΑΚΤΥΛΟΣ gives the precise idea, -which was wanting<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">21</a>.”</p> - -<p>This, it must be owned, is one of the surest -characteristics of real genius. And if we find -it generally in a writer, we may almost venture -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">127</span> -to esteem him <i>original</i> without further scruple. -For the shapes and appearances of things are -apprehended, only in the gross, by dull minds. -They think they <i>see</i>, but it is as through a mist, -where if they catch but a faint glimpse of the -form before them, it is well. More one is not -to look for from their clouded imaginations. -And what they thus imperfectly discern, it is -not possible for them to delineate very distinctly. -Whereas every object stands forth in -bright sunshine to the view of the true poet. -Every minute mark and lineament of the contemplated -form leaves a corresponding trace -on his fancy. And having these bright and -determinate conceptions of things in his own -mind, he finds it no difficulty to convey the -liveliest ideas of them to others. This is what -we call <i>painting</i> in poetry; by which not only -the general natures of things are described, -and their more obvious appearances shadowed -forth; but every single <i>property</i> marked, and -the poet’s own image set in distinct <i>relief</i> before -the view of his reader.</p> - -<p>If this glow of imagery, resulting from clear -and bright perceptions in the poet, be not a -certain character of <i>genius</i>, it will be difficult, -I believe, to say what is: I mean so far as descriptive -poetry, which we are now considering, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">128</span> -is concerned. The same <i>general</i> appearances -must be copied by all poets; the same <i>particular</i> -circumstances will frequently occur to -all. But to give life and colour to the selected -circumstance, and imprint it on the imagination -with distinctness and vivacity, this is the -proper office of true genius. An ordinary -writer may, by dint of industry, and a careful -study of the best models, sometimes succeed -in this work of <i>painting</i>; that is, having -stolen a ray of celestial matter, he may now -and then direct it so happily, as to animate -and enkindle his own earthly lump; but to -succeed constantly in this art of description, to -be able, on all occasions, to exhibit what the -Greek Rhetoricians call ΦΑΝΤΑΣΙΑΝ; which -is, as Longinus well expresses it, when “the -poet, from his own vivid and enthusiastic -conception, seems to have the object, he describes, -in actual view, and presents it, almost, -to the eyes of the reader<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">22</a>;” this can be -accomplished by nothing less, than the genuine -plastic powers of original creation.</p> - -<p>2. If from this vast theatre of <i>sensible and -extraneous</i> beauty, the poet turn his attention -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">129</span> -to what passes <i>within</i>, he immediately discovers -a new world, invisible indeed and intellectual; -but which is equally capable of being -represented to the internal sense of others. -This arises from that <i>similarity of mind</i>, if I -may so speak, which, like that of outward -<i>form</i> and <i>make</i>, by the wise provision of -nature, runs through the whole species. We -are all furnished with the same original <i>properties -and affections</i>, as with the same stock -of <i>perceptions and ideas</i>; whence it is, that -our intimate consciousness of what we carry -about in ourselves, becomes, as it were, the -interpreter of the poet’s thought; and makes -us readily enter into all his descriptions of the -human nature. These descriptions are of two -kinds; either 1. such as express that tumult -and disorder of the mind, which we feel in -ourselves from the disturbance of any natural -affection: or, 2. that more quiet state, which -gives birth to calmer sentiments and reflexions. -The <i>former</i> division takes in all the workings -of <small>PASSION</small>. The <i>latter</i>, comprehends our -<small>MANNERS</small> and <small>SENTIMENTS</small>. Both are equally -the objects of poetry; and of poetry only, -which triumphs without a rival, in this most -sublime and interesting of all the modes of -<i>imitation</i>. Painting, we know, can express -the <i>material universe</i>; and, as will be seen -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">130</span> -hereafter, can evidence the internal movements -of the soul by <i>sensible marks and symbols</i>; -but it is poetry alone, which delineates the -mind itself, and opens the recesses of the heart -to us.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Effert animi motus interprete lingua.</span><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Now the poet, as I said, in addressing himself -to this province of his art, hath only to -consult with his own conscious reflexion. -Whatever be the situation of the persons, -whom he would make known to us, let him -but take counsel of his own heart<a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">23</a>, and it will -very faithfully suggest the fittest and most -natural expressions of their character. No -man can describe of others further than he -hath <i>felt</i> himself. And what he hath thus -known from his own <i>feeling</i> is so consonant -to the experience of all others, that his -description must needs be <i>true</i>; that is, be -the very same, which a careful attention to -such experience must have dictated to every -other. So that, instead of asking one’s self -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">131</span> -(as an admired ancient advised to do) on any -attempt to excel in composition, “how this or -that celebrated author would have written on -the occasion;” the surer way, perhaps, is to -inquire of ourselves “how we have <i>felt</i> or -<i>thought</i> in such a conjuncture, what <i>sensations</i> -or <i>reflexions</i> the like circumstances -have actually excited in us.” For the -answer to these queries will undoubtedly set us -in the direct road of nature and common sense. -And, whatever is thus taken from the <i>life</i>, will, -we may be sure, affect other minds, in proportion -to the vigour of our conception and -expression of it. In sum,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>To catch the manners living, as they rise</i>,<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>I mean, from our own internal frame and constitution, -is the sole way of writing naturally -and justly of human life. And every such -description of <i>ourselves</i> (the great exemplar of -<i>moral imitation</i>) will be as unavoidably similar -to any description copied on the like occasion, -by other poets; as pictures of the <i>natural -world</i> by different hands, are, and must be, -to each other, as being all derived from the -archetype of one common original.</p> - -<p>1. Let us take some master-piece of a great -poet, most famed for his original invention, in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">132</span> -which he has successfully revealed the secret -internal workings of any <small>PASSION</small>. What does -he make known of these mysterious powers, -but what he <i>feels</i>? And whence comes the -impression, his description makes on others, -but from its agreement to their <i>feelings</i><a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">24</a>? To -instance, in the expression of <i>grief on the -murder of children, relations, friends, &c.</i> -a <i>passion</i>, which poetry hath ever taken a fond -pleasure to paint in all its distresses, and which -our common nature obliges all readers to enter -into with an exquisite sensibility. What are -the tender touches which most affect us on -these occasions? Are they not such as these: -<i>complaints of untimely death</i>: <i>of unnatural -cruelty in the murderer</i>: <i>imprecations of vengeance</i>: -<i>weariness and contempt of life</i>: <i>expostulations -with heaven</i>: <i>fond recollections</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">133</span> -<i>of the virtues and good qualities of the deceased</i>; -<i>and of the different expectations, -raised by them</i>? These were the dictates of -nature to the <i>father of poets</i>, when he had to -draw the distresses of <i>Priam’s</i> family sorrowing -for the death of Hector. Yet nothing, it -seems, but <i>servile imitation</i> could supply his -sons, the Greek and Roman poets in aftertimes, -with such pathetic lamentations. It -may be so. They were all nourished by his -streams. But what shall we say of one, who -assuredly never drank at his fountains?</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">—<i>My heart will burst, and if I speak—</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And I will speak, that so my heart may burst.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>How sweet a plant have ye untimely cropt!</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>You have no children; butchers, if you had,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The thought of them would have stirr’d up remorse.</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The reader, also, may consult that wonderful -scene, in which <span class="smcap">Macduff</span> laments the murder -of his wife and children. [<span class="smcap">Macbeth.</span>]</p> - -<p>2. It is not different with the <small>MANNERS</small>; I -mean those sentiments, which mark and distinguish -<i>characters</i>. These result immediately -from the suggestions of <i>nature</i>; which -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">134</span> -is so uniform in her workings, and offers herself -so openly to common inspection, that -nothing but a perverse and studied affectation -can frequently hinder the exactest similarity -of representation in different writers. This is -so true, that, from knowing the <i>general character</i>, -intended to be kept up, we can guess, -beforehand, how a person will act, or what -sentiments he will entertain, on any occasion. -And the critic even ventures to prescribe, by -the authority of rule, the particular properties -and attributes, required to sustain it. And no -wonder. Every man, as he can make himself -the <i>subject</i> of all passions, so he becomes, in -a manner, the <i>aggregate</i> of all <i>characters</i>. -Nature may have inclined him most powerfully -to one set of <i>manners</i>; just as one <i>passion</i> is, -always, predominant in him. But he finds in -himself the seeds of all others. This consciousness, -as before, furnishes the characteristic -sentiments, which constitute the <i>manners</i>. -And it were full as strange for two -poets, who had taken in hand such a character, -as that of Achilles, to differ materially in their -expression of it; as for two painters, drawing -from the same object, to avoid a striking -conformity in the <i>design</i> and attitude of their -pictures. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">135</span></p> - -<p>Those who are fond of hunting after parallels, -might, I doubt not, with great ease, -confront almost every sentiment, which, in -the Greek tragedians, is made expressive of -particular <i>characters</i>, with similar passages in -other poets; more especially (for I must often -refer to his authority) in the various living -portraitures of <i>Shakespear</i>. Yet he, who -after taking this learned pains, should chuse -to urge such parallels, when found, for proofs -of his <i>imitation of the ancients</i>, would only -run the hazard of being reputed, by men of -sense, as poor a critic of human nature, as of -his author.</p> - -<p>I say this with confidence, because I say it -on a great authority. “Tout est dit (says -an exquisite writer on the subject of <i>manners</i>) -et l’on vient trop tard depuis plus de -sept mille ans qu’il y a des hommes, et qui -pensent. Sur ce qui concerne les <small>MOEURS</small>, -le plus beau et le meilleur est enlevé; l’on ne -fait que glaner après les anciens, & les -habiles d’entre les modernes<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">25</a>.”</p> - -<p>Thus far indeed, the case is almost too plain -to be disputed. Strong <i>affections</i>, and constitutional -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">136</span> -<i>characters</i>, will be allowed to act -powerfully and steadily upon us. The violence -and rapidity of their movements render all -disguise impossible. And we find ourselves -determined, by a kind of necessity, to <i>think -and speak</i>, in given circumstances, after much -the same manner. But what shall we say of -our cooler reasonings; the <i>sentiments</i>, which -the mind, at pleasure, revolves, and applies, as -it sees fit, to various occasions? “Fancy and -humour, it will be thought, have so great an -influence in directing these operations of our -mental faculties, as to make it altogether -incredible, that any remarkable coincidence -of sentiment, in different persons, should -result from them.”</p> - -<p>To think of reducing the thoughts of man, -which are “<i>more than the sands, and wider -than the ocean</i>,” into classes, were, perhaps, a -wild attempt. Yet the most considerable of -those, which enter into works of poetry (besides -such as result from fixed <i>characters</i> or -predominant <i>passions</i>) may be included in the -division of 1. <i>Religious</i>, 2. <i>Moral</i>, and 3. -<i>Oeconomical</i> sentiments; understanding by -this <i>last</i> (for I know of no fitter term to express -my meaning) all those <i>reasonings</i>, which -take their rise from <i>particular conjunctures of</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">137</span> -<i>ordinary life, and are any way relative to our -conduct in it</i>.</p> - -<p>1. The apprehension of some invisible -power, as superintending the universe, tho’ -not <i>connate</i> with the mind, yet, from the experience -of all ages, is found inseparable from -the first and rudest exertions of its powers. -And the several reflexions, which religion derives -from this <i>idea</i>, are altogether as necessary. -It is easy to conceive, how unavoidably, -almost, the mind awakened by certain conjunctures -of <i>distress</i>, and working on the -ground of this original <i>impression</i>, turns itself -to awful views of deity, and seeks relief in -those soothing contemplations of Providence, -which we find so frequent in the <i>epic</i> and -<i>tragic</i> poets. And whoever shall give himself -the trouble of examining those noble <i>hymns</i>, -which the <i>lyric</i> muse, in her gravest humours, -chaunted to the popular gods of paganism, -will hardly find a single trace of a devotional -sentiment, which hath not been common, at -all times, to all <i>religionists</i>. Their <i>power</i>, -and sovereign <i>disposal of all events</i>; their -<i>care of the good</i>, and <i>aversion to the wicked</i>; -the blessings, they derive on their <i>worshippers</i>, -and the terrors, they infix in the breasts of the -<i>profane</i>; they are the usual topics of their -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">138</span> -meditations; the solemn sentiments, that consecrate -these addresses to their local, gentilitial -deities. In listening to these divine strains -every one <i>feels</i>, from his own consciousness, -how necessary such reflexions are to human -nature; more particularly, when to the simple -apprehension of <i>deity</i>, a warm <i>fancy</i> and -strong <i>affections</i> join their combined powers, -to push the mind forward into enthusiastic -raptures. All the faculties of the soul being -then upon the stretch, natural ability holds the -place, and, in some sort, doth the office, of -divine suggestion. And, bating the impure -mixture of their fond and senseless <i>traditions</i>, -one is not surprized to find a strong resemblance, -oftentimes, in point of <i>sentiment</i>, betwixt -these pagan odes, and the genuine inspirations -of Heaven. Let not the reader be -scandalized at this bold comparison. It affirms -no more, than what the gravest authors have -frequently shewn, a manifest analogy between -the sacred and prophane poets; and which -supposes only, that Heaven, when it infuses its -own light into the breasts of men, doth not -extinguish <i>that</i> which nature and reason had -before kindled up in them. It follows, that -either <i>succeeding</i> poets are not necessarily to -be accused of stealing their religious sentiments -from their elder brethren, or that <span class="smcap">Orpheus</span>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">139</span> -<span class="smcap">Homer</span>, and <span class="smcap">Callimachus</span> may be as reasonably -charged with plundering the sacred -treasures of <span class="smcap">David</span>, and the other Hebrew -prophets.</p> - -<p>It is much the same with the <i>illusions</i> of -<i>corrupt</i> religion. The <i>fauns and nymphs</i> of -the ancients, holding their residence in shadowy -groves or caverns, and the frightful -spectres of their <i>Larvae</i>: to which we may -oppose the modern visions of <i>fairies</i>; and of -<i>ghosts</i>, gliding through church-yards, and -haunting sepulchres; together with the vast -train of gloomy reflexions, which so naturally -wait upon them, are, as well as the juster -notions of divinity, the genuine offspring of -the same <i>common apprehensions</i>. Reason, -when misled by superstition, takes a <i>certain -route</i>, and keeps as steadily in it, as when -conducted by a sound and sober piety. There -needs only a previous conception of unseen -<i>intelligence</i> for the ground-work; and the -timidity of human nature, amidst the nameless -terrors, which are everywhere presenting themselves -to the suspicious eye of ignorance, easily -builds upon it the entire fabrick of superstitious -thinking. With the poets all this goes under -the common name of <small>RELIGION</small>. For they are -concerned only to represent the opinions and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">140</span> -conclusions, to which the <i>idea</i> of divinity -leads. And these, we now see, they derive -from their own <i>experience</i>, or the received -<i>theology</i> of the times, of which they write. -<i>Religious sentiments</i> being, then, universally, -either the obvious deductions of human reason, -in the easiest exercise of its powers, or the -plain matter of simple observation, regarding -what passes before us in real life, how can -they but be the <i>same</i> in different writers, -though perfectly <i>original</i>, and holding no -correspondence with each other?</p> - -<p>2. And the same is true of our <i>moral</i>, as -<i>religious</i> sentiments. Whole volumes, indeed, -have been written to shew, that all our -commonest notices of <i>right</i> and <i>wrong</i> have -been traduced from ancient tradition, founded -on express supernatural communication. With -writers of this turn the <i>gnomae</i> of paganism, -even the slightest moral sentiments of the most -original ancients, spring from this source. If -any exception were allowed, one should suppose -it would be in favour of the <i>father of -poetry</i>, whose writings all have agreed to set -up as the very prodigy of human invention. -And yet a very learned Professor<a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">26</a> (to pass over -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">141</span> -many slighter Essays) hath compiled a large -work of Homer’s moral <i>parallelisms</i>; that is, -ethic sentences, confronted with similar ones -out of sacred writ. The correspondency, it -seems, appeared so striking to this learned -person, that he was in doubt, if this great -original thinker had not drawn from the fountains -of <i>Siloam</i>, instead of <i>Castalis</i>. Whereas -the whole, which these studied collections -prove to plain sense, perverted by no bias of -false zeal or religious prepossession, is, that -reason, or provident nature, has inscribed the -same legible characters of <i>moral</i> truth on all -minds; and that the beauties of the <i>moral</i>, as -<i>natural</i> world lie open to the view of all observers. -This, if it were not too plain to need -insisting upon, might be further shewn from -the <i>similarity</i>, which hath constantly been -observed in the <i>law</i> and <i>moral</i> of all states and -countries; as well the uninformed, and far -distant regions of barbarism, as those happier -climates, on which, from the neighbourhood -of their situation, and the curiosity of inquiry, -some beams of this celestial light may be -thought to have glanced.</p> - -<p>3. For what concerns the class of <i>oeconomical -sentiments</i>; or such prudential conclusions, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">142</span> -as offer themselves on certain conjunctures -of ordinary life, these, it is plain, depending -very much on the free exercise of our -reasoning powers, will be more variable and -uncertain, than any other. When the mind -is at leisure to cast about and amuse itself with -reflexions, which no <i>characteristic quality</i> -dictates, or <i>affection</i> extorts, and which spring -from no preconceived system of <i>moral or religious</i> -opinions, a greater latitude of thinking -is allowed; and consequently any remarkable -correspondency of <i>sentiment</i> affords more room -for suspicion of <i>imitation</i>. Yet, in any supposed -combination of circumstances, one train -of thought is, generally, most obvious, and -occurs soonest to the understanding; and, it -being the office of poetry to present the most -<i>natural</i> appearances, one cannot be much -surprized to find a frequent coincidence of -reflexion even here. The first page one opens -in any writer will furnish examples. The -duke in <i>Measure for Measure</i>, upon hearing -some petty slanders thrown out against himself, -falls into this trite reflexion:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>No might nor greatness in mortality</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Can censure ’scape: back-wounding calumny</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The whitest virtue strikes.</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">143</span></p> - -<p>Friar Lawrence, in <i>Romeo</i> and <i>Juliet</i>, observing -the excessive raptures of Romeo on his -marriage, gives way to a sentiment, naturally -suggested by this circumstance:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>These violent delights have violent ends,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And in their triumph die.</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Now what is it, in prejudice to the originality -of these places, to alledge a hundred or -a thousand passages (for so many it were, -perhaps, not impossible to accumulate) analogous -to them in the ancient or modern -poets? Could any reasonable critic mistake -these genuine workings of the mind for instances -of <i>imitation</i>?</p> - -<p>In <i>Cymbeline</i>, the obsequies of Imogen are -celebrated with a song of triumph over the -evils of human life, from which death delivers -us:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Fear no more the heat o’ th’ sun,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Nor the furious winter’s rages, &c.</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>What a temptation this for the parallelist -to shew his reading! yet his incomparable -editor observes slightly upon it: “This is the -topic of consolation, that nature dictates to -all men on these occasions. The same -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">144</span> -farewell we have over the dead body in -Lucian; ΤΕΚΝΟΝ ΑΘΛΙΟΝ, ΟΥΚΕΤΙ -ΔΙΨΗΣΕΙΣ, ΟΥΚΕΤΙ ΠΕΙΝΗΣΕΙΣ, &c.”</p> - -<p>When Valentine in the <i>Twelfth-night</i> reports -the inconquerable grief of Olivia for the -loss of a brother, the duke observes upon it,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>O! she that hath a heart of that fine frame</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>To pay this debt of love but to a brother,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>How will she love, when the rich golden shaf</i>t<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Hath killed the flock of all affections else</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>That live in her?</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>’Tis strange, the critics have never accused -the poet of stealing this sentiment from Terence, -who makes Simo in the <i>Andrian</i> reason -on his son’s concern for Chrysis in the same -manner:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Nonnunquam conlacrumabat: placuit tum id mihi.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Sic cogitabam: hic parvae consuetudinis</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Causâ hujus mortem tam fert familiariter:</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Quid si ipse amâsset? Quid mihi hic faciet patri?</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>It were easy to multiply examples, but I -spare the reader. Though nothing may seem, -at first sight, more inconstant, variable, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">145</span> -capricious, than the <i>thought</i> of man, yet he -will easily collect, that <i>character</i>, <i>passion</i>, -<i>system</i>, or <i>circumstance</i> can, each in its turn, -by a secret yet sure influence, bind its extravagant -starts and sallies; and effect, at length, -as necessary a conformity in the representation -of these <i>internal movements</i>, as of the visible -phaenomena of the <i>natural world</i>. A poor -impoverished spirit, who has no sources of -invention in himself, may be tempted to relieve -his wants at the expence of his wealthier -neighbour. But the suspicion, of <i>real ability</i>, -is childish. Common sense directs us, for the -most part, to regard <i>resemblances</i> in great -writers, not as the pilferings, or frugal acquisitions -of needy <i>art</i>, but as the honest fruits -of genius, the free and liberal bounties of unenvying -<i>nature</i>.</p> - -<p>III. Having learned, from our own conscious -reflexion, the secret operations of <i>reason</i>, -<i>character</i>, and <i>passion</i>, it now remains -to contemplate their <i>effects in visible appearances</i>. -For nature is not more regular and -consistent with herself in touching the fine -and hidden springs of humanity, than in ordering -the outward and grosser movements. -The thoughts and affections of men paint -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">146</span> -themselves on the <i>countenance</i>; stand forth -in <i>airs</i> and <i>attitudes</i>; and declare themselves -in all the diversities of human <i>action</i>. This is -a new field for mimic genius to range in; a -great and glorious one, and which affords the -noblest and most interesting objects of <i>imitation</i>. -For the external forms themselves are -grateful to the <i>fancy</i>, and, as being expressive -of <i>design</i>, warm and agitate the <i>heart</i> with -passion. Hence it is, that narrative poetry, -which draws mankind under every <i>apparent -consequence and effect</i> of passion, inchants the -mind. And even the dramatic, we know, is -cool and lifeless, and loses half its efficacy, -without <i>action</i>. This, too, is the province of -<i>picture</i>, <i>statuary</i>, and all arts, which inform -by mute signs. Nay, the mute arts may be -styled, almost without a figure, in this class -of <i>imitation</i>, the most eloquent. For what -words can express <i>airs and attitudes</i>, like the -pencil? Or, when the genius of the artists is -equal, who can doubt of giving the preference -to that representation, which, striking on the -sight, grows almost into reality, and is hardly -considered by the inraptured thought, as <i>fiction</i>? -When <i>passion</i> is to be made known by -outward <i>act</i>, Homer himself yields the palm -to <i>Raphael</i>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">147</span></p> - -<p>But our business is with the <i>poets</i>. And, -in reviewing this their largest and most favoured -stock of <i>materials</i>, can we do better -than contemplate them in the very order, in -which we before disposed the <i>workings</i> of the -mind itself, the <i>causes</i> of these appearances?</p> - -<p>1. To begin with the <i>affections</i>. They have -their rise, as was observed, from the very -<i>constitution</i> of human nature, when placed in -given circumstances, and acted upon by certain -occurrences. The perceptions of these inward -commotions are uniformly the same, in all; -and draw along with them the same, or similar -<i>sentiments and reflexions</i>. Hence the appeal -is made to every one’s own <i>consciousness</i>, -which declares the truth or falshood of the -<i>imitation</i>. When these <i>commotions</i> are produced -and made objective to sense by <i>visible -signs</i>, is <i>observation</i> a more fallible guide, -than <i>consciousness</i>? Or, doth experience -attest these <i>signs</i> to be less similar and uniform, -than their <i>occasions</i>? By no means. -Take a man under the impression of <i>joy</i>, <i>fear</i>, -<i>grief</i>, or any other of the stronger affections; -and see, if a peculiar conformation of feature, -some certain stretch of muscle, or contortion -of limb, will not necessarily follow, as the -clear and undoubted index of his condition. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">148</span> -Our natural curiosity is ever awake and attentive -to these <i>changes</i>. And poetry sets herself -at work, with eagerness, to catch and transcribe -their various <i>appearances</i>. No correspondency -of representation, then, needs -surprize us; nor any the exactest <i>resemblance</i> -be thought strange, where the <i>object</i> is equally -present to all persons. For it must be remarked -of the <i>visible effects</i> of <small>MIND</small>, as, before, -of the <i>phaenomena</i> of the <i>material world</i>, -that they are, simply, the objects of <i>observation</i>. -So that what was concluded of <i>these</i>, -will hold also of the <i>others</i>; with this difference, -that the <i>effects of internal movements</i> -do not present themselves so <i>constantly</i> to the -eye, nor with that <i>uniformity</i> of appearance, -as <i>permanent, external existencies</i>. We cannot -survey them at <i>pleasure</i>, but as occasion -offers: and we, further, find them diversified -by the <i>character</i>, or disguised, in some degree, -by the <i>artifice</i>, of the persons, in whom we -observe them. But all the consequence is, -that, to succeed in this work of painting the -<i>signatures of internal affection</i>, requires a -larger experience, or quicker penetration, than -copying after <i>still life</i>. Where the proper -qualifications are possessed, and especially in -describing the <i>marks</i> of vigorous affections, -different writers cannot be supposed to vary -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">149</span> -more considerably, in <i>this</i> province of <i>imitation</i>, -than in the <i>other</i>. Our trouble therefore, -on this head, may seem to be at an end. Yet -it will be expected, that so general a conclusion -be inforced by some <i>illustrations</i>.</p> - -<p>The passion of <small>LOVE</small> is one of those affections, -which bear great sway in the human -nature. Its <i>workings</i> are violent. And its -<i>effects</i> on the person, possessed by it, and in -the train of events, to which it gives occasion, -conspicuous to all observers. The power of -this commanding affection hath triumphed at -all times. It hath given birth to some of the -greatest and most signal transactions in <i>history</i>; -and hath furnished the most inchanting scenes -of <i>fiction</i>. Poetry hath ever lived by it. The -modern muse hath hardly any existence without -it. Let us ask, then, of this <i>tyrant passion</i>, -whether its operations are not too familiar -to <i>sense</i>, its <i>effects</i> too visible to the <i>eye</i>, to -make it necessary for the poet to go beyond -himself, and the sphere of his own observation, -for the <i>original</i> of his descriptions of it.</p> - -<p>To prevent all cavil, let it be allowed, that -the <i>signs</i> of this passion, I mean, the visible -effects in which it shews itself, are various and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">150</span> -almost infinite. It is reproached, above all -others, with the names of <i>capricious, fantastic, -and unreasonable</i>. No wonder then, if it -assume an endless variety of forms, and seem -impatient, as it were, of any certain shape or -posture. Yet this Proteus of a passion may -be fixed by the magic hand of the poet. -Though it can <i>occasionally</i> take <i>all</i>, yet it -delights to be seen in <i>some</i> shapes, more than -others. Some of its <i>effects</i> are known and -obvious, and are perpetually recurring to observation. -And these are ever fittest to the -ends of poetry; every man pronouncing of -such representations from his proper experience, -that they are from <i>nature</i>. Nay its -very irregularities may be reduced to rule. -There is not, in antiquity, a truer picture of -this fond and froward passion, than is given -us in the person of Terence’s <i>Phaedria</i> from -Menander. <i>Horace</i> and <i>Persius</i>, when they -set themselves, on purpose, to expose and -exaggerate its follies, could imagine nothing -beyond it. Yet we have much the same inconsistent -character in <span class="smcap">Julia</span> in <i>The two Gentlemen -of Verona</i>.</p> - -<p>Shall it be now said, that <i>Shakespear</i> copied -from Terence, as Terence from Menander? -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">151</span> -Or is it not as plain to common sense, that -the English poet is <i>original</i>, as that the <i>Latin</i> -poet was an <i>imitator</i>?</p> - -<p><i>Shakespear</i>, on another occasion, describes -the various, external symptoms of this extravagant -affection. Amongst others, he insists, -there is no surer sign of being in love, “<i>than -when every thing about you demonstrates a -careless desolation</i>.” [<i>As you like it.</i> A. -iii. Sc. 8.] Suppose now the poet to have -taken in hand the story of a neglected, abandoned -lover; for instance of Ariadne; a story, -which ancient poetry took a pleasure to relate, -and which hath been touched with infinite -grace by the tender, passionate muse of Catullus -and Ovid. Suppose him to give a portrait -of her <i>passion</i> in that distressful moment -when, “<i>from the naked beach, she views the -parting sail of Theseus</i>.” This was a time -for all the signs of <i>desolation</i> to shew themselves. -And could we doubt of his describing -those <i>very signs</i>, which nature’s self dictated, -long ago, to Catullus?</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Non flavo retinens subtilem vertice mitram,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Non contexta levi velatum pectus amictu,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Non tereti strophio luctantes vincta papillas;</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Omnia quae toto delapsa è corpore passim</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Ipsius ante pedes fluctus salis alludebant.</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">152</span></p> - -<p>But there is a higher instance in view. The -humanity and easy elegance of the two Latin -poets, just mentioned, joined to an unaffected -<i>naivetè</i> of expression, were, perhaps, most -proper to describe the petulancies, the caprices, -the softnesses of this passion in common life. -To paint its tragic and more awful distresses, -to melt the soul into all the sympathies of sorrow, -is the peculiar character of Virgil’s poetry. -His talents were, indeed, universal. But, I -think, we may give it for the characteristic of -his muse, that she was, beyond all others, -possessed of a sovereign power of touching the -tender passions. Euripides’ self, whose genius -was most resembling to his, of all the ancients, -holds, perhaps, but the second place in this -praise.</p> - -<p>A poet, thus accomplished, would omit, we -may be sure, no occasion of yielding to his -natural bias of recording the distresses of <i>love</i>. -He discovered his talent, as well as inclination, -very early, in the <i>Bucolics</i>; and even, where -one should least expect it, in his <i>Georgics</i>. -But the fairest opportunity offered in his great -design of the <i>Aeneis</i>. Here, one should suppose, -the whole bent of his genius would exert -itself. And we are not disappointed. I speak -not of that succession of <i>sentiments, reflexions, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">153</span> -and expostulations</i>, which flow, as in a continued -stream of grief, from the first discovery -of her heart to her sister, to her last frantic -and inflamed resentments. These belong to -the former article of <i>internal movements</i>: and -need not be considered. My concern at present, -is with those <i>visible, external indications</i>, -the sensible marks and signatures (as expressed -in <i>look</i>, <i>air</i>, and <i>action</i>) of this tormenting -frenzy. The history of these, as related in the -narrative part of Dido’s adventure, would comprehend -every natural <i>situation</i> of a person, -under <i>love’s</i> distractions. And it were no unpleasing -amusement to follow and contemplate -her, in a series of pictures, from her first -attitude, of <i>hanging on the mouth of Aeneas</i>, -through all the gradual excesses of her rage, -to the concluding fatal <i>act of desperation</i>. -But they are deeply imprinted on every schoolboy’s -memory. It need only be observed, -that they are such, as almost necessarily spring -up from the circumstances of her case, and -which every reader, on first view, as agreeing -to his own notices and observations, pronounces -<i>natural</i>.</p> - -<p>It may seem sufficient, therefore, to ascribe -these portraitures of passion, so suitable to all -our expectations, and in drawing which the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">154</span> -genius of the great poet so eminently excelled, -to the original hand and design of Virgil. But -the perverse humour of criticism, occasioned -by this inveterate prejudice “of taking all <i>resemblances</i> -for <i>thefts</i>,” will allow no such -thing. Before it will decide of this matter, -every ancient writer, who but incidentally -touches a love-adventure, must be sought out -and brought in evidence against him. And -finding that <i>Homer</i> hath his Calypso, and -<i>Euripides</i> and <i>Apollonius</i> their Medea, it -adjudges the entire episode to be stolen by -piece-meal, and patched up out of their -writings. I have a learned critic now before -me, who roundly asserts, “that, but for the -Argonautics, there had been no fourth book -of the Aeneis<a id="FNanchor_27" href="#Footnote_27" class="fnanchor">27</a>.” Some traits of resemblance -there are. It could not be otherwise. But -all the use a candid reader, who comes to his -author with the true spirit of a critic, will make -of them, is to shew, “how justly the poet -copies nature, which had suggested similar -representations to his predecessors.”</p> - -<p>What is here concluded of the <i>softer</i>, cannot -but hold more strongly of the <i>boisterous</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">155</span> -passions. These do not shelter, and conceal -themselves within the man. It is particularly, -of their nature, to stand forth, and shew -themselves in <i>outward actions</i>. Of the more -illustrious <i>effects</i> of the ruder passions the -chief are <i>contentions and wars</i>—<i>regum & populorum -aestus</i>; which, by reason of the -grandeur of the subject, and its important -consequences, so fitted to strike the thought, -and fire the affections of the reader, poetry, I -mean the highest and sublimest species of it, -chuses principally to describe. In the conduct -of such <i>description</i>, some difference will arise -from the instruments in use for annoyance of -the enemy, and, in general, the state of <i>art -military</i>; but the actuating passions of <i>rage</i>, -<i>ambition</i>, <i>emulation</i>, <i>thirst of honour</i>, <i>revenge</i>, -&c. are invariably the same, and are -constantly evidenced by the same external -marks or characters. The <i>shocks of armies</i>, -<i>single combats</i>; <i>the chances and singularities -of either</i>; <i>wounds</i>, <i>deaths</i>, <i>stratagems</i>, and -the other attendants on <i>battle</i>, which furnish -out the state and magnificence of the epic -muse, are, all of them, <i>fixed, determinate -objects</i>; which leave their impressions on the -mind of the poet, in as distinct and uniform -characters, as the great constituent parts of the -material universe itself. He hath only to look -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">156</span> -abroad into <i>life and action</i> for the model of -all such representations. On which account -we can rarely be certain, that the <i>picture</i> is -not from <i>nature</i>, though an exact resemblance -give to superficial and unthinking observers the -suspicion of <i>art</i>.</p> - -<p>The same reasoning extends to all the <i>phaenomena</i> -of human life, which are the effects -or consequences of <i>strong affections</i>, and -which set mankind before us in <i>gestures</i>, <i>looks</i>, -or <i>actions</i>, declarative of the inward suggestions -of the heart. It can seldom be affirmed -with confidence, in such cases, on the score -of any similarity, that one representation <i>imitates</i> -another; since an ordinary attention to -the same common original, sufficiently accounts -for both. The reader, if he sees fit, -will apply these remarks to the <i>battles</i>, <i>games</i>, -<i>travels</i>, &c. of a great poet; the supposed -sterility of whose genius hath been charged -with serving itself pretty freely of the copious, -inexhausted stores of Homer. In sum;</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Gaudia, &c.</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Whatever be the <i>actuating passion</i>, it cannot -but be thought unfair to suspect the artist of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">157</span> -<i>imitation</i>; where nothing more is pretended -than a <i>resemblance</i> in the draught of <i>similar -effects</i>, which it is not possible to avoid.</p> - -<p>2. If this be comprehended, I shall need to -say the less of the <small>MANNERS</small>; which are not -less constant in their <i>effects</i>, than the <small>PASSIONS</small>. -When the <i>character</i> of any person hath been -signified, and his situation described, it is not -wonderful, that twenty different writers should -hit on the same <i>attitudes</i>, or employ him in the -same manner. When Mercury is sent to -command the departure of Ulysses from Calypso, -our previous acquaintance with the -hero’s character makes us expect to find him -in the precise <i>attitude</i>, given to him by the -poet, “sitting in solitude on the sea-shore, and -casting a wishful eye towards Ithaca.” Or, -when, in the Iliad, an embassy is dispatched -to treat with the resentful and vindictive, but -brave Achilles, nothing could be more obvious -than to draw the pupil of Chiron in his tent -“soothing his angry soul with his harp, and -singing</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>Th’ immortal deeds of heroes and of kings</i>.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>It was the like attention to <i>nature</i>, which led -Milton to dispose of his fallen angels after -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">158</span> -the manner, described in the second book of -<i>Paradise lost</i>.</p> - -<p>To multiply instances, when every poet in -every page is at hand to furnish them, were -egregious trifling. In all cases of this sort, the -<i>known character</i>, in conjunction with the -<i>circumstances</i> of the person described, determines -the particular <i>action</i> or <i>employment</i>, for -the most part, so absolutely, that it requires -some industry to mistake it. In saying which, -I do not forget, what many have, perhaps, -been ready to object to me long since, “that -what is <i>natural</i> is not therefore of necessity -<i>obvious</i>: All the amazing flights of Homer’s -or Shakespear’s fancy are found agreeable to -nature, when contemplated by the capable -reader; but who will say, that, therefore, -they must have presented themselves to the -generality of writers? The office of <i>judgment</i> -is one thing, and of <i>invention</i>, another.”</p> - -<p>Properly speaking, what we call <i>invention</i> -in poetry is, in respect of the <i>matter</i> of it, -simply, <i>observation</i>. And it is in the arrangement, -use, and application of his <i>materials</i>, -not in the investigation of them, that the exercise -of the poet’s genius principally consists. -In the case of immediate and direct <i>imagery</i>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">159</span> -which is the subject at present, nothing more -is requisite, than to paint truly, what nature -presents to the eye, or common sense suggests -to the mind of the writer. A vivacity of -thought will, indeed, be necessary to run over -the several circumstances of any <i>appearance</i>, -and a just discernment will be wanting, out -of a number, to select such peculiar circumstances, -as are most adapted to strike the -imagination. It is not therefore pretended, -that the same images <i>must</i> occur to all. Sluggish, -unactive understandings, which seldom -look abroad into living nature, or, when they -do, have not curiosity or vigour enough to -direct their attention to the nicer particularities -of her beauties, will unavoidably overlook the -commonest appearances: Or, wanting that -just perception of what is <i>beautiful</i>, which we -call <i>taste</i>, will as often mistake in the <i>choice</i> -of those circumstances, which they may have -happened to contemplate. But quick, perceptive, -intelligent minds (and of such only I -can be thought to speak) will hardly fail of -seeing nature in the same light, and of noting -the same distinct features and proportions. -The superiority of Homer and Shakespear to -other poets doth not lie in their discovery of -<i>new sentiments or images</i>, but in the forceable -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">160</span> -manner, in which their sublime genius taught -them to convey and impress <i>old ones</i>.</p> - -<p>And to inforce what is here said of the <i>familiarity</i> -of this class of the poet’s materials, -one may, further, appeal to the case of the -other <i>mimetic</i> arts, which have no assistance -from <i>narration</i>. Certain <i>gestures</i>, <i>looks</i>, or -<i>attitudes</i>, are so immediately declarative of -the <i>internal actuating causes</i>, that, on the -slightest view of the <i>picture</i> or <i>statue</i>, we -collect the real state of the persons represented. -This <i>figure</i>, we say, strongly expresses the -passion of <i>grief</i>; <i>that</i>, of <i>anger</i>; <i>that</i>, of -<i>joy</i>; and so of all the other affections. Or, -again, when the particular <i>passion</i> is characterized, -the general temper and disposition, -which we call the <i>manners</i>, is clearly discernible. -There is a liberal and graceful air, -which discovers a fine temperature of the -affections, in <i>one</i>; a close and sullen aspect, -declaring a narrow contracted selfishness in -<i>another</i>. In short, there is scarcely any mark -or feature of the human mind, any peculiarity -of disposition or <i>character</i>, which the artist -does not set off and make appear at once, to -the view, by some certain turn or <i>conformation</i> -of the outward figure. Now this effect of his -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">161</span> -<i>art</i> would be impossible, were it not, that -regular and constant observation hath found -such <i>external signs</i> consociated with the correspondent -<i>internal workings</i>. A <i>heaven -overhung with clouds</i>, the <i>tossing of waves</i>, -and <i>intermingled flashes of lightning</i> are not -surer indications of a <i>storm</i>, than the <i>gloomy -face</i>, <i>distorted limb</i>, and <i>indignant eye</i> are -of the outrage of conflicting <i>passion</i>. The -simplest spectator is capable of observing this. -And the artist deceives himself, or would -reflect a false honour on his art, who suspects -there is any mystery in making such -discoveries.</p> - -<p>It is true, some great painters have thought -it convenient to explain the design of their -works by <i>inscriptions</i>. We find this expedient -to have been practised of old by Polygnotus, -as may be gathered from the description -given us, of two of his pictures by Pausanias; -and the same thing is observable of some of -the best modern masters. But their intention -was only to signify the names of the principal -persons, and to declare the general scope of -their pictures. And so far, this usage may not -be amiss in large compositions, and especially -on new or uncommon subjects. But should -an artist borrow the assistance of words to tell -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">162</span> -us the meaning of <i>airs and attitudes</i>, and to -interpret to us the <i>expression</i> of each figure, -such a piece of intelligence must needs be -thought very impertinent; since they must be -very unqualified to pass their judgment on -works of this sort, who had not, from their -own observation, collected the <i>visible signs</i>, -usually attendant on any <i>character</i> or <i>passion</i>; -and whom therefore the representation of these -<i>signs</i>, would not lead to a certain knowledge -of the character or passion <i>intended</i>.</p> - -<p>Nay there is one advantage which <i>painting</i> -hath, in this respect, over <i>narration</i>, and -even <i>poetry</i> itself. For though poetry represent -the <i>same</i> objects, the <i>same</i> sensible marks -of the internal movements, as painting, yet it -doth it with less <i>particularity and exactness</i>. -My meaning will be understood in reflecting, -that <i>words</i> can only give us, even when most -expressive, the <i>general</i> image. The pencil -touches its smallest and minutest <i>specialities</i>. -And this will explain the reason why any remarkable -correspondency of <i>air</i>, <i>feature</i>, <i>attitude</i>, -&c. in two pictures, will, commonly -and with good reason, convict one or both of -them of <i>imitation</i>: whereas this conclusion is -by no means so certain from a correspondency -of description in two poems. For the odds are -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">163</span> -prodigious against such exactness of similitude, -when the slightest trace of the pencil forms a -sensible difference: But poets, who do not -convey ideas with the same precision and distinctness, -cannot be justly liable to this imputation, -even where the general image represented -happens to be the same. Virgil, one -would think, on a very affecting occasion, -might have given the following representation -of his hero,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Multa gemens largoque humectat flumine vultum</i>;<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>without any suspicion of communicating with -Homer, who had said, in like manner, of his,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ἵστατο δακρυχέων, ὥστε κρήνη μελάνυδρος.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But had two painters, in presenting this -image, agreed in the same particularities of <i>posture</i>, -<i>inclination of the head</i>, <i>air of the face</i>, -&c. no one could doubt a moment, that the -one was stolen from the other. Which single -observation, if attended to, will greatly abate -the prejudice, usually entertained on this subject. -We think it incredible, amidst the infinite -diversity of the poet’s materials, that any -two should accord in the choice of the very -<i>same</i>; more especially when described with -the same <i>circumstances</i>. But we forget, that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">164</span> -the same materials are left in common to <i>all</i> -poets, and that the very <i>circumstances</i>, alledged, -can be, in <i>words</i>, but very generally -and imperfectly delineated.</p> - -<p>3, Of the <i>calmer sentiments</i>, which come -within the province of poetry, and, breaking -forth into outward act, furnish matter to description, -the most remarkable in their operations -are those of <i>religion</i>. It is certain, that -the principal of those rites and ceremonies, -of those outward acts of homage, which have -prevailed in different ages and countries, and -constituted the <i>public religion</i> of mankind, -had their rise in our common nature, and were -the genuine product of the workings of the -human mind<a id="FNanchor_28" href="#Footnote_28" class="fnanchor">28</a>. For it is the mere illusion of -this inveterate error concerning <i>imitation</i>, in -general, which hath misled some great names -to imagine them traductive from each other. -But the occasion does not require us to take -the matter so deep. The office of poetry, in -describing the solemnity of her religious ritual -is to look no farther, than the established -modes of the age and country, whose manners -it would represent. If these should be the -same at different times in two religions, or the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">165</span> -religion itself continue unchanged, it necessarily -follows, that the representations of them -by different writers will agree to the minutest -resemblance. Not only the general <i>rite</i> or -<i>ceremony</i> will be the same; but the very peculiarities -of its performance, which are prescribed -by rule, remain unaltered. Thus, if -<i>religious sentiments</i> usually express themselves, -in <i>all</i> men, by a certain <i>posture of the -body</i>, <i>direction of the hands</i>, <i>turn of the -countenance</i>, &c. these <i>signs</i> are uniformly -and faithfully pictured in all devotional portraits. -So again, if by the genius of any <i>particular</i> -religion, to which the poet is carefully -to adhere, the practice of <i>sacrifices</i>, <i>auguries</i>, -<i>omens</i>, <i>lustrations</i>, &c. be required in its -established ceremonial, the draught of this -diversity of <i>superstitions</i>, and of their minutest -particulars, will have a necessary place in any -work, professing to delineate such religion; -whatever resemblance its descriptions may be -foreseen to have to those of any other.</p> - -<p>The reader will proceed to apply these remarks, -where he sees fit. For it may scarcely -seem worth while to take notice of the insinuation, -which a polite writer, but no very able -critic, hath thrown out against the entire use -of <i>religious description</i> in poetry. I say the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">166</span> -<i>entire use</i>; for so I understand him, when he -says, “the <i>religion</i> of the gentiles had been -woven into the contexture of all the ancient -poetry with a very <i>agreeable</i> mixture, which -made the moderns <i>affect</i> to give that of -Christianity a place also in their poems<a id="FNanchor_29" href="#Footnote_29" class="fnanchor">29</a>.” -He seems not to have conceived, that the <i>visible -effects</i> of religious opinions and dispositions, -constitute a principal part of what is -most striking in the sublimer poetry. The -<i>narrative species</i> delights in, or rather cannot -subsist without, these solemn pictures of the -religious ritual; and the theatre is never more -moved, than when its awful scenery is exhibited -in the <i>dramatic</i>. Or, if he meant this -censure, of the <i>intervention of superior agents</i>, -and what we call <i>machinery</i>, the observation -(though it be seconded by one, whose profession -should have taught him much better<a id="FNanchor_30" href="#Footnote_30" class="fnanchor">30</a>) is -not more to the purpose. For the pomp of -the <i>epic muse</i> demands to be furnished with a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">167</span> -train of these celestial personages. Intending, -as she doth, to astonish the imagination with -whatever is most august within the compass -of human thought, it is not possible for her -to accomplish this great end, but by the ministry -of supernatural intelligences, <small>PER AMBAGES -ET MINISTERIA DEORUM</small>.</p> - -<p>Or, the proof of these two points may be -given more precisely thus: “The relation of -man to the deity, being as essential to his -nature, as that which he bears to his fellow-citizens, -<i>religion</i> becomes as necessary a -part of a serious and sublime narration of -human life, as <i>civil actions</i>. And as the -sublime nature of it requires even <i>virtues -and vices</i> to be personified, much more is it -necessary, that <i>supernatural agency</i> should -bear a part in it. For, whatever some <i>sects</i> -may think of religion’s being a divine philosophy -in the mind, the <i>poet</i> must exhibit -man’s addresses to Heaven in <i>ceremonies</i>, -and Heaven’s intervention by <i>visible -agency</i>.”</p> - -<p>So that the intermixture of religion, in every -point of view, is not only <i>agreeable</i>, but -necessary to the very genius of, at least, the -highest class of poetry. Ancients and moderns -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">168</span> -might therefore be led to the display of this -<i>sacred scenery</i>, without <i>affectation</i>. And for -what concerns <i>Christian poets</i>, in particular, -we see from an instance at home (whatever may -be the success of some Italians, whom he appears -to have had in his eye) that, where the -subject is proper to receive it, it can appear with -as much <i>grace</i>, as in the <i>poets of paganism</i>. It -may be concluded then, universally, that <i>religion</i> -is the proper object of poetry, which -wants no prompter of a preceding model to -give it an introduction; and that the <i>forms</i>, -under which it presents itself, are too manifest -and glaring to observation, to escape any -writer.</p> - -<p>The case is somewhat different with what -I call the <i>moral and oeconomical sentiments</i>. -These operate indeed <i>within</i>, and by their busy -and active powers administer abundant matter -to poetic description, which <i>alone</i> is equal to -these <i>unseen workings</i>. For their actings on -the body are too feeble to produce any visible -alteration of the outward form. Their fine -and delicate movements are to be apprehended -only and surveyed by conscious attentive reflexion. -They are not, usually, of force -enough to wield the machine of man; to discompose -his frame, or distort his feature: and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">169</span> -so rarely come to be susceptible of <i>picture</i> or -<i>representation</i>. One may compare the subtle -operations of these <i>sentiments</i> on the human -form, to the gentle breathing of the air on the -face of nature. Its soft aspirations may be -perceived; its nimble and delicate spirit may -diffuse itself through <i>woods</i> and <i>fields</i>, and its -pervading influence cherish and invigorate all -<i>animal</i> or <i>vegetative being</i>. Yet no external -signs evidence its <i>effects</i> to sense. It acts -invisibly, and therefore no power of imitation -can give it <i>form</i> and <i>colouring</i>. Its impulses -must, at least, have a certain degree of strength: -it must <i>wave</i> the grass, <i>incline</i> trees, and -<i>scatter</i> leaves, before the painter can lay hold -of it, and draw it into <i>description</i>. Just so -it is with our <i>calmer sentiments</i>. They seldom -stir or disorder the human frame. They -spring up casually, and as circumstances concur, -within us; but, as it were, sink and die -away again, like passing gales, without leaving -any impress or mark of violence behind them. -In short, when they do not grow out of <i>fixed -characters</i>, or are prompted by <i>passion</i>, they -do not, I believe, ever make themselves visible.</p> - -<p>And this observation reaches as well to <i>event -and action</i> in life, as to the <i>corporal figure</i> of -the person in whom they operate. The sentiments, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">170</span> -here spoken of, however naturally or -even necessarily they may occur to the mind -on certain occasions, yet have seldom or never -any immediate effect on consequent action. -And the reason is, that we do not proceed to -<i>act</i> on the sole conclusions of the understanding; -unless such <i>conclusions</i>, by frequent -meditation, or the co-operating influence of -some affection, excite a ferment in the mind, -and impel the will by <i>passion</i>. Such moral -aphorisms as these, “<i>that friendship is the -medicine of life</i>,” and, “<i>that our country, -as including all other interests, claims our -first regard</i>,” though likely to obtrude -themselves upon us on a thousand occasions, -yet would never have urged Achilles to such a -train of action, as makes the striking part of -the Iliad; or Ulysses, to that which runs -through the intire Odyssey; if a strong, instinctive -affection in both had not conspired to -produce it. When <i>produced</i> therefore, they -are to be considered as the genuine consequences, -not of these <i>moral sentiments</i>, taken -simply by themselves, but of strong benevolence -of soul, implanted by <i>nature</i>, and -strengthened by <i>habit</i>. They are properly -then, the result of the <i>manners</i>, or <i>passions</i>, -which have been already contemplated. Our -sentiments, merely as such, terminate in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">171</span> -themselves, and furnish no external apparent -matter to <i>description</i>.</p> - -<p>The same conclusion would, it must be -owned, hold of our <i>religious</i>, as <i>moral</i> sentiments, -were we to regard them only in this -view of <i>dispassionate and cool reflexions</i>. For -such reflexions produce no change of <i>feature</i>, -no alteration in the <i>form or countenance</i>, nor -are they necessarily followed by any <i>sensible</i> -demonstration of their power in outward <i>action</i>. -But then it usually happens (which sets -the widest difference between the two cases) -that the <i>one</i>, as respecting an <i>object</i>, whose -very <i>idea</i> interests strongly, and puts all our -faculties in motion, are, almost of necessity, -associated with the impelling causes of <i>affection</i>; -and so express themselves in legible signs -and characters. Whereas the other sentiments, -respecting <i>human nature and its necessities</i>, -are frequently no other than a calm indifferent -survey of common life, unattended with any -<i>emotion</i> or inciting principle of action. Hence -<i>religion</i>, inspiriting all its meditations with -<i>enthusiasm</i>, generally shews itself in <i>outward -signs</i>; whereas we frequently discern no traces, -as necessarily attendant upon <i>moral</i>. Which -<i>difference</i> is worth the noting, were it only -for the sake of seeing more distinctly the vast -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">172</span> -advantage of <i>poetry</i>, above all <i>other modes of imitation</i>. -For <i>these</i>, explaining themselves by -the help of <i>natural media</i>, which present a <i>real -resemblance</i>, are able but imperfectly to describe -<i>religious sentiments</i>; in as much as they express -the <i>general vague disposition</i> only, and -not the precise <i>sentiments themselves</i>. And -in <i>moral</i>, they can frequently give us no <i>image</i> -or representation at all. While <i>poetry</i>, which -tells its meaning by <i>artificial signs</i>, conveys -distinct and clear notices of this class of <i>moral -and religious</i> conceptions, which afford such -mighty entertainment to the human mind. -But it serves to a further purpose, more immediately -relative to the subject of this inquiry. -For these <i>ethic and prudential</i> conclusions, -being seen to produce no immediate <i>effect</i> in -look, attitude, or action, we are to regard them -only in their remoter and less direct consequences, -as influencing, at a distance, the civil -and oeconomical affairs of life.</p> - -<p>And in this view they open a fresh field for -<i>imitation</i>; not quite so striking to the spectator, -perhaps, but even larger, than <i>that</i>, -into which religion, with all its multiform -superstitions, before led us. For to these -<i>internal workings</i>, assisted and pushed forward -by the wants and necessities of our nature, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">173</span> -which set the inventive powers on work, are -ultimately to be referred that vast congeries of -<i>political</i>, <i>civil</i>, <i>commercial</i>, and <i>mechanic</i> -institutions, of those infinite <i>manufactures</i>, -<i>arts</i>, and <i>exercises</i>, which come in to the -relief or embellishment of human life. Add -to these all those nameless <i>events</i> and <i>actions</i>, -which, though determined by no fixed <i>habit</i>, -or leading <i>affection</i>, human prudence, providing -for its security or interests, in certain -circumstances, naturally projects and prescribes. -These are ample materials for <i>description</i>; -and the greater poetry necessarily -comprehends a large share of them. Yet in -all delineations of this sort two things are observable, -1. That in the <i>latter</i>, which are the -pure result of our reasonings concerning expediency, -<i>common sense</i>, in given conjunctures, -often leads to the same measures: As when -<i>Ulysses</i> in Homer disguises himself, for the -sake of coming at a more exact information of -the state of his family; or, when <i>Orestes</i> in -Sophocles does the same, to bring about the -catastrophe of the <i>Electra</i>. 2. In respect of -the <i>former</i> (which is of principal consideration) -the established modes and practices of -life being the proper and only <i>archetype</i>, experience -and common observation cannot fail -of pointing, with the greatest certainty, to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">174</span> -them. So that in the <i>one</i> case different writers -<i>may</i> concur in treating the <i>same</i> matter, in the -<i>other</i>, they <i>must</i>. But this last will bear a -little further illustration.</p> - -<p>The critics on Homer have remarked, with -admiration, in him, the almost infinite variety -of images and pictures, taken from the intire -circle of <i>human arts</i>. Whatever the wit of -man had invented for the service or ornament -of society in manual exercises and operations -is found to have a place in his writings. <i>Rural -affairs</i>, in their several branches; the <i>mechanic</i>, -and all the polite arts of <i>sculpture</i>, -<i>painting</i>, and <i>architecture</i>, are occasionally -hinted at in his poems; or, rather, their various -imagery, so far as they were known and -practised in those times, is fully and largely -displayed. Now this, though it shew the -prodigious extent of his observation and diligent -curiosity, which could search through all -the storehouses and magazines of <i>art</i>, for materials -of description, yet is not to be placed -to the score of his superior <i>inventive faculty</i>; -nor infers any thing to the disadvantage of -succeeding poets, whose subjects might oblige -them to the same descriptions; any more than -his vast acquaintance with <i>natural scenery</i>, -in all its numberless appearances, implies a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">175</span> -want of <i>genius</i> in later imitators, who, if they -ventured, at all, into this province, were -constrained to give us the <i>same unvaried -representations</i>.</p> - -<p>The truth, as every one sees, is, briefly, -this. The restless and inquisitive mind of -man had succeeded in the discovery or improvement -of the numberless arts of life. -These, for the convenience of method, are -considered as making a large part of those sensible -external <i>effects</i>, which spring from our -internal <i>sentiments</i> or <i>reasonings</i>. But, though -they ultimately respect those <i>reasonings</i>, as -their source, yet they, in no degree, depend -on the actual exertion of them in the breast of -the poet. He copies only the customs of the -times, of which he writes, that is, the sensible -<i>effects</i> themselves. These are permanent objects, -and may, nay <i>must</i> be the <i>same</i>, whatever -be the ability or genius of the <i>copier</i>. In -short, taken together, they make up what, in -the largest sense of the word, we may call, -with the painters, <i>il costumè</i>; which though -it be a real excellence scrupulously to observe, -yet it requires nothing more than exact observation -and historical knowledge of <i>facts</i> to -do it. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">176</span></p> - -<p>And now having the various objects of -<i>poetical imitation</i> before us (the greatest part -of which, as appears, <i>must</i>, and the rest <i>may</i>, -occur to the observation of the poet) we come -to this <i>conclusion</i>, which, though it may -startle the <i>parallelist</i>, there seems no method -of eluding, “that of any single <i>image</i> or <i>sentiment</i>, -considered separately and by itself, -it can never be affirmed certainly, hardly -with any shew of reason, merely on account -of its agreement in <i>subject-matter</i> with any -other, that it was copied from it.” If there -be any foundation of this inference, it must, -then be laid, not on the <i>matter</i>, but <small>MANNER</small> -of imitation. But here, again, the subject -branches out into various particulars; which, -to be seen distinctly, will demand a new division, -and require us to proceed with leisure -and attention through it.</p> - -<h3>II.</h3> - -<p>The sum of the foregoing <i>article</i> is this. -The <i>objects</i> of imitation, like the <i>materials</i> of -human knowledge, are a common stock, which -experience furnishes to all men. And it is in -the <i>operations</i> of the mind upon them, that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">177</span> -the glory of <i>poetry</i>, as of <i>science</i>, consists. -Here the genius of the <i>poet</i> hath room to shew -itself; and from hence alone is the praise of -<i>originality</i> to be ascertained. The fondest -admirer of ancient art would never pretend -that <i>Palladio</i> had copied <i>Vitruvius</i>; merely -from his working with the same materials of -<i>wood</i>, <i>stone</i>, or <i>marble</i>, which this great -master had employed before him. But were -the general <i>design</i> of these two architects the -<i>same</i> in any buildings; were their choice and -arrangement of the smaller <i>members</i> remarkably -similar; were their works conducted in -the same <i>style</i>, and their ornaments finished -in the same <i>taste</i>; every one would be apt to -pronounce on first sight, that the one was -<i>borrowed</i> from the other. Even a correspondency -in any <i>one</i> of these points might -create a suspicion. For what likelihood, amidst -an infinite variety of <i>methods</i>, which offer -themselves, as to <i>each</i> of these particulars, -that there should be found, without <i>design</i>, a -signal concurrence in <i>any one</i>? ’Tis then in -the <i>usage and disposition</i> of the objects of -poetry, that we are to seek for proofs and evidences -of plagiarism. And yet it may not be -every instance of similarity, that will satisfy -here. For the question recurs, “whether of -the several <i>forms</i>, of which his materials -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">178</span> -are susceptible, there be nothing in the nature -of things, which determines the artist -to prefer a <i>particular</i> one to all others.” -For it is possible, that <i>general principles</i> may -as well account for a <i>conformity in the manner</i>, -as we have seen them do for an <i>identity of -matter</i>, in works of imitation. And to this -question nothing can be replied, till we have -taken an accurate survey of this <i>second division</i> -of our subject. Luckily, the allusion to architecture, -just touched upon, points to the -very method, in which it may be most distinctly -pursued. For here too, the <small>MANNER</small> -<i>of imitation</i>, if considered in its full extent, -takes in 1. <i>The general plan or disposition -of a poem.</i> 2. <i>The choice and application of -particular subjects: and</i> 3. <i>The expression.</i></p> - -<p>I. <i>All poetry</i>, as lord Bacon admirably -observes, “<i>nihil aliud est quam</i> <small>HISTORIAE -IMITATIO AD PLACITUM</small>.” By which is not -meant, that the poet is at liberty to conduct -his <i>imitation</i> absolutely in any manner he -pleases, but with such deviations from the -rule of history, as the <i>end</i> of poetry prescribes. -This end is, universally, <small>PLEASURE</small>; as <i>that</i> -of simple history is, <small>INFORMATION</small>. And from -a respect to this <i>end</i>, together with some proper -allowance for the diversity of the <i>subject-matter</i>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">179</span> -and the <i>mode of imitation</i> (I mean -whether it be in the way of <i>recital</i>, or of -action) are the essential differences of poetry -from mere history, and the <i>form or disposition</i> -of its several <i>species</i>, derived. What these -<i>differences</i> are, and what the <i>general plan</i> -in the composition of <i>each species</i>, will appear -from considering the <i>defects</i> of simple history -in reference to the <i>main end</i>, which -poetry designs.</p> - -<p>Some of these are observed by the great -person before-mentioned, which I shall want -no excuse for giving in his own words.</p> - -<p>“1. Cum res gestae et eventus, qui verae -historiae subjiciuntur, non sint ejus amplitudinis, -in quâ anima humana sibi satisfaciat, -praesto est <i>poësis</i>, quae facta magis -heroica confingat. 2. Cum historia vera -successus rerum minime pro meritis virtutum -& scelerum, narret; corrigit eam <i>poësis</i>, & -exitus & fortunas, secundum merita, & ex -lege Nemeseos, exhibet. 3. Cum historia -vera, obviâ rerum satietate & similitudine, -animae humanae fastidio sit; reficit eam -poësis, inexpectata, & varia & vicissitudinum -plena canens.—Quare & merito etiam divinitatis -cujuspiam particeps videri possit; quia -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">180</span> -animum erigit & in sublime rapit; <i>rerum -simulachra ad animi desideria accommodando, -non animum rebus (quod ratio facit, -& historia) submittendo</i><a id="FNanchor_31" href="#Footnote_31" class="fnanchor">31</a>.”</p> - -<p>These <i>advantages</i> chiefly respect the <i>narrative</i> -poetry, and above all, the <i>Epos</i>. There -are others, still more <i>general</i>, and more directly -to the purpose of this inquiry. For 4. -The <i>historian</i> is bound to record <i>a series of -independent events and actions</i>; and so, at -once, falls into two <i>defects</i>, which make him -incapable of affording perfect <i>pleasure</i> to the -mind. For 1. The flow of passion, produced -in us by contemplating <i>any signal event</i>, is -greatly checked and disturbed amidst a <i>variety -and succession of actions</i>. And 2. being -obliged to pass with celerity over <i>each</i> transaction -(for otherwise history would be too tedious -for the purpose of <i>information</i>) he has -not time to draw out <i>single circumstances</i> in -full light and impress them with all their force -on the imagination. <i>Poetry</i> remedies these -two defects. By confining the attention to -<i>one</i> object only, it gives the fancy and affections -fair play: and by bringing forth to view -and even magnifying all the <i>circumstances</i> of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">181</span> -that <i>one</i>, it gives to every subject its proper -dignity and importance. 5. Lastly, to satisfy -the human mind, there must not only be an -<i>unity and integrity</i>, but a strict <i>connexion -and continuity</i> of the fable or action represented. -Otherwise the mind languishes, and -the transition of the passions, which gives the -chief pleasure, is broken and interrupted. The -<i>historian</i> fails, also, in this. By proceeding -in the gradual and orderly succession of <i>time</i>, -the several incidents, which compose the story, -are not laid close enough together to content -the natural avidity of our expectations. Whilst -<i>poetry</i>, neglecting this regularity of succession, -and setting out in the midst of the story, gratifies -our instinctive impatience, and carries -the <i>affections</i> along, with the utmost rapidity, -towards the <i>event</i>.</p> - -<p>These <i>advantages</i> are common both to <i>narrative</i> -and <i>dramatic</i> poetry. But the <i>drama</i>, -as professing to copy <i>real life</i>, contents itself -with these. The rest belong entirely to the -province of <i>narration</i>.</p> - -<p>Now the <i>general forms</i> of poetical method, -as distinct from <i>that</i> of history, are the pure -result of our conclusions concerning the expediency -and fitness of these <i>means</i>, as conducive -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">182</span> -to the proper <i>end</i> of poetry. Which, without -more words, will inform us, how it came to -pass, that the <i>true plan or disposition of -poetical</i> works, was so early hit upon in <i>practice</i>, -and established by exact <i>theories</i>; and -may therefore satisfy us of the <i>necessary</i> -resemblance and uniformity of all productions -of this kind, whether their authors had, or had -not, been guided by the pole-star of <i>example</i>.</p> - -<p>So much for the <i>general forms</i> of the two -greater <i>kinds</i> of poetry. If a proper allowance -be made for a diversity of <i>subject-matter</i>, in -either <i>mode</i> of composition, it will be easy, as -I said, to account for the <i>particular forms</i> of -the several subordinate species. And I the -rather choose to do it in this way, and not -from the peculiar <i>end</i> of each, which indeed -were more philosophical, because the business -is to make appear, how nature leads to the -same general plan of composition in <i>practice</i>, -not to establish the laws of each in the exact -way of <i>theory</i>. Now in considering the matter -<i>historically</i>, the diversity of <i>subject-matter</i> -was doubtless <i>that</i> which first determined the -writer to a different <i>form</i> of composition, tho’ -afterwards, a consideration of the <i>end</i>, accomplished -by <i>each</i>, be requisite to deduce, with -more precision of method, its distinct laws. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">183</span> -The <i>latter</i> is that from whence the <i>speculative -critic</i> rightly estimates the character of every -species; but the inventor had his direction -principally from the <i>former</i>.</p> - -<p>Let me exemplify the observation in an -instance under either <i>mode</i> of imitation, and -leave the rest to the reader.</p> - -<p>1. The <span class="smcap">Georgic</span> is a species of <i>narration</i>. -But, as <i>things</i>, not <i>persons</i>, are its subject -(from which last alone the <i>unity of design</i> and -<i>continuity of action</i> arise) this circumstance -absolves it from the necessity of observing any -other laws, than those of clear and perspicuous -disposition, and of enlivening a matter, naturally -uninteresting, by <i>exquisite expression</i> and -<i>pleasing digressions</i>.</p> - -<p>2. The <span class="smcap">Pastoral</span> poem may be considered -as a lower species of the <i>Drama</i>. But, its -subject being the <i>humble concerns</i> of Shepherds, -there seems no room for a tragic <i>Plot</i>; -and their characters are too simple to afford -materials for comic <i>drawing</i>. Their <i>scene</i> is -indeed inchanting to the imagination. And, -together with this, their little distresses may -sooth us in a short song; or their fancies and -humours may entertain us in a short Dialogue. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">184</span> -And that this is the proper province of the -Pastoral Muse, we may see by the ill success -of those who have laboured to extend it. -Tasso’s project was admired for a time. But -we, now, understand that pastoral affairs will -not admit a tragic pathos. And the continuance -of the pastoral vein, through five long acts, is -found insipid, or even distasteful. This poem -then has returned to that form which its -inventors gave it, and which the <i>subject</i> so -naturally prescribes to it.</p> - -<p><small>II</small>. But, though the <i>common end</i> of poetry, -which is to <i>please by imitation</i>, together with -the subjects of its several species, may determine -the <i>general plan</i>, yet is there nothing, -it may be said, in the nature of things to fix -<i>the order and connexion of single parts</i>. And -here, it will be owned, is great room for <i>invention</i> -to shew itself. The materials of poetry -may be put together in so many different -manners, consistently with the <i>form</i> which -governs each species, that nothing but the -power of <i>imitation</i> can be reasonably thought -to produce <i>a close and perpetual similarity</i> -in the composition of two works. I have said -<i>a close and perpetual similarity</i>; for it is -not every degree of resemblance, that will do -here. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">185</span></p> - -<p>The <i>general plan itself</i> of any poem will -occasion some unavoidable conformities in the -disposition of its component parts. The <i>identity</i> -or <i>similarity</i> of the subject may create -others. Or, if no other assimilating cause -intervene, the very uniformity of common -nature, will, of necessity, introduce some. To -explain myself as to the last of these <i>causes</i>.</p> - -<p>The principal constituent members of any -work, next to the essential parts of the <i>fable</i>, -are <small>EPISODES</small>, <small>DESCRIPTIONS</small>, <small>SIMILES</small>. By -<i>descriptions</i> I understand as well the delineation -of <i>characters</i> in their <i>speeches and imputed -sentiments</i>, as of <i>places or things</i> in the -draught of their attending circumstances. Now -not only the materials of these are common to -all poets, but the same identical manner of -assemblage in application of <i>each</i> in any poem -will, in numberless cases, appear necessary.</p> - -<p>1. The <i>episode</i> belongs, principally, to the -epic muse; and the design of it is to diversify -and ennoble the narration by <i>digressive</i>, yet -not <i>unrelated</i>, ornaments; the <i>former</i> circumstance -relieving the <i>simplicity</i> of the epic -fable, while the <i>other</i> prevents its <i>unity</i> from -being violated. Now these episodical narrations -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">186</span> -must either proceed from the poet himself, -or be imputed to some other who is engaged -in the course of the fable; and in either case, -must help, indirectly at least, to forward it.</p> - -<p>If of the <i>latter</i> kind, a probable pretext -must be contrived for their introduction; which -can be no other than that of satisfying the -<i>curiosity</i>, or of serving to the necessary <i>information</i> -of some other. And in either of these -ways a striking conformity in the mode of conducting -the work is unavoidable.</p> - -<p>If the <i>episode</i> be referred to the <i>former</i> class, -its <i>manner</i> of introduction will admit a greater -latitude. For it will vary with the subject, or -occasions of relating it. Yet we shall mistake, -if we believe these subjects, and consequently -the occasions, connected with them, very numerous. -1. They must be of uncommon -dignity and splendor; otherwise nothing can -excuse the going out of the way to insert them. -2. They must have some apparent connection -with the fable. 3. They must further accord -to the idea and state of the times, from which -the <i>fable</i> is taken. Put these things together, -and see if they will not, with probability, account -for some coincidence <i>in the choice and</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">187</span> -<i>applications</i> of the <i>direct</i> episode. And admitting -this, the similarity of even <i>its</i> constituent -parts is, also, necessary.</p> - -<p>The genius of Virgil never suffers more in -the opinion of his critics, than when his <i>book -of games</i> comes into consideration and is confronted -with Homer’s. It is not unpleasant -to observe the difficulties an advocate for his -fame is put to in this nice point, to secure his -honour from the imputation of <i>plagiarism</i>. -The descriptions are accurately examined; -and the improvement of a single circumstance, -the addition of an epithet, even the novelty of -a metaphor, or varied turn in the expression, -is diligently remarked and urged, with triumph, -in favour of his invention. Yet all this goes -but a little way towards stilling the clamour. -The entire design is manifestly taken; nay, -particular incidents and circumstantials are, -for the most part, the same, without variation. -What shall we say, then, to this charge? -Shall we, in defiance of truth and fact, endeavour -to confute it? Or, if allowed, is there -any method of supporting the reputation of the -poet? I think there is, if prejudice will but -suspend its determinations a few minutes, and -afford his advocate a fair hearing. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">188</span></p> - -<p>The epic plan, more especially that of the -Aeneis, naturally comprehends whatever is -most august in <i>civil</i> and <i>religious</i> affairs. The -solemnities of funeral rites, and the festivities -of public games (which religion had made an -essential part of them) were, of necessity, to -be included in a representation of the <i>latter</i>. -But what <i>games</i>? Surely those, which ancient -heroism vaunted to excell in; those, -which the usage of the times had consecrated; -and which, from the opinion of reverence and -dignity entertained of them, were become -most fit for the pomp of epic description. -Further, what <i>circumstances</i> could be noted -in these sports? Certainly those, which befell -most usually, and were the aptest to alarm the -spectator, and make him take an interest in -them. These, it will be said, are numerous. -They are so; yet such as are most to the poet’s -purpose, are, with little or no variation, the -same. It happened luckily for him, that two -of his <i>games</i>, on which accordingly he hath -exerted all the force of his genius, were entirely -new. This advantage, the circumstances of -the times afforded him. The <i>Naumachia</i> was -purely his own. Yet so liable are even the -best and most candid judges to be haunted by -this spectre of <i>imitation</i>, that <i>one</i>, whom every -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">189</span> -friend to every human excellence honours, -cannot help, on comparing it with the <i>chariot-race</i> -of Homer, exclaiming in these words: -“What is the encounter of Cloanthus and Gyas -in the strait between the rocks, but the same -with that of Menelaus and Antilochus in the -hollow way? Had the galley of Serjestus -been broken, if the chariot of Eumelus had -not been demolished? Or, Mnestheus been -cast from the helm, had not the other been -thrown from his seat?” The plain truth is, -it was not possible, in describing an ancient -<i>sea-fight</i>, for one, who had even never seen -Homer, to overlook such usual and striking -particulars, as the <i>justling of ships, the -breaking of galleys, and loss of pilots</i>.</p> - -<p>It may appear from this instance, with what -reason a similarity of circumstance, in the other -games, hath been objected. The <i>subject-matter</i> -admitted not any material variation: I -mean in the hands of so judicious a copier of -Nature as Virgil. For,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Homer and Nature were, he found, the same.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>So that we are not to wonder he kept close to -his author, though at the expence of this -false fame of <i>Originality</i>. Nay it appears -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">190</span> -directly from a remarkable instance that in -the case before us, He unquestionably judged -right.</p> - -<p>A defect of <i>natural ability</i> is not that, which -the critics have been most forward to charge -upon <i>Statius</i>. A person of true taste, who, -in a fanciful way, hath contrived to give us the -just character of the Latin poets, in assigning -to this poet the topmost station on Parnassus, -sufficiently acknowledges the vigour and activity -of his genius. Yet, in composing his -<i>Thebaid</i> (an old story taken from the heroic -ages, which obliged him to the celebration of -<i>funeral obsequies</i> with the attending solemnities -of <i>public games</i>) to avoid the dishonour of -following too closely on the heels of Homer -and Virgil, who had not only taken the same -<i>route</i>, but pursued it in the most direct and -natural course, he resolved, at all adventures, -to keep at due distance from them, and to -make his way, as well as he could, more -<i>obliquely</i> to the same end. To accomplish -this project, he was forced, though in the -description of the same individual <i>games</i>, to -look out for different <i>circumstances and events</i> -in them; that so the identity of his <i>subject</i>, -which he could not avoid, might, in some -degree, be atoned for by the diversity of his -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">191</span> -<i>manner</i> in treating it. It must be owned, -that great ingenuity as well as industry hath -been used, in executing this design. Had it -been practicable, the character, just given of -this poet, makes it credible, he must have -succeeded in it. Yet, so impossible it is, -without deserting nature herself, to dissent -from her faithful copiers, that the main objection -to the sixth book of the <i>Thebaid</i> hath -arisen from this fruitless endeavour of being -<i>original</i>, where common sense and the reason -of the thing would not permit it. “In the -particular descriptions of each of these games -(says the great writer before quoted, and -from whose sentence in matters of taste, -there lies no appeal) <i>Statius</i> hath not borrowed -from either of his predecessors, <i>and -his poem is so much the worse for it</i>.”</p> - -<p>2. The case of <small>DESCRIPTION</small> is still clearer, -and, after what has been so largely discoursed on -the <i>subjects</i> of it, will require but few words. -For it must have appeared, in considering -them, that not only the <i>objects</i> themselves are -necessarily obtruded on the poet, but that the -<i>occasions</i> of introducing them are also restrained -by many limitations. If we reflect a -little, we shall find, that they grow out of the -<i>action</i> represented, which, in the greater poetry, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">192</span> -implies a great <i>similarity</i>, even when most -<i>different</i>. What, for instance, is the purpose -of <i>the epic poet</i>, but to shew his hero under -the most awful and interesting circumstances of -human life? To this end some general design -is formed. He must <i>war</i> with Achilles, or -<i>voyage</i> with Ulysses. And, to work up his -<i>fable</i> to that <i>magnificence</i>, ΜΕΓΑΛΟΠΡΕΠΕΙΑΝ, -which Aristotle rightly observes to be -the characteristic of this poem, <i>heaven</i> and -<i>hell</i> must also be interested in the success of -his enterprise. And what is this, in <i>effect</i>, -but to own, that the pomp of <i>epic description</i>, -in its draught of <i>battles</i>, with its several <i>accidents</i>; -of <i>storms</i>, <i>shipwrecks</i>, &c. <i>of the intervention -of gods</i>, or <i>machination of devils</i>, -is, in great measure, determined, not only as -to the <i>choice</i>, but <i>application</i> of it, to the -poet’s hands? And the like conclusion extends -to still minuter particularities.</p> - -<p>What concerns the delineation of <i>characters</i> -may seem to carry with it more difficulty. Yet, -though these are infinitely diversified by distinct -peculiar lineaments, poetry cannot help -falling into the same <i>general</i> representation. -For it is conversant about the <i>greater characters</i>; -such as demand the imputation of -like <i>manners</i>, and who are actuated by the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">193</span> -same governing <i>passions</i>. To set off these, -<i>the same combination of circumstances</i> must -frequently be imagined; at least so <i>similar</i>, as -to bring on the same series of representation. -The <i>piety</i> of <i>one</i> hero, and the <i>love of his -country</i>, which characterizes <i>another</i>, can -only be shewn by the influence of the <i>ruling -principle</i> in each, constraining them to neglect -inferior considerations, and to give up all -subordinate affections to it. The more prevalent -the <i>affection</i>, the greater the <i>sacrifice</i>, -and the more strongly is the <i>character</i> marked. -Hence, without doubt, the <i>Calypso</i> of Homer. -And need we look farther than the instructions -of <i>common nature</i> for a similar contrivance in -a <i>later</i> poet? Not to be tedious on a matter, -which admits no dispute, the dramatic writings -of all times may convince us of <i>two things</i>, 1. -“<i>that the actuating passions of men are universally -and invariably the same</i>;” and 2. -“<i>that they express themselves constantly in -similar effects</i>.” Or, one single small volume, -<i>the characters of Theophrastus</i>, will -sufficiently do it. And what more is required -to justify this consequence, “that <i>the descriptions -of characters</i>, even in the most original -<i>designers</i>, will resemble each other;” -and “that the very <i>contexture</i> of a work, designed -to evidence them in <i>action</i>, will, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">194</span> -under the management of different writers, -be, frequently, much the same?” A <i>conclusion</i>, -which indeed is neither mine nor any -novel one, but was long ago insisted on by a -discerning ancient, and applied to the comic -drama, in these words,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">—<i>Si personis isdem uti aliis non licet,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Qui magis licet currentis servos scribere,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Bonas matronas facere, meretrices malas,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Parasitum edacem, gloriosum militem,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Puerum supponi, falli per servum senem</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Amare, odisse, suspicari</span>?<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>3. In truth, so far as <i>direct and immediate -description</i> is concerned, the matter is so plain, -that it will hardly be called into question. -The difficulty is to account for the similarity -of <i>metaphor and</i> <small>COMPARISON</small> (that is, of <i>imagery</i>, -which comes in obliquely, and for the -purpose of illustrating some other, and, frequently, -very remote and distinct subject) -observable in all writers. Here it may not -seem quite so easy to make out an original -claim; for, though descriptions of the <i>same -object</i>, when it occurs, must needs be similar, -yet it remains to shew how the same object -comes, in this case, to occur at all. Before -an answer can be given to this question, it -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">195</span> -must be observed 1. that there is in the mind -of man, not only a strong natural love of <i>imitation</i>, -but of <i>comparison</i>. We are not only -fond of <i>copying</i> single objects, as they present -themselves, but we delight to set two objects -together, and contemplate their mutual aspects -and appearances. The <i>pleasure</i> we find in -this exercise of the imagination is the main -source of that perpetual usage of <i>indirect and -allusive imagery</i> in the writings of the poets; -for I need not here consider the <i>necessity</i> of -the thing, and the unavoidable introduction of -sensible images into all language. 2. This -work of <i>comparison</i> is not gone about by the -mind <i>causelessly and capriciously</i>. There are -certain obvious and striking resemblances in -nature, which the poet is carried necessarily -to observe, and which offer themselves to him -on the slightest exercise and exertion of his -<i>comparing</i> powers. It may be difficult to -explain the causes of this established relationship -in all cases; or to shew distinctly, what -these secret ties and connexions are, which -link the objects of sense together, and draw the -imagination thus insensibly from one subject -to another. The most obvious and natural is -that of <i>actual similitude</i>, whether in <i>shape, -attitude, colour</i>, or <i>aspect</i>. As when <i>heroes</i> -are compared to <i>gods</i>,—<i>a hero in act to strike -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">196</span> -at his foe</i>, to <i>a faulcon stooping at a dove</i>,—<i>blood -running down the skin</i>, to <i>the staining -of ivory</i>,—<i>corn waving with the wind</i>, to -<i>water in motion</i>. Sometimes the associating -cause lies in the <i>effect</i>. As when the <i>return -of a good prince to his country</i> is compared <i>to -the sun</i>—a <i>fresh gale to mariners</i>, to <i>the -timely coming of a general to his troops</i>, &c. -more commonly, in some <i>property</i>, <i>attribute</i>, -or <i>circumstance</i>. Thus an <i>intrepid</i> hero suggests -the idea of a <i>rock</i>, on account of <i>its firmness -and stability</i>;—of <i>a lion</i>, for his <i>fierceness</i>,—<i>of -a deer encompassed</i> with wolves, for -his <i>situation when surrounded with enemies</i>. -In short, for I pretend not to make a complete -enumeration of the <i>grounds</i> of connexion, -whatever the mind observes in any object, that -bears an analogy to something in any other, -becomes the <i>occasion</i> of comparison betwixt -them; and the fancy, which is ever, in a great -genius, quick at espying these <i>traits</i> of resemblance, -and delights to survey them, lets -dip no opportunity of setting them over -against each other, and producing them to -observation.</p> - -<p>But whatever be the <i>causes</i>, which associate -the ideas of the poet, and how fantastic soever -or even casual, may sometimes appear to be -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">197</span> -the <i>ground</i> of such association, yet, in respect -of the greater works of genius, there will still -be found the most exact <i>uniformity</i> of allusion, -the same ideas and aspects of things constantly -admonishing the poet of the same <i>resemblances -and relations</i>. I say, in <i>the greater works -of genius</i>, which must be attended to; for -the folly of taking <i>resemblances</i> for <i>imitations</i>, -in this province of <i>allusion</i>, hath arisen -from hence; that the poet is believed to have -all art and nature before him, and to be at -liberty to fetch his <i>hints</i> of similitude and correspondence -from every distant and obscure -corner of the universe. That is, the genius -of the epic, dramatic, and universally, of the -greater, poetry hath not been comprehended, -nor their distinct laws and characters distinguished -from those of an inferior species.</p> - -<p>The <i>mutual habitudes and relations</i> (at -least what the mind is capable of regarding as -<i>such</i>), subsisting between those innumerable -objects of thought and sense, which make up -the entire natural and intellectual world, are -indeed infinite; and if the poet be allowed to -associate and bring together all those ideas, -wherein the ingenuity of the mind can perceive -any remote sign or glimpse of <i>resemblance</i>, it -were truly wonderful, that, in any number of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">198</span> -images and allusions, there should be found a -close conformity of them with those of any -other writer. But this is far from being the -case. For 1. the more august poetry disclaims, -as unsuited to its state and dignity, that inquisitive -and anxious diligence, which pries into -nature’s retirements; and searches through all -her secret and hidden haunts, to detect a forbidden -commerce, and expose to light some -strange unexpected conjunction of ideas. This -quaint combination of remote, unallied imagery, -constitutes a species of entertainment, -which, for its <i>novelty</i>, may amuse and divert -the mind in other compositions; but is wholly -inconsistent with the reserve and solemnity of -the <i>graver</i> forms. There is too much curiosity -of art, too solicitous an affectation of -<i>pleasing</i>, in these ingenious exercises of the -fancy, to suit with the simple majesty of the -<i>epos</i> or <i>drama</i>; which disclaims to cast about -for forced and tortured allusions, and aims -only to expose, in the fairest light, such as -are most obvious and natural. And here, by -the way, it may be worth observing, in honour -of a great Poet of the last century, I mean Dr. -<span class="smcap">Donne</span>, that, though agreeably to the turn of -his genius, and taste of his age, he was fonder, -than ever poet was, of these <i>secret and hidden</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">199</span> -<i>ways</i> in his lesser poetry; yet when he had -projected his great work “<i>On the progress of -the soul</i>” (of which we have only the beginning) -his good sense brought him out into -the freer <i>spaces</i> of nature and open day-light.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Largior hic compos æther, et lumine vestit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Purpureo: solemque suum, sua sidera norunt.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>In this, the author of <span class="smcap">Gondibert</span>, and another -writer of credit, a contemporary of <span class="smcap">Donne</span>, -Sir <span class="smcap">Fulk Grevil</span>, were not so happy. 2. -This work of <i>indirect imagery</i> is intended, -not so much to illustrate and enforce the original -thought, to which it is applied, as to -amuse and entertain the fancy, by holding up -to view, in these occasional digressive representations, -the pictures of pleasing scenes and -objects. But this <i>end</i> of allusion (which is -principal in the sublimer works of genius) restrains -the poet to the use of a few select -images, for the most part taken from obvious -common nature; these being always most -illustrious in themselves, and therefore most -apt to seize and captivate the imagination of -the reader. Thus is the poet confined, by the -very nature of his work, to a very moderate -compass of allusion, on both these accounts; -<i>first</i>, as he must employ the easiest and most -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">200</span> -apparent resemblances: and <i>secondly</i>, of <i>these</i>, -such as impress the most delightful images on -the fancy.</p> - -<p>This being the case, it cannot but happen, -that the allusions of different poets, of the -higher class, though writing without any communication -with each other, will, of course, -be much the same on similar occasions. There -are fixed and real analogies between different -<i>material objects</i>; between these objects, and -the <i>inward workings</i> of the mind; and, again, -between these, and the <i>external signs</i> of them. -Such, on every occasion, do not so properly -offer themselves to the searching eye of the -poet, as force themselves upon him; so that, -if he submit to be guided by the most natural -views of things, he cannot avoid a very remarkable -correspondence of imagery with his predecessors. -And we find this conclusion verified -in fact; as appears not only from comparing -together the great ancient and modern -writers, who are known to have held an intimate -correspondence with each other, but -those, who cannot be suspected of this commerce. -Several critics, I observed, have taken -great pains to illustrate the sentiments of Homer -from similar instances in the sacred writers. -The same design might easily be carried on, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">201</span> -in respect of <i>allusive imagery</i>; it being obvious -to common observation, that numberless -of the most beautiful <i>comparisons</i> in the Greek -poet are to be met with in the Hebrew prophets. -Nay, the remark may be extended to -the undisciplined writers and speakers of the -farthest <i>west</i> and <i>east</i>, whom nature instructs -to beautify and adorn their conceptions with the -same imagery. So little doth it argue an inferiority -of genius in Virgil, if it be true, as the -excellent translator of Homer says, “that he -has scarcely any <i>comparisons</i>, which are not -drawn from his master.”</p> - -<p>The truth is, the <i>nature</i> of the two subjects, -which the Greek poet had taken upon himself -to adorn, was such, that it led him through -every circumstance and situation of human -life; which his quick attentive observation -readily found the means of shewing to advantage -under the cover of the most fit and proper -imagery. Succeeding writers, who had <i>not</i> -contemplated his pictures, yet, drawing from -one common original, have unknowingly hit -upon the very same. And those, who <i>had</i>, -with all their endeavours after <i>novelty</i>, and -the utmost efforts of genius to strike out original -lights, have never been able to succeed -in their attempts. Our <i>Milton</i>, who was most -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">202</span> -ambitious of this fame of <i>invention</i>, and whose -vast and universal genius could not have missed -of new <i>analogies</i>, had nature’s self been able -to furnish them, is a glaring instance to our -purpose. He was so averse from resting in -the old imagery of Homer, and the other epic -poets, that he appears to have taken infinite -pains in the investigation of new <i>allusions</i>, -which he picked up out of the rubbish of every -silly legend or romance, that had come to his -knowledge, or extracted from the dry and -rugged materials of the sciences, and even the -mechanic arts. Yet, in comparison of the -genuine treasures of nature, which he found -himself obliged to make use of, in common -with other writers, his own proper stock of -<i>images</i>, imported from the regions of <i>art</i>, is -very poor and scanty; and, as might be expected, -makes the least agreeable part of his -divine work.</p> - -<p>What is here said of the epic holds, as I -hinted, of all the more serious kinds of poetry. -In works of a lighter cast, there is greater -liberty and a larger field of allusion permitted -to the poet. All the appearances in <i>art</i> and -<i>nature</i>, betwixt which there is any resemblance, -may be employed here to surprize and divert -the fancy. The further and more remote from -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">203</span> -vulgar apprehension these analogies lie, so -much the fitter for his purpose, which is not -so much to illustrate his ideas, as to place -them in new and uncommon lights, and entertain -the mind by that odd fantastic conjunction, -or opposition of ideas, which we -know by the name of <i>wit</i>. Nay, the <i>lowest</i>, -as well as the least obvious imagery will be, -oftentimes, the most proper; his view being -not to ennoble and raise his subject by the -means of <i>allusion</i>, but to sink and debase it -by every art, that hath a tendency to excite -the mirth and provoke the ridicule of the -reader. Here then we may expect a much -more original air, than in the higher designs -of invention. When all nature is before the -poet, and the genius of his work allows him -to seize her, as the shepherd did Proteus, in -every dirty form, into which she can possibly -twist herself, it were, indeed, a wonder, if he -should <i>chance</i> to coincide, in his imagery, -with any other, from whom he had not expressly -copied. They who are conversant in -works of <i>wit and humour</i>, more especially of -these later times, will know this to be the case, -in <i>fact</i>. There is not perhaps a single comparison -in the inimitable <span class="smcap">Telemaque</span>, which -had not, before, been employed by some or -other of the poets. Can any thing, like this, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">204</span> -be said of <span class="smcap">Rabelais</span>, <span class="smcap">Butler</span>, <span class="smcap">Marvel</span>, -<span class="smcap">Swift</span>, &c.?</p> - -<p><small>III</small>. It only remains to consider the <small>EXPRESSION</small>. -And in this are to be found the surest -and least equivocal marks of <i>imitation</i>. We -may regard it in <i>two</i> lights; either 1. as it -respects the <i>general</i> turn or manner of writing, -which we call a <i>style</i>; or 2. the peculiarities -of <i>phrase and diction</i>.</p> - -<p>1. A <i>style</i> in writing, if not formed in -express imitation of some certain <i>model</i>, is the -pure result of the disposition of the mind, and -takes its character from the predominant <i>quality</i> -of the writer. Thus a <i>short and compact</i>, -and a <i>diffused and flowing</i> expression are the -proper consequences of certain corresponding -characters of the human genius. One has a -vigorous comprehensive conception, and therefore -collects his sense into few words. Another, -whose imagination is more languid, contemplates -his objects leisurely, and so displays -their beauties in a greater compass of words, -and with more circumstance and parade of -language. A polite and elegant humour delights -in the grace of ease and perspicuity. A -severe and melancholic spirit inspires a forcible -but involved expression. There are many -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">205</span> -other nicer differences and peculiarities of -<i>manner</i>, which, though not reducible, perhaps, -to general heads, the critic of true taste -easily understands.</p> - -<p>2. As men of different tempers and dispositions -assume a different cast of expression, -so may the same observation be applied, still -more <i>generally</i>, to different <i>countries and -times</i>. It may be difficult to explain the <i>efficient -causes</i> of this diversity, which I have no -concern with at present. The <i>fact</i> is, that -the eloquence of the <i>eastern</i> world has, at all -times, been of another strain from that of the -<i>western</i>. And, also, in the several provinces -of <i>each</i>, there has been some peculiar <i>note</i> of -variation. The <i>Asiatic</i>, of old, had its proper -stamp, which distinguished it from the <i>Attic</i>; -just as the <i>Italian</i>, <i>French</i>, and <i>Spanish</i> wits -have, each, their several characteristic manners -of expression.</p> - -<p>A different state of <i>times</i> has produced the -like effect; which a late writer accounts for, -not unaptly, from what he calls a <i>progression -of life and manners</i>. That which cannot be -disputed is, that the <i>modes</i> of writing undergo -a perpetual change or variation in every country. -And it is further observable, that these -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">206</span> -<i>changes</i> in one country, under similar circumstances, -have a signal correspondence to those, -which the incessant rotation of taste brings -about in every other.</p> - -<p>Of near affinity to this last consideration is -<i>another</i> arising from the <i>corresponding genius</i> -of two people, however remote from each other -in time and place. And, as it happens, the -application may be made directly to ourselves -in a very important instance. “Languages, -says one, always take their character from -the genius of a people. So that two the -most distant states, thinking and acting with -the same generous love of mankind, must -needs have very near the same combinations -of ideas.—And it is our boast that in this -conformity we approach the nearest to ancient -Greece and Italy.” I quote these words -from a tract<a id="FNanchor_32" href="#Footnote_32" class="fnanchor">32</a>, which the author perhaps may -consider with the same neglect, as Cicero did -his earlier compositions on <i>Rhetoric</i>; but -which the curious will regard with reverence, -as a fine essay of his genius, and a prelude to -the great things he was afterwards seen capable -of producing. But to come to the use we may -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">207</span> -make of this fine observation. The corresponding -state of the English and Roman -people has produced very near the same <i>combinations -of ideas</i>. May we not carry the -conclusion still further on the same principle, -that it produced very near the same <i>combinations -of words</i>? The fact is, as the same -writer observes, That “we have a language -that is brief, comprehensive, nervous, and -majestic.” The very character which an old -Roman would give us of his own language. -And when the same general character of language -prevails, is it any thing strange that the -different modifications of it, or <i>peculiar styles</i>, -arising from the various turns and dispositions -of writers (which, too, in such circumstances -will be corresponding) should therefore be very -similar in the productions of the two states? -Or, in other words, can we wonder that some -of our best writers bear a nearer resemblance, -I mean independently of direct imitation, to -the Latin classics, than those of any other -people in modern times?</p> - -<p>But let it suffice to leave these remarks -without further comment or explanation.</p> - -<p>The use the discerning reader will make -of them is, that if different writers agree in -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">208</span> -the same <i>general disposition</i>, or in the same -<i>national character</i>; live together in the <i>same -period of time</i>; or in corresponding periods -of the <i>progression of manners</i>, or are under -the influence of a corresponding genius of <i>policy -and government</i>; in every of these cases, -some <i>considerable similarity</i> of expression -may be occasioned by the agency of <i>general -principles</i>, without any suspicion of studied or -designed <i>imitation</i>.</p> - -<p><small>II.</small> An <i>identity of phrase and diction</i>, is a -much surer note of <i>plagiarism</i>. For considering -the vast variety of <i>words</i>, which any -language, and especially the more copious ones -furnish, and the infinite possible combinations -of them into all the forms of <i>phraseology</i>, it -would be very strange, if two persons should -hit on the same identical <i>terms</i>, and much -more should they agree in the same precise -arrangement of them in whole sentences.</p> - -<p>There is no defending <i>coincidences</i> of this -kind; and whatever writers themselves may -pretend, or their friends for them, no one can -doubt a moment of such <i>identity</i> being a clear -and decisive proof of <i>imitation</i>.</p> - -<p>Yet this must be understood with some -limitations. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">209</span></p> - -<p>For 1. There are in every language some -current and authorized forms of speech, which -can hardly be avoided by a writer without -affectation. They are such as express the -most obvious sentiments, and which the ordinary -occasions of life are perpetually obtruding -on us. Now these, as by common agreement, -we chuse to deliver to one another in the same -<i>form</i> of words. Convenience dictates this to -one set of writers, and politeness renders it -sacred in another. Thus it will be true of -certain <i>phrases</i> (as, universally, of the <i>words</i>, -in any language), that they are left in common -to all writers, and can be claimed as matter of -<i>property</i>, by none. Not that such phraseology -will be frequent in nobler compositions, -as the familiarity of its usage takes from their -natural reserve and dignity. Yet on certain -<i>occasions</i>, which justify this negligence, or in -certain <i>authors</i>, who are not over-sollicitous -about these indecorums, we may expect to -meet with it. Hamlet says of his father,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>He was a man, take him for all in all</i>;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall not look upon his like again.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>which may be suspected of being stolen from -Sophocles, who has the following passage in -the <span class="smcap">Trachiniae</span>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">210</span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Πάντων ἄριστον ἄνδρα τῶν ἐπὶ χθονὶ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Κτείνασ’, ΟΠΟΙΟΝ ΑΛΛΟΝ ΟΥΚ ΟΨΕΙ ΠΟΤΕ.<br /></span> -<span class="author">v. 824.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The sentiment being one of the commonest, -that offers itself to the mind, the sole ground -of suspicion must lie in the <i>expression</i>, “<i>I -shall not look upon his like again</i>,” to which -the Greek so exactly answers. But these were -the ordinary expressions of such sentiment, in -the two languages; and neither the characters -of the great poets, nor the situation of the -speakers, would suffer the <i>affectation</i> of departing -from common usage.</p> - -<p>What is here said of the <i>situation of the -speakers</i> reminds me of another <i>class</i> of expressions, -which will often be <i>similar</i> in all -poets. <i>Nature</i>, under the <i>same</i> conjunctures, -gives birth to the <i>same</i> conceptions; and if they -be of such a kind, as to exclude all thought of -artifice, and the tricks of eloquence (as on -occasions of deep anxiety and distress) they -run, of themselves, into the <i>same</i> form of -expression. The wretched Priam, in his lamentation -of Hector, lets drop the following -words:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">οὗ μ’ ἄχος ὀξὺ κατοίσεται ἄïδος εἴσω:<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">211</span></p> - -<p>“This line, says his translator, is particularly -tender, and almost, word for word, the -same with that of the Patriarch <i>Jacob</i>; who, -upon a like occasion, breaks out in the same -complaint, and tells his children, that, if -they deprive him of his son <i>Benjamin, they -will bring down his grey hairs with sorrow -to the grave</i>.”</p> - -<p>We may, further, except, under this head, -certain privileged forms of speech, which the -peculiar idioms of <i>different</i> languages make -necessary in them, and which poetry consecrates -in <i>all</i>. But this is easily observed, and -its effect is not very considerable.</p> - -<p>2. In pleading this <i>identity of expression</i>, -regard must be had to the <i>language</i>, from -which the <i>theft</i> is supposed to be made. If -from the <i>same</i> language (setting aside the exceptions, -just mentioned) <i>the same arrangement -of the same words</i> is admitted as a certain -argument of <i>plagiarism</i>: nay, less than this -will do in some instances, as where the <i>imitated -expression</i> is pretty <i>singular</i>, or so -remarkable, on any account, as to be <i>well -known</i>, &c. But if from <i>another</i> language, -the matter is not so easy. It can rarely happen, -indeed, but by design, that there should -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">212</span> -be the <i>same order or composition</i> of words, in -two languages. But that which passes even -for <i>literal translation</i>, is but <i>a similar composition -of corresponding words</i>. And what -does this imply, but that the writers conceived -of their <i>object</i> in the same <i>manner</i>, and had -occasion to set it in the same light? An occasion, -which is perpetually recurring to all -authors. As may be gathered from that frequent -and strong resemblance in the <i>expression</i> -of moral sentiments, observable in the writers -of every age and country. Can there be a -commoner reflexion, or which more constantly -occurs to the mind under the same appearance, -than <i>that</i> of our great poet, who, speaking of -the state after death, calls it</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>That undiscovered country, from whose bourn</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>No traveller returns</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Shall we call this a translation of the Latin -poet;</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Nunc it per</i> iter tenebricosum<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Illuc, unde negant redire quenquam.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Catul.</span> III. v. 11.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Or, doth it amount to any more than this, -that the terms employed by the two writers in -expressing the same obvious thought are <i>correspondent</i>? -But <i>correspondency</i> and <i>identity</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">213</span> -are different things. The <i>latter</i> is only, where -the words are <i>numerically</i> the same, which -can only happen in one and the same language: -the other is effected by <i>different sets of words</i>, -which are numerous in every language, and -are therefore no convincing proof (abstractedly -from other circumstances) of <i>imitation</i>.</p> - -<p>From these general reflexions on <i>language</i>, -without refining too far, or prying too curiously -into the mysteries of it, the same conclusion -meets us, as before. The <i>expression</i> -of two writers may be <i>similar</i>, and sometimes -even <i>identical</i>, and yet be <i>original</i> in both. -Which shews the necessity there was to lead -the reader through this long investigation of -the general sources of <i>similitude</i> in works of -<small>INVENTION</small>, in order to put him into a condition -of judging truly and equitably of those of -<small>IMITATION</small>. For if <i>similarity</i>, even in this -province of <i>words</i>, which the reason of the -thing shews to be most free from the constraint -of general rules, be no argument of <i>theft</i> in -all cases; much less can it be pretended of the -other <i>subjects</i> of this inquiry, which from the -necessary uniformity of <i>nature</i> in all her appearances, -and of <i>common sense</i> in its operations -upon them, must give frequent and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">214</span> -unavoidable occasion to such <i>similarity</i>. But -then this is all I would insinuate.</p> - -<p>For, after the proper allowances, which -candid criticism requires to be made on this -head, it will still be true (and nothing in this -Essay attempts to contradict it) “that coincidences -of a certain <i>kind</i>, and in a certain -<i>degree</i>, cannot fail to convict a writer of -<i>imitation</i>.” What these <i>are</i>, the impatient -reader, I suppose, is ready to enquire. And, -not entirely to disappoint him, I have thrown -together, at the close of this volume, some remarks -which, perhaps, will be of use in solving -that difficult question<a id="FNanchor_33" href="#Footnote_33" class="fnanchor">33</a>. In the mean time, it -seemed of importance to free the mind from -the perversion of that early prejudice, which is -so prompt to mistake <i>resemblance</i> universally -for <i>imitation</i>. And what other method of effecting -this, than by taking a view of the extent -and influence of the genuine powers of <i>nature</i>, -which, when rightly apprehended, make it an -easier task to detect, in particular instances, -the intervention of <i>design</i>?</p> - -<p>Allowing then (what this previous inquiry -not only no way contradicts but even assists us -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">215</span> -in perceiving more clearly) that certain <i>resemblances</i> -may be urged as undoubted proofs -of <i>imitation</i>, it remains only to the integrity -of this discourse, to satisfy that other question, -“<i>how far the credit of the imitator is concerned -in the discovery</i>;” or, in other words, -(since the praise of <i>invention</i> is of the highest -value to the poet) “how far the concession of -his having borrowed from others, may be -justly thought to detract from him in that -respect.” An <i>inquiry</i>, which, though for its -consequences to the fame of all great writers, -since the time of Homer, of much importance, -may yet be dispatched in few words. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">216</span></p> - -<h3>SECTION II.</h3> - -<p>In entering on this apology for <i>professed -imitators</i>, I shall not be suspected of undervaluing -the proper merits of <i>invention</i>, which -unquestionably holds the first place in the -<i>virtutes</i> of a poet, and is that power, which, -of all others, enables him to give the highest -entertainment to the reader. Much less will -it be thought, that I am here pleading the -cause of those base and abject spirits, who have -not the courage or ability to attempt any thing -of themselves, and can barely make a shift, as -a great poet of our own expresses it, <i>to creep -servilely after the sense of</i> some other. These -I readily resign to the shame and censure, -which have so justly followed them in all ages; -as subscribing to the truth of that remark, -“<i>Imitatio per se ipsa non sufficit</i>, vel <i>quia -pigri est ingenii, contentum esse iis, quae -sunt ab aliis inventa</i>.” My concern is only -with those, whose talent of original genius is -not disputed, but the <i>degree</i> of strength and -vigour, with which it prevails in them, somewhat -lowered in the general estimation, from -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">217</span> -this imputed crime of <small>PLAGIARISM</small>. And, with -respect to such as these, something, I conceive, -may be said, not undeserving the notice -of the candid reader.</p> - -<p>1. The most universal cause, inducing <i>imitation</i> -in great writers, is, the force of early -<i>discipline and education</i>. Were it true, that -poets took their <i>descriptions and images</i> immediately -from common nature, one might -expect, indeed, a general <i>similitude</i> in their -works, but such, as could seldom or never, in -all its circumstances, amount to a strict and -rigorous correspondency. The <i>properties</i> of -things are so numerous, and the <i>lights</i> in -which they shew themselves to a mind uninfluenced -by former prejudices, so different, -that some grace of novelty, some tincture of -original beauty, would constantly infuse itself -into all their delineations. But the case is far -otherwise. Strong as the bent of the imagination -may be to contemplate living forms, and -to gaze with delight on this grand theatre of -<i>nature</i>, its attention is soon taken off, and -arrested, on all sides, by those infinite mirrors, -and reflexions of things, which it every where -meets with in the world of <i>imitation</i>. We are -habituated to a survey of this <i>secondary and -derivative nature</i>; as presented in the admired -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">218</span> -works of <i>art</i>, through the entire course of our -education. The writings of the best poets are -put into our hands, to instruct us in the knowledge -of <i>men and things</i>, as soon as we are -capable of apprehending them. Nay, we are -taught to lisp their very <i>words</i>, in our tenderest -infancy. Some quick and transient -glances we cannot chuse but cast, at times, -on the phænomena of living beauty; but its -forms are rarely contemplated by us with diligence, -but in these <i>mirrors</i>, which are the -constant furniture of our schools and closets. -And no wonder, were we even left to ourselves, -that such should be our <i>proper</i> choice and -determination. For, by the prodigious and -almost magical operations of <i>fancy</i> on original -objects, they even shew fairer, and are made -to look more attractive, in these artificial representations, -than in their own rude and -native aspects. Thus, by the united powers -of <i>discipline</i> and <i>inclination</i>, we are almost -necessitated to <i>see</i> nature in the same <i>light</i>, -and to know her only in the <i>dress</i>, in which -her happier suitors and favourites first gave -her to observation.</p> - -<p>The effect of this early bias of the mind, -which insensibly grows into the inveteracy of -habit, needs not be insisted on. When the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">219</span> -poet, thus tutored in the works of <i>imitation</i>, -comes to address himself to <i>invention</i>, these -familiar images, which he hath so often and -so fondly admired, immediately step in and -intercept his observation of their great <i>original</i>. -Or, if he has power to hold them off, and -turn his eye directly on the <i>primary object</i>, -he still inclines to view it only on that side and -in those <i>lights</i>, in which he has been accustomed -to study it. Nor let it be said, that -this is the <i>infirmity</i>, only, of weak minds. It -belongs to our very natures, and the utmost -vigour of genius is no security against it. <i>Custom</i>, -in this as in every thing else, moulds, at -pleasure, the soft and ductile matter of a <i>minute</i> -spirit, and by degrees can even bend the -elastic metal of the <i>greatest</i>.</p> - -<p>And if the force of habit can thus determine -a writer knowingly, to <i>imitation</i>, it cannot be -thought strange, that it should frequently carry -him into <i>resemblance</i>, when himself perhaps -is not aware of it. Great readers, who have -their memories fraught with the stores of ancient -and modern poetry, unavoidably employ -the <i>sentiments</i>, and sometimes the very <i>words</i>, -of other writers, without any distinct remembrance -of them, or so much as the suspicion -of having seen them. At the least, their -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">220</span> -general cast of thinking or turn of expression -will be much affected by them. For the most -original writer as certainly takes a <i>tincture</i> -from the authors in which he has been most -conversant; as water, from the beds of earths -or minerals, it hath happened to run over. -Especially such authors, as are studied and -even got by heart by us in our early youth, -leave a lasting impression, which is hardly -ever effaced out of the mind. Hence a certain -constrained and unoriginal air, in some degree -or other, in every genius, throughly disciplined -by a <i>course of learned education</i>. Which, by -the way, leads to a question, not very absurd -in itself, however it may pass with most readers -for paradoxical, viz. “<i>Whether the usual -forms of learning be not rather injurious to -the true poet, than really assisting to him?</i>” -It should seem to be so for a <i>natural reason</i>. -For the faculty of <i>invention</i>, as all our other -powers, is much improved and strengthened -by exercise. And great reading prevents this, -by demanding the perpetual exercise of the -<i>memory</i>. Thus the mind becomes not only -indisposed, but, for want of use, really unqualified, -to turn itself to other views, than -such as habitual recollection easily presents to -it. And this, I am persuaded, hath been the -case with many a fine genius, and especially -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">221</span> -with <i>one</i> of our own country<a id="FNanchor_34" href="#Footnote_34" class="fnanchor">34</a>; who, as appears -from some original efforts in the sublime -allegorical way, had no want of natural talents -for the greater poetry; which yet were so -restrained and disabled by his constant and -superstitious study of the old classics, that he -was, in fact, but a very ordinary poet.</p> - -<p>2. But were early <i>habit</i> of less power to -incline the mind to <i>imitation</i>, than it really is, -yet the high hand of <i>authority</i> would compel -it. For the first originals in the several species -of poetry, like the Autocthones of old, were -deemed to have come into the world by a kind -of miracle. They were perfect prodigies, at -least reputed so by the admiring multitude, -from their first appearance. So that their authority, -in a short time, became sacred; and -succeeding writers were obliged, at the hazard -of their fame, and as they dreaded the charge -of a presumptuous and <i>prophane libertinism</i> -in poetry, to take them for their guides and -models. Which is said even without the -licence of a figure; at least of <i>one</i> of them; -whom Cicero calls <i>the fountain and origin of -all</i> <small>DIVINE</small> <i>institutions</i><a id="FNanchor_35" href="#Footnote_35" class="fnanchor">35</a>; and another, of elder -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">222</span> -and more reverend estimation, pronounces to -be ὁ θεὸς καὶ θεῶν προφήτης<a id="FNanchor_36" href="#Footnote_36" class="fnanchor">36</a>·</p> - -<p>And what is here observed of the <i>influence</i> -of these master spirits, whom the admiration -of antiquity hath placed at the head of the -poetic world, will, with some allowance, hold -also, of <i>that</i> of later, though less original -writers, whose uncommon merits have given -them a distinguished rank in it.</p> - -<p>3. <i>Next</i>, (as it usually comes to pass in -other instances) what was, at first, imposed by -the rigour of <i>authority</i>, soon grew respectable -in <i>itself</i>, and was chosen for its own sake, as -a <i>virtue</i>, which deserved no small commendation. -For, when sober and enlightened criticism -began to inspect, at leisure, these miracles -of early invention, it presently acknowledged -them for the <i>best</i>, as well as the most <i>ancient</i>, -poetic models, and accordingly recommended, -or more properly enjoined them by rule, to -the imitation of all ages. The effect of this -criticism was clearly seen in the works of all -succeeding poets in the <i>same</i> language. But, -when a new and different one was to be -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">223</span> -furnished with fresh <i>models</i>, it became much -more conspicuous. For, besides the same or -a still higher veneration of their <i>inventions</i>, -which the distance of place and time insensibly -procured to them, the grace of <i>novelty</i>, which -they would appear to have in another <i>language</i>, -was, now, a further inducement to copy them. -Hence we find it to be the utmost pride of the -<i>Roman</i> writers, such I mean as came the -nearest to them in the divinity of their genius, -to follow the practice, and emulate the virtues, -of the <i>Grecian</i>.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Libera per vacuum posui vestigia princeps,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Non aliena meo pressi pede</i>—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>says <i>one</i> of the best of those writers, who yet -was only treading in the <i>footsteps</i> of his Grecian -masters.</p> - -<p>But <i>another</i> was less reserved, and seemed -desirous of being taken notice of, as an express -<i>imitator</i>, without so much as laying in his -claim to this sort of originality, in a new language—in -multis versibus Virgilius fecit—non -surripiendi causâ, sed <i>palam</i> imitandi, <i>hoc -animo ut vellet agnosci</i>. <i>Sen. Suasor.</i> <small>III.</small></p> - -<p>And, on the revival of these arts in later -times and more barbarous languages, the same -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">224</span> -spirit appeared again, or rather superior honours -were paid to successful <i>imitation</i>. So -that what a polite French writer declares on -this head is, now, become the fixed opinion of -the learned in all countries. “C’est même -donner une grace à ses ouvrages, que de les -orner de fragmens antiques. Des vers d’Horace -et de Virgile bien traduits, et mis en -œuvre à propos dans un poëme François, y -font le même effet que les statuës antiques -font dans la gallerie de Versailles. Les lecteurs -retrouvent avec plaisir, sous une nouvelle -forme, la pensée, qui leur plût autrefois -en Latin<a id="FNanchor_37" href="#Footnote_37" class="fnanchor">37</a>.”</p> - -<p>It should, further, be added, that this praise -of borrowing from the originals of <i>Greece</i> and -<i>Rome</i> is now extended to the imitation of great -<i>modern</i> authors. Every body applauds this -practice, where the imitation is of approved -writers in <i>different</i> languages. And even in -the <i>same</i> languages, when this liberty is taken -with the most ancient and venerable, it is not -denied to have its <i>grace</i> and merit.</p> - -<p>4. But, besides these several incitements, -<i>similarity of genius</i>, alone, will, almost necessarily -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">225</span> -determine a writer to the studious -emulation of some other. For, though it is -with the <i>minds</i>, as the <i>faces</i> of men, that no -two are exactly and in every feature alike; yet -the general cast of their genius, as well as the -air and turn of the countenance, will frequently -be very <i>similar</i> in different persons. When -two such spirits approach, they run together -with eagerness and rapidity: the instinctive -bias of the mind towards <i>imitation</i> being now -quickened by <i>passion</i>. This is chiefly said in -respect of that uniformity of <i>style and manner</i>, -which, whenever we observe it in two writers, -we almost constantly charge to the account of -<i>imitation</i>. Indeed, where the resemblance -holds to the last degree of <i>minuteness</i>, or -where the <i>peculiarities</i>, only, of the model -are taken, there is ground enough for this suspicion. -For every original genius, however -consonant, in the main, to any other, has still -some distinct marks and characters of his own, -by which he may be distinguished; and to -copy <i>peculiarities</i>, when there is no appearance -of the same original spirit, which gave -birth to them, is manifest affectation. But -the question is put of such, whose <i>manner</i> -hath only a <i>general</i>, though strong, resemblance -to that of some other, and whose true -genius is above the suspicion of falling into the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">226</span> -trap of what Horace happily calls, <small>EXEMPLAR -VITIIS IMITABILE</small>. And of these it is perhaps -juster to say, that a previous correspondency -of <i>character</i> impelled to <i>imitate</i>, than that -imitation itself produced that correspondency -of <i>character</i>. At least (which is all my concern -it present) it will be allowed to incline -a writer strongly to <i>imitation</i>; and where a -congenial spirit appears to provoke him to it, -a candid critic will not be forward to turn this -circumstance to the dishonour of his <i>invention</i>.</p> - -<p>5. Lastly, were every other consideration -out of the way, yet, oftentimes, the <i>very nature -of the poet’s theme</i> would oblige him to -a diligent <i>imitation</i> of preceding writers. I -do not mean this of such subjects, as suggest -and produce a necessary conformity of description, -whether purposely intended or not. This -hath been fully considered. But my meaning -is, that, when the greater provinces of poetry -have been, already, occupied, and its most -interesting scenes exhausted; or, rather, their -application to the uses of poetry determined -by great masters, it becomes, thenceforward, -unavoidable for succeeding writers to draw -from their sources. The law of probability -exacts this at their hands; and one may almost -affirm, that to <i>copy</i> them closely is to paint after -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">227</span> -<i>nature</i>. I shall explain myself by an instance -or two.</p> - -<p>With regard to the religious opinions and -ceremonies of the Pagan world, the writings -of Homer, it is said and very truly, were “<i>the -standard of private belief, and the grand -directory of public worship</i><a id="FNanchor_38" href="#Footnote_38" class="fnanchor">38</a>.” Whatever -liberty might have been taken with the rites -and gods of Paganism before his time, yet, -when he had given an exact description of -<i>both</i>, and had formed, to the satisfaction of -all, the established religion into a kind of <i>system</i>, -succeeding poets were obliged, of course, -to take their theology from him; and could no -longer be thought to write <i>justly and naturally</i> -of their Gods, than whilst their <i>descriptions</i> -conformed to the <i>authentic</i> delineations -of <i>Homer</i>. His relations, and even the <i>fictions</i>, -which his genius had raised on the -popular creed of elder Paganism, were now -the proper archetype of all <i>religious representations</i>. -And to speak of <i>these</i>, as given -<i>truly and originally</i>, is, in effect, to say, that -they were borrowed or rather transcribed from -the page of <i>that poet</i>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">228</span></p> - -<p>And the same may be observed of <i>historical -facts</i>, as of <i>religious traditions</i>. For not -unfrequently, where the subject is taken from -authentic history, the authority of a preceding -poet is so prevalent, as to render <i>any</i> account -of the matter improbable, which is not -fashioned and regulated after his ideas. A -succeeding writer is neither at liberty to relate -matters of fact, which no one thinks <i>credible</i>, -nor to <i>feign</i> afresh for himself. In this case, -again, all that the most original genius has to -do, is to <i>imitate</i>. We have been told that -the <i>second book of the</i> <span class="smcap">Aeneis</span> was translated -from Pisander<a id="FNanchor_39" href="#Footnote_39" class="fnanchor">39</a>. Another thinks, it was taken -from the <small>LITTLE ILIAD</small><a id="FNanchor_40" href="#Footnote_40" class="fnanchor">40</a>. Or, why confine -him to either of these, when <span class="smcap">Metrodorus</span>, -<span class="smcap">Syagrus</span>, <span class="smcap">Hegesianax</span>, <span class="smcap">Aratus</span>, and others, -wrote poems on <i>the taking</i> of <span class="smcap">Troy</span>? But -granting the poet (as is most likely) to have -had these originals before him, what shall we -infer from it? Only this, that he took his -principal facts and circumstances (as we see -he was obliged to do for the sake of <i>probability</i>) -from these writers. And why should -this be thought a greater crime in him, than -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">229</span> -in <span class="smcap">Polygnotus</span>; who, in his famous picture -on this subject, was under the necessity, and -for the same reason, of collecting his <i>subject-matter</i> -from several poets<a id="FNanchor_41" href="#Footnote_41" class="fnanchor">41</a>?</p> - -<p>It follows, from these considerations, that -we cannot justify ourselves in thinking so -hardly, as we commonly do, of the class of -<i>imitators</i>; which is, now, by the concurrence -of various circumstances, become the necessary -character of almost all poets. Nor let it be -any concern to the <i>true</i> poet, that it is so. -For <i>imitations</i>, when real and confessed, may -still have their merit; nay, I presume to add, -sometimes a <i>greater</i> merit, than the very originals -on which they are formed: And, with -the reader’s leave (though I am hastening to a -conclusion of this long discourse), I will detain -him, one moment, with the reasons of this -opinion.</p> - -<p>After all the praises that are deservedly given -to the novelty of a <i>subject</i>, or the beauty of -<i>design</i>, the supreme merit of poetry, and that -which more especially immortalizes the writers -of it, lies in the <i>execution</i>. It is thus that -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">230</span> -the poets of the Augustan age have not so -properly excelled, as discredited, all the productions -of their predecessors; and that those -of the age of Louis XIV<sup>th</sup> not only obscure, -but will in process of time obliterate, the fame -and memory of the elder French writers. Or, -to see the effect of masterly execution in single -instances, hence it is, that Lucilius not only -yields to Horace, but would be almost forgotten -by us, if it had not been for the honour -his imitator has done him. And nobody needs -be told the advantage which Pope is likely to -have over all our older satirists, excellent as -some of them are, and more entitled than he -to the honour of being inventors. We have -here, then, an established <i>fact</i>. The first -essays of genius, though ever so original, are -overlooked; while the later productions of -men, who had never risen to such distinction -but by means of the very originals they disgrace, -obtain the applause and admiration of -all ages.</p> - -<p>The solution of this <i>fact</i>, so notorious, and, -at the same time, so contrary, in appearance, -to the honours which men are disposed to pay -to original invention, will open the mystery -of that matter we are now considering. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">231</span></p> - -<p>The faculties, or, as we may almost term -them, the magic powers, which <i>ope the palace -of eternity</i> to great writers, are a <i>confirmed -judgment</i>, and <i>ready invention</i>.</p> - -<p>Now the <i>first</i> is seen to most advantage, in -selecting, out of all preceding stores, the particulars -that are most suited to the nature of -a poet’s work, and the ends of poetry. When -true genius has exhausted, as it were, the -various <i>manners</i>, in which a work of art may -be conducted, and the various <i>topics</i> which -may be employed to adorn it, <i>judgment</i> is in -its province, or rather sovereignty, when it -determines which of all these is to be preferred, -and which neglected. In this sense, as well -as others, it will be most true, <i>Quòd artis pars -magna contineatur imitatione</i>.</p> - -<p>Nay, by means of this discernment, the very -<i>topic</i> or method, which had no effect, or perhaps -an ill one, under one management, or in -one situation, shall charm every reader, in -another. And by force of <i>judging right</i>, the -copier shall almost lose his title, and become -an inventor:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tantum <i>de medio</i> sumptis accedit honoris.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">232</span></p> - -<p>But imitation, though it give most room to -the display of judgment, does not exclude the -exercise of the other faculty, <i>invention</i>. Nay, -it requires the most dextrous, perhaps the -most difficult, exertion of this faculty. For -consider how the case stands. When we -speak of an <i>imitator</i>, we do not speak, as the -poet says, of</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A barren-spirited fellow, one who feeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On abject orts, and imitations—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>but of one, who, in aiming to be like, contends -also to be equal to his original. To -attain to this <i>equality</i>, it is not enough that -he select the best of those stores which are -ready prepared to his hand (for thus he would -be rather a skilful borrower, than a successful -imitator); but, in taking something from -others, he must add much of his own: he -must improve the <i>expression</i>, where it is defective -or barely passable: he must throw fresh -lights of fancy on a common <i>image</i>: he must -strike out new hints from a vulgar <i>sentiment</i>. -Thus, he will complete his original, where he -finds it <i>imperfect</i>: he will supply its <i>omissions</i>: -he will emulate, or rather surpass, its highest -<i>beauties</i>. Or, in despair of this last, we shall -find him taking a different <i>route</i>; giving us -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">233</span> -an equivalent in a beauty of another kind, -which yet he extracts from some latent intimation -of his author; or, where his purpose -requires the very same representation, giving -it a new form, perhaps a nobler, by the turn -of his application.</p> - -<p>But all this requires not only the truest -judgment, but the most delicate operation of -inventive genius. And, where they both meet -in a supreme degree, we sometimes find an -admired original, not only excelled by his -imitator, but almost discredited. Of which, -if there were no other, the sixth book of Virgil, -I mean taking it in the light of an <i>imitation</i>, -is an immortal instance.</p> - -<p>Thus much I could not forbear saying on -the <i>merit</i> of successful imitation. As to the -<i>necessity</i> of the thing, hear the apology of a -great Poet, for himself. “All that is left us, -says this original writer, is to recommend -our productions by the imitation of the ancients: -and it will be found true, that, in -every age, the highest character for sense -and learning has been obtained by those who -have been the most indebted to them. For, -to say truth, whatever is very good sense, -must have been common sense in all times; -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">234</span> -and what we call learning is but the knowledge -of our predecessors. Therefore they -who say our thoughts are not our own, because -they resemble the ancients, may as -well say, our faces are not our own, because -they are like our fathers: and indeed it is -very unreasonable, that people should expect -us to be scholars, and yet be angry to find -us so<a id="FNanchor_42" href="#Footnote_42" class="fnanchor">42</a>.”</p> - -<p>He adds, “<i>I fairly confess, that I have -served myself all I could by reading</i>:” where -the good sense of the <i>practice</i>, is as conspicuous, -as the ingenuity, so becoming the greatness of -his character, in <i>confessing</i> it. For, when a -writer, who, as we have seen, is driven by so -many powerful motives to the imitation of preceding -models, revolts against them all, and -determines, at any rate, to be <i>original</i>, nothing -can be expected but an aukward straining -in every thing. <i>Improper method</i>, <i>forced -conceits</i>, and <i>affected expression</i>, are the certain -issue of such obstinacy. The business is -to be <i>unlike</i>; and this he may very possibly -be, but at the expence of graceful ease and -true beauty. For he puts himself, at best, -into a convulsed, unnatural state; and it is -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">235</span> -well, if he be not forced, beside his purpose, -to leave <i>common sense</i>, as well as his <i>model</i>, -behind him. Like one who would break -loose from an impediment, which holds him -fast; the very endeavour to get clear of it -throws him into <i>uneasy attitudes</i>, and <i>violent -contorsions</i>; and, if he gain his liberty at -last, it is by an <i>effort</i>, which carries him -much further than the <i>point</i> he would wish -to stop at.</p> - -<p>And, that the reader may not suspect me -of asserting this without experience, let me -exemplify what has been here said in the case -of a very eminent person, who, with all the -advantages of art and nature that could be -required to adorn the true poet, was ruined -by this single error. The person I mean was -Sir <span class="smcap">William D’Avenant</span>; whose <i>Gondibert</i> -will remain a perpetual monument of the -mischiefs, which must ever arise from this -affectation of originality in lettered and polite -poets.</p> - -<p>The great author, when he projected his -plan of an heroic poem, was so far from intending -to steer his course by <i>example</i>, that -he sets out, in his preface, with upbraiding -the followers of Homer, as a base and timorous -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">236</span> -crew of <i>coasters</i>, who would not adventure to -launch forth on the vast ocean of invention. -For, speaking of this poet, he observes, “that, -as sea marks are chiefly used to coasters, -and serve not those who have the ambition -of discoverers, that love to sail in untried -seas; so he hath rather proved a guide for -those, whose satisfied wit will not venture -beyond the track of others; than to them, -who affect a new and remote way of thinking; -who esteem it a deficiency and meanness of -mind, to stay and depend upon the authority -of example<a id="FNanchor_43" href="#Footnote_43" class="fnanchor">43</a>.”</p> - -<p>And, afterwards, he professedly makes his -own merit to consist in “an endeavour to lead -truth through unfrequented and new ways, -and from the most remote shades; by representing -nature, though not in an affected, -yet in an unusual dress<a id="FNanchor_44" href="#Footnote_44" class="fnanchor">44</a>.” These were the -principles he went upon: let us now attend to -the success of his endeavours.</p> - -<p>The <small>METHOD</small> of his work is defective in -many respects. To instance in the two following. -Observing the large compass of the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">237</span> -ancient epic, for which he saw no cause in -nature, and which, he supposed, had been -followed merely from a blind deference to the -authority of the first model, he resolved to -construct an heroic poem on the narrower and, -as he conceived, juster plan of the dramatic -poets. And, because it was their practice, for -the purpose of <i>raising the passions</i> by a close -accelerated plot, and for the convenience of -<i>representation</i>, to conclude their subject in -<i>five acts</i>, he affects to restrain himself within -the same limits. The event was, that, cutting -himself off, by this means, from the opportunity -of digressive ornaments, which contribute -so much to the pomp of the epic poetry; and, -what is more essential, from the advantage of -the most gradual and circumstantiated narration, -which gives an air of <i>truth and reality</i> -to the fable, he failed in accomplishing the -proper <i>end</i> of this poem, <small>ADMIRATION</small>; <i>produced</i> -by a grandeur of design and variety of -important incidents, and <i>sustained</i> by all the -energy and minute particularity of description.</p> - -<p>2. It was essential to the ancient epos to -raise and exalt the fable by the intervention of -<i>supernatural agency</i>. This, again, the poet -mistook for the prejudice of the affected imitators -of Homer, “who had so often led them -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">238</span> -into heaven and hell, till, by conversation -with gods and ghosts, they sometimes deprive -us of those natural probabilities in -story, which are instructive to human life<a id="FNanchor_45" href="#Footnote_45" class="fnanchor">45</a>.” -Here then he would needs be original; and so, -by recording only the affairs of men, hath -fairly omitted a necessary part of the epic plan, -and that which, of all others, had given the -greatest state and magnificence to its construction. -Yet here, to do him justice, one thing -deserves our commendation. It had been the -way of the Italian romancers, who were at that -time the best poets, to run very much into -prodigy and enchantment. “Not only to -exceed the <i>work</i>, but also the <i>possibility</i> of -nature, they would have impenetrable armors, -inchanted castles, invulnerable bodies, iron -men, flying horses, and a thousand other -such things, which are easily feigned by -them that dare<a id="FNanchor_46" href="#Footnote_46" class="fnanchor">46</a>.” These conceits, he rightly -saw, had too slender a foundation in the serious -belief of his age to justify a relation of them. -And had he only dropped these, his conduct -had been without blame. But, as it is the -weakness of human nature, the observation of -this extreme determined him to the other, of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">239</span> -admitting nothing, however well established in -the general opinion, that was <i>supernatural</i>.</p> - -<p>And as here he did too much, so in another -respect, it may be observed, he did too little. -The romancers, before spoken of, had carried -their notions of <i>gallantry</i> in ordinary life, as -high, as they had done those of <i>preternatural -agency</i>, in their marvellous fictions. Yet here -this original genius, who was not to be held -by the shackles of superstition, suffered himself -to be entrapped in the silken net of <i>love -and honour</i>. And so hath adopted, in his -draught of <i>characters</i>, that elevation of sentiment -which a change of manners could not but -dispose the reader to regard as <i>fantastic</i> in the -Gothic romance, at the same time that he rejected -what had the truest grace in the ancient -epic, a <i>sober intermixture of religion</i>.</p> - -<p>The <i>execution</i> of his poem was answerable -to the general <i>method</i>. His <small>SENTIMENTS</small> are -frequently forced, and so tortured by an affectation -of wit, that every stanza hath the air of -an epigram. And the <small>EXPRESSION</small>, in which he -cloaths them, is so quaint and figurative, as turns -his description almost into a continued riddle.</p> - -<p>Such was the effect of a studious affectation -of <i>originality</i> in a writer, who, but for this -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">240</span> -misconduct, had been in the first rank of our -poets. His endeavour was to keep clear of the -models, in which his youth had been instructed, -and which he perfectly understood. And in -this indeed he succeeded. But the success lost -him the possession of, what his large soul appears -to have been full of, a true and permanent -glory; which hath ever arisen, and can only -arise, from the unambitious simplicity of nature; -<i>contemplated</i> in her own proper form, -or, by <i>reflexion</i>, in the faithful mirror of those -very models, he so much dreaded.</p> - -<p>In short, from what hath been here advanced, -and especially as confirmed by so uncommon -an instance, I think myself entitled to come at -once to this <i>general conclusion</i>, which they, -who have a comprehensive view of the history -of letters, in their several periods, and a just -discernment to estimate their state in them, will -hardly dispute with me, “that, though many -causes concur to produce a thorough degeneracy -of taste in any country; yet the <i>principal</i>, -ever, is, <small>THIS ANXIOUS DREAD OF IMITATION -IN POLITE AND CULTIVATED WRITERS</small>.”</p> - -<p>And, if such be the case, among the other -uses of this Essay, it may perhaps serve for a -seasonable admonition to the poets of our time, -to relinquish their vain hopes of <i>originality</i>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">241</span> -and turn themselves to a stricter imitation of -the best models. I say, a <i>seasonable admonition</i>; -for the more polished a nation is, and -the more generally these models are understood, -the greater danger there is, as was now observed, -of running into that worst of literary -faults, <i>affectation</i>. But, to stimulate their -endeavours to this practice, the judgment of -the public should first be set right; and their -readers prepared to place a just value upon it. -In this respect, too, I would willingly contribute, -in some small degree, to the service of -letters. For the poet, whose object is <i>fame</i>, -will always adapt himself to the humour of -those, who confer it. And till the public taste -be reduced, by sober criticism, to a just -standard, strength of genius will only enable -a writer to pervert it still further, by a too -successful compliance with its vicious expectations. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">242</span></p> - -<p class="ph1"><small>A</small><br /> - -DISSERTATION<br /> - -<small>ON</small><br /> - -<span class="x-large">THE MARKS OF IMITATION.</span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">243</span></p> - -<h2 id="DISSERTATION_IV">DISSERTATION IV.<br /> - -<small>ON</small><br /> - -<span class="large">THE MARKS OF IMITATION.</span></h2> - -<h3>TO MR. MASON.</h3> - -<p>I have said, in the discourse on <span class="smcap">Poetical -Imitation</span>, “that coincidencies of a certain -<i>kind</i>, and in a certain <i>degree</i>, cannot fail to -convict a writer of Imitation<a id="FNanchor_47" href="#Footnote_47" class="fnanchor">47</a>.” You are curious, -my friend, to know what these <i>coincidencies</i> -are, and have thought that an attempt -to point them out would furnish an useful -Supplement to what I have written on this -subject. But the just execution of this design -would require, besides a careful examination -of the workings of the human mind, an exact -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">246</span> -scrutiny of the most original and most imitative -writers. And, with all your partiality for me, -can you, in earnest, think me capable of fulfilling -the <i>first</i> of these conditions; Or, if I -were, do you imagine that, at this time o’ day, -I can have the leisure to perform the <i>other</i>? -My younger years, indeed, have been spent in -turning over those authors which young men are -most fond of; and among these I will not disown -that the Poets of ancient and modern fame -have had their full share in my affection. But -you, who love me so well, would not wish -me to pass more of my life in these flowery -regions; which though you may yet wander -in without offence, and the rather as you -wander in them with so pure a mind and to so -moral a purpose, there seems no decent pretence -for me to loiter in them any longer.</p> - -<p>Yet in saying this I would not be thought -to assume that severe character; which, though -sometimes the garb of reason, is oftener, I -believe, the mask of dulness, or of something -worse. No, I am too sensible to the charms, -nay to the uses of your profession, to affect a -contempt for it. The great Roman said well, -<i>Haec studia adolescentiam alunt; senectutem -oblectant</i>. We make a full meal of them in -our youth. And no philosophy requires so -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">247</span> -perfect a mortification as that we should wholly -abstain from them in our riper years. But -should we invert the observation; and take -this light food not as the refreshment only, but -as the proper <i>nourishment</i> of Age; such a -name as Cicero’s, I am afraid, would be -wanting, and not easily found, to justify the -practice.</p> - -<p>Let us own then, on a greater authority than -His, “That every thing is beautiful in its -season.” The Spring hath its <i>buds and -blossoms</i>: But, as the year runs on, you are -not displeased, perhaps, to see them fall off; -and would certainly be disappointed not to find -them, in due time, succeeded by those <i>mellow -hangings</i>, the poet somewhere speaks of.</p> - -<p>I could alledge still graver reasons. But I -would only say, in one word, that your friend -has had his share in these amusements. I may -recollect with pleasure, but must never live -over again</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Pieriosque dies, et amantes carmina somnos.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Yet something, you insist, is to be done; and, -if it amount to no more than a specimen or -slight sketch, such as my memory, or the few -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">248</span> -notes I have by me, would furnish, the design, -you think, is not totally to be relinquished.</p> - -<p>I understand the danger of gratifying you on -these terms. Yet, whatever it be, I have no -power to excuse myself from any attempt, by -which, you tell me at least, I may be able to -gratify you. I will do my best, then, to draw -together such observations, as I have sometimes -thought, in reading the poets, most material -for the certain discovery of <i>Imitations</i>. And -I address them to <small>YOU</small>, not only as you are -the properest judge of the subject; you, who -understand so well in what manner the Poets -are us’d to imitate each other, and who yourself -so finely imitate the best of them; But as -I would give you this small proof of my affection, -and have perhaps the ambition of publishing -to the world in this way the entire -friendship, that subsists between us.</p> - -<p>You tell me I have not succeeded amiss in -explaining the difficulty of detecting <i>Imitations</i>. -The materials of poetry, you own, lie -so much in common amongst all writers, and -the several ways of employing them are so much -under the controul of common sense, that -writings will in many respects be similar, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">249</span> -where there is no thought or design of <i>Imitating</i>. -I take advantage of this concession -to conclude from it, That we can seldom pronounce -with certainty of Imitations without -some external proof to assist us in the discovery. -You will understand me to mean by -these <i>external proofs</i>, the previous knowledge -we have, from considerations not respecting -the <i>Nature</i> of the work itself, of the writer’s -<i>ability</i> or <i>inducements</i> to imitate. Our first -enquiry, then, will be, concerning the <i>Age</i>, -<i>Character</i>, and <i>Education</i> of the supposed -Imitator.</p> - -<p>We can determine with little certainty, how -far the principal Greek writers have been indebted -to Imitation. We trace the waters of -Helicon no higher than to their source. And -we acquiesce, with reason, in the device of -the old painter, you know of, who somewhat -rudely indeed, but not absurdly, drew the -figure of Homer with a fountain streaming -out of his mouth, and the other poets watering -at it.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hither, as to their fountain, other Stars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Repairing, in their golden urns draw light.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The Greek writers then were, or, for any -thing we can say, might be Original. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">250</span></p> - -<p>But we can rarely affirm this of any other. -And the reason is plain. When a taste for -letters prevailed in any country, if it arose at -first from the efforts of original thinking, it -was immediately cherished and cultivated by -the study of the old writers. You are too well -acquainted with the progress of ancient and -modern wit to doubt of this fact. Rome adorned -itself in the spoils of Greece. And both assisted -in dressing up the later European poetry. -What else do you find in the Italian or French -Wits, but the old matter, worked over again; -only presented to us in a new form, and embellished -perhaps with a conceit or two of -mere modern invention?</p> - -<p>But the English, you say, or rather your -fondness for your Masters leads you to suppose, -are original thinkers. ’Tis true, Nature -has taken a pleasure to shew us what she could -do, by the production of <small>ONE</small> Prodigy. But -the rest are what we admire them for, not -indeed without Genius, perhaps with a larger -share of it than has fallen to the lot of others, -yet directly and chiefly by the discipline of art -and the helps of imitation.</p> - -<p>The golden times of the English Poetry -were, undoubtedly, the reigns of our two -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">251</span> -Queens. Invention was at its height, in the <i>one</i>; -and Correctness, in the <i>other</i>. In <i>both</i>, the manners -of a court refin’d, without either breaking -or corrupting the spirit of our poets. But do -you forget that <span class="smcap">Elizabeth</span> read Greek and -Latin almost as easily as our Professors? And -can you doubt that what she knew so well, -would be known, admired, and imitated by -every other? Or say, that the writers of her -time were, some of them, ignorant enough of -the <i>learned</i> languages to be inventors; can you -suppose, from what you know of the fashion -of that age, that their fancies would not be -sprinkled, and their wits refreshed by the -essences of the Italian poetry?</p> - -<p>I scarcely need say a word of our <small>OTHER</small> -Queen, whose reign was unquestionably the -æra of classic imitation and of classic taste. -Even they, who had never been as far as -Greece or Italy, to warm their imaginations -or stock their memories, might do both to a -tolerable degree in France; which, though it -bowed to our country’s arms, had almost the -ascendant in point of letters.</p> - -<p>I mention these things only to put you in -mind that hardly <i>one</i> of our poets has been in -a condition to do without, or certainly be above, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">252</span> -the suspicion of learned imitation. And the -observation is so true, that even in this our -age, when good letters, they say, are departing -from us, the Greek or Roman stamp is still -visible in every work of genius, that has taken -with the public. Do you think one needed to -be told in the title-page, that a late <span class="smcap">Drama</span>, -or some later <span class="smcap">Odes</span> were formed on the ancient -model?</p> - -<p>The drift of all this, you will say, is to overturn -the former discourse; for that now I pretend, -every degree of likeness to a preceding -writer is an argument of imitation. Rather, -if you please, conclude that, in my opinion, -every degree of likeness is exposed to the <i>suspicion</i> -of imitation. To convert this suspicion -into a proof, it is not enough to say, that a -writer <i>might</i>, but that his circumstances make -it plain or probable at least, that he <i>did</i>, imitate.</p> - -<p>Of these <i>circumstances</i> then, the <i>first</i> I -should think deserving our attention, is the -<small>AGE</small> in which the writer lived. One should -know if it were an age addicted to much study, -and in which it was creditable for the best -writers to make a shew of their reading. Such -especially was the age succeeding to that memorable -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">253</span> -æra, the revival of letters in these -western countries. The fashion of the time -was to interweave as much of ancient wit as -possible in every new work. Writers were so -far from affecting to think and speak in their -own way, that it was their pride to make the -admired ancient think and speak for them. -This humour continued very long, and in -some sort even still continues: with this difference -indeed, that, then, the ancients were -introduced to do the honours, since, to do the -drudgery of the entertainment. But several -causes conspired to carry it to its height in -England about the beginning of the last century. -You may be sure, then, the writers of -that period abound in imitations. The best -poets boasted of them as their sovereign excellence. -And you will easily credit, for instance, -that B. Jonson was a servile imitator, when -you find him on so many occasions little better -than a painful translator.</p> - -<p>I foresee the occasion I shall have, in the -course of this letter, to weary you with citations: -and would not therefore go out of my -way for them. Yet, amidst a thousand instances -of this sort in Jonson, the following, -I fancy, will entertain you. The Latin verses, -you know, are of Catullus. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">254</span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ut flos in septis secretus nascitur hortis,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ignotus pecori, nullo convulsus aratro,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quem mulcent auræ, firmat sol, educat imber,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Multi illum pueri, multæ optavere puellæ.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Idem, quum tenui carptus defloruit ungui,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nulli illum pueri, nullæ optavere puellæ.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>It came in Jonson’s way, in one of his masks, -to translate this passage; and observe with -what industry he has secured the sense, while -the spirit of his author escapes him.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Look, how a flower that close in closes grows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hid from rude cattle, bruised with no plows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which th’ air doth stroke, sun strengthen, show’rs shoot high’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It many youths, and many maids desire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The same, when cropt by cruel hand, is wither’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No youths at all, no maidens have desir’d.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>—It was not thus, you remember, that Ariosto -and Pope have translated these fine verses. -But to return to our purpose:</p> - -<p>To this consideration of the <i>Age</i> of a writer, -you may add, if you please, that of his <span class="smcap">Education</span>. -Though it might not, in general, be -the fashion to affect learning, the habits acquired -by a particular writer might dispose -him to do so. What was less esteemed by the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">255</span> -enthusiasts of Milton’s time (of which however -he himself was one of the greatest) than prophane -or indeed any kind of learning? Yet we, -who know that his youth was spent in the -study of the best writers in every language, -want but little evidence to convince us that his -great genius did not disdain to stoop to imitation. -You assent, I dare say, to Dryden’s -compliment, though it be an invidious one, -“That no man has so copiously translated -Homer’s Grecisms, and the Latin elegancies -of Virgil.” Nay, don’t you remember, the -other day, that we were half of a mind to give -him up for a shameless plagiary, chiefly because -we were sure he had been a great reader.</p> - -<p>But no good writer, it will be said, has -flourished out of a learned age, or at least -without some tincture of learning. It may be -so. Yet every writer is not disposed to make -the most of these advantages. What if we pay -some regard then to the <small>CHARACTER</small> of the -writer? A poet, enamoured of himself, and -who sets up for a great inventive genius, thinks -much to profit by the sense of his predecessors, -and even when he steals, takes care to dissemble -his thefts, and to conceal them as much as possible. -You know I have instanced in such a -poet in Sir <i>William D’Avenant</i>. In detecting -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">256</span> -the imitations of such a writer, one must then -proceed with some caution. But what if our -concern be with <i>one</i>, whose modesty leads him -to revere the sense and even the expression of -approved authors, whose taste enables him to -select the finest passages in their works, and -whose judgment determines him to make a free -use of them? Suppose we know all this from -common fame, and even from his own confession; -would you scruple to call that an <i>imitation</i> -in him, which in the other might have -passed for <i>resemblance</i> only?</p> - -<p>As the character is amiable, you will be -pleased to hear me own, there are many modern -poets to whom it belongs. Perhaps, the -first that occurred to my thoughts was Mr. -Addison. But the observation holds of others, -and of <i>one</i>, in particular, very much his superior -in true genius. I know not whether you -agree with me, that the famous line in the -<i>Essay on Man</i>;</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“An honest man’s the noblest work of God,”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>is taken from Plato’s, Πάντων ἱερώτατόν ἐστιν -ἄνθρωπος ὁ ἀγαθός. But I am sure you will -that the still more famous lines, which shallow -men repeat without understanding, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237a">237*</span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“For modes of Faith let graceless zealots fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">His, can’t be wrong whose life is in the right:”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>are but copied, though with vast improvement -in the force and turn of expression, from the -excellent and, let it be no disparagement to -him to say, from the orthodox Mr. Cowley. -The poet is speaking of his friend <span class="smcap">Crashaw</span>.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="a"> -<span class="i0">“His Faith perhaps in some nice tenets might<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Be wrong; his life, I’m sure, was in the right.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Mr. Pope, who found himself in the same -circumstances with Crashaw, and had suffered -no doubt from the like uncharitable constructions -of <i>graceless zeal</i>, was very naturally -tempted to adopt this candid sentiment, and -to give it the further heightening of his own -spirited expression.</p> - -<p>Let us see then how far we are got in this -inquiry. We may say of the old Latin poets, -that they all came out of the Greek schools. -It is as true of the moderns in this part of the -world, that they, in general, have had their -breeding in both the Greek and Latin. But -when the question is of any particular writer, -how far and in what instances you may presume -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238a">238*</span> -on his being a professed imitator, much will -depend on the certain knowledge you have of -his <i>Age</i>, <i>Education</i>, and <i>Character</i>. When -all these circumstances meet in one man, as -they have done in others, but in none perhaps -so eminently as in B. Jonson, wherever you -find an acknowledged likeness, you will do -him no injustice to call it <i>imitation</i>.</p> - -<p>Yet all this, you say, comes very much short -of what you require of me. You want me to -specify those peculiar considerations, and even -to reduce them into rule, from which one may -be authorised, in any instance to pronounce of -imitations. It is not enough, you pretend, to -say of any passage in a celebrated poet, that it -most probably was taken from some other. In -your extreme jealousy for the credit of your -order, you call upon me to shew the distinct -marks which convict him of this commerce.</p> - -<p>In a word, You require me to turn to the -poets; to gather a number of those passages I -call Imitations; and to point to the <i>circumstances</i> -in each that prove them to be so. I -attend you with pleasure in this amusing -search. It is not material, I suppose, that we -observe any strict method in our ramblings. -And yet we will not wholly neglect it. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239a">239*</span></p> - -<p>Perhaps then we shall find undoubted marks -of Imitation, both in the <span class="smcap">Sentiment</span>, and -<span class="smcap">Expression</span> of great writers.</p> - -<p>To begin with such considerations as are -most <small>GENERAL</small>.</p> - -<p>I. An identity of the <i>subject-matter</i> of -poetry is no sure evidence of Imitation: and -least of all, perhaps, in natural description. -Yet where the <i>local</i> peculiarities of nature are -to be described, there an exact conformity of -the matter will evince an imitation.</p> - -<p>Descriptive poets have ever been fond of -lavishing all the riches of their fancy on the -<i>Spring</i>. But the appearances of this <i>prime of -the year</i> are so diversified with the climate, -that descriptions of it, if taken directly from -nature, must needs be very different. The -Greek and Latin, and, since them, the Provencial -poets, when they insist, as they always -do, on the indulgent softness of this season, its -<i>genial dews</i> and <i>fostering breezes</i>, speak nothing -but what is agreeable to their own experience -and feeling.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It ver; et Venus; et Veneris praenuntius antè<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pinnatus graditur Zephyrus vestigia propter:<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240a">240*</span> -<span class="i0">Flora quibus mater praespergens antè viaï<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cuncta coloribus egregiis et odoribus opplet.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Venus, or the spirit of love, is represented -by those poets as brooding o’er this delicious -season;</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Rura foecundat voluptas: rura <span class="smcap">Venerem</span> sentiunt.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ipsa gemmas purpurantem pingit annum floribus:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ipsa surgentis papillas de Favonî spiritu<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Urguet in toros tepentes; ipsa roris lucidi, &c.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>and a great deal more to the same purpose, -which every one recollects in the old classic -and in the Provencial poets.</p> - -<p>But when we hear this language from the -more Northern, and particularly our English -bards, who perhaps are shivering with the -blasts of the North-east, at the very time their -imagination would warm itself with these notions, -one is certain this cannot be the effect -of <i>observation</i>, but of a sportful fancy; enchanted -by the native loveliness of these exotic -images, and charmed by the secret insensible -power of <i>imitation</i>.</p> - -<p>And to shew the certainty of this conclusion, -Shakespear, we may observe, who had none of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241a">241*</span> -this classical or Provencial bias on his mind, -always describes, not a Greek, or Italian, or -Provencial, but an English Spring; where we -meet with many unamiable characters; and, -among the rest, instead of Zephyr or Favonius, -we have the bleak North-east, that <i>nips the -blooming infants of the Spring</i>.</p> - -<p>But there are other obvious examples. In -Cranmer’s prophetic speech, at the end of -<span class="smcap">Henry VIII.</span> when the poet makes him say of -Queen Elizabeth, that,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“In her days ev’ry man shall eat with safety<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Under his own vine what he plants.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>and of King James, that,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i12">“He shall flourish,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like a mountain Cedar, reach his branches<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To all the plains about him”—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>It is easy to see that his <i>Vine</i> and <i>Cedar</i> are -not of English growth, but transplanted from -Judæa. I do not mention this as an impropriety -in the poet, who, for the greater solemnity -of his prediction, and even from a principle -of decorum, makes his Arch-bishop fetch -his imagery from Scripture. I only take notice -of it as a certain argument that the imagery -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242a">242*</span> -was not his own, that is, not suggested by his -own observation of nature.</p> - -<p>The case you see, in these instances, is the -same as if an English landskip-painter should -choose to decorate his Scene with an Italian -sky. The Connoisseur would say, he had -copied this particular from Titian, and not -from Nature. I presume then to give it for a -certain note of Imitation, <i>when the properties -of one clime are given to another</i>.</p> - -<p>II. You will draw the same conclusion -whenever you find “The Genius of one <i>people</i> -given to another.”</p> - -<p>1. Plautus gives us the following true picture -of the Greek manners:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">—In hominum aetate multa eveniunt hujusmodi—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Irae interveniunt, redeunt rursum in gratiam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Verùm irae siquae fortè eveniunt hujusmodi,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Inter eos rursum si reventum in gratiam est,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bis tanto amici sunt inter se, quàm prius.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Amphyt.</span> A. <small>III.</small> S. 2.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>You are better acquainted with the modern -Italian writers than I am; but if ever you find -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243a">243*</span> -any of them transferring this placability of -temper into an eulogy of his countrymen, -conclude without hesitation, that the sentiment -is taken.</p> - -<p>2. The late Editor of Jonson’s works observes -very well the impropriety of leaving a -trait of Italian manners in his <i>Every man in -his humour</i>, when he fitted up that Play with -English characters. Had the scene been laid -originally in England, and that <i>trait</i> been -given us, it had convicted the poet of <i>Imitation</i>.</p> - -<p>3. This attention to the genius of a people -will sometimes shew you, that the <i>form</i> of -composition, as well as particular sentiments, -comes from Imitation. An instance occurs to -me as I am writing. The Greeks, you know, -were great haranguers. So were the ancient -Romans, but in a less degree. One is not -surprized therefore that their historians abound -in set speeches; which, in their hands, become -the finest parts of their works. But when -you find modern writers indulging in this -practice of speech-making, you may guess -from what source the habit is derived. Would -Machiavel, for instance, as little of a Scholar -as, they say, he was, have adorned his fine -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_244a">244*</span> -history of Florence with so many harangues, -if the classical bias, imperceptibly, it may be, -to himself, had not hung on his mind?</p> - -<p>Another example is remarkable. You have -sometimes wondered how it has come to pass -that the moderns delight so much in <i>dialogue-writing</i>, -and yet that so very few have succeeded -in it. The proper answer to the first -part of your enquiry will go some way towards -giving you satisfaction as to the last. The -practice is not original, has no foundation in -the manners of modern times. It arose from -the excellence of the Greek and Roman dialogues, -which was the usual form in which the -ancients chose to deliver their sentiments on -any subject.</p> - -<p>Still another instance comes in my way. -How happened it, one may ask, that Sir -<span class="smcap">Philip Sydney</span> in his Arcadia, and afterwards -<span class="smcap">Spenser</span> in his Fairy Queen, observed so unnatural -a conduct in those works; in which -the Story proceeds, as it were, by snatches, -and with continual interruptions? How was the -good sense of those writers, so conversant besides -in the best models of antiquity, seduced into -this preposterous method? The answer, no -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245a">245*</span> -doubt, is, that they were copying the design, -or disorder rather, of <span class="smcap">Ariosto</span>, the favourite -poet of that time.</p> - -<p>III. Of near akin to this contrariety <i>to the -genius of a people</i> is another mark which a -careful reader will observe “in the representation -of certain <span class="smcap">Tenets</span>, different from those -which prevail in a writer’s country or time.”</p> - -<p>1. We seldom are able to fasten an imitation, -with certainty, on such a writer as -Shakespear. Sometimes we are, but never to -so much advantage as when he happens to -forget himself in this respect. When Claudio, -in <i>Measure for Measure</i>, pleads for his life in -that famous speech,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To lye in cold obstruction, and to rot;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This sensible warm motion to become<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To be imprison’d in the viewless winds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And blown with restless violence about<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pendant world—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>It is plain that these are not the Sentiments -which any man entertained of <i>Death</i> in the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246a">246*</span> -writer’s age or in that of the speaker. We see -in this passage a mixture of Christian and -Pagan ideas; all of them very susceptible of -poetical ornament, and conducive to the argument -of the Scene; but such as Shakespear -had never dreamt of but for Virgil’s Platonic -hell; where, as we read,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i15">aliae panduntur inanes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Suspensae ad ventos: aliis sub gurgite vasto,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Infectum eluitur scelus, aut exuritur igni.<br /></span> -<span class="author">Virg. l. vi.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>2. A prodigiously fine passage in Milton -may furnish another example of this sort,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i30">When Lust<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By unchast looks, loose gestures, and foul talk,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But most by lewd and lavish act of Sin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lets in defilement to the inward parts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The soul grows clotted by contagion,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The divine property of her first being.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ling’ring, and sitting by a new-made grave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As loth to leave the body, that it lov’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And linkt itself by carnal sensuality<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To a degenerate and degraded state.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Mask at Ludlow Castle.</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_247a">247*</span></p> - -<p>This philosophy of <i>imbruted souls</i> becoming -<i>thick shadows</i> is so remote from any ideas entertained -at present of the effects of Sin, and -at the same time is so agreeable to the notions -of Plato (a double favourite of Milton, for his -own sake, and for the sake of his being a -favourite with his Italian Masters), that there -is not the least question of its being taken from -the <span class="smcap">Phaedo</span>.</p> - -<p>Ἡ τοιαύτη ψυχὴ βαρύνεταί τε καὶ ἕλκεται -πάλιν εἰς τὸν ὁρατὸν τόπον, φόβῳ τοῦ ἀειδοῦς τε -καὶ ᾅδου, περὶ τὰ μνήματα καὶ τοὺς τάφους κυλινδουμένη· -περὶ ἃ δὴ καὶ ὤφθη ἄττα ψυχῶν σκιοειδῆ -φαντάσματα, οἷα παρέχονται αἱ τοιαῦται ψυχαὶ -εἴδωλα, αἱ μὴ καθαρῶς ἀπολυθεῖσαι——</p> - -<p>There is no wonder, now one sees the fountain -Milton drew from, that, in admiration of -this poetical philosophy (which nourished the -fine spirits of that time, though it corrupted -some), he should make the other speaker in -the scene cry out, as in a fit of extasy,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How charming is divine philosophy!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But musical as is Apollo’s lute,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a perpetual feast of nectar’d sweets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where no crude surfeit reigns—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The very ideas which Lord <span class="smcap">Shaftesbury</span> has -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248a">248*</span> -employed in his encomiums on the Platonic -philosophy; and the very language which Dr. -<span class="smcap">Henry More</span> would have used, if he had -known to express himself so soberly.</p> - -<p>3. Having said so much of Plato, whom the -Italian writers have helped to make known to -us, let me just observe one thing, to our present -purpose, of those Italian writers themselves. -One of their peculiarities, and almost -the first that strikes us, is a certain sublime -mystical air which runs through all their fictions. -We find them a sort of philosophical -fanatics, indulging themselves in strange conceits -“concerning the <i>Soul</i>, the <i>chyming of -celestial orbs</i>, and presiding <i>Syrens</i>.” One -may tell by these marks, that they doted on -the fancies of Plato; if we had not, besides, -direct evidence for this conclusion. Tasso -says of himself, and he applauds the same -thing in Petrarch, “Lessi già tutte l’opere di -Platone, è mi rimassero molti semi nella -menta della sua dottrina.” I take these -words from Menage, who has much more to -the same purpose, in his elegant observations -on the <i>Amintas</i> of this poet.</p> - -<p>One sees then where Milton had been for -that imagery in the <span class="smcap">Arcades</span>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_249a">249*</span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i24">then listen I<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the celestial Syrens’ harmony,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That sit upon the nine enfolded spheres<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sing to those that hold the vital shears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And turn the adamantine spindle round,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On which the fate of Gods and men is wound.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The best comment on these verses is a passage -in the x<sup>th</sup> Book of Plato’s Republic, where -this whole system, of <i>Syrens quiring to the -fates</i>, is explained or rather delivered.</p> - -<p>IV. We have seen a <i>Mark</i> of Imitation, in -the allusion of writers to certain strange, and -foreign tenets of philosophy. The observation -may be extended to all those passages (which -are innumerable in our poets) that allude to -the <i>rites, customs, language, and theology of -Paganism</i>.</p> - -<p>It is true, indeed, this Species of Imitation -is not that which is, properly, the subject of -this Letter. The most original writer is allowed -to furnish himself with poetical ideas -from all quarters. And the management of -learned <i>Allusion</i> is to be regarded, perhaps, as -one of the nicest offices of Invention. Yet it -may be useful to see from what sources a great -poet derives his materials; and the rather, as -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250a">250*</span> -this detection will sometimes account for the -<i>manner</i> in which he disposes of them. However, -I will but detain you with a remark or -two on this class of Imitations.</p> - -<p>1. I observe, that even Shakespear himself -abounds in learned Allusions. How he came -by them, is another question; though not so -difficult to be answered, you know, as some -have imagined. They, who are in such astonishment -at the learning of Shakespear, besides -that they certainly carry the notion of his illiteracy -too far, forget that the Pagan imagery -was familiar to all the poets of his time—that -abundance of this sort of learning was to -be picked up from almost every English book, -he could take into his hands—that many of -the best writers in Greek and Latin had been -translated into English—that his conversation -lay among the most learned, that is, the most -paganized poets of his age—but above all, that, -if he had never looked into books, or conversed -with bookish men, he might have learned -almost all the secrets of paganism (so far, I -mean, as a poet had any use of them) from -the <span class="smcap">Masks</span> of B. Jonson; contrived by that -poet with so pedantical an exactness, that one -is ready to take them for lectures and illustrations -on the ancient learning, rather than -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251a">251*</span> -exercises of modern wit. The taste of the age, -much devoted to erudition, and still more, the -taste of the Princes, for whom he writ, gave a -prodigious vogue to these unnatural exhibitions. -And the knowledge of antiquity, requisite to -succeed in them, was, I imagine, the reason -that Shakespear was not over-fond to try his -hand at these elaborate trifles. Once indeed -he <i>did</i>, and with such success as to disgrace -the very best things of this kind we find in -Jonson. The short Mask in the <i>Tempest</i> is -fitted up with a classical exactness. But its -chief merit lies in the beauty of the <i>Shew</i>, and -the richness of the <i>poetry</i>. Shakespear was so -sensible of his Superiority, that he could not -help exulting a little upon it, where he makes -<i>Ferdinand</i> say,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This is a most majestic <i>Vision</i>, and<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Harmonious charming <i>Lays</i>—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>’Tis true, another Poet, who possessed a -great part of Shakespear’s genius and all Jonson’s -learning, has carried this courtly entertainment -to its last perfection. But the <i>Mask -at Ludlow Castle</i> was, in some measure, owing -to the <i>fairy Scenes</i> of his Predecessor; who -chose this province of <i>Tradition</i>, not only as -most suitable to the wildness of his vast creative -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_252a">252*</span> -imagination, but as the <i>safest</i> for his unlettered -Muse to walk in. For here he had much, you -knew, to expect from the popular credulity, -and nothing to fear from the classic superstition -of that time.</p> - -<p>2. It were endless to apply this <i>note</i> of -imitation to other poets confessedly learned. -Yet one instance is curious enough to be just -mentioned.</p> - -<p>Mr. Waller, in his famous poem on the -victory over the Dutch on June 3, 1665, has -the following lines;</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His flight tow’rds heav’n th’ aspiring <span class="smcap">Belgian</span> took;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But fell, like <span class="smcap">Phaeton</span>, with thunder strook:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From vaster hopes than his, he seem’d to fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That durst attempt the <span class="smcap">British</span> Admiral:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From her broadsides a ruder flame is thrown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than from the fiery chariot of the Sun:<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">That</span>, bears <small>THE RADIANT ENSIGN OF THE DAY</small>;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And <span class="smcap">She</span>, the flag that governs in the Sea.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>He is comparing the British Admiral’s <i>Ship</i> to -the <i>Chariot</i> of the Sun. You smile at the -quaintness of the conceit, and the ridicule he -falls into, in explaining it. But that is not -the question at present. The <i>latter</i>, he says, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253a">253*</span> -bears <i>the radiant ensign of the day</i>: The -<i>other</i>, <i>the ensign of naval dominion</i>. We -understand how properly the <i>English Flag</i> is -here denominated. But what is that <i>other -Ensign</i>? The <i>Sun</i> itself, it will be said. -But who, in our days, ever expressed the Sun -by such a periphrasis? The image is apparently -antique, and easily explained by those -who know that anciently the Sun was commonly -emblematized by a <i>starry or radiate -figure</i>; nay, that such a figure was placed -aloft, as an <i>Ensign</i>, over the <i>Sun’s charioteer</i>, -as we may see in representations of this sort on -ancient Gems and Medals.</p> - -<p>From this original then Mr. Waller’s imagery -was certainly taken; and it is properly -applied in this place where he is speaking -of the <i>Chariot of the Sun</i>, and <i>Phaeton’s -fall</i> from it. But to remove all doubt in the -case, we can even point to the very passage of -a Pagan poet, which Mr. Waller had in his -eye, or rather translated.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Proptereà noctes hiberno tempore longæ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cessant, dum veniat <small>RADIATUM INSIGNE DIEI</small>.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Lucr.</i> l. v. 698.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Here, you see, the poet’s allusion to a classic -idea has led us to the discovery of the very -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254a">254*</span> -passage from which it was taken. And this -use a learned reader will often make of the -species of Imitation, here considered.</p> - -<p>V. Great writers, you find, sometimes forget -the character of the <i>Age</i>, they live in; the -<i>principles</i>, and <i>notions</i> that belong to it. -“Sometimes they forget <i>themselves</i>, that is, -their own situation and character.” Another -sign of the influence of <i>Imitation</i>.</p> - -<p>1. When we see such men, as <span class="smcap">Strada</span> and -<span class="smcap">Mariana</span>, writers of fine talents indeed, but -of recluse lives and narrow observation, chusing -to talk like men of the world, and abounding -in the most refined conclusions of the cabinet, -we are sure that this character, which we find -so natural in a Cardinal <span class="smcap">de Retz</span>, is but assumed -by these Jesuits. And we are not surprized -to discover, on examination, that their -best reflexions are copied from <span class="smcap">Tacitus</span>.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, when a man of the -world took it into his head, the other day, in -a moping fit, to talk <i>Sentences</i>, every body -concluded that this was not the language of -the writer or his situation, but that he had been -poaching in some pedant; perhaps in the <i>Stoical -Fop</i>, he affected so much contempt of, <span class="smcap">Seneca</span>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255a">255*</span></p> - -<p>2. Sometimes we catch a great writer deviating -from his <i>natural manner</i>, and taking -pains, as it were, to appear the very reverse of -his proper <i>character</i>. Would you wish a -stronger proof of his being seduced, at least -for the time, by the charms of <i>imitation</i>?</p> - -<p>Nothing is better known than the easy, elegant, -agreeable vein of <span class="smcap">Voiture</span>. Yet you -have read his famous Letter to <span class="smcap">Balzac</span>, and -have been surprized, no doubt, at the forced, -quaint, and puffy manner, in which it is -written. The secret is, Voiture is aping Balzac -from one end of this letter to the other. -Whether to pay his court to him, or to laugh -at him, or that perhaps, in the instant of -writing, he really fancied an excellence in the -style of that great man, is not easy to determine. -An eminent French critic, I remember, -is inclined to take it for a piece of mockery. -At all events, we must needs esteem it an -<i>imitation</i>.</p> - -<p>3. This remark on the turn of a writer’s -<i>genius</i> may be further applied to that of his -<i>temper or disposition</i>.</p> - -<p>The natural misanthropy of Swift may account -for his thinking and speaking very often -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256a">256*</span> -in the spirit of <span class="smcap">Rochefoucault</span>, without any -thought of taking from his <i>Maxims</i>, though -he was an admirer of them. But if at any -time we observe so humane and benevolent a -man as Mr. Pope giving into this language, -we say of course, “This is not his own, but an -assumed manner.”</p> - -<p>Or what say you to an instance that exemplifies -both these observations together? The -natural unaffected turn of Mr. Cowley’s manner, -and the tender sensibility of his mind, -are equally seen and loved in his prose-works, -and in such of his poems as were written after -a good model, or came from the heart. A -clear sparkling fancy, softened with a shade of -melancholy, made him, perhaps, of all our -poets the most capable of excelling in the elegiac -way, or of touching us in any way where -a vein of easy language and moral sentiment is -required. Who but laments then to see this fine -genius perverted by the prevailing pedantry of -his age, and carried away, against the bias of -his nature, to an emulation of the rapturous, -high-spirited Pindar?</p> - -<p>I might give many more examples. But -you will observe them in your own reading. -I take the first that come to hand only to -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">257</span> -explain my meaning, which is, “That if you -find a course of sentiments or cast of composition -different from that, to which the writer’s -<i>situation</i>, <i>genius</i>, or <i>complexion</i> would naturally -lead him, you may well suspect him of imitation.”</p> - -<p>Still it may be, these considerations are rather -too general. I come to others more particular -and decisive.</p> - -<p>VI. It may be difficult sometimes to determine -whether a single sentiment or image be -derived or not. But when we see a cluster of -them in two writers, applied to the same subject, -one can hardly doubt that one of them -has copied from the other.</p> - -<p>A celebrated French moralist makes the -following reflexions. “Quelle chimere est-ce -donc que l’homme? Quelle nouveautè, -quel chaos, quel sujet de contradiction? -Juge de toutes choses, imbecile ver de terre; -depositaire du vrai, amas d’incertitude; gloire, -et rebut de l’univers.”</p> - -<p>Turn now to the <i>Essay on Man</i>, and tell -me if Mr. Pope did not work up the following -lines out of these reflexions. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">258</span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Chaos of thought and passion, all confus’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Still by himself abus’d or disabus’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Created half to rise, and half to fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl’d:<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>2. This conclusion is still more certain, -when, together with a general likeness of sentiments, -we find the same <i>disposition</i> of the -parts, especially if that disposition be in no -common form.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i1">With charm of earliest birds: pleasant the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">When first on this delightful land he spreads<br /></span> -<span class="i1">His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Glist’ring with dew”——<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>and the rest of that fine speech in the IVth -Book of <i>Paradise Lost</i>, which you remember -so perfectly that I need not transcribe more -of it.</p> - -<p>Milton’s fancy, as usual, is rich and exuberant; -but the conduct and application of his -imagery shews, that the whole passage was -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">259</span> -shadowed out of those charming but simpler -lines in the <span class="smcap">Danae</span> of Euripides.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">——φίλον μὲν φέγγος ἡλίου τόδε.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Καλὸν δὲ πόντου χεῦμ’ ἰδεῖν εὐήνεμον,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Γῆ τ’ ἠρινὸν θάλλουσα, πλούσιόν θ’ ὕδωρ,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Πολλῶν τ’ ἔπαινόν ἐστί μοι λέξαι καλῶν.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν οὕτω λαμπρὸν, οὐδ’ ἰδεῖν, καλὸν,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ὡς τοῖς ἄπαισι, καὶ πόθῳ δεδηγμένοις,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Παίδων νεογνῶν ἐν δόμοις ἰδεῖν φάος.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>VII. There is little doubt in such cases as -these. There needs not perhaps be much in -the case, sometimes, of <i>single</i> sentiments or -images. As where we find “a sentiment or -image in two writers precisely the same, yet -new and unusual.”</p> - -<p>1. Thus we are told very reasonably, that -<i>Milton’s clust’ring locks</i> is the copy of Apollonius’ -ΠΛΟΚΑΜΟΙ ΒΟΤΡΥΟΕΝΤΕΣ. <i>Obs. -on Spenser</i>, p. 80. For though the metaphor -be a just one and very natural, yet there is -perhaps no other authority for the use of it, -but in these two poets. And Milton had certainly -read Apollonius.</p> - -<p>2. What the same critic observes of Milton’s</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">——“And <i>curl</i> the grove<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In ringlets <i>quaint</i>”—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">260</span></p> - -<p>being taken from Jonson’s</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When was old Sherwood’s head more <i>quaintly curl’d</i>?<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>is still more unquestionable. For here is a -combination of signs to convict the former of -imitation: Not only the <i>singularity of the -image</i>, but the <i>identity of expression</i>, and, -what I lay the most stress upon, the <i>boldness -of the figure</i>, as employed by Milton. Jonson -speaks of old Sherwood’s <i>head</i>, as curl’d. -Milton, as conscious of his authority, drops -the preparatory idea, and says at once, The -<i>grove</i> curl’d.</p> - -<p>Let me add to these, two more instances -from the same poet.</p> - -<p>3. <i>Spenser</i> tells us of</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A little <i>glooming light</i>, much like a shade.<br /></span> -<span class="author">F. Q. c. <small>II.</small>, s. 14.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Can you imagine that Milton did not take his -idea from hence, when he said, in his <i>Penseroso</i>,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">—glowing embers thro’ the room<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Teach <i>light</i> to counterfeit a <i>gloom</i>?<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">261</span></p> - -<p>4. Again, in his description of Paradise,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Flow’rs of all hues, and without thorn the rose.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Every poet of every time is lavish of his -flowers on such occasions. But <i>the rose without -thorn</i> is a rarity. And, though it was -fine to imagine such an one in Paradise, could -only be an Italian refinement. Tasso, you -will think, is the original, when you have read -the following lines;</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Senza quei suoi pungenti ispidi dumi<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spiegò le foglie la purpurea Rosa.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>5. Another instance, still more remarkable, -may be taken from Mr. Pope. One of the -most striking passages in the <i>Essay on Man</i> is -the following,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Superior Beings, when of late they saw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mortal man unfold all nature’s law,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Admir’d such wisdom in an earthly shape,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shew’d a <span class="smcap">Newton</span>, as we shew an ape.<br /></span> -<span class="author">Ep. ii. v. 31.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Can you doubt, from the <i>singularity</i> of this -sentiment, that the great poet had his eye on -Plato? who makes Socrates say, in allusion to -a remark of Heraclitus, Ὅτι ἀνθρώπων ὁ σοφώτατος -πρὸς θεὸν πίθηκος φανεῖται. <i>Hipp. Major.</i> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">262</span></p> - -<p>The application indeed is different. And it -could not be otherwise. For the observation, -which the Philosopher refers πρὸς θεὸν, is in -the Poet given to <i>superior Beings</i> only. The -consequence is, that the <i>Ape</i> is an object of -<i>derision</i> in the former case, of <i>admiration</i>, in -the latter.</p> - -<p>To conclude this head, I will just observe to -you, that, though the <i>same uncommon sentiment</i> -in two <i>writers</i> be usually the effect of imitation, -yet we cannot affirm this of <i>Actors</i> in -real life. The reason is, when the situation of -two men is the same, <i>Nature</i> will dictate the -same sentiments more invariably than <i>Genius</i>. -To give a remarkable instance of what I mean.</p> - -<p>Tacitus relates, in the <i>first</i> book of his <i>Annals</i>, -what passed in the senate on its first -meeting after the death of Augustus. His -politic successor carried it, for some time, with -much apparent moderation. He wished, besides -other reasons, to get himself solemnly -recognized for Emperor by that Body, before -he entered on the exercise of his new dignity. -<i>Dabat famæ</i>, says the historian, <i>ut vocatus -electusque potiùs à Republicâ videretur, quàm -per uxorium ambitum et senili adoptione irrepsisse</i>. -One of his courtiers would not be -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">263</span> -wanting to himself on such an occasion. When -therefore several motions had been made in -the Senate, concerning the honours to be paid -to the memory of their late Prince, <span class="smcap">Valerius -Messalla</span> moved <span class="smcap">Renovandum per annos -sacramentum in nomen Tiberii</span>; in other -words, that the oath of allegiance should be -taken to Tiberius. This was the very point -that Tiberius drove at. And the consciousness -of it made him suspect that this motion might -be thought to proceed from himself. He therefore -asked Messalla, “<i>Num, se mandante, eam -sententiam promsisset?</i>” His answer is in -the following words. “Spontè <i>dixisse, respondit; -neque in iis, quæ ad rempublicam -pertinerent</i>, consilio nisi suo usurum, vel -cum periculo offensionis.” <i>Ea</i>, concludes -the historian, <i>sola species adulandi supererat</i>.</p> - -<p>Now it is very remarkable, that we find in -Ludlow’s memoirs, one of Cromwell’s officers, -on the very same occasion, answering the Protector -in the very same species of flattery.</p> - -<p>Colonel <span class="smcap">William Jephson</span> moved in the -House that Cromwell might be made King. -Cromwell took occasion, soon after, to reprove -the Colonel for this proposition, telling him, that -he wondered what he could mean by it. To -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">264</span> -which the other replied, “<i>That while he was -permitted the honour of sitting in that House, -he must desire the liberty to discharge his -conscience, though his opinion should happen -to displease</i>.”</p> - -<p>Here we have a very striking coincidence of -<i>sentiment</i>, without the least probability of -imitation. For no body, I dare say, suspects -Colonel William Jephson of stealing this refined -stroke of adulation from Valerius Messalla. -The truth is, the same situation, concurring -with the same corrupt disposition, -dictated this peculiar sentiment to the two -courtiers. Yet, had these similar thoughts -been found in two dramatic poets of the Augustan -and Oliverian ages, we should probably -have cried out, “An Imitation.” And with -good reason. For, besides the possibility of -an Oliverian poet’s knowing something of Tacitus, -the speakers had then been <i>feigned</i>, not -real personages. And it is not so likely that -two such should agree in this sentiment: I -mean, considering how new and particular it -is. For, as to the more common and obvious -sentiments, even dramatic speakers will very -frequently employ the <i>same</i>, without affording -any just reason to conclude that their prompters -had turned plagiaries. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">265</span></p> - -<p>VIII. If to this singularity of a sentiment, -you add the <i>apparent harshness</i> of it, especially -when not gradually <i>prepared</i> (as such -sentiments always will be by exact writers, -when of their own proper invention), the suspicion -grows still stronger. I just glanced at -an instance of this sort in Milton’s <i>curl’d</i> grove. -But there are others still more remarkable. -Shall I presume for once to take an instance -from yourself?</p> - -<p>Your fine Ode to Memory begins with these -very lyrical verses:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mother of Wisdom! Thou whose sway<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The throng’d ideal hosts obey;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who bidst their ranks now vanish, now appear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flame in the van, and darken in the rear.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>This sublime imagery has a very original -air. Yet I, who know how familiar the best -ancient and modern critics are to you, have no -doubt that it is taken from <span class="smcap">Strada</span>.</p> - -<p>“Quid accommodatius, says he, speaking -of your subject, Memory, quàm <i>simulachrorum -ingentes copias</i>, tanquàm <i>addictam ubique tibi -sacramento militiam</i>, eo inter se nexu ac fide -conjunctam cohærentemque habere; ut sive -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">266</span> -unumquodque separatim, sive confertim universa, -sive singula ordinatim <i>in aciem proferre</i> -velis; nihil planè in tantâ rerum herbâ turbetur, -sed alia <i>procul atque in recessu</i> sita prodeuntibus -locum cedant; alia, se tota confestim -promant atque in medium <i>certò evocata prosiliant</i>? -Hoc tam magno, tam fido domesticorum -<i>agmine</i> instructus animus, &c.” -<span class="author"> -<i>Prol. Acad.</i> I.</span></p> - -<p>Common writers know little of the art of -<i>preparing</i> their ideas, or believe the very -name of an Ode absolves them from the care -of art. But, if this uncommon sentiment -had been intirely your own, you, I imagine, -would have dropped some <i>leading</i> idea to -introduce it.</p> - -<p>IX. You see with what a suspicious eye, we -who aspire to the name of critics, examine your -writings. But every poet will not endure to -be scrutinized so narrowly.</p> - -<p>1. B. Jonson, in his Prologue to the <i>Sad -Shepherd</i>, is opening the subject of that poem. -The <i>sadness</i> of his shepherd is</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For his lost Love, who in the <span class="smcap">Trent</span> is said<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To have miscarried; <i>’las! what knows the head</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of a calm river, whom the feet have drown’d!</i><br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">267</span></p> - -<p>The reflexion in this place is unnecessary -and even impertinent. Who besides ever -heard of the <i>feet</i> of a river? Of <i>arms</i>, we have. -And so it stood in Jonson’s original.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Greatest and fairest Empress, know you this,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alas! no more than Thames’ calm head doth know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose meads his arms drown, or whose corn o’erflow.<br /></span> -<span class="author">Dr. <span class="smcap">Donne</span>.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The poet is speaking of the corruption of -the courts of justice, and the allusion is perfectly -fine and natural. Jonson was tempted -to bring it into his prologue by the mere -beauty of the sentiment. He had a river at -his disposal, and would not let slip the opportunity. -But “his unnatural use” of it detects -his “imitation.”</p> - -<p>2. I don’t know whether you have taken -notice of a miscarriage, something like this, -in the most judicious of all the poets.</p> - -<p>Theocritus makes Polypheme say,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Καὶ γὰρ θὴν οὐδ’ εἶδος ἔχω κακὸν, ὥς με λέγοντι,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ἦ γὰρ πρὰν ἐς Πόντον ἐσέβλεπον· ἦν δὲ γαλάνα.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">268</span></p> - -<p>Nothing could be better fancied than to -make this enormous son of Neptune use the -sea for his looking-glass. But is Virgil so -happy when his little land-man says,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nec sum adeò informis: nuper me in littore vidi,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cùm placidum ventis staret <i>mare</i>——<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>His wonderful judgment for once deserted -him, or he might have retained the sentiment -with a slight change in the application. For -instance, what if he had said,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Certè ego me novi, liquidæque in imagine vidi<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nuper aquæ, placuitque mihi mea forma videnti.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>It is a sort of curiosity, you say, to find -Ovid reading a lesson to Virgil. I will dissemble -nothing. The lines are, as I have -cited them, in the 13th book of the Metamorphosis. -But unluckily they are put into the -mouth of Polypheme. So that instead of instructing -one poet by the other, I only propose -that they should make an exchange; Ovid -take Virgil’s <i>sea</i>, and Virgil be contented with -Ovid’s <i>water</i>. However this be, you may be -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">269</span> -sure the authority of the Prince of the Latin -poets will carry it with admiring posterity -above all such scruples of decorum. Nobody -wonders therefore to read in Tasso,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">————————————Non son’ io<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Da disprezzar, se ben me stesso vidi<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nel liquido del mar, quando l’altr’ hieri<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Taceano i venti, et ei giacea senz’ onda.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But of all the misappliers of this fine original -sentiment, commend me to that <i>other</i> Italian, -who made his shepherd survey himself, in -a <i>fountain</i> indeed, but a fountain of his own -weeping.</p> - -<p>3. You will forgive my adding one other -instance “of this vicious application of a fine -thought.”</p> - -<p>You remember those agreeable verses of Sir -<i>John Suckling</i>,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Tempests of winds thus (as my storms of grief<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Carry my tears which should relieve my heart)<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Have hurried to the thankless ocean clouds<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And show’rs, that needed not at all the courtesy.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">270</span> -<span class="i1">When the poor plains have languish’d for the want,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And almost burnt asunder.”——<br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Brennoralt.</i> A. <small>III.</small> S. 1.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>I don’t stay to examine how far the fancy of -<i>tears relieving the heart</i> is allowable. But -admitting the propriety of the observation, in -the sense the poet intended it, the simile is -applied and expressed with the utmost beauty. -It accordingly struck the best writers of that -time. <span class="smcap">Sprat</span>, in his history of the <i>Royal Society</i>, -is taking notice of the misapplication of -philosophy to subjects of Religion. “That -shower, says he, has done very much injury -by falling on the sea, for which the shepherd, -and the ploughman, called in vain: -The wit of men has been profusely poured -out on <i>Religion</i>, which needed not its help, -and which was only thereby made more -tempestuous: while it might have been more -fruitfully spent, on some parts of <i>philosophy</i>, -which have been hitherto barren, and might -soon have been made fertile.” <i>p. 25.</i></p> - -<p>You see what wire-drawing here is to make -the comparison, so proper in its original use, -just and pertinent to a subject to which it had -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">271</span> -naturally no relation. Besides, there is an -absurdity in speaking of a shower’s doing <i>injury</i> -to the sea by falling into it. But the thing -illustrated by this comparison requiring the -idea of <i>injury</i>, he transfers the idea to the -comparing thing. He would soften the absurdity, -by running the comparison into metaphorical -expression, but, I think, it does not -remove it. In short, for these reasons, one -might easily have inferred an Imitation, without -that parenthesis to apologize for it—“To -use that metaphor which an excellent poet of -our nation turns to <i>another</i> purpose—”</p> - -<p>But a poet of that time has no better success -in the management of this metaphor, than the -Historian.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Love</span> makes so many hearts the prize<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the bright <span class="smcap">Carlisle’s</span> conqu’ring eyes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which she regards no more, than they<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tears of lesser beauties weigh.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So have I seen the lost clouds pour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the Sea an useless show’r;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the vex’d Sailors curse the rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For which poor Shepherds pray’d in vain.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Waller’s</span> Poems, p. 25.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The Sentiment stands thus: “She regards -the captive <i>hearts</i> of others no more than -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">272</span> -those others—the <i>tears</i> of lesser beauties.” -Thus, with much difficulty, we get to <i>tears</i>. -And when we have them, the allusion to <i>lost -clouds</i> is so strained (besides that he makes -his shower both <i>useless</i> and <i>injurious</i>), that -one readily perceives the poet’s thought was -distorted by <i>imitation</i>.</p> - -<p>X. The charge of Plagiarism is so disreputable -to a great writer that one is not surprized -to find him anxious to avoid the imputation -of it. Yet “this very anxiety serves, -sometimes, to fix it upon him.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Dryden, in the Preface to his translation -of Fresnoy’s Art of Painting, makes the -following observation on Virgil: “He pretends -sometimes to trip, but ’tis only to make you -think him in danger of a fall when he is -most secure. Like a skilful dancer on the -Rope (if you will pardon the meanness of -the similitude) who slips willingly and makes -a seeming stumble, that you may think him -in great hazard of breaking his neck; while -at the same time he is only giving you a -proof of his dexterity. My late Lord Roscommon -was often pleased with this reflexion, -&c.” p. 50. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">273</span></p> - -<p>His apology for the use of this simile, and -his concluding with Lord Roscommon’s satisfaction -at his remark, betray, I think, an -anxiety to pass for original, under the consciousness -of being but an imitator. So that -if we were to meet with a passage, very like -this, in a celebrated ancient, we could hardly -doubt of its being copied by Mr. Dryden. -What think you then of this observation in -one of Pliny’s Letters, “Ut quasdam artes, -ità eloquentiam nihil magis quàm ancipitia -commendant. Vides qui fune in summa -nituntur, quantos soleant excitare clamores, -cùm jam jamque casuri videntur.” L. ix. -Ep. 26.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Prior</span>, one may observe, has acted more -naturally in his <i>Alma</i>, and by so doing, though -the resemblance be full as great, one is not so -certain of his being an Imitator. The verses -are, of <span class="smcap">Butler</span>:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He perfect Dancer climbs the Rope,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And balances your fear and hope:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If after some distinguish’d leap,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He drops his Pole and seems to slip;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strait gath’ring all his active strength<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He rises higher half his length.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">274</span> -<span class="i0">With <i>wonder</i> you approve his slight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And owe your pleasure to your <i>fright</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="author">C. <small>II.</small><br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Though the two last lines seem taken from -the application of this similitude in Pliny, -“Sunt enim maximè <i>mirabilia</i>, quæ maximè -inexpectata, et maximè <i>periculosa</i>.”</p> - -<p>XI. Writers are, sometimes, sollicitous to -conceal themselves: At others, they are fond -to proclaim their Imitation. “It is when -they have a mind to shew their dexterity in -contending with a great original.”</p> - -<p>You remember these lines of Milton in his -Comus,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i26">Wisdom’s self<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oft seeks to sweet retired Solitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in the various bustle of resort<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair’d.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>On which Dr. Warburton has the following -note. “Mr. Pope has imitated this thought -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">275</span> -and (as was always his way when he imitated) -improved it.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Bear me, some Gods! oh, quickly bear me hence<br /></span> -<span class="i1">To wholesome Solitude, the nurse of Sense;<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">And the free Soul looks down to pity Kings.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>“Mr. Pope has not only improved the harmony, -but the sense. In Milton, <i>Contemplation</i> -is called the <i>Nurse</i>; in Pope, more -properly <i>Solitude</i>: In Milton, <i>Wisdom</i> is -said to <i>prune</i> her wings; in Pope, <i>Contemplation</i> -is said to do it, and with much greater -propriety, as she is of a <i>soaring</i> nature, and -on that account is called by Milton himself, -the <i>Cherub Contemplation</i>.”</p> - -<p>One sees that Mr. Pope’s view was to surpass -his original; “which, it is said, was always his -way when he imitated.” The meaning is, -when he purposely and professedly bent himself -to Imitation; for then his fine genius -taught him to seize every beauty, and his -wonderful judgment, to avoid every defect or -impropriety, in his author. And this distinction -is very material to our passing a right -judgment on the merit of Imitation. It is -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">276</span> -commonly said, that their imitations fall short -of their originals. And they will do so, whatever -the Genius of the Imitator be, if they are -formed only on a <i>general</i> resemblance of the -thought imitated. For an Inventor comprehends -his own ideas more distinctly and fully, -and of course expresses his purpose better, -than a casual Imitator. But the case is different, -when a good writer <i>studies</i> the passage -from which he borrows. For then he not only -copies, but improves on the first idea; and -thus there will frequently (as in the case of -Pope) be greater merit in the Copyist, than the -original.</p> - -<p>XII. We sometimes catch an Imitation -lurking “in a licentious Paraphrase.” The -ground of suspicion lies in the very complacency -with which a writer expatiates on a borrowed -sentiment. He is usually more reserved -in adorning one of his own.</p> - -<p>1. <span class="smcap">Aurelius Victor</span> observes of Fabricius, -“quòd difficiliùs ab honestate, quàm Sol à suo -cursu, averti posset.”</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Tasso</span> flourishes a little on this thought;</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Prima dal corso distornar la Luna<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E le stelle potrà, che dal diritto<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">277</span> -<span class="i0">Torcere un sol mio passo—<br /></span> -<span class="author">C. x. S. 24.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Mr. Waller rises upon the Italian,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i18">“where her love was due,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So fast, so faithful, loyal, and so true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That a bold hand as soon might hope to force<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rowling lights of heav’n, as change her course.”<br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>On the Death of Lady</i> <span class="smcap">Rich</span>.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But Mr. <span class="smcap">Cowley</span>, knowing what authority -he had for the general sentiment, gives the -reins to his fancy and wantons upon it without -measure.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Virtue was thy Life’s centre, and from thence<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Did silently and constantly dispense<br /></span> -<span class="i6">The gentle vigorous influence<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To all the wide and fair circumference:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the parts upon it lean’d so easilie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Obey’d the mighty force so willinglie,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That none could discord or disorder see<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In all their contrarietie.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each had his motion natural and free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the whole no more mov’d, than the whole world could be.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Brutus.</span><br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">278</span></p> - -<p>2. The ingenious author of the <i>Observations -on Spenser</i> (from which fine specimen of his -critical talents one is led to expect great -things) directs us to another imitation of this -sort.</p> - -<p>Tasso had said,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Cosi a le belle lagrime le piume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Si bagna Amore, e gode al chiaro lume.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>On which short hint Spenser has raised the -following luxuriant imagery,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The blinded archer-boy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like lark in show’r of rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sate bathing of his wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And glad the time did spend<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under those crystal drops,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Which fall from her fair eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And at their brightest beams<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Him proyn’d in lovely wise.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>3. I will just add two more examples of the -same kind; chiefly, because they illustrate an -observation, very proper to be attended to on -this subject; which is, “That in this display -of a borrowed thought, the Imitation will -generally fall short of the Original, even -though the borrower be the greater Genius.” -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">279</span></p> - -<p>The Italian poet, just now quoted, says -sublimely of the <i>Night</i>,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i6">—Usci la Notte, è sotto l’ali<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Menò il silentio—<br /></span> -<span class="author">C. v. S. 79.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Milton has given a paraphrase of this passage, -but very much below his original,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now came still ev’ning on, and twilight gray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had in her sober livery all things clad;<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Silence accompany’d</i>—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The striking part of Tasso’s picture, is, -“<i>Night’s bringing in Silence under her -wings</i>.” So new and singular an idea as this -had detected an Imitation. Milton contents -himself, then, with saying simply, <i>Silence -accompany’d</i>. However, to make amends, as -he thought, for this defect, <i>Night itself</i>, -which the Italian had merely personized, the -English poet not only <i>personizes</i>, but employs -in a very becoming office:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now came still ev’ning on, and twilight gray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had in her sober livery all things clad.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Every body will observe a little blemish, in -this fine couplet. He should not have used -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">280</span> -the epithet <i>still</i>, when he intended to add,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Silence</i> accompanied—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But there is a worse fault in this <i>Imitation</i>. -To hide it, he speaks of <i>Night’s livery</i>. When -he had done that, to speak of her <i>wings</i>, had -been ungraceful. Therefore he is forced to -say obscurely as well as <i>simply</i>, <i>Silence accompany’d</i>: -And so loses a more noble image for -a less noble one. The truth is, they would -not stand together. <i>Livery</i> belongs to <i>human -grandeur; wings</i> to <i>divine</i> or <i>celestial</i>. So -that in Milton’s very attempt to surpass his -original, he put it out of his power to employ -the <i>circumstance</i> that most recommended it.</p> - -<p>He is not happier on another occasion. -Spenser had said with his usual simplicity,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Virtue gives herself light thro’ darkness for to wade,”<br /></span> -<span class="author">F. Q. B. 1.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Milton catched at this image, and has run it -into a sort of paraphrase, in those fine lines,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Virtue could see to do what virtue would<br /></span> -<span class="i1">By her own radiant light, tho’ Sun and Moon<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Were in the flat sea sunk—”<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Comus.</span><br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">281</span></p> - -<p>In Spenser’s line we have the idea of Virtue -dropt down into a world, all over darkened -with vice and error. Virtue excites the light -of truth to see all around her, and not only -dissipate the neighbouring darkness, but to -direct her course in pursuing her victory and -driving her enemy out of it; the arduousness -of which exploit is well expressed by—<i>thro’ -darkness for to</i> <small>WADE</small>. On the contrary, Milton, -in borrowing, substitutes the physical for -the moral idea—<i>by her own radiant light</i>—and -<i>tho’ Sun and Moon were in the flat sea -sunk</i>. It may be asked, how this happened? -Very naturally, Milton was caught with the -obvious <i>imagery</i>, which he found he could -display to more advantage; and so did not -enough attend to the noble <i>sentiment</i> that was -couched under it.</p> - -<p>XIII. These are instances of a paraphrastical -licence in dilating on a famous Sentiment or -Image. The <i>ground</i> is the same, only flourished -upon by the genius of the Imitator. At -times we find him practising a different art; -“not merely spreading, as it were, and laying -open the same sentiment, but <i>adding</i> to it, -and by a new and studied device improving -upon it.” In this case we naturally conclude -that the refinement had not been made, if the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">282</span> -plain and simple thought had not preceded and -given rise to it. You will apprehend my -meaning by what follows.</p> - -<p>1. Shakespear had said of Henry IV<sup>th</sup>,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">—He cannot long hold out these pangs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The incessant care and labour of his mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So thin, that life look through, and will break out.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Hen. IV.</span> A. 4.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>You have, here, the thought in its first simplicity. -It was not unnatural, after speaking -of the body, as a case or tenement of the Soul, -<i>the mure that confines</i> it, to say, that as that -case wears away and grows thin, life looks -through, and is ready to break out.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Daniel</span>, by refining on this sentiment, if by -nothing else, shews himself to be the copyist. -Speaking of the same Henry, he observes,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Pain and Grief, inforcing more and more,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Besieg’d the hold that could not long defend;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Consuming so all the resisting store<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of those provisions Nature deign’d to lend,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">283</span> -<span class="i0">As that the Walls, worn thin, permit the mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To look out thorough, and his frailty find.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Here we see, not simply that <i>Life</i> is going -to break through the infirm and much-worn -habitation, but that the <i>Mind</i> looks through -and <i>finds</i> his frailty, that it discovers, that -Life will soon make his escape. I might add, -that the four first lines are of the nature of the -<i>Paraphrase</i>, considered in the last article: -And that the <i>expression</i> of the others is too -much the same to be original. But we are -not yet come to the head of <i>expression</i>. And -I choose to confine myself to the single point -of view we have before us.</p> - -<p>Daniel’s improvement, then, looks like the -artifice of a man that would outdo his Master. -Though he fails in the attempt: for his ingenuity -betrays him into a false thought. The -mind, looking through, does not find <i>its own -frailty</i>, but the frailty of the <i>building</i> it inhabits. -However, I have endeavoured to rectify -this mistake in my explanation.</p> - -<p>The truth is, Daniel was not a man to improve -upon Shakespear. But now comes a -writer, that knew his business much better. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">284</span> -He chuses to employ this well-worn image, or -rather to alter it a little and then employ it, -for the conveyance of a very new fancy. If -the mind could look through a <i>thin</i> body, -much more one that was <i>cracked</i> and battered. -And if it be for looking through at all, he will -have it look to good purpose, and find, not its -frailty only, but much other useful knowledge.</p> - -<p>The lines are Mr. Waller’s, and in the best -manner of that very <i>refined</i> writer.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Stronger by weakness, <i>wiser</i>, men become<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As they draw near to their eternal home.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Soul’s dark cottage, batter’d and decay’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lets in new light thro’ chinks that time has made.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>2. After all, these conceits, I doubt, are -not much to your taste. The instance I am -going to give, will afford you more pleasure. -Is there a passage in Milton you read with more -admiration, than this in the <i>Penseroso</i>?</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Entice the dewy-feather’d sleep;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And let some strange mysterious dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wave at his wings in airy stream;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of lively portraiture display’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Softly on my eye-lids laid.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">285</span></p> - -<p>Would you think it possible now that the -ground-work of this fine imagery should be -laid in a passage of Ben Jonson? Yet so we -read, or seem to read, in his <i>Vision of Delight</i>.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Break, Phant’sy, from thy cave of cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And spread thy purple wings:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Create of airy forms a stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tho’ it be a waking dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet let it like an odour rise<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To all the senses here,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And fall like sleep upon their eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or musick in their ear.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>It is a delicate matter to analyze such passages -as these; which, how exquisite soever -in the poetry, when estimated by the <i>fine -phrenzy</i> of a Genius, hardly look like sense -when given in plain prose. But if you give -me leave to take them in pieces, I will do it, -at least, with reverence. We find then, that -<i>Fancy</i> is here employed in one of her nicest -operations, the production of a <i>day-dream</i>; -which both poets represent as an <i>airy form</i>, -or forms <i>streaming</i> in the air, gently falling -on the eye-lids of her entranced votary. So -far their imagery agrees. But now comes the -<i>mark</i> of imitation I would point out to you. -Milton carries the idea still further, and improves -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">286</span> -finely upon it, in the <i>conception</i> as well as -expression. Jonson evokes fancy out of her -<i>cave of cloud</i>, those cells of the mind, as it -were, in which during her intervals of rest, and -when unemploy’d, fancy lies hid; and bids -her, like a Magician, <i>create</i> this stream of -forms. All this is just and truly poetical. But -Milton goes further. He employs the <i>dewy-feather’d -sleep</i> as his Minister in this machinery. -And the mysterious day-dream is seen -<i>waving at his wings in airy stream</i>. Jonson -would have Fancy <i>immediately</i> produce this -Dream. Milton more poetically, because in -more distinct and particular imagery, represents -Fancy as doing her work by means of -<i>sleep</i>; that soft composure of the mind abstracted -from outward objects, in which it -yields to these phantastic impressions.</p> - -<p>You see then a wonderful improvement in -this addition to the original thought. And the -notion of <i>dreams waving at the wings of sleep</i> -is, by the way, further justified by what Virgil -feigns of their <i>sticking</i> or rather fluttering -on the leaves of his magic tree in the infernal -regions. But it is curious to observe how this -improvement itself arose from hints suggested -by his original. From Jonson’s dream, <i>falling, -like sleep upon their eyes</i>, Milton took -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">287</span> -his <i>feather’d sleep</i>, which he impersonates so -properly; And from <i>Phant’sy’s spreading her -purple wings</i>, a circumstance, not so immediately -connected with Jonson’s design <i>of -creating of airy forms a stream</i>, he catched -the idea of <i>Sleep spreading her wings</i>; and to -good purpose, since the airy stream of forms -was to <i>wave at them</i>.</p> - -<p>However, Jonson’s image is, in itself, incomparable. -It is taken from a <i>winged</i> insect -breaking out of its Aurelia state, its <i>cave of -cloud</i>, as it is finely called: Not unlike that of -Mr. Pope,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So spins the Silk-worm small its slender store,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And labours till it <i>clouds</i> itself all o’er.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><small>IV.</small> <i>Dunc.</i> v. 253.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And nothing can be juster than this allusion. -For the ancients always pictured <span class="smcap">Fancy</span> and -<span class="smcap">Human-love</span> with Insect’s wings.</p> - -<p>XIV. Thus then, whether the poet <i>prevaricates</i>, -<i>enlarges</i>, or <i>adds</i>, still we frequently -find some latent circumstance, attending his -management, that convicts him of Imitation. -Nay, he is not safe even when he denies himself -these liberties; I mean when he only -<i>glances</i> at his original. “For, in this case, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">288</span> -the borrowed sentiment usually wants something -of that perspicuity which always attends -the first delivery of it.” This Rule -may be considered as the Reverse of the <i>last</i>. -A writer, sometimes, takes a pleasure to <i>refine</i> -on a plain thought: Sometimes (and that is -usually when the original sentiment is well -known and fully developed) he does not so -much as attempt to open and <i>explain</i> it.</p> - -<p>A poet of the last age has the following lines, -on the subject of <i>Religion</i>:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Religion now is a young Mistress here,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For which each man will fight, and dye at least;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let it alone awhile, and ’t will become<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A kind of married wife; people will be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Content to live with it in quietness.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Suckling</span> says this in his Tragedy of Brennoralt; -which is a Satire throughout on the -rising troubles of that time. <span class="smcap">Butler</span> has -taken the thought and applied it on the same -occasion:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When hard words, jealousies, and fears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Set folks together by the ears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And make them fight, like mad or drunk,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For dame Religion, as for Punk.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">289</span></p> - -<p>Setting aside the difference between the -burlesque and serious style, one easily sees -that this sentiment is borrowed from Suckling. -It has not the clear and full exposition of an -original thought. Butler only represents men -as drunk with Religion and fighting for it as -for a Punk. The <i>other</i> gives the reason of the -Debauch, namely, <i>fondness for a new face</i>; -and tells us, besides, how things would subside -into peace or indifference on a nearer and -more familiar acquaintance. One could expect -no less from the <i>Inventor</i> of this humorous -thought; a <i>Borrower</i> might be content -to allude to it.</p> - -<p>XV. This last consideration puts me in -mind of another artifice to conceal a borrowed -sentiment. Nothing lies more open to discovery -than a Simile in form, especially if it be -a remarkable one. These are a sort of <i>purpurei -panni</i> which catch all eyes; and, if the -comparison be not a writer’s own, he is almost -sure to be detected. The way then that refined -Imitators take to conceal themselves, in -such a case, is to run the Similitude into Allegory. -We have a curious instance in Mr. -Pope, who has succeeded so well in the -attempt, that his plagiarism, I believe, has -never been suspected. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">290</span></p> - -<p>The verses, I have in my eye, are these fine -ones, addressed to Lord Bolingbroke,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, while along the stream of time thy name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Expanded flies, and gathers all it’s fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say, shall my little Bark attendant sail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pursue the triumph, and partake the Gale?<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>What think you, now, of these admired -verses? Are they, besides their other beauties, -perfectly original? You will be able to resolve -this question, by turning to the following passage -in a Poet, Mr. Pope was once fond of, I -mean <span class="smcap">Statius</span>,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sic ubi magna novum Phario de litore puppis<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Solvit iter, jamque innumeros utrinque rudentes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lataque veliferi porrexit brachia mali<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Invasitque vias, in eodem angusta phaselus<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Æquore, et immensi partem sibi vendicat Austri.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Silv.</span> l. V. <small>I.</small> v. 242.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>But, especially, this other,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">—immensæ veluti <small>CONNEXA</small> carinæ<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Cymba minor</span>, cum sævit hyems, pro parte, furentes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Parva receptat aquas, et <small>EODEM VOLVITUR AUSTRO</small>.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Silv.</span> l. I. iv. v. 120.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">291</span></p> - -<p>XVI. I release you from this head of <i>Sentiments</i>, -with observing that we sometimes -conclude a writer to have had a celebrated original -in his eye, when “without copying the -peculiar thought, or stroke of imagery, he -gives us only a copy of the impression, it -had made upon him.”</p> - -<p>1. In delivering this rule, I will not dissemble -that I myself am copying, or rather -stealing from a great critic: From <i>one</i>, however, -who will not resent this theft; as indeed -he has no reason, for he is so prodigiously rich -in these things, as in others of more value, -that what he neglects or flings away, would -make the fortune of an ordinary writer. The -person I mean is the late Editor of Shakespear, -who, in an admirable note on Julius Cæsar, -taking occasion to quote that passage of Cato,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O think what anxious moments pass between<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, ’tis a dreadful interval of time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fill’d up with horror all, and big with death,<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>observes “that Mr. Addison was so struck and -affected with the <i>terrible graces</i> of Shakespear -(in the passage he is there considering) -that, instead of imitating his author’s sentiments, -he hath, before he was aware, given -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">292</span> -us only the copy of his own impressions -made by them. For,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, ’tis a dreadful interval of time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fill’d up with horror all, and big with death,<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>are but the affections raised by such forcible -images as these,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">——All the Int’rim is<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a Phantasma, or a hideous dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">——The state of man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like to a little kingdom, suffers then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The nature of an Insurrection.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The observation is new and finely applied. -Give me leave to suppose that the following is -an instance of the same nature.</p> - -<p>2. Milton on a certain occasion says of -<i>Death</i>, that she</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Grinn’d horrible a ghastly smile—”<br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>P. L.</i> B. II. v. 846.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>This representation is supposed by his -learned Editor to be taken from Homer, from -Statius, or from the Italian poets. A certain -friend of ours, not to be named without honour, -and therefore not at all on so slight an -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">293</span> -occasion, suggests that it might probably be -copied from Spenser’s,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Grinning griesly—<br /></span> -<span class="author">B. V. c. 12.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And there is the more likelihood in this conjecture, -as the poet a little before had call’d -<i>death—the griesly terror</i>—v. 704. But after -all, if he had any preceding writer in view, I -suspect it might be <span class="smcap">Fletcher</span>; who, in his -<i>Wife for a Month</i>, has these remarkable lines,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The game of Death was never play’d more nobly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The meagre thief grew <i>wanton</i> in his mischiefs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And <i>his shrunk hollow eyes smil’d</i> on his ruin.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The word <i>Ghastly</i>, I would observe, gives -the precise idea of <i>shrunk hollow eyes</i>, and -looks as if Milton, in admiration of his original, -had only looked out for an <i>epithet</i> to Death’s -smile, as he found it pictured in Fletcher.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Thus much</span>, then, may perhaps serve for -an illustration of the first part of this Inquiry. -We have found out several <i>marks</i>, and applied -them to various passages in the best writers, -from which we may reasonably enough be -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">294</span> -allowed to infer an Imitation in point of <i>Sentiment</i>. -For what respect the other part of -<i>Expression</i>, this is an easier task, and will be -dispatched in few words.</p> - -<p>Only you will indulge me in an observation -or two, to prevent your expecting from me -more than I undertake to perform.</p> - -<p>When I speak of <i>Expression</i>, then I mean -to confine myself “to single words of sentences, -or at most the structure of a passage.” -When <i>Imitation</i> is carried so far as to affect -the general cast of language, or what we call a -<i>Style</i>, no great sagacity is, perhaps, required -to detect it. Thus the <i>Ciceroniani</i>, if they -were not ambitious of proclaiming themselves, -are discoverable at the first glance. And the -later Roman poets, as well as the modern -Latin versifiers, are, to the best of their power, -<i>Virgilian</i>. The thing is perhaps still easier in -a living language; especially if that language be -our own. Milton and Pope, if they have made -but few poets, have made many imitators; so -many, that we are ready to complain there is -hardly an original poet left.</p> - -<p>Another point seems of no importance in -the present inquiry. I know, it is asked, How -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">295</span> -far a writer casually or designedly imitates? -that is, whether he copies another from memory -only, without recollecting, at the time, -the passage from which his expression is drawn, -or purposely, and with full knowledge of his -original. And this consideration is of much -weight, as I have shewn at large, where the -question is concerning the <i>credit</i> of the supposed -imitator. For this is affected by nothing -but direct and <i>intended</i> imitation. But as we -are looking at present only for those marks in -the expression which shew it <i>not</i> to be original, -it is enough that the resemblance is such as -cannot well be accounted for but on the supposition -of some sort of commerce; whether -immediately perceived by the writer himself, -is not material. ’Tis true, this observation is -applicable to <i>sentiments</i> as well as expression; -and I have not pretended to give the preceding -articles, as proofs, or even presumptions, in -all cases, that the later writer copied intentionally -from a former. But there is this difference -in the two cases. <i>Sentiments</i> may be -strikingly similar, or even identical, without -the least thought, or even effect, of a preceding -original. But the identity of <i>expression</i>, except -in some few cases of no importance, is, -in the same language, where the writer speaks -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">296</span> -entirely from himself, an almost impossible -thing. And you will be of this mind, if you -reflect on the infinitely varied lights in which -the same image or sentiment presents itself to -different writers; the infinitely varied purpose -they have to serve by it; or where it happens -to strike precisely in the same manner, and is -directed precisely to the same end, the infinite -combinations of words in which it may be expressed. -To all which you may add, that the least -imaginable variation, either in the terms or the -structure of them, not only destroys the -identity, but often disfigures the resemblance -to that degree that we hardly know it to be a -resemblance.</p> - -<p>So that you see, the <i>marks</i> of imitated or, -if you will, <i>derived expression</i> are much less -equivocal, than of <i>sentiment</i>. We may pronounce -of the <i>former</i> without hesitation, that -it is taken, when corresponding marks in the -<i>latter</i> would only authorise us to conclude that -it was the <i>same</i> or perhaps <i>similar</i>.</p> - -<p>I need not use more words to convince you, -that the distinction of <i>casual</i> and <i>design’d</i> -imitation is still of less significancy in this class -of imitations, than the other. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">297</span></p> - -<p>And with this preamble, more particular -perhaps and circumstantial than was necessary, -I now proceed to lay before you some of those -<i>signs</i> of derived expression, which I conceive -to be <i>unequivocal</i>. If they are so, they will -generally appear at first sight; so that I shall -have little occasion to trouble you, as I did -before, with my comments. It will be sufficient -to deliver the <i>rule</i>, and to <i>exemplify</i> it.</p> - -<p>I. An identity of expression, especially if -carried on through an intire sentence, is the -most certain proof of imitation.</p> - -<p>Mr. Waller of Sacharissa,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So little care of what is done below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hath the bright dame, whom heav’n affecteth so;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Paints her, ’tis true, with the same hand which spreads<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like glorious colours thro’ the flow’ry meads;<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>When lavish nature with her best attire</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cloaths the gay spring, the season of desire.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Mr. Fenton takes notice that the poet is -copying from the <i>Muiopotmos</i> of Spenser.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To the gay gardens his unstaid desire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Him wholly carried to refresh his sprights:<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">298</span> -<span class="i0"><i>There lavish Nature, in her best attire,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pours forth sweet odours and alluring sights.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>We shall see presently that, besides the identity -of expression, there is also another mark -of imitation in this passage.</p> - -<p>II. But less than this will do, where the -similarity of thought, and application of it, is -striking.</p> - -<p>Mr. Pope says divinely well,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Shall burning Ætna, if a sage requires,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forget to thunder and recall its fires?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On <i>air</i> or sea <i>new motions be impress’d</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh blameless Bethel! to relieve thy breast?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the loose mountain trembles from on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall <i>gravitation cease if you go by</i>?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or some old temple nodding to its fall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Chartres’ head reserve the hanging wall?<br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Essay</i> <small>IV. V.</small> 123.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Now turn to Mr. Wollaston, an easy natural -writer (where his natural manner is not stiffened -by a mathematical pedantry) and abounding -in fine sallies of the imagination; and see if -the poet did not catch his <i>expression</i>, as well -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">299</span> -as the fire of his conception in this place, from -the philosopher:</p> - -<p>“As to the course of Nature, if a good man -be passing by an infirm building, just in the -article of falling, can it be expected that God -should <i>suspend the force of gravitation till he -is gone by</i>, in order to his deliverance; or can -we think it would be increased, and the fall -hastened, if a bad man was there, only that -he might be caught, crushed, and made an -example? If a man’s safety or prosperity should -depend upon winds or rains, must <i>new motions -be impressed upon the atmosphere</i>, and new -directions given to the floating parts of it, by -some extraordinary and new influence from -God?”</p> - -<p>III. Sometimes the original expression is not -taken but paraphrased; and the writer disguises -himself in a kind of circumlocution. -Yet this artifice does not conceal him, especially -if some fragments, as it were, of the -inventor’s phrase are found dispersedly in the -imitation.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For in the secret of her troubled thought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A doubtful combat love and honour fought.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Fairfax’s Tasso</i>, B. <small>IV.</small> S. 70.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">300</span></p> - -<p>Hence Mr. Waller,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There public care and private passion <i>fought</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>A doubtful combat</i> in his noble <i>thought</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Poems</i>, p. 14.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p><i>Public care</i> is the periphrasis of <i>honour</i>, and -<i>private passion</i>, of <i>love</i>. For the rest you see—<i>disjecti -membra poetæ</i>.</p> - -<p>IV. An imitation is discoverable, when there -is but the least particle of the original expression, -“by a peculiar and no very natural arrangement -of words.”</p> - -<p>In Fletcher’s <i>faithful Shepherdess</i>, the -speaker says,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">— — — — — — — In thy face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shines more awful majesty,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than dull weak mortality<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dare with misty eyes behold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">And live</span>—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The writer glanced, but very improperly on -such an occasion, at <i>Exod.</i> xxxiii. 20. “Thou -canst not see my face: for there shall no man -see me, <i>and live</i>.”</p> - -<p>V. An uncommon <i>construction</i> of words -not identical, especially if the subject be the -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">301</span> -same, or the ideas similar, will look like -imitation.</p> - -<p>Milton says finely of the <i>Swan</i>,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">— — — — —The Swan with arched neck<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between her white wings mantling proudly <small>ROWS</small><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Her state</span>—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>I should think he might probably have that -line of Fletcher in his head,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How like a Swan she <small>SWIMS HER PACE</small>!<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The expression, you see, is very like. ’Tis -true, the <i>image</i> in Milton is much nobler. -It is taken from a barge of state in a public -procession.</p> - -<p>VI. We may even pronounce that a <i>single -word</i> is taken, when it is new and uncommon.</p> - -<p>Milton’s calling a ray of light—a levell’d -<i>rule</i> in Comus v. 340, is so particular that, -when one reads in Euripides ἡλίου ΚΑΝΩΝ -σαφὴς, Suppl. v. 650, one has no doubt that -the learned poet translated the Greek word.</p> - -<p>Again, Mr. Pope’s,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Or ravish’d with the <i>whistling</i> of a name,”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">302</span></p> - -<p>is for the same reason, if there were no other -points of likeness, copied from Mr. Cowley’s</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Charm’d with the foolish <i>whistlings</i> of a name.”<br /></span> -<span class="author">Transl. of Virgil’s <i>O! fortunati nimium</i>, &c.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>VII. An improper <i>use</i> of uncommon expression, -in very exact writers, will sometimes -create a suspicion. Milton had called the <i>sight</i> -indifferently <i>visual nerve</i> and <i>visual ray</i>, -P. L. iii. 620. xi. 415. Mr. Pope in his Messiah -thought he might take the same liberty, -but forgot that though the <i>visual nerve</i> might -be purged from film, the <i>visual ray</i> could not. -Had Mr. Pope <i>invented</i> this bold expression, -he would have seen to apply his <i>metaphor</i> -more properly.</p> - -<p>VIII. Where the word or phrase is <i>foreign</i>, -there is, if possible, still less doubt.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">— — — —at last his sail-broad <i>vans</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">He spreads for flight.<br /></span> -<span class="author">Milton, P. L. ii. v. 927.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Most certainly from Tasso’s,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">—Spiega al grand volo i <i>vanni</i>. ix.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And that of Jonson in his <i>Sejanus</i>, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">303</span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O! what is it proud slime will not believe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of his own worth, to hear it <i>equal prais’d</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Thus with the Gods</i>—<br /></span> -<span class="author">A. 1.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>from Juvenal’s</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">— — —nihil est quod credere de se<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Non possit, cum <i>laudatur Diis æqua</i> potestas.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>IX. Conclude the same when the expression -is <i>antique</i>, in the writer’s own language.</p> - -<p>In Mr. Waller’s Panegyric on the Protector,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So, when a Lion shakes his dreadful mane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And angry grows, if he <i>that first took pain</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To tame his youth, approach the haughty beast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He bends to him, but frights away the rest.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The antique formality of the phrase <i>that -first took pain</i>, for, <i>that first took the pains</i>, -in so pure and modern a speaker, as this poet, -looks suspicious. He took it, as he found it -in an older writer. There are many other -marks of imitation, but we had needed no more -than this to make the discovery:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And beats his tail, with courage proud, and wroth,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">304</span> -<span class="i0">If his commander come, <i>who first took pain</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To tame his youth, his lofty crest down go’th.<br /></span> -<span class="author">Fairfax’s <i>Tasso</i>, B. <small>VIII.</small> S. 83.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>X. You observe in most of the instances, -here given, besides other marks, there is an -identity of rhyme. And this circumstance of -itself, in our poetry, is no bad argument of -imitation, particularly when joined to a similarity -of expression. And the reason is, the -rhyme itself very naturally brings the expression -along with it.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">1. “Stuck o’er with titles, and hung round with strings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That thou mayst be <i>by Kings, or whores of Kings</i>.”<br /></span> -<span class="author">Essay on Man, E. <small>IV. V.</small> 205.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>from Mr. Cowley in his translation of <i>Hor.</i> 1. -<i>ep.</i> 10.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“To Kings, or to the favourites of Kings.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">2. “Such is the world’s great harmony, that <i>springs</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">From order, union, full <i>consent of things</i>.”<br /></span> -<span class="author">Ep. <small>III.</small> 295.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>from Denham’s <i>Cowper’s Hill</i>,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Wisely she knew the <i>harmony of things</i><br /></span> -<span class="i1">As well as that of sounds from discord <i>springs</i>.”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">305</span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">3. “Far as the solar walk, or milky way.”<br /></span> -<span class="author">Essay on Man, Ep. <small>I. V.</small> 102.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>from Mr. Dryden’s Pindaric Poem to the -memory of K. Charles II.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Out of the solar walk, or heav’n’s high way.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Though these consonancies chyming in the -writer’s head, he might not always be aware of -the imitation.</p> - -<p>XI. In the examples, just given, there was -no reason to suspect the poet was imitating, -till you met with the original. Then indeed -the rhyme leads to the discovery. But “if -an exact writer falls into a <i>flatness of expression</i> -for the sake of rhyme, you may ev’n -previously conclude that he has some precedent -for it.”</p> - -<p>In the famous lines,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let modest Foster, if he will, excell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ten metropolitans <i>in preaching well</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="author">Ep. to Satires, v. 131.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>I used to suspect that the phrase of <i>preaching -well</i> so unlike the concise accuracy of Pope, -would not have been hazarded by him, if some -eminent writer, though perhaps of an older -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">306</span> -age and less correct taste than his own, had -not set the example. But I had no doubt left -when I happened on the following couplet in -Mr. Waller.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your’s sounds aloud, and tells us you <i>excell</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">No less in courage, than <i>in singing well</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="author">Poem to Sir W. D’Avenant.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Our great poet is more happy in the application -of these rhymes on another occasion,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let such teach others, who themselves <i>excell</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And censure freely, who have written <i>well</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="author">Essay on Crit. v. 15.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The reason is apparent. But here he glanced -at the Duke of Buckingham’s,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Nature’s chief master-piece is <i>writing well</i>.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>XII. “The same pause and turn of expression -are pretty sure symptoms of imitation.” -These minute resemblances do not -usually spring from Nature, which, when the -sentiment is the same, hath a hundred ways of -its own, of giving it to us.</p> - -<p>1. That noble verse in the essay on criticism, -v. 625. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">307</span></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“For fools rush in, where angels dare not tread,”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>is certainly fashion’d upon Shakespear’s,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">——————————“the world is grown so bad<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That wrens make prey, where angels dare not perch.”<br /></span> -<span class="author"><i>Rich.</i> III. A. <small>I</small>. S. <small>III</small>.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>2. The verses to Sir W. Trumbal in Past. 1.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“And carrying with you all the world can boast,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">To all the world illustriously are lost.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>from Waller’s <i>Maid’s Tragedy</i> alter’d,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Happy he that from the world retires<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And carries with him what the world admires.<br /></span> -<span class="author">p. 215. Lond. 1712.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>XIII. When to these marks the same <i>Rhyme</i> -is added, the case is still more evident.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Men would be angels, angels would be Gods.”<br /></span> -<span class="author">Essay on Man, Ep. I. v. 126.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Without all question from Sir Fulk Grevil,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Men would be tyrants, tyrants would be <i>Gods</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="author">Works, <i>Lond.</i> 1633. p. 73.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">308</span></p> - -<p>XIV. The seeming quaintness and obscurity -of an expression frequently indicates imitation. -As when in Fletcher’s <i>Pilgrim</i> we read,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>Hummings</i> of higher nature vex his brains.”<br /></span> -<span class="author">A. <small>II.</small> S. 2.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Had the idea been original, the poet had -expressed it more plainly. In leaving it thus, -he pays his reader the compliment to suppose, -that he will readily call to mind,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i14">aliena negotia centum<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Per caput, et circa saliunt latus;<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>which sufficiently explains it: As we may see -from Mr. Cowley’s application of the same passage. -“Aliena negotia centum per caput et -centum saliunt latus. A hundred businesses -of other men fly continually about his head -and <i>ears</i>, and strike him in the face like -Dorres.” <i>Disc. of Liberty.</i> And still more -clearly, from Mr. Pope’s,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“A hundred other men’s affairs,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Like bees, are <i>humming</i> in my ears.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Learned writers of quick parts abound in -these delicate allusions. It makes a principal -part of modern elegancy to glance in this -oblique manner at well-known passages in the -classics. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">309</span></p> - -<p>XV. I will trouble you with but one more -note of <i>imitated expression</i>, and it shall be -the very reverse of the last. When the passages -glanced at are not familiar, the expression -is frequently minute and circumstantial, corresponding -to the original in the order, turn, -and almost number of the words. The reasons -are, that, the imitated passage not being -known, the imitator may give it, as he finds -it, with safety, or at least without offence; -and that, besides, the force and beauty of it -would escape us in a brief and general allusion. -The following are instances:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">1. “Man never is, but always to be blest.”<br /></span> -<span class="author">Essay on Man, Ep. I. v. 69.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>from Manilius,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Victuros agimus semper, nec vivimus unquam.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">2. —“Hope never comes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That comes to all.”—<br /></span> -<span class="author"><span class="smcap">Milton</span>, P. L. <small>I.</small> v. 66.<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>from Euripides in the Troad. v. 676.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">—οὐδ’ ὃ πᾶσι λείπεται βροτοῖς,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ξύνεστιν ἐλπὶς.—<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>3. But above all, that in Jonson’s Catiline,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i26">“He shall die:<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Shall</i> was too slowly said: He’s <i>dying</i>: That<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is still too slow: He’s <i>dead</i>.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">310</span></p> - -<p>from Seneca’s <i>Hercules furens</i>, A. <small>III.</small></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Lycus Creonti debitas poenas <i>dabit</i>:<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Lentum est, dabit; <i>dat</i>: hoc quoque est lentum; <i>dedit</i>.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>You have now, Sir, before you a specimen -of those rules, which I have fancied might be -fairly applied to the discovery of imitations, -both in regard to the <small>SENSE</small> and <small>EXPRESSION</small> of -great writers. I would not pretend that the -same stress is to be laid on <i>all</i>; but there may -be something, at least, worth attending to in -every one of them. It were easy, perhaps, to -enumerate still more, and to illustrate these I -have given with more agreeable citations. Yet -I have spared you the disgust of considering -those vulgar passages, which every body recollects -and sets down for acknowledged imitations. -And these I have used are taken from -the most celebrated of the ancient and modern -writers. You may observe indeed that I have -chiefly drawn from our own poets; which I -did, not merely because I know you despise -the pedantry of confining one’s self to learned -quotations, but because I think we are better -able to discern those circumstances, which betray -an imitation, in our own language than in -any other. Amongst other reasons, an <i>identity</i> -of words and phrases, upon which so -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">311</span> -much depends, especially in the article of <i>expression</i>, -is only to be had in the <i>same</i> language. -And you are not to be told with how much -more certainty we determine of the degree of -evidence, which such identity affords for this -purpose, in a language we speak, than in one -which we only lisp or spell.</p> - -<p>But you will best understand of what importance -this affair of <i>expression</i> is to the -discovery of imitations, by considering how -seldom we are able to fix an imitation on -Shakespear. The reason is, not, that there -are not numberless passages in him very like -to others in approved authors, or that he had -not read enough to give us a fair hold of him; -but that his expression is so totally his own, -that he almost always sets us at defiance.</p> - -<p>You will ask me, perhaps, now I am on -this subject, how it happened that Shakespear’s -language is every where so much his own as to -secure his imitations, if they were such, from -discovery; when I pronounce with such assurance -of those of our other poets. The -answer is given for me in the Preface to Mr. -Theobald’s Shakespear; though the observation, -I think, is too good to come from that -critic. It is, that, though his words, agreeably -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">312</span> -to the state of the English tongue at that -time, be generally Latin, his phraseology is -perfectly English: An advantage, he owed to -his slender acquaintance with the Latin idiom. -Whereas the other writers of his age, and such -others of an older date as were likely to fall -into his hands, had not only the most familiar -acquaintance with the Latin idiom, but affected -on all occasions to make use of it. Hence it -comes to pass, that, though he might draw -sometimes from the Latin (Ben Jonson, you -know, tells us, <i>He had less Greek</i>) and the -learned English writers, he takes nothing but -the <i>sentiment</i>; the expression comes of itself, -and is purely English.</p> - -<p>I might indulge in other reflexions, and -detain you still further with examples taken -from his works. But we have <i>lain</i>, as the -Poet speaks, <i>on these primrose beds</i>, too long. -It is time that you now rise to your own nobler -<i>inventions</i>; and that I return myself to those, -less pleasing, perhaps, but more useful studies -from which your friendly sollicitations have -called me. Such as these amusements are, -however, I cannot repent me of them, since -they have been innocent at least, and even -ingenuous; and, what I am fondest to recollect, -have helped to enliven those many years of -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">313</span> -friendship we have passed together in this -place. I see indeed, with regret, the approach -of that time, which threatens to take me both -from <i>it</i>, and <i>you</i>. But, however fortune may -dispose of me, she cannot throw me to a distance, -to which your affection and good wishes, -at least, will not follow me.</p> - -<p>And for the rest,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Be no unpleasing melancholy mine.”<br /></span> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The coming years of my life will not, I -foresee, in many respects, be what the past -have been to me. But, till they take me from -myself, I must always bear about me the agreeable -remembrance of our friendship.</p> - -<p> -<span class="i4"><i>I am,</i></span><br /> -<span class="i6"><i>Dear Sir,</i></span><br /> -<span class="i8"><i>Your most affectionate</i></span><br /> -<span class="i10"><i>Friend and Servant.</i></span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Cambridge</span>,<br /> -<span class="i2">Aug. 15, 1757.</span><br /> -</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">314</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">315</span></p> - -<h2 id="INDEX">INDEX<br /> - -<small>TO THE</small><br /> - -TWO VOLUMES.</h2> - -<div class="transnote"> - -<h3>Transcriber’s Note:</h3> - -<p>This book was published in three sets containing eight individual volumes, of which this -is the second volume of the first set. The first volume was released as -Project Gutenberg ebook #52998, available <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/9/9/52998">here</a>.</p> - -<p>The links in the index to the first volume will open the online e-book -to the indicated page. The links will not work in e-readers.</p> - -</div> - -<ul class="index"><li class="ifrst">A.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Addison</span>, Mr., his judgment of the double sense of verbs, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_359">359</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his <i>Cato</i>, defended, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_102">102</a>.</li> -<li class="isub2">not too poetical, ib.</li> -<li class="isub2">its real defects, ib.</li> -<li class="isub1">his criticism on <i>Milton</i> proceeds on just principles, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_393">393</a>.</li> -<li class="isub2">how far defective, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_396">396</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Aeneis</span>, prefigured under the idea of a temple, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_333">333</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the destruction of Troy, an episode, why, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_139">139</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Aglaophon</span>, his rude manner of painting; why preferred to <i>Parrhasius</i> and <i>Zeuxis</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_346">346</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Allegory</span>, the distinguished pride of ancient poetry, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_343">343</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a fine instance from <i>Virgil</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_333">333</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Ancients</span>, immoderately extolled, why, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_346">346</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Antigone</span>, the chorus of it defended, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_158">158</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Aphorisms</span>, condemned in the <i>Roman</i> writers, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_184">184</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">why used so frequently by the Greeks, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_185">185</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Apollonius</span> <i>Rhodius</i>, why censured by <i>Aristophanes</i> and <i>Aristarchus</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_267">267</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">316</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Apotheosis</span>, the usual mode of flattery in the <i>Augustan</i> age, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_333">333</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Aristotle</span>, his opinion of <i>Homer’s</i> imitations, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_67">67</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of <i>Euripides</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_116">116</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the business of the chorus, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_145">145</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the sententious manner, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_186">186</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his fine Ode, corrected, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_188">188</a>. n.</li> -<li class="isub1">translated, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_189">189</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the origin of tragedy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_94">94</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a passage in his poetics explained, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_123">123</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his censure of the <i>Iphigenia at Aulis</i>, considered, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_131">131</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">he was little known at Rome in Cicero’s time, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_191">191</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">why <i>Horace</i> differs from him in his account of <i>Aeschylus’s</i> inventions, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_240">240</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a supposed contradiction between him and <i>Horace</i> reconciled, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_262">262</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his judgment of moral pictures, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_375">375</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his admiration of an epithet in <i>Homer</i>, on what founded, ii. <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Art</span> and <span class="smcap">Nature</span>, their provinces in forming a poet, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_273">273</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Atellane fable</span>, a species of Comedy, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_192">192</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">different from the satyric piece, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_195">195</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the Oscan language used in it, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_198">198</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">why criticised by <i>Horace</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_206">206</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">in what sense Pomponius, the Inventor of it, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_198">198</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Athenaeus</span>, of the moralizing turn of the Greeks, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_187">187</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Auctor</span> ad Herennium, defines an aphorism, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_184">184</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Augustus</span>, fond of the old Comedy, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_228">228</a>. n.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">B.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Bacon</span>, Lord, his idea of poetry, ii. <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Balzac</span>, Mr., his flattery of <span class="smcap">Louis le juste</span>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_344">344</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_345">345</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">317</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Beauty</span>, the idea of, how distinguished from the pathetic, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_110">110</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Bentley</span>, Dr., corrections of his censured, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_106">106</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_142">142</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">an interpretation of his confuted, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_110">110</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a conjecture of his confirmed, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_349">349</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Bos</span>, <i>M. de</i>, how he accounts for the effect of Tragedy, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_119">119</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">for the degeneracy of taste and literature, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_264">264</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">what he thought of modern imitations of the ancient poets, ii. <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Bouhours</span>, P., his merit as a critic, pointed out, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_393">393</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">wherein censured, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_395">395</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Brumoy</span>, P., his character, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_133">133</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">commends the <i>Athalie</i> and <i>Esther</i> of <i>Racine</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_145">145</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">justifies the chorus, ib.</li> -<li class="isub1">accounts for the sententious manner of the <i>Greek</i> stage, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_185">185</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">an observation of his on the imitation of foreign characters, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_247">247</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Bruyere</span>, <i>M. de la</i>, an observation of his concerning the manners, ii. <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Busiris</span>, in what sense a ridiculous character, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_208">208</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">C.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Caesar</span>, <i>C. Julius</i>, his judgment of <i>Terence</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_225">225</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Casaubon</span>, <i>Isaac</i>, his book on satyric poetry recommended, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_194">194</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">an emendation of his confirmed, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_208">208</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Character</span>, the object of comedy, ii. <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of what sort, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of what persons, ib.</li> -<li class="isub1">plays of, in what faulty, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">instances of such plays, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">318</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Characters</span>, of comedy, general; of tragedy, particular, why, ii. <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">this matter explained at large, to <a href="#Page_54">54</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Chorus</span>, its use and importance, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_145">145</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">its moral character, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_156">156</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">more easily conducted by ancient than modern poets, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_161">161</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">improvements in the Latin tragic chorus, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_179">179</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Cicer</span>, <i>M. Tullius</i>, of the use of old words, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_89">89</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of self-murder, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_162">162</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of poetic licence, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_174">174</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the language of <i>Democritus</i> and <i>Plato</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_180">180</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the music of his time, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_182">182</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the neglect of philosophy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_191">191</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the mimes, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_205">205</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of <i>Plautus’s</i> wit, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_220">220</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">does not mention <i>Menander</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_229">229</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">mentions corporal infirmities as proper subjects for ridicule, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_231">231</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of a good poet, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_249">249</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of decorum, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_251">251</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the use of philosophy, ib.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Cid</span>, of <i>P. Corneille</i>, its uncommon success, to what owing, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_398">398</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Clowns</span>, their character in <i>Shakespear</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_186">186</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Comedy</span>, <i>Roman</i>, three species of it, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_192">192</a>.</li> -<li class="indx">—— the author’s idea of it, ii. <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">conclusions concerning its nature, from that idea, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">attributes, common to it and tragedy, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">attributes, peculiar to it, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">its genius, considered at large, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">M. <i>de Fontenelle’s</i> notion of it, considered, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">idea of it enlarged since the time of <i>Aristotle</i>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">polite and heroic, what we are to think of it, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">on high life, censured, ib.</li> -<li class="isub1">of modern invention, ib.</li> -<li class="isub1">accounted for, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">why more difficult than tragedy, ib. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">319</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Comparison</span>, similarity of, in all writers, why necessary, ii. <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">why more so in the graver than lighter poetry, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Corneille</span>, P., his objection to <i>Euripides’s Medea</i>, confuted, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_163">163</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his notion of comic action considered, ii. <a href="#Page_41">41</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Criticism</span>, the uses of it, ii. <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">its aim, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_391">391</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">when perfect, ib.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">D.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Dacier</span>, <i>M.</i>, criticisms of his considered, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_268">268</a>, ibid.</li> -<li class="isub1">the author’s opinion of him, as a critic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_62">62</a>, n. and <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_272">272</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his account of the opening of the <i>Epistle to Augustus</i> censured, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_326">326</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Dance</span>, the choral commended, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_178">178</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Davenant</span>, Sir <i>William</i>, his <i>Gondibert</i> criticised, ii. <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Demetrius Phalereus</span>, characterizes the satyric piece, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_193">193</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Description</span>, natural and moral, why similar in the form as well as matter in all poets, ii. <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Dialogue</span>, <i>Socratic</i>, the genius of, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_252">252</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Dio Cassius</span>, instances from him of the gross flattery paid to <i>Caesar</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_330">330</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Diomedes</span>, of the Satyric and Atellane fables, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_195">195</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the use of the Satyric piece, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_203">203</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a passage in him corrected by <i>Casaubon</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_208">208</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his character of the Atellanes, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_234">234</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">distinguishes the different kinds of the <i>Roman</i> drama, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_241">241</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">320</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Dionysius</span>, of <i>Halicarnassus</i>, of the use of words, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_92">92</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of <i>Plato’s</i> figurative style, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_254">254</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Doctus</span>, the meaning of, explained, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_350">350</a>-352.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Donatus</span>, distinguishes the three forms of comedy, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_193">193</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Drama</span>, see <i>Tragedy</i>, <i>Comedy</i>, <i>Farce</i>.</li> -<li class="indx">—— <i>Peruvian</i>, some account of, ii. <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1"><i>Chinese</i>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1"><i>Greek</i> and <i>Roman</i>, its character, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the laws of, in what different from those of history, ii. <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Dulce</span>, its distinction from <i>pulchrum</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_109">109</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Duport</span>, <i>Pr.</i>, his collection of moral parallelisms in <i>Homer</i>, and Sacred Writ, of what use? ii. <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">E.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Electra</span>, of <i>Euripides</i>, vindicated, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_125">125</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a circumstance in the two plays of that name by <i>Euripides</i> and <i>Sophocles</i> compared, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_259">259</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Elfrida</span>, of Mr. Mason, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_148">148</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the best apology for the ancient chorus, ibid.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Envy</span>, how it operates in human nature, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_329">329</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">how it operated in the case of Mr. <i>Pope</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_328">328</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Epic</span> <i>Poetry</i>, admits new words, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_73">73</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">its plan how far to be copied by the tragic poet, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_137">137</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">in what different from history, ii. <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Episode</span>, its character and laws, ii. <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Epistle</span>, didactic and elegiac, Intr. to vol. i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_17">17</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1"><i>Didactic</i>, the offspring of the satyr, ibid.</li> -<li class="isub1">its three-fold character, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_24">24</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1"><i>Elegiac</i>, the difference of this from the didactic form, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_24">24</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">321</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Eratosthenes</span>, his idea of the end of poetry, ii. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Euripides</span>, his character, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_116">116</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his <i>Medea</i> commended, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_121">121</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1"><i>Electra</i> vindicated, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_125">125</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1"><i>Iphigenia</i> in <i>Aulis</i> vindicated, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_131">131</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the decorum of his characters, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_132">132</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his <i>Hippolytus</i> led <i>Seneca</i> into mistakes, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_150">150</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">an observation on the chorus of that play, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_161">161</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">and of the <i>Medea</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_162">162</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1"><i>Quintilian’s</i> character of him, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_191">191</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a circumstance in his <i>Electra</i> compared with <i>Sophocles</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_259">259</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his genius resembling <i>Virgil’s</i>, ii. <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Expression</span>, why similar in different writers without imitation, ii. <a href="#Page_204">204</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">F.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Fable</span>, why essential to both Dramas, ii. <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">why an unity and even simplicity in the fable, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a good one, why not so essential to comedy as tragedy, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Farce</span>, the author’s idea of it, ii. <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">its laws, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">its end and character, how distinguished from those of tragedy and comedy, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Feeling</span>, rightly made the test of poetical merit, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_390">390</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Fenelon</span>, of the use of old words, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_91">91</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Fiction</span>, <i>poetical</i>, when credible, ii. <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the soul of poetry, ii. <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Flattery</span> of the <i>Roman Emperors</i> excessive, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_330">330</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">imported from the <i>Asiatic</i> provinces, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_331">331</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Fontenelle</span>, M. <i>de</i>, his opinion of the origin of comedy, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_244">244</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his notion of the drama, ii. <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, &c. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">322</span></li> -<li class="isub1">his comedies criticised, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his pastorals censured, ibid.</li> -<li class="isub1">his opinion of the uses of criticism, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">G.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Geddes</span>, J. Esq., his notion of the most essential principles of Eloquence, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_381">381</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Gellius</span>, <i>Aulus</i>, his opinion of <i>Laberius</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_206">206</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Genius</span>, original, a proof of, in the particularity of description, ii. <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">similarity of, in two writers, its effects, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Georgic</span>, the form of this poem, what, ii. <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Greeks</span>, their most ancient writers falsely supposed to be the best, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_347">347</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">H.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Heinsius</span>, his idea of true criticism, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_65">65</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his explanation of a passage in <i>Horace</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_148">148</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">thought one part of the Epistle to the <i>Pisos</i> inexplicable, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_269">269</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his transposition of the Epistle censured, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_272">272</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Hippolytus</span>, of <i>Euripides</i>; an observation on the chorus, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_161">161</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of <i>Seneca</i>, censured, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_149">149</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Hobbes</span>, Mr., his censure of the Italian romancers in their unnatural fiction, ii. <a href="#Page_238">238</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Hoeslinus</span>, his opinion of the fourth book of the Aeneis, ii. <a href="#Page_154">154</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">323</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Homer</span>, first invented dramatic imitations, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_42">42</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his excellence in painting the <i>effects</i> of the manners, ii. <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Horace</span>, explained and illustrated, <i>passim</i>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his <i>Epistle to the Pisos</i>, a criticism on the Roman drama, Introd. to vol. i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_15">15</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the character of his genius, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_24">24</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his <i>Epistle to Augustus</i>, an apology for the <i>Roman</i> poets, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_325">325</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">design and character of his other critical works, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_407">407</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">what may be said for his flattery of <i>Augustus</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_330">330</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">fond of the old <i>Latin</i> poets, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_349">349</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his knowledge of the world, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_379">379</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Hume</span>, <i>David</i>, Esq., his account of the pathos in tragedy, considered, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_118">118</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his judgment of Fontenelle’s discourse on pastoral poetry, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_218">218</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Humour</span>, the end of comedy, ii. <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">two species of humour, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">one of these not much known to the ancients, ibid.</li> -<li class="isub1">neither of them in that perfection on the ancient as modern stage, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">may subsist without ridicule, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">yet enlivened by it, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Hymns</span>, profane and sacred, why similar, ii. <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">I. and J.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Invention</span>, in poetry, what, ii. <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">principally displayed in the <i>manner</i> of imitation, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Jester</span>, a character by profession amongst the <i>Greeks</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_235">235</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Imitation</span>, primary and secondary, what, ii. <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the latter not easily distinguishable from the former, ibid. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">324</span></li> -<li class="isub1">shewn at large in respect of the matter of poetry, <a href="#Page_115">115</a> to <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the <i>manner</i>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a> to <a href="#Page_215">215</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">in painting, sooner detected than in poetry, why, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">how it may be detected, <a href="#Page_208">208</a> and <i>Letter to Mr. Mason</i>, throughout.</li> -<li class="isub1">Why no rules delivered for it in the <i>Discourse on imitation</i>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">confessed, no certain proof of an inferiority of genius, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">accounted for from habit, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">from authority, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">from judgment, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">from similarity of genius, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">from the nature of the subject, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">its singular merit, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">not to be avoided by literate writers without affectation, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Incolumi gravitate</span>, a learned critic’s interpretation of these words, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_201">201</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Innovation</span>, in words, why allowed to old writers, and not to others, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_88">88</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Intrigue</span>, when faulty in comedy, ii. <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Jonson</span>, <i>Ben</i>, a criticism on his <i>Catiline</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_135">135</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his <i>Every man out of his humour</i> censured, ii. <a href="#Page_52">52</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his <i>Alchymist</i> and <i>Volpone</i> criticized, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the character of his genius and comedy, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Iphigenia</span> at <small>AULIS</small>, of Euripides, vindicated, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_131">131</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Julius Pollux</span>, shews the <i>Tibia</i> to have been used in the chorus, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_177">177</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Junctura Callida</span>, explained, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_74">74</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">exemplified from Shakespear, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_77">77</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">K.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Knowledge</span> of the world, what, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_379">379</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">325</span></li> - -<li class="ifrst">L.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Laberius</span>, his mimes, what, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_205">205</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Lambin</span>, his comment on <i>communia</i> supported, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_133">133</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Landskip-painting</span>, wherein its beauty consists, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_71">71</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Lex Talionis</span>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_127">127</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Licence</span>, of particular seasons in <i>Greece</i> and <i>Rome</i>, its effect on taste, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_235">235</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of ancient wit, to what owing, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_231">231</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Lipsius</span>, his extravagant flattery, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_332">332</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Longinus</span>, his opinion of imitators without genius, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_250">250</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">accounts for the decline of the arts, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_265">265</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his opinion of the mutual assistance of art and nature, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_273">273</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his method of criticizing, scientific, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_392">392</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">wherein defective, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_394">394</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Love</span>, subjects of, a defect in modern tragedy, why, ii. <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">passion of, how described by <i>Terence</i> and <i>Shakespear</i>, ii. <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">by <i>Catullus</i> and <i>Ovid</i>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">by <i>Virgil</i>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Lucian</span>, the first of the ancients who has left us any considerable specimens of comic humour, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_225">225</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his ΑΛΕΚΤΡΥΩΝ and ΛΑΠΙΘΑΙ, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_235">235</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">M.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Machinery</span>, essential to the epic poetry, why, ii. <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Malherbe</span>, M., the character and fortune of his poetry, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_358">358</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">326</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Manners</span>, why imperfect in both dramas, ii. <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">description of, whence taken, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Markland</span>, Mr., an emendation of his confirmed, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_71">71</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Marks</span>, of <i>Imitation</i>, ii. <i>Letter to Mr. Mason</i>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Mason</span>, his <i>Elfrida</i>, commended, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_148">148</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Medea</span>, of <i>Euripides</i>, commended, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_121">121</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">its chorus vindicated, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_162">162</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of <i>Seneca</i>, censured, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_122">122</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Menage</span>, his judgment of ancient wit, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_230">230</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his intended discourse on imitation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_405">405</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Menander</span>, why most admired after the <i>Augustan</i> age, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_223">223</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">did not excel in comic humour, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_225">225</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his improvements of comedy, ii. <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Milton</span>, his angels, whence taken, ii. <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his attention to the effects of the manners, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Mimes</span>, the character of them, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_205">205</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">defined by <i>Diomedes</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_206">206</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Moderns</span>, bad imitators of <i>Plato</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_234">234</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Moliere</span>, his comedies farcical, ii. <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his <i>Misanthrope</i> and <i>Tartuffe</i> commended, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Money</span>, love of, the bane of the ancient arts, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_264">264</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Morning</span>, descriptions of, in the poets compared, ii. <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">when most original, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Music</span>, old, why preferred by the <i>Greek</i> writers, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_181">181</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">why by the <i>Latin</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_182">182</a>.</li> -<li class="indx">—— of the stage, its rise and progress at <i>Rome</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_168">168</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">defects of the old music, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_182">182</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">N.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Narration</span>, oratorial, the credibility of, on what it depends, ii. <a href="#Page_130">130</a>. n.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Novels</span>, modern, criticized, ii. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">327</span></li> - -<li class="ifrst">O.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Ode</span>, its character, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_94">94</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">its end, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_270">270</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the poet’s own odes, apologized for, ibid.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Opinion</span>, popular, of writings, under what circumstances to be regarded, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_355">355</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">D’Orville</span>, Mr., his defence of the double sense of verbs examined, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_358">358</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Osci</span>, their language used in the Atellanes, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_196">196</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Otway</span>, his <i>Orphan</i> censured, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_68">68</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Ovid</span>, the character of his genius, Introd. to i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_24">24</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a conjecture concerning his <i>Medea</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_143">143</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">makes the satyrs to be a species of the tragic drama, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_192">192</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his account of the mimes, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_205">205</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">P.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Painting</span>, <i>Landskip</i>, wherein its beauty consists, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_71">71</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1"><i>Portrait</i>, its excellence, ii. <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">difference between the <i>Italian</i> and <i>Flemish</i> schools, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_256">256</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">its moral efficacy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_375">375</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">inferior to poetry, in what, ii. <a href="#Page_130">130</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">wherein superior to poetry, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">expresses the general character, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">hath an advantage in this respect over poetry, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">unable to represent moral and œconomical sentiments, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Passions</span>, the way to paint them naturally, ii. <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Pastoral</span> poetry, its genius, and fortunes, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_214">214</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Pathos</span>, the supreme excellence of tragedy, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_116">116</a>., <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_397">397</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">how far to be admitted into comedy, ii. <a href="#Page_73">73</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">328</span></li> -<li class="isub1">the pleasure arising from, how to be accounted for, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_119">119</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Paterculus</span>, <i>Velleius</i>, an admirer of <i>Menander</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_229">229</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his character of Pomponius, <a href="#Page_197">197</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Pausanias</span>, describes two pictures of <i>Polygnotus</i>, ii. <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Perron</span>, Cardinal, his manner of criticizing <i>Ronsard</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_394">394</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Plato</span>, his opinion of <i>Homer’s</i> imitations, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_67">67</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">commends the <i>Aegyptian</i> policy in retaining the songs of <i>Isis</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_181">181</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his <i>Symposium</i> criticized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_235">235</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his manner of writing, characterised, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_255">255</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his <i>Phaedrus</i> censured, ibid.</li> -<li class="isub1">his objection to poetry answered, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_256">256</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Plautus</span>, why <i>Cicero</i> commends his wit, and <i>Horace</i> condemns it, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_220">220</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">copied from the middle comedy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_228">228</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his apology for the <i>Amphitruo</i>, why necessary, ii. <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">preferred to <i>Terence</i> in the <i>Augustan</i> age, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_228">228</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Plots</span>, double, in the <i>Latin</i> comedies, admired, why, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_354">354</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Plutarch</span>, his admiration of <i>Menander</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_229">229</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Poetry</span>, the art of, wherein it consists, ii. <a href="#Page_3">3</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the knowledge of its several species, necessary to the dramatic poet, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_94">94</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">more philosophic than history, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_257">257</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">tragic, its peculiar excellence, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_397">397</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">hath the advantage of all other modes of imitation, in what, ii. <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li> -<li class="indx">—— descriptive, an identity in the subject of, no proof of imitation, ii. <a href="#Page_118">118</a>.</li> -<li class="indx">—— pure, the proper language of Passion, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_104">104</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">329</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Poets</span>, old, much esteemed by <i>Horace</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_349">349</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">their apology, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_380">380</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">bad soldiers, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_384">384</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">dramatic, a rule for their observance, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_105">105</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">bad, characterized by <i>Milton</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_378">378</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Polygnotus</span>, his simple manner, why admired, under the emperors, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_346">346</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his expedient to explain the design of his pictures, ii. <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Pomponius</span>, in what sense Inventor of the Atellane poem, i. <a href="#Page_198">198</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Pope</span>, Mr., honoured after death, by whom, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_329">329</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his censure of a passage in the <i>Iliad</i>, defended, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_359">359</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his judgment of the 6th book of the <i>Thebaid</i>, ii. <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his censure of the comparisons in <i>Virgil</i> considered, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his opinion of imitation, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Poussin</span>, <i>Gaspar</i>, his landskips, in what excellent, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_70">70</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Prodigies</span>, inquiry into, the author’s opinion of that discourse, ii. <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">an observation quoted from it, ib.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Pulchrum</span>, how distinguished from <i>Dulce</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_109">109</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">Q.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Quintilian</span>, his judgment of new words, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_93">93</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of <i>Varius’</i> tragedy of Thyestes, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_95">95</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the pathetic vein of <i>Euripides</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_116">116</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of <i>Ovid’s Medea</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_144">144</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the state of Music in his time, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_182">182</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of <i>Euripides’</i> use of sentences, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_190">190</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the old <i>Greek</i> comic writers, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_223">223</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of <i>Terence’s</i> wit, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_225">225</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">and elegance, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_226">226</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the licentious feasts of <i>Bacchus</i>, &c., <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_235">235</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">330</span></li> -<li class="isub1">of <i>Aeschylus</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_239">239</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the false fire of bad writers, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_250">250</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his opinion of the necessary inferiority of a copy to its original, how far to be admitted, ii. <a href="#Page_114">114</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his rule for oratorial narration, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>. n.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">R.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Randolph</span>, his <i>Muse’s Looking-glass</i>, censured, ii. <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Rhyme</span>, how far essential to modern poetry, ii. <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Riccoboni</span>, L., his observation of the difference betwixt the <i>Greek</i> and <i>French</i> drama, ii. <a href="#Page_43">43</a>. n.</li> -<li class="isub1">a good critic, though a mere player, ib.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Robortellus</span>, his explanation of a passage, inforced, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_110">110</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Romans</span>, much addicted to spectacles, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_389">389</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Ruisdale</span>, his waters, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_71">71</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">S.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Salmasius</span>, what he thought of the method of the <i>Epistle to the Pisos</i>, Intr. to vol. i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_25">25</a>. n.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Saperet</span>, the meaning of this word in A. P., i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_169">169</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Satyrs</span>, a species of the tragic drama, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_192">192</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">distinct from the Atellane fables, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_195">195</a>.</li> -<li class="indx">—— of elder <i>Greece</i>, what, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_194">194</a>.</li> -<li class="indx">—— why <i>Horace</i> enlarges upon them, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_203">203</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">their double purpose, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_200">200</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">style, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_210">210</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">measure, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_219">219</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">331</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Scaliger</span>, J., what he thought of the Epistles of <i>Horace</i>, Intr. to i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_24">24</a>. n.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the ancient Mimes, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_205">205</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his wrong interpretation of the <i>Art of Poetry</i>, to what owing, Intr. to i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_16">16</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Scene</span>, of comedy, laid at home; of tragedy, abroad; the reason of this practice, ii. <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Scholars</span>, their pretensions to public honours and preferments, on what founded, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_399">399</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Scholia</span>, of the <i>Greeks</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_187">187</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">Aristotle’s translated, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_189">189</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Seneca</span>, the philosopher, his account of the mimes of <i>Laberius</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_206">206</a>.</li> -<li class="indx">—— his <i>Medea</i>, censured, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_143">143</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his <i>Hippolytus</i> censured, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_149">149</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his Aphorisms quaint, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_191">191</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Sentences</span>, why so frequent in the <i>Greek</i> writers, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_185">185</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Sentiments</span>, religious, moral, and œconomical, why the descriptions of, similar in all poets, ii. <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Sermo</span>, the meaning of this word, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_327">327</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Shaftesbury</span>, E., of, his opinion of <i>Homer’s</i> imitations, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_67">67</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the writings of <i>Plato</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_252">252</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his Platonic manner liable to censure, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_253">253</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Shakespear</span>, excels in the <i>callida junctura</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_77">77</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">how he characterizes his clowns, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_200">200</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his want of a learned education, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_248">248</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">advantages of it, ib.</li> -<li class="isub1">his excellence in drawing characters, wherein it consists, ii. <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his power in painting the passion of grief, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his description of œconomical sentiments, original, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Statius</span>, his character, ii. <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his book of games criticized, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">332</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Shirley</span>, a fine passage from one of his plays, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_86">86</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Sidney</span>, Sir Philip, his character, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_116">116</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his encomium on the pathos of tragedy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_397">397</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Socrates</span>, his office in the symposia of <i>Xenophon</i> and <i>Plato</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_236">236</a>. n.</li> -<li class="isub1">his judgment of moral paintings, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_375">375</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Sophocles</span>, the chorus of his <i>Antigone</i> defended, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_163">163</a>. n.</li> -<li class="isub1">a satyric tragedy ascribed to him, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_193">193</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a circumstance in his <i>Electra</i> compared with <i>Euripides</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_259">259</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Stephens</span>, H., his observations on the refinement of the <i>French</i> language, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_90">90</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Strabo</span>, a passage from him to prove the Tuscan language used in the Atellanes, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_198">198</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Style</span>, of poetry, defined, ii. <a href="#Page_10">10</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Subjects</span>, public, how to acquire a property in them, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_219">219</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">domestic, why fittest for the stage, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_247">247</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">real, succeed best in tragedy; feigned, in comedy, why, ii. <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">T.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Tacitus</span>, a bold expression of his, justified, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_103">103</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Telemaque</span>, why no new similes in this work, ii. <a href="#Page_203">203</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Telephus</span>, a tragedy of <i>Euripides</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_107">107</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">another tragedy of that name glanced at by <i>Horace</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_108">108</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Tempe</span>, <i>Aelian’s</i> description of, translated, ii. <a href="#Page_119">119</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Temple</span>, Sir William, his sentiments on the passion of avarice, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_265">265</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his notion of religious description in modern poets, ii. <a href="#Page_166">166</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">333</span></li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Terence</span>, why his plays ill received, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_224">224</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">fell short of <i>Menander</i> in the elegance of his expression, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_225">225</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a remarkable instance of humour in the Hecyra, ii. <a href="#Page_62">62</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">the characteristic of his comedies, his <i>Hecyra</i> vindicated, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_354">354</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_355">355</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a passage in his <i>Andrian</i> compared with one in <i>Shakespear’s Twelfth-Night</i>, ii. <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his opinion of the necessary uniformity of moral description, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Tragedy</span>, the Author’s idea of, ii. <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">conclusions, concerning its nature, from this idea, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">attributes, common to it and comedy, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">attributes peculiar to it, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>.</li> -<li class="indx">—— admits pure poetry, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_101">101</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">why its pathos pleases, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_119">119</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">on low life, censured, ii. <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">a modern refinement, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">accounted for, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Trapp</span>, Dr., his interpretation of <i>communia</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_134">134</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his judgment of the chorus, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_146">146</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Truth in Poetry</span>, what, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_255">255</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">may be followed too closely in works of imitation, ib.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">U.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Varro</span>, <i>M. Terentius</i>, assigns the distinct merit of <i>Cæcilius</i> and <i>Terence</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_353">353</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Vatry</span>, Abbé, his defence of the ancient chorus, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_148">148</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Victorius</span>, of the satyric Metre, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_219">219</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Virgil</span>, his method in conducting the <i>Aeneis</i> justified, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_139">139</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his address in his flattery of <i>Augustus</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_332">332</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">334</span></li> -<li class="isub1">his introduction to the third <i>Georgic</i> explained, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_333">333</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">three verses in the same, spurious, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_341">341</a>. n.</li> -<li class="isub1">his moral character, vindicated, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_403">403</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his poetical, vol. ii. <i>Discourse on poetical imitation</i>, throughout;</li> -<li class="isub1">his book of <i>games</i> defended from the charge of plagiarism, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">why few comparisons in his works, but what are to be found in <i>Homer</i>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Uncti</span>, the meaning of, in the Epistle to <i>Augustus</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_349">349</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Voltaire</span>, <i>M. de</i>, his judgment of machinery, what, ii. <a href="#Page_166">166</a>. n.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Upton</span>, Mr., his criticism on the satyrs, examined, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_202">202</a>.</li> - -<li class="ifrst">W.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Warburton</span>, Mr., his edition of Mr. <i>Pope</i>; Intr. to i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_26">26</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">and of Shakespear, Ded. to Epistle to Augustus, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_287">287</a>. and <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_80">80</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his judgment of the intricacy of the comic plot, ii. <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the scene of the drama, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of comic humour, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the double sense in writing, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_365">365</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">of the similarity in religious rites, ii. <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Whole</span>, its beauty consists not in the accurate finishing, but in the elegant disposition, of the parts, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_69">69</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Wit</span>, ancient, licentious, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_230">230</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">why, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_231">231</a>.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Words</span>, old ones, their energy, how revived, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_89">89</a>. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">335</span></li> - -<li class="ifrst">X.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Xenophon</span>, an elegant inaccuracy in a speech in the <i>Cyropaedia</i>, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_99">99</a>. n.</li> -<li class="isub1">his fine narration of a circumstance in the story of <i>Panthea</i>, unsuited to the stage, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_143">143</a>.</li> -<li class="isub1">his symposium explained, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_235">235</a>. n.</li> -<li class="isub1">a conversation on painting from the <i>Memorabilia</i>, translated, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_375">375</a>.</li> -<li class="ifrst">Z.</li> -<li class="indx"><span class="smcap">Zeuxis</span>, his pictures, in what repute under the Emperors, i. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52998/52998-h/52998-h.htm#Page_346">346</a>.</li></ul> - -<h3>THE END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.</h3> - -<p class="copy">Nichols and Son, Printers,<br /> -Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, London.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"> -<h2 id="FOOTNOTES">FOOTNOTES:</h2> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">1</a> -Empedocles. See Plutarch, vol. I. p. 15. Par. 1624.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">2</a> -See <span class="smcap">Strabo</span>, l. i. p. 15. Par. 1620.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">3</a> -<span class="smcap">Adv. of Learning</span>, vol. i, p. 50. Dr. Birch’s Ed. -1765.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">4</a> -Aristotle was of the same mind, as appears from his -definition of comedy, which, says he, is ΜΙΜΗΣΙΣ ΦΑΥΛΟΤΕΡΩΝ; -[κ. ε.] that is, <i>the imitation of characters</i>, -whatever be the distinct meaning of the term φαυλότεροι. -It is true, this critic, in his account of the origin of tragedy -and comedy, makes them both the imitations of <small>ACTIONS</small>. -Οἱ μὲν σεμνότεροι ΤΑΣ ΚΑΛΑΣ ἐμιμοῦντο ΠΡΑΞΕΙΣ, οἱ -δὲ εὐτελέστεροι ΤΑΣ τῶν φαύλων. [κ. δ.] Yet, even here, the -expression is so put, as if he had been conscious that -<i>persons</i>, not <i>actions</i>, were the direct object of comedy. -And the quotation, now alledged from another place, -where a definition is given more in form, shews, that this -was, in effect, his sentiment.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">5</a> -The neglect of this is one of the greatest defects in -the <i>modern drama</i>; which in nothing falls so much short -of the perfection of the Greek scene as in this want of -simplicity in the construction of its fable. The good sense -of the author of the <i>History of the Italian Theatre</i> (who, -though a mere player, appears to have had juster notions -of the drama, than the generality of even professed critics) -was sensibly struck with this difference in <i>tragedy</i>. -“Quant à l’unité d’action, says he, je trouve un grande -difference entre les tragedies Grecques et les tragedies -Françoises; j’apperçois toûjours aísément l’action des -tragedies Grecques, et je ne la perds point de vûe; mais -dans les tragedies Françoises, j’avoüe, que j’ai souvent -bien de la peine à demêler l’action des episodes, dont -elle est chargée.” [<i>Hist. du Theatre Italian</i>, par <span class="smcap">Louis -Riccoboni</span>, p. 293. <i>Paris</i> 1728.]</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">6</a> -<i>Non hominem ex ære fecit, sed iracundiam.</i> Plin. xxxiv. 8.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">7</a> -<span class="smcap">P. Alvarez Semedo</span>, speaking of their poetry, says, -“Le plus grand advantage et la plus grande utilité qu’en -ont tiré les <span class="smcap">Chinois</span>, est cette grande modestie et retenuë -incomparable, qui se voit en leurs ecrits, <i>n’ayant -pas meme une lettre en tous leurs livres, ni en toutes leurs -ecritures, pour exprimer les parties honteuses de la nature</i>.” -[<span class="smcap">Hist. Univ. de la Chine</span>, p. 82, à <span class="smcap">Lyon</span> 1667. 4<sup>to</sup>.]</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">8</a> -<span class="smcap">Le ridicule est ce qu’il y a de plus essentiel -a la Comedie.</span> [<span class="smcap">P. Rapin, Reflex. sur la poes.</span> p. 154. -<span class="smcap">Paris</span> 1684.]</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">9</a> -Οἱ μὲν σεμνότεροι τὰς καλὰς ἐμιμοῦντο πράξεις, καὶ τὰς τῶν τοιούτων -τύχας· οἱ δὲ εὐτελέστεροι, τὰς τῶν φαύλων, ΠΡΩΤΟΝ ΨΟΓΟΥΣ ΠΟΙΟΥΝΤΕΣ, -ΩΣΠΕΡ ἙΤΕΡΟΙ ΥΜΝΟΥΣ ΚΑΙ ΕΓΚΩΜΙΑ. -[ΠΕΡ. ΠΟΙΗΤ. κδ.] This is Aristotle’s account -of the origin of the different <i>species of</i> <small>POETRY</small>. They -were occasioned, he says, by the different and even opposite -<i>tempers and dispositions of men: those of a loftier spirit -delighting in the encomiastic poetry, while the humbler sort -betook themselves to satire</i>. But this, also, is the just account -of the rise and character of the different <i>species of -the</i> <span class="smcap">Drama</span>. For they grew up, he tells us in this very -chapter, from the <span class="smcap">Dithyrambic</span>, and <span class="smcap">Phallic</span> songs. -And who were the <i>men</i>, who chaunted <i>these</i>, but the -ΣΕΜΝΟΤΕΡΟΙ, and ΕΥΤΕΛΕΣΤΕΡΟΙ, before-mentioned? -And how were they <i>employed</i> in them, <i>but the former, in -hymning the praises of Bacchus; the latter, in dealing about -obscene jokes and taunting invectives on each other</i>? So that -the <i>characters</i> of the men, and their <i>subjects</i>, being exactly -the same in <i>both</i>, what is said of the <i>one</i> is equally applicable -to the <i>other</i>. It was proper to observe this, or the -reader might, perhaps, object to the use made of this passage, -<i>here</i>, as well as <i>above</i>, where it is brought to illustrate -Aristotle’s notion of the <i>natures</i> of the tragic and -comic poetry.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">10</a> -<i>Pref. generale</i>, tom. vii. Par. 1751.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">11</a> -“On attache par le grand, par le noble, par le rare, -par l’imprévû. On émeut par le terrible ou affreux, -par le pitoyable, par le tendre, par le plaisant ou ridicule.” -p. xiv.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">12</a> -“Que nous sommes en droit d’examiner si, en fait -de Theatre, nous n’aurions pas quelquefois des <i>habitudes</i> -au lieu de <i>regles</i>, car les regles ne peuvent l’être qu’ -après avoir subi les rigueurs du tribunal de la raison.” -p. 37.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">13</a> -Οὐ πᾶσαν δεῖ ζητεῖν ἡδονὴν ἀπὸ τραγῳδίας, ἀλλὰ τὴν οἰκείαν. -Ποιητ. κ. ιδʹ.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">14</a> -<i>Reflex. sur la Poes.</i> p. 132.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">15</a> -“Ces sortes de speculations ne donnent point de -genie à ceux qui en manquent; elles n’aident beaucoup -ceux qui en ont: et le plus souvent même les gens de -génie sont incapables d’être aidées par les speculations. -A quoi donc sont-elles bonnes? A faire remonter jusqu’aux -premieres idées du beau quelques gens qui aiment -la raisonnement, et se plaisent à reduire sous l’empire -de la philosophie les choses qui en paroissent le plus indépendantes, -et que l’on croit communément abandonnées -à la bizarrerie des goûts.”</p> - -<p class="author"> -<span class="smcap">M. de Fontenelle.</span></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">16</a> -Μελαίνει τε, says Dionysius of Halicarnassus, speaking -of his figurative manner, τὸ σαφὲς καὶ ζόφῳ ποιεῖ παραπλήσιον· -[T. ii. p. 204. <i>Ed. Hudson</i>.]</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">17</a> -<span class="smcap">Plato De Repub.</span> lib. x.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">18</a> -Spectator, No. 56.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">19</a> -<span class="smcap">Quinctil.</span> lib. x. c. 11.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">20</a> -Botanists give it the name of <i>oriental bind weed</i>. It is -said to be a very rambling plant, which climbs up trees, -and rises to a great height in the Levant, where it particularly -flourishes.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">21</a> -<span class="smcap">Arist. Rhet.</span> lib. iii. c. xi.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">22</a> -Ὅταν ἃ λέγῃς, ὑπ’ ἐνθουσιασμοῦ καὶ πάθους βλέπειν δοκῇς, καὶ -ὑπ’ ὄψιν τιθῇς ἀκούουσιν. [ΠΕΡ. ΥΨ. § xv.]</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">23</a> -What is here said of <i>poetical fiction</i>, Quinctilian hath -applied to <i>oratorial narration</i>; the credibility of which -will depend on the observance of this rule. <i>Credibilis erit -narratio antè omnia, si priùs consuluerimus nostrum</i> <small>ANIMUM</small>, -<i>nequid naturae dicamus adversum</i>. [L. iv. 2.]</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">24</a> -So the great philosopher, ὃ γὰρ περὶ ἐνίας συμβαίνει -πάθος ψυχὰς ἰσχυρῶς, τοῦτο ἐν πάσαις ὑπάρχει. τῷ δὲ ἧττον -διαφέρει, καὶ τῷ μᾶλλον. ΠΟΛΙΤ. Θ. Whence our Hobbes -seems to have taken his aphorism, which he makes the -corner-stone of his philosophy. “That for the similitude -of the thoughts and passions of one man to the thoughts -and passions of another, whosoever looketh into himself, -and considereth what he doth, when he does <i>think, -opine, reason, hope, fear</i>, &c. and upon what grounds; -he shall thereby read and know, what are the thoughts -and passions of all other men, upon the like occasions.”</p> - -<p class="author"> -<span class="smcap">Leviathan</span>, <i>Introd. p. 2. fol. London</i>. 1651.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">25</a> -<span class="smcap">M. de la Bruyere</span>, Tom. 1. p. 91. Amst. 1701.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="label">26</a> -Dr. Duport.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_27" href="#FNanchor_27" class="label">27</a> -<span class="smcap">Jeremias Hoelslinus</span>, <i>Prolegom. ad. Apollon. -Rhodium</i>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_28" href="#FNanchor_28" class="label">28</a> -<span class="smcap">Div. Leg.</span> vol. ii. par. 1. p. 355. ed. 1741.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_29" href="#FNanchor_29" class="label">29</a> -Sir <span class="smcap">William Temple’s</span> <i>Works</i>, vol. i. p. 245. ed. -1740. fol.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_30" href="#FNanchor_30" class="label">30</a> -“<i>La machine du merveilleux</i>, <i>l’intervention d’un pouvoir -céleste</i>, la nature des episodes, tout ce qui <i>depend -de la tyrannie de la coutume</i>, & de cet instinct qui on -nomme goût; voilà sur quoi il y a mille opinions, & -<i>point de régles générales</i>.” M. <span class="smcap">de Voltaire</span>, <i>Essaye -sur la poësie Epique</i>, chap. i.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_31" href="#FNanchor_31" class="label">31</a> -<span class="smcap">De augm. Scient.</span> lib. ii. c. 13.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_32" href="#FNanchor_32" class="label">32</a> -<i>A Critical and Philosophical Inquiry into the causes of -prodigies and miracles</i>, &c. p. 130.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_33" href="#FNanchor_33" class="label">33</a> -Letter to Mr. <span class="smcap">Mason</span>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_34" href="#FNanchor_34" class="label">34</a> -Mr. Addison.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_35" href="#FNanchor_35" class="label">35</a> -<i>Somn. Scip.</i> ii. c. 10.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_36" href="#FNanchor_36" class="label">36</a> -<span class="smcap">Plato</span>, <i>Alcibiad.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_37" href="#FNanchor_37" class="label">37</a> -<i>Reflex. sur la Poës. et sur la Peint.</i> tom. ii. 80. Par. 1746.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_38" href="#FNanchor_38" class="label">38</a> -<i>Inquiry into the L. and W. of Homer</i>, p. 174.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_39" href="#FNanchor_39" class="label">39</a> -<span class="smcap">Macrobius</span>, V. <i>Saturnal.</i></p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_40" href="#FNanchor_40" class="label">40</a> -<i>Inquiry into L. &c. of Homer</i>, p. 319.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_41" href="#FNanchor_41" class="label">41</a> -<i>Mem. de l’Acad. des Inscript. &c.</i> tom. vi. p. 445.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_42" href="#FNanchor_42" class="label">42</a> -Mr. Pope’s Preface to his Works.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_43" href="#FNanchor_43" class="label">43</a> -Pref. to <span class="smcap">Gondibert</span>, p. 2. Lond. 1651, 4<sup>to</sup>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_44" href="#FNanchor_44" class="label">44</a> -Ibid. p. 30.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_45" href="#FNanchor_45" class="label">45</a> -Pref. to <span class="smcap">Gondibert</span>, p. 3. Lond. 1651, 4<sup>to</sup>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_46" href="#FNanchor_46" class="label">46</a> -Answer to the Preface, p. <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a id="Footnote_47" href="#FNanchor_47" class="label">47</a> -P. <a href="#Page_214">214</a>.</p></div></div> -<div class="transnote"> - -<h3>Transcriber's Note:</h3> - -<p>All instances of a stigma (ϛ) in words have been changed to sigma tau (στ).</p> - -<p>The original text had an alternative pi (ϖ) at the start of a word. -These have been changed to the standard pi (π).</p> - -<p>Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.</p> - -</div> - - -<pre> - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Richard Hurd, -Volume 2 (of 8), by Richard Hurd - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF RICHARD HURD *** - -***** This file should be named 53012-h.htm or 53012-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/1/54012/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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