diff options
Diffstat (limited to 'old')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53012-0.txt | 8142 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53012-0.zip | bin | 166819 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53012-h.zip | bin | 300224 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53012-h/53012-h.htm | 11599 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53012-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 43128 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/53012-h/images/titlepage.png | bin | 77530 -> 0 bytes |
6 files changed, 0 insertions, 19741 deletions
diff --git a/old/53012-0.txt b/old/53012-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 34357c1..0000000 --- a/old/53012-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8142 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's The Works of Richard Hurd, D. D., Vol. II, 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, D. D. - Lord Bishop of Worcester. - Volume II. - -Author: Richard Hurd - -Release Date: September, 2016 [EBook #53012] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF RICHARD HURD, VOL. II *** - -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.) - - - -[Transcriber’s Note: - -Characters preceded by a caret(^) are in superscript, and are enclosed -in curly brackets, i. e. {th}. - -Italicised text delimited by underscores. - -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.] - - - - - THE - - WORKS - - OF - - RICHARD HURD, D.D. - - LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER. - - VOL. II. - - Printed by J. Nichols and Son, - Red Lion Passage, Fleet-Street, London. - - - - - THE - - WORKS - - OF - - RICHARD HURD, D.D. - - LORD BISHOP OF WORCESTER. - - IN EIGHT VOLUMES. - - VOL. II. - - [Illustration] - - LONDON: - PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND. - 1811. - - - - - CRITICAL WORKS. - - VOL. II. - - - - - Q. HORATII FLACCI - - EPISTOLAE - - AD - - PISONES, - - ET - - AUGUSTUM: - - WITH AN ENGLISH - - COMMENTARY AND NOTES: - - TO WHICH ARE ADDED - - CRITICAL DISSERTATIONS. - - - - -CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME. - - - Page. - - DISSERTATION I. - _On the Idea of Universal Poetry._ 1 - - DISSERTATION II. - _On the Provinces of Dramatic Poetry._ 27 - - DISSERTATION III. - _On Poetical Imitation._ 107 - - DISSERTATION IV. - _On the Marks of Imitation._ 243 - - - - -CRITICAL DISSERTATIONS. - - - I. ON THE IDEA OF UNIVERSAL POETRY. - - II. ON THE PROVINCES OF DRAMATIC POETRY. - - III. ON POETICAL IMITATION. - - IV. ON THE MARKS OF IMITATION. - - - VATIBVS ADDERE CALCAR, - VT STVDIO MAIORE PETANT HELICONA VIRENTEM. - HOR. - - - - - A - - DISSERTATION - - ON THE - - IDEA OF UNIVERSAL POETRY. - - - - - DISSERTATION I. - - ON THE - - IDEA OF UNIVERSAL POETRY. - - -When we speak of poetry, as an _art_, we mean _such a way or method of -treating a subject, as is found most pleasing and delightful to us_. -In all other kinds of literary composition, pleasure is subordinate to -USE: in poetry only, PLEASURE is the end, to which use itself (however -it be, for certain reasons, always pretended) must submit. - -This _idea_ 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—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. For to _gratify the desires of -the mind_, is to PLEASE: _Pleasure_ then, in the idea of Lord Bacon, -is the ultimate and appropriate end of poetry; for the sake of which -it accommodates itself to _the desires of the mind_, and doth not (as -other kinds of writing, which are under the controul of _reason_) -_buckle and bow the mind to the nature of things_. - -But they, who like a principle the better for seeing it in Greek, -may take it in the words of an old philosopher, ERATOSTHENES, who -affirmed—ποιητὴν πάντα στοχάζεσθαι ψυχαγωγίας, οὐ διδασκαλίας—of -which words, the definition given above, is the translation. - -This _notion_ 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. -_The art of poetry_ will be, universally, THE ART OF PLEASING; and all -its _rules_, but so many MEANS, which experience finds most conducive -to that end; - - Sic ANIMIS natum inventumque poema JUVANDIS. - -Aristotle has delivered and explained these rules, so far as they -respect one species of poetry, the _dramatic_, or, more properly -speaking, the _tragic_: And when such a writer, as he, shall do as -much by the other species, then, and not till then, a complete ART OF -POETRY will be formed. - -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 _Universal Poetry_, which seem preparatory to those nicer -disquisitions, concerning its _several sorts or species_. - -I. It follows from that IDEA, that it should neglect no advantage, -that fairly offers itself, of appearing in such a dress or mode of -language, as is most _taking_ 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 studious of these, as it would -by all means, not manifestly absurd, give pleasure: And hence a certain -musical cadence, or what we call _Rhythm_, will be affected by the poet. - -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 _figurative -expression_. - -By _figurative expression_, I would be understood to mean, here, that -which respects _the pictures or images of things_. 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 _application_ of figures will admit of great -variety, according to the nature of the subject, and the _management_ -of them must be suited to the taste and apprehension of the people, to -whom they are addressed, yet, in some way 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. - -The ancients looked for so much of this force and spirit of expression -in whatever they dignified with the name of _poem_, 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. - - Idcirco quidam, comoedia necne poema - Esset, quaesivere: quod acer spiritus, ac vis, - Nec _verbis_, nec rebus inest: nisi quod pede certo - Differt sermoni, sermo merus— - Sat. l. I. iv. - -But they might have spared their doubt, or at least have resolved it, -if they had considered that comedy adopts as much of this _force and -spirit of words_, as is consistent with the _nature_ and _degree_ of -that pleasure, which it pretends to give. For the name of poem will -belong to every composition, whose primary end is to _please_, provided -it be so constructed as to afford _all_ the pleasure, which its kind or -_sort_ will permit. - -II. From the idea of the _end_ of poetry, it follows, that not only -figurative and tropical terms will be employed in it, as _these_, 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 FICTION, 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 _outstrip_ nature, and to address itself to our wildest fancy, -rather than to our judgment and cooler sense. - - Οὔτ’ ἐπιδερκτὰ τάδ’ ἀνδράσιν, οὔτ’ ἐπακουστὰ, - Οὔτε νόῳ περίληπτα— - -As sings one of the profession[1], who seems to have understood his -privileges very well. - -For there is something in the mind of man, sublime and elevated, which -prompts it to overlook obvious and familiar appearances, 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 -_divine_, as if some power, above _human_, conspired to lift the mind -to these exalted conceptions. - -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— - - The poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rowling, - Doth glance from heav’n to earth, from earth to heav’n; - And, as Imagination bodies forth - The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen - Turns them to shape, and gives to aery nothing - A focal habitation and a name. - -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 _pagan fable_, and _gothic romance_, -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. - -And this is that I would say, at present, of these two requisites of -universal poetry, namely, _that licence of expression_, which we call -the _style_ of poetry, and _that licence of representation_, which -we call _fiction_. The _style_ is, as it were, the body of poetry; -_fiction_, 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 _tune_ it, and then she will be in a condition, as one of her -favourites speaks, TO RAVISH ALL THE GODS. For - -III. It follows from the same idea of the _end_, which poetry would -accomplish, that not only Rhythm, but NUMBERS, 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 VERSE. - -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. - -It is every where of the most early growth, preceding every other -sort of composition; and being destined for the _ear_, 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 _natural ear_, becomes the labour of -the closet, and is conducted by artificial rules; yet still, with a -secret reference to the _sense_ of hearing, and to that acceptation -which melodious sounds meet with in the recital of expressive words. - -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. - -In short, he leaves measured and determinate numbers, that is, METRE, -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 RHYTHMICAL PROSE. - -The reason appears, from this deduction, why _all_ poetry aspires to -please by melodious numbers. To _some_ species, it is thought more -essential, than to others, because those species continue to be _sung_, -that is, are more immediately addressed to the ear; and because they -continue to be sung in concert with _musical instruments_, 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 _Music_, properly so called, as well as _Rhythm_ and _Metre_, -in his idea of the tragic poem. He did this, because he found the drama -of his country, OMNIBUS NUMERIS ABSOLUTUM, I mean in possession of -all the advantages which could result from the union of _rhythmical_, -_metrical_, and _musical_ 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 _musical_ 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 _please_, 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. - -But without carrying matters so far, let us confine our attention to -metre, or what we call _verse_. This must be essential to every work -bearing the name of _poem_, not, because we are only accustomed to call -works written in verse, _poems_, 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 _pleasure_ is the ultimate -_end_. - -To explain myself by an obvious instance. History undertakes to -INSTRUCT us in the transactions of past times. If it answer this -purpose, it does all that is of _its nature_; and, if it find means to -_please_ 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 -ONLY, by the truth of its reports, and the perspicuity of its method, -it would fully attain its _end_. Poetry, on the other hand, undertakes -to PLEASE. If it employ all its powers to this purpose, it effects all -that is of _its nature_: if it serve, besides, to inform or instruct -us, by the truths it conveys, and by the precepts or examples it -inculcates, this service may rather be accepted, than required by -us: if it pleased ONLY, by its ingenious fictions, and harmonious -structure, it would discharge its office, and answer its _end_. - -In this sense, the famous saying of Eratosthenes, quoted above—_that -the poet’s aim is to please, not to instruct_—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 THE POET, whose honour -the great Geographer would assert, in his criticism on Eratosthenes) -frequently _instruct us_ by a true and faithful representation of -things; yet even this instructive air is only assumed for the sake of -_pleasing_; which, as the human mind is constituted, they could not -so well do, if they did not instruct at all, that is, if _truth_ were -wholly neglected by them. So that _pleasure_ is still the ultimate end -and _scope_ of the poet’s art; and _instruction_ itself is, in his -hands, only one of the _means_, by which he would effect it[2]. - -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 _Poem_. What I contend for, is, -that _metre_, as an instrument of _pleasing_, is essential to every -work of poetic art, and would therefore enter into such idea, if men -judged of poetry according to its confessed _nature and end_. - -Whence it may seem a little strange, that my Lord Bacon should speak -of _poesy as a part of learning in measure of words_ FOR THE MOST PART -_restrained_; when his own notion, as we have seen above, was, that -the essence of poetry consisted _in submitting the shews of things to -the desires of the mind_. For these _shews of things_ could only be -exhibited to the mind through the _medium of words_: and it is just as -natural for the mind to desire that these words should be _harmonious_, -as that the images, conveyed in them, should, be _illustrious_; there -being a capacity in the mind of being delighted through its organ, the -_ear_, as well as through its power, or faculty of _imagination_. And -the wonder is the greater, because the great philosopher himself was -aware of the _agreement and consort which poetry hath with music_, as -well as _with man’s nature and pleasure_, that is, with the pleasure -which naturally results from gratifying the imagination. So that, to be -consistent with himself, he should, methinks, have said—_that poesy -was a part of learning in measure of words_ ALWAYS _restrained_; such -_poesy_, as, through the idleness or negligence of writers, is not so -restrained, not agreeing to his own idea of _this part of learning_[3]. - -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 POEM, 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 -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 _verse_. - -But, secondly, this conclusion, I think, extends farther than to such -works as aspire to the name of _epic_. For instance, what are we to -think of those _novels_ or _romances_, 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 _fiction_, -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— - - Unfinish’d things, one knows not what to call, - Their generation’s so equivocal. - -However, such as they are, these _novelties_ have been generally well -received: _Some_, for the real merit of their execution; _Others_, -for their amusing subjects; _All_ 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 _kind_. These -KINDS, as arbitrary things as we account them (for I neither forget -nor dispute what our best philosophy teaches concerning _kinds_ and -_sorts_), 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, and simple pleasures; and true -genius will only be concerned in administering such. - -Lastly, on the same principle on which we have decided on these -questions concerning the _absolute merits_ of poems in prose, in -_all_ languages, we may, also, determine another, which has been put -concerning the _comparative merits_ of RHYMED, and what is called BLANK -verse, in our _own_, and the other _modern_ languages. - -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 _rhyme_, or the consonance of final syllables, occurring at -stated intervals, is the dictate of nature, or, as we may say, an -appeal to the _ear_, 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 -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 _Rhyme_; or to some other expedient of the like nature, -such as the _Alliteration_, for instance; which is only another way -of delighting the ear by iterated sound, and may be defined, _the -consonance of initial letters_, as rhyme is, the _consonance of final -syllables_. 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. - -In short, no method of gratifying the ear by _measured sound_, 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. - -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 _former_ 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. - -In the _latter_ 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 _varied pause_, and _quantity_ 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 _rhyme_. Thus, 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 _rhyme_. 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 -_prime note_ (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, - - With pauses, cadence, and well-vowell’d words, - And all the graces a good ear affords, - MADE RHYME AN ART— - -Our comedy, indeed, is generally written in _prose_; but through the -idleness, or ill taste, 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 _please_. 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 _rhyme_, because the Greek and Latin only -observed _quantity_, should require English comedies to be written in -_prose_, though the Greek and Latin comedies were composed in _verse_. -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. - -And THUS much for the idea of UNIVERSAL POETRY. It is the art of -treating any subject in _such_ a way as is found most delightful -to us; that is, IN AN ORNAMENTED AND NUMEROUS STYLE—IN THE WAY OF -FICTION—AND IN VERSE. Whatever deserves the name of POEM must unite -these three properties; only in different degrees of each, according to -its nature. For the art of every _kind_ of poetry is only this general -art so modified as the _nature_ of each, that is, its more immediate -and subordinate end, may respectively require. - -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— - - Lusisti satis atque BIBISTI; - Tempus abire tibi est, ne POTUM LARGIUS AEQUO - Rideat, et pulset lasciva decentius AETAS. - - THURCASTON, - MDCCLXV. - - - - - A - - DISSERTATION - - ON THE - - PROVINCES OF THE DRAMA. - - - - - DISSERTATION II. - - ON THE - - PROVINCES OF THE DRAMA. - - -In the former Essay, I gave an idea, or slight sketch, of _Universal -Poetry_. In this, I attempt to deduce the laws of one of its kinds, the -_Dramatic_, 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. - -I deduce the laws of this poem, as I did those of poetry at large, from -the consideration of its _end_: not the general end of poetry, which -alone was proper to be considered the former case, but the proximate -end of 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. - -THE PURPOSE OF THE DRAMA is, universally, “to represent human life in -the way of _action_.” But as such representation it made for separate -and distinct ENDS, it is, further, distinguished into different -_species_, which we know by the names of TRAGEDY, COMEDY, and FARCE. - -By TRAGEDY, then, I mean that species of dramatic representation, whose -_end_ is “_to excite the passions of_ PITY _and_ TERROR, _and perhaps -some others, nearly allied to them_.” - -By COMEDY _that_, which proposeth, for the _ends_ of its -representation, “_the sensation of pleasure arising from a view of the -truth of_ CHARACTERS, _more especially their specific differences_.” - -By FARCE I understand, that species of the drama, “_whose sole aim and -tendency is to excite_ LAUGHTER.” - -The idea of these _three species_ being then proposed, let us now -see, what conclusions may be drawn from it. And chiefly in respect -of _Tragedy_ and _Comedy_, which are most important. For as to what -concerns the province of _Farce_, this will be easily understood, when -the character of the other two is once settled. - - - - -CHAP. I. - -ON THE PROVINCES OF TRAGEDY AND COMEDY. - - -From the idea of these two species, as given above, the following -conclusions, about the _natures_ of each, are immediately deducible. - -1. If the proper end of TRAGEDY be to _affect_, it follows, -“that _actions_, not characters, are the chief object of its -representations.” For that which _affects_ us most in the view of human -life is the observation of those signal circumstances of _felicity -or distress_, which occur in the fortunes of men. But _felicity_ and -_distress_, as the great critic takes notice, depend on _action_; κατὰ -τὰς πράξεις, εὐδαίμονες, ἢ τουναντίον. They are then the calamitous -_events_, or fortunate _Issues_ in human action, which stir up the -stronger _affections_, and agitate the heart with _Passion_. The -_manners_ 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 _action_ more proper to interest us. Thus -our _joy_, on the _happy catastrophe_ of the fable, depends, in a -good degree, on the _virtuous character_ of the agent; as on the other -hand, we sympathize more strongly with him, on a _distressful issue_. -The _manners_ of the several persons in the drama must, also, be -signified, that the _action_, which in many cases will be determined by -them, may appear to be carried on with _truth and probability_. 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 _fictitious scene_. And, besides, from knowing -the personal _good, or ill, qualities_ of the agents, we learn to -anticipate their future _felicity_ or _misery_, which gives increase -to the _passion_ in either case. Our acquaintance with IAGO’S _close -villainy_ makes us tremble for Othello and Desdemona beforehand: and -HAMLET’S _filial piety and intrepid daring_ occasion the audience -secretly to exult in the _expectation_ of some successful vengeance to -be inflicted on the incestuous murderers. - -2. For the same reason as tragedy takes for its _object_ the actions -of men, it, also, prefers, or rather confines itself to, such actions, -as are most _important_. Which is only saying, that as it intends -to _interest_, it, of course, chuses the representation of those -_events_, which are most _interesting_. - -And this shews the defect of modern tragedy, in turning so constantly -as it does, on _love subjects_; 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 _action_, when stripped of its -accidental ornaments and reduced to the _essential fact_, 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 _action_, having an essential dignity, is always -_interesting_, and by the simplest management of the poet becomes in a -supreme degree, _pathetic_. - -3. On the same account, the _persons_, whose actions Tragedy would -exhibit to us, must be of _principal rank and dignity_. For the actions -of these are, both in _themselves_ and in their _consequences_, most -fitted to excite passion. The _distresses_ of private and inferior -persons will, no doubt, _affect_ us greatly; and we may give the name -of _tragedies_, 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 -_those_ of the generality, should be most _affecting_. But this -circumstance, in no degree, makes amends for the loss of other and much -greater _advantages_. For, whatever be the _unhappy incidents_ in the -story of private men, it is certain, they must take faster hold of the -_imagination_, and, of course, impress the heart more forcibly, when -related of the higher characters in life. - - Τῶν γὰρ μεγάλων ἀξιοπενθεῖς - Φῆμαι μᾶλλον κατέχουσιν. - EURIP. HIPP. v. 1484. - -Kings, Heroes, Statesmen, and other persons of great and public -authority, influence by their _ill-fortune_ 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 _event_ itself, without -an eye to its _effects_, there is still the widest difference between -the two cases. Those ideas of awe and veneration, which opinion throws -round the persons of princes, make us esteem the very _same event_ in -their fortunes, as more august and emphatical, than in the fortunes -of private men. In the _one_, it is ordinary and familiar to our -conceptions; it is singular and surprizing, in the _other_. The fall of -a _cottage_, by the accidents of time and weather, is almost unheeded; -while the ruin of a _tower_, 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 _unimportant action_ in our tragedy, we should, at least, -take care to give it this foreign and extrinsic _importance_ of great -_actors_: Yet our passion for the _familiar_ goes so far, that we have -tragedies, not only of private action, but of _private persons_; 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 _action_, -so it is _important_ action, and therefore more especially the action -of _great and illustrious men_. Each of these conclusions is the direct -consequence of our idea of its _end_. - -The reverse of all this holds true of COMEDY. For, - -1. Comedy, by the very terms of the definition, is conversant about -_characters_. And if we observe, that which creates the pleasure we -find in contemplating the lives of men, considered as distinct from -the _interest_ we take in their fortunes, is the contemplation of -their manners and humours. Their _actions_, 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, _as such_, -administers to the mind, consists. By turning the thought on _event and -action_, this entertainment is proportionably lessened; that is, the -_end_ of comedy is less perfectly attained[4]. - -But here, again, though _action_ be not the main object of comedy, -yet it is not to be neglected, any more than _character_ in tragedy, -but comes in as an useful accessary, or assistant to it. For the -_manners of men_ only shew themselves, or shew themselves most usually, -in _action_. It is this, which fetches out the latent strokes of -_character_, and renders the inward _temper and disposition_ the object -of sense. _Probable circumstances_ are then imagined, and a certain -_train of action_ contrived, to evidence the _internal qualities_. -There is no _other_, or no _probable_ way, but this, of bringing us -acquainted with them. Again; by engaging his _characters_ in a course -of action and the pursuit of some _end_, the comic poet leaves them to -express themselves undisguisedly, and _without design_; in which the -essence of _humour_ consists. - -Add to this, that when the _fable_ is so contrived as to attach the -mind, we very naturally fancy ourselves present at a course of _living_ -action. And this illusion quickens our attention to the _characters_, -which no longer appear to us creatures of the poet’s fiction, but -actors in real life. - -These observations concerning the _moderated_ 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 _drawn off_ from the characters by those surprizing turns and -revolutions; but characters have no opportunity even of being _called -out_ and displaying themselves. For the actors of all characters -_succeed_ and are _embarrassed_ alike, when the instruments for -carrying on designs are only _perplexed apartments_, _dark entries_, -_disguised habits_, and _ladders of ropes_. The comic plot is, and -must, indeed, be carried on by _deceipt_. The Spanish scene does it -by deceiving the man _through his senses_: Terence and Moliere, by -deceiving him _through his passions and affections_. This is the right -method: for the character is _not_ called out under the _first_ species -of deceipt: under the _second_, the character does _all_.” - -2. As _character_, not _action_, is the object of comedy; so the -_characters_ it paints must not be of _singular and illustrious note_, -either for their _virtues_ or _vices_. The reason is, that such -characters take too fast hold of the _affections_, and so call off -the mind from adverting to the _truth_ of the manners; that is, from -receiving the _pleasure_, which this poem _intends_. Our _sense of -imitation_ is that to which the comic poet addresses himself; but such -pictures of _eminent worth_ or _villainy_ seize upon the _moral sense_; -and by raising the strong correspondent passions of _admiration_ and -_abhorrence_, turn us aside from contemplating the _imitation itself_. -And, - -3. For a like cause, comedy confines its views to the characters of -_private and inferior persons_. For the _truth of character_, which is -the spring of _humour_, being necessarily, as was observed, to be shewn -through the medium of _action_, and the actions of the great being -usually such as excite the _pathos_, 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 _course of action_, as arrests the -attention, or interests the passions; and either way it diverts the -mind from observing the _truth_ of manners, that is, it prevents the -attainment of the specific _end_, which comedy designs. - -And if the reason, here given, be sufficient to exclude the _higher -characters_ in life from this _drama_, even where the representation -is intended to be _serious_, 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 P. CORNEILLE into the opinion, _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_. But he -did not reflect, that the _actions_ of the great being usually such, -as interest the intire community, at least scarcely any other falling -beneath vulgar notice; and the higher _characters_ being rarely seen -or contemplated by the people but with reverence, hence it is, that -in fact, _the representation of high life_ cannot, without offence to -probability, be made _ridiculous_, or consequently be admitted into -comedy under this view. And therefore PLAUTUS, when he thought fit -to introduce these reverend personages on the comic stage in his -AMPHITRUO, though he employed them in no very serious matters, was -yet obliged to apologize for this impropriety in calling his play a -_Tragicomedy_. What he says upon the occasion, though delivered with an -air of pleasantry, is according to the laws of just criticism. - - _Faciam ut commista sit_ TRAGICOCOMOEDIA. - _Nam me perpetuo facere, ut sit Comoedia_ - REGES QUO VENIANT ET DII, _non par arbitror. - Quid igitur? Quoniam hic_ SERVOS QUOQUE PARTES HABET, - _Faciam sit, proinde ut dixi_, TRAGICOCOMOEDIA. - PROL. IN AMPHIT. - -And now, taking the _idea_ of the _two dramas_, as here opened, along -with us, we shall be able to give an account of several attributes, -_common_ to both, or which further _characterize_ each of them. And, - -1. _A plot will be required in both._ For the end of tragedy being to -excite the affections _by_ action, and the end of comedy, to manifest -the truth of character _through_ it, an artful _constitution of the -Fable_ is required to do justice both to the one and the other. It -serves to bring out the _pathos_, and to produce _humour_. And thus -the general form or structure of the two dramas will be one and the -same. - -2. More particularly, _an unity and even simplicity in the conduct -of the fable[5] is a perfection in each_. For the course of the -_affections_ is diverted and weakened by the intervention of what -we call a _double plot_; and even by a multiplicity of _subordinate -events_, though tending to a common _end_; and, of _persons_, -though all of them, some way, concerned in promoting it. The like -consideration shews the observance of this _rule_ to be essential to -just comedy. For when the _attention_ is split on so many interfering -objects, we are not at leisure to observe, nor do we so fully enter -into, the _truth of representation_ in any of them; the _sense of -humour_, as of the _pathos_, depending very much on the continued and -undiverted operation of its _object_ upon us. - -3. The two dramas agree, also, in this circumstance; that the _manners_ -of the persons exhibited should be _imperfect_. 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 _improbable_. And -_probability_ constitutes, as we have seen, the very essence of comedy; -and is the _medium_, through which tragedy is enabled most powerfully -to affect us. 2. Such _characters_ are improper to _comedy_, because, -as was hinted above, they turn the attention aside from contemplating -the _expression_ of them, which we call _humour_. And they are not less -unsuited to _tragedy_, because though they make a forcible impression -on the mind, yet, as Aristotle well observes, they do not produce the -passions of _pity and terror_; that is, their _impressions_ are not of -the nature of that _pathos_, by which tragedy works its purpose. [κ. -ίγ.] - -There are, likewise, some peculiarities, which distinguish the two -dramas. And - -1. _Though a plot be necessary to produce_ humour, _as well as the -pathos, yet a_ good plot _is not so essential to comedy, as tragedy_. -For the pathos is the result of the _entire action_; that is, of all -the circumstances of the story taken together, and conspiring by a -probable tendency, to a completion in the _event_. 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, _humour_, though -brought out by _action_, is not the effect of the _whole_, but may -be distinctly evidenced in a _single scene_; as may be eminently -illustrated in the two comedies of Fletcher, called _The Little French -Lawyer_, and _The Spanish Curate_. The nice contexture of the fable -therefore, though it may give _pleasure_ of another kind, is not so -immediately required to the production of _that_ 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 speak in their own phrase, they contrive to -have a great deal of _business_ on their hands. Indeed they have -reason. For it hides their inability to colour _manners_, which is the -proper but much harder province of true comedy. - -2. _Tragedy succeeds best, when the subject is_ real; _comedy, when -it is_ feigned. What would this say, but that tragedy, turning our -attention principally on the _action represented_, finds means to -_interest_ us more strongly on the persuasion of its being taken from -_actual life_? While comedy, on the other hand, can neglect these -scrupulous measures of _probability_, as intent only on exhibiting -_characters_; for which purpose an _invented story_ will serve much -better. The reason is, _real action_ does not ordinarily afford variety -of incidents enough to shew the _character_ fully: _feigned action_ may. - -And this difference, we may observe, explains the reason why tragedies -are often formed on the most _trite and vulgar subjects_, whereas -a _new_ subject is generally demanded in comedy. The _reality_ of -the story being of so much consequence to interest the affections, -the more _known_ it is, the fitter for the poet’s purpose. But a -_feigned_ story having been found more convenient for the display of -characters, it grew into a rule that the story should be always _new_. -This disadvantage on the side of the comic poet is taken notice of in -those verses of Antiphanes, or rather, as Casaubon conjectures, of -_Aristophanes_, in a play of his intitled, Ποίησις. The reason of this -difference now appears. - - —Μακάριόν ἐστιν ἡ τραγῳδία - Ποίημα κατὰ πάντ’. εἴγε πρῶτον οἱ λόγοι - Ὑπὸ τῶν θεατῶν εἰσὶν ἐγνωρισμένοι, - Πρὶν καί τιν’ εἰπεῖν, ὡς ὑπομνῆσαι μόνον - Δεῖ τὸν ποιητήν. Οἰδίπουν γάρ ἄν γε φῶ, - Τὰ δ’ ἄλλα πάντ’ ἴσασιν· Ὁ πατὴρ Λάïος, - Μήτηρ Ἰοκάστη, θυγατέρες, παῖδες τίνες· - Τὶ πείσεθ’ οὗτος, τί πεποίηκεν···· - Ἡμῖν δὲ ταῦτ’ οὐκ ἔστιν· ἀλλὰ πάντα δεῖ - Εὑρεῖν ὀνόματα καινὰ, τὰ διῳκημένα - Πρότερον, τὰ νῦν παρόντα, τὴν καταστροφὴν, - Τὴν ἐσβολήν. ἀν ἕν τι τούτων παραλίπῃ, - Χρέμης τις, ἢ Φείδων τις ἐκσυρίττεται, - Πηλεῖ δὲ ταῦτ’ ἔξεστι καὶ Τεύκρῳ ποιεῖν. - -One sees, then, the reason why Tragedy prefers real _subjects_, and -even old ones; and, on the contrary, why comedy delights in feigned -subjects, and new. - -The same genius in the two dramas is observable, in their draught of -_characters_. Comedy makes all its Characters _general_; Tragedy, -_particular_. The _Avare_ of Moliere is not so properly the picture of -a _covetous man_, as of _covetousness_ itself. Racine’s _Nero_, on the -other hand, is not a picture of _cruelty_, but of a _cruel man_. - -Yet here it will be proper to guard against two mistakes, which the -principles now delivered may be thought to countenance. - -The _first_ is with regard to _tragic_ characters, which I say are -_particular_. My meaning is, they are _more_ particular than those of -comedy. That is, the _end_ 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 _character_ 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 _latter_. - -The case is much the same as in _portrait painting_; where, if a great -master be required to draw a _particular face_, 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 _head_ 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. - -There is much the same difference between the two sorts of _dramatic_ -portraits. Whence it appears that in calling the tragic character -_particular_, I suppose it only _less representative_ of the kind than -the comic; not that the draught of so much character as it is concerned -to represent should not be _general_: the contrary of which I have -asserted and explained at large elsewhere [_Notes on the A. P._ v. 317.] - -_Next_, I have said, the characters of just comedy are _general_. -And this I explain by the instance of the _Avare_ of Moliere, which -conforms more to the idea of _avarice_, than to that of the real -_avaricious man_. But here again, the reader will not understand me, as -saying this in the strict sense of the words. I even think Moliere -faulty in the instance given; though, with some necessary explanation, -it may well enough serve to express my meaning. - -The view of the comic scene being to delineate characters, this end, I -suppose, will be attained most perfectly, by making those characters -as _universal_ 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 _humour_. But then this -universality must be such as agrees not to our idea of the _possible_ -effects of the character as conceived in the abstract, but to the -_actual_ 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 _avaricious man_, they presented us with a -fantastic unpleasing draught of the _passion of avarice_. I call this a -_fantastic_ draught, because it hath no archetype in nature. And it is, -farther, an _unpleasing_ one, for, being the delineation of a _simple -passion unmixed_, it wanted all those - - —Lights and shades, whose well-accorded strife - Gives all the strength and colour of our life. - -These _lights and shades_ (as the poet finely calls the intermixture -of many passions, which, with the _leading_ 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 _leading_ passion must be as general as -this _strife_ in nature permits, in order to express the intended -character more perfectly. - -All which again is easily illustrated in the instance of painting. In -_portraits of character_, as we may call those that give a picture of -the _manners_, 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 _predominates_: and this he images strongly, -and by such signatures as are most conspicuous in the operation of -the _leading passion_. 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 _man_ but the _passion_; just as -the ancients observed of the famous statue of Apollodorus by Silarion, -that it expressed not the angry _Apollodorus_, but his passion of -_anger_[6]. But by this must be understood only that he has well -expressed the leading parts of the designed character. For the rest he -treats his _subject_ as he would any other; that is, he represents the -_concomitant affections_, 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 _miser_ 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 PASSIONS must be said to -contain a set of the justest _moral portraits_: And the CHARACTERS of -Theophrastus might be recommended, in a _dramatic_ view, as preferable -to those of Terence. - -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, 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 _Every man out of his humour_; which under the name of a _play -of character_ is in fact, an unnatural, and, as the painters call it, -_hard_ delineation of a group of _simply existing passions_, wholly -chimerical, and unlike to any thing we observe in the commerce of real -life. Yet this comedy has always had its admirers. And _Randolph_, in -particular, was so taken with the design, that he seems to have formed -his _muse’s looking-glass_ in express imitation of it. - -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 _best-marked_ characters discoursing through a great deal of their -_parts_, 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 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 _imitation_ -and _inferior talents_ 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 _persons of the drama_ as a certain facetious sort do -their _acquaintance_, whom they urge and teize with their civilities, -not to give them a reasonable share in the conversation, but to force -them to play _tricks_ for the diversion of the company. - -I have been the longer on this argument, to prevent the reader’s -carrying what I say of the superiority of _plays of character_ to -_plays of intrigue_ 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. - -3. A sameness of _character is not usually objected to in tragedy: in -comedy, it would not be endured_. The passion of _avarice_, to resume -the instance given above, being the main object, we find nothing but a -disgustful repetition in a second attempt to delineate that _character_. -_A particular cruel man_ only engrossing our regard in _Nero_, 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 _same_ character, set forth by a different course of action, or -displayed in some other _person_. - -4. Comedy succeeds best when the scene is laid _at home_, tragedy for -the most part when _abroad_. “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 _manners_, 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 well-known story will -allow.” [_Pope’s Works_, vol. iv. p. 185.] - -Other _characters_ of the two dramas, as well _peculiar_, as _common_, -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 _laws_ may be derived. - - - - -CHAP. II. - -OF THE GENIUS OF COMEDY. - - -But it may not be amiss to express myself a little more fully as to the -_genius_ of comedy; which for want of passing through the hands of such -a critic as Aristotle, has been less perfectly understood. - -Its _end_ is the production of _humour_: or which comes to the same -thing, “of that _pleasure_, which the _truth_ of representation -affords, in the _exhibition_ of the _private characters_ of life, -more particularly their _specific differences_.” I add this _latter_ -clause, because the principal pleasure we take in contemplating -characters consists in noting those _differences_. 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 _traits_, -which distinguish the species. Now these discriminating marks in the -characters of men are not _necessarily_ the causes of ridicule, or -pleasantry of any kind; but _accidentally_, and according to the -nature or quality of them. The vanity, and impertinent boasting of -_Thraso_ is the natural object of _contempt_, and, when truly and -forcibly expressed in his own character, provokes _ridicule_. The easy -humanity of _Mitio_, which is the leading part of his character, is the -object of _approbation_; and, when shewn in his own conduct, excites a -_pleasure_, in common with all just _expression of the manners_, but of -a _serious_ nature, as being joined with the sentiment of _esteem_. - -But now as most men find a greater pleasure in gratifying the passion -of _contempt_, than the calm instinct of _approbation_, 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 _peculiarities_ in -the human character, which, by their nature, excite _pleasantry_, than -such as create a serious regard and esteem. Hence some persons have -appropriated the name of _comedies_ to those dramas, which chiefly -aim at producing _humour_, in the more _proper_ sense of the word; -under which view it means “such an expression or picture of what is -odd, or inordinate in each character, as gives us the fullest and -strongest image of the original, and by the truth of the representation -exposes the _ridicule_ 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 -_serious_ entertainment, which, as it stands on the same foundation of -_truth of representation_, I venture to include under the _common term_. - -Further, there are _two ways_ of evidencing the characteristic and -predominant qualities of men, or, of producing _humour_, which require -to be observed. The _one_ is, when they are shewn in the perpetual -course and tenor of the representation; that is, when the _humour_ -results from the _general_ conduct of the person in the drama, and the -discourse, which he holds in it. The _other_ is, when by an happy and -lively stroke, the characteristic quality is laid open and exposed _at -once_. - -The _first_ sort of _humour_ is that which we find in the ancients, and -especially Terence. The _latter_ is almost peculiar to the moderns; -who, in uniting these two species of _humour_, 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 _fewer_ characters in their plays, than the moderns, -and those more _general_; that is, their dramatic writers were well -satisfied with picturing the most _usual_ personages, and in their -most _obvious_ lights. They did not, as the moderns (who, if they -would aspire to the praise of _novelty_, were obliged to this route), -cast about for less _familiar_ characters; and the nicer and _less -observed_ peculiarities which distinguish _each_. 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 _humour_, have exceedingly enriched the comedy of our times. - -But, though we are not to look for the _two species of humour_, -before-mentioned, in the same perfection on the simpler stages of -_Greece and Rome_, as in _our_ improved Theatres, yet the _first_ 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 _last_. “The old man in the _Mother-in-Law_ says to his Son, - - _Tum tu igitur nihil adtulisti huc plus unâ sententiâ._ - -This, as an excellent person observed to me, is true _humour_. -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 _design_; which is important, and shews the -distinction of what, in the more restrained sense of the word, we call -_humour_, from other modes of _pleasantry_. 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 _wit_, or a designed _banter_ -on the father’s disappointment. As, on the other hand, when such -characteristic qualities are exaggerated, and the expression of them -stretched beyond _truth_, they become _buffoonry_, even in the person’s -_own_.” - -This is an instance of the _second species_ of humour, under its idea -of exciting _ridicule_. But it may, also, be employed with the utmost -_seriousness_; as being only a method of expressing the _truth_ of -character in the _most striking_ manner. This same _old man_ 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 -_son’s_ wife and his _own_, 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, - - _odiosa est haec aetas adolescentulis: - E medio aequum excedere est: postremò nos jam fabula - Sumus, Pamphile, senex atque anus_. - -There is nothing, I suppose in these words, which provokes a smile. -Yet the _humour_ is 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 _that suspicious fear of contempt, which is -natural to old age_. So true a picture of life, in the representation -of this _weakness_, might, in other circumstances, have created -some _pleasantry_; but the _occasion_, which forced it from him, -discovering, at the same time, the _amiable disposition_ of the -speaker, covers the ridicule of it, or more properly converts it into -an object of our _esteem_. - -We have here, then, a kind of _intermediate_ species of _humour_ -betwixt the _ridiculous_ and the _grave_; and may perceive how -insensibly the _one_ becomes the _other_, by the accidental mixture of -a virtuous _quality_, attracting _esteem_. Which may serve to reconcile -the reader to the application of this _term_ even to such _expression_ -of the manners, as is perfectly _serious_; that is, where the _quality -represented_ is entirely, and without the least _touch_ of attending -ridicule, the object of _moral approbation_ to the mind. As in that -famous asseveration of Chremes in the _Self-tormentor_: - - _Homo sum: humani nihil à me alienum puto._ - -This is a strong expression of character; and, coming unaffectedly from -him in answer to the cutting reproof of his friend, - - _Chreme, tantumne ab re tuâ’st otî tibi - Aliena ut cures; ea quae nihil ad te adtinent?_ - -hath the essence of true _humour_, that is, is a _lively picture of the -manners without design_. - -Yet in this instance, which hath not been observed, the _humour_, -though of a serious cast, is heightened by a mixture of _satire_. -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. _The -Self-tormentor_, as we saw, had ridiculed Chremes’ _curiosity_ by -a severe reproof. Chremes, to be even with him, reflects upon the -_inhumanity_ of his temper. “You, says he, seem such a foe to humanity, -that you spare it not _in yourself_; I, on the other hand, am affected, -when I see it suffer in _another_.” - -Whence we learn, that, though all which is requisite to constitute -comic humour, be a _just expression of character without design_, yet -such _expression_ is felt more _sensibly_, when it is further enlivened -by _ridicule_, or quickened by the poignancy of _satire_. - -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, _an imitation of light and trivial actions, -provoking ridicule_. His notion was taken from the state and practice -of the Athenian stage; that is, from the _old_ or _middle_ comedy, -which answers to this description. The great revolution, which the -introduction of the _new comedy_ made in the drama, did not happen -till afterwards. This proposed for its _object_, in general, _the -actions and characters of ordinary life_; which are not, of necessity, -ridiculous, but, as appears to every observer, of a mixt kind, -_serious_ as well as _ludicrous_, and within their proper sphere of -influence, not unfrequently, even _important_. This kind of _imitation_ -therefore, now admits the _serious_; and its scenes, even without -the least mixture of _pleasantry_, are entirely _comic_. Though the -common run of _laughers_ in our theatre are so little aware of the -extension of this _province_, that I should scarcely have hazarded the -observation, but for the authority of _Terence_; who hath confessedly -very little of the _pleasant_ in his drama. Nay, one of the most -admired of his comedies hath the gravity, and, in some places, almost -the solemnity of _tragedy itself_. But this _idea_ of comedy is not -peculiar to the more polite and liberal _ancients_. Some of the best -_modern_ 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. - -“The Amautas (says the author of the _Royal Commentaries of_ PERU), -who were men of the best ingenuity amongst them, invented COMEDIES -and TRAGEDIES; which, on their solemn festivals, they represented -before the King and the Lords of his court. The plot or argument of -their _tragedies_ was to represent _their military exploits, and the -triumphs, victories, and heroic actions of their renowned men_. And the -subject or design of their _comedies_ was, to demonstrate _the manner -of good husbandry in cultivating and manuring their fields, and to shew -the management of domestic affairs, with other familiar matters_. These -plays, continues he, were not made up of obscene and dishonest farces, -but such as were of _serious entertainment, composed of grave and -acute sentences_, &c.” - -Two things are observable in this brief account of the Peruvian drama. -_First_, that its _species_ had respect to the very different _objects_ -of the _higher_ or _lower_ stations. For the _great and powerful_ -were occupied in _war_: and _agriculture_ was the chief employment of -_private and ordinary life_. And, in this distinction, these _Indian_, -perfectly agreed with the old Roman poets; whose PRAETEXTATA and TOGATA -shew, that they had precisely the same ideas of the drama. _Secondly_, -we do not learn only, what difference there _was_ betwixt their tragedy -and comedy, but we are also told, what difference there was _not_. It -was not, that one was _serious_, and the other _pleasant_. For we find -it expressly asserted of _both_, that they _were of grave and serious -entertainment_. - -And this last will explain a similar observation on the Chinese, _who_, -as P. DE PREMERE acquaints us, _make no distinction betwixt tragedies -and comedies_. That is, _no distinction_, but what the different -_subjects_ of each make necessary. They do not, as our European dramas, -differ in this, that the _one_ is intended to make us _weep_, and the -other to make us _laugh_. - -These are full and precise testimonies. For I lay no stress on what -the Historian of _Peru_ tells us, _that there were no obscenities in -their comedy_, nor on what an encomiast of _China_ pretends, _that -there is not so much as an obscene word in all their language_[7]: as -being sensible, that though indeed these must needs be considerable -abatements to the _humour_ of their comic scenes, yet, their ingenuity -might possibly find means to remedy these defects by the invention and -dextrous application of the _double entendre_, which, on our stage, is -found to supply the place of rank _obscenity_, and, indeed, to do its -office of exciting _laughter_ almost as well. - -But, as I said, there is no occasion for this _argument_. We may -venture, without the help of it, to join these authorities to _that_ -of Terence; which, together, enable us to conclude very fully, in -opposition to the general sentiment, that _ridicule_ is not of the -_essence of comedy_[8]. - -But, because the general practice of the _Greek and Roman theatres_, -which strongly countenance the other opinion, may still be thought -to outweigh this single _Latin poet_, together with all the _eastern -and western barbarians_, that can be thrown into the balance, let me -go one step further, and, by explaining the rise and occasion of this -_practice_, demonstrate, that, in the present case, their authority is, -in fact, of no moment. - -The form of the Greek, from whence the Roman and our drama is taken, -though generally _improved_ by reflexion and just criticism, yet, like -so many other great inventions, was, in its original, the _product_ of -pure chance. Each of its species had sprung out of a _chorus-song_, -which was afterwards incorporated into the legitimate drama, and found -essential to its true form. But _reason_, which saw to establish -what was _right_ in this fortuitous conformation of the drama, did -not equally succeed in detecting and separating what was _wrong_. For -the _occasion_ of this chorus-song, in their religious festivities, -was widely different: the business _at one time_, being to express -their gratitude, in celebrating the praises of their gods and heroes; -at _another_, to indulge their mirth, in jesting and sporting among -themselves. The character of their drama, which had its rise from -hence,[9] conformed exactly to the difference of these _occasions_. -_Tragedy_, through all its several successive stages of improvement, was -serious and even solemn. And a gay or rather buffoon spirit was the -characteristic of _comedy_. - -We see, then, the _genius_ of these two poems was accidentally fixed -in agreement to their respective _originals_; consequent writers -contenting themselves to embellish and perfect, not _change_, 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 _tragedy_, indeed, bears the test, and is found to be suitable -to its real nature. The same does not appear of the burlesque form of -_comedy_; no reason having been given, why _it_ must, of necessity, -have the _ridiculous_ 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 -_species_ in the hands of its 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 THEOPHRASTUS, 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 _ridiculous_ in his comedy, as plainly shews, it might, in his -opinion, subsist entirely without it. His _practice_ indeed, and the -theory, here delivered, nearly meet. And the conclusion is, that -_comedy_, which is the image of private life, may take either character -of _pleasant_ or _serious_, as it chances, or even _unite_ them into -one piece; but that the _former_ is, by no means, more essential to its -constitution, than the _latter_. - -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 _comedy_ be just, it would follow, that it might, with -equal propriety, 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 -_comedy_, on the stage. Nay, such representations would rather pass, -in the public judgment, for legitimate _tragedies_; of which kind, we -have, indeed, some examples in our language.” - -Two things are mistaken in this objection. _First_, it supposes, -that deep distresses of every kind are inconsistent with comedy; the -contrary of which may be learnt from the SELF-TORMENTOR of Terence. -_Next_, it insinuates, that, if deep distresses of any kind may be -admitted into comedy, the _deepest_ may. Which is equally erroneous. -For the _manners_ being the proper object of comedy, the _distress_ -must not exceed a certain degree of _severity_, lest it draw off the -mind from them, and confine it to the _action_ only: as would be the -case of _murder_, _adultery_, and other atrocious crimes, infesting -_private_, as well as _public_, life, were they to be represented, -in all their horrors, on the stage. And though some of these, as -_adultery_, have 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 _tragic_. And, yet, considered -as _tragic_, such representations of low life had been improper. -Because, where the intent is to _affect_, the subject is with more -advantage taken from _high life_, all the circumstances being, there, -more peculiarly adapted to answer that end. - -The solution then of the difficulty is, in one word, this. All -_distresses_ are not _improper_ in comedy; but such only as attach -the mind to the _fable_, in neglect of the _manners_, which are its -chief object. On the other hand, all _distresses_ are not _proper_ -in tragedy; but such only as are of force to interest the mind in -the _action_, preferably to the observation of the _manners_; which -can only be done, or is done most effectually, when the _distressful -event_, represented, is taken from _public life_. So that the -_distresses_, spoken of, are equally unsuited to what the natures -_both_ of _comedy and tragedy_, respectively, demand. - - - - -CHAP. III. - -OF M. DE FONTENELLE’S NOTION OF COMEDY. - - -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, _pathetic_; but the scene of them is laid -in _antiquity_; and great personages, such as _Kings_, _Princesses_, -&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. - -His system, as explained in the preface to these comedies, is, briefly, -this. - -“The _subject_ of dramatic representation, he observes, is some event -or action of _human life_, which can be considered only in two views, -as being either that of _public_, or of _private_, persons. The end of -such representation, continues he, is to _please_, which it doth either -by engaging the attention, or by moving the passions. The _former_ -is done by representing to us such events as are _great, noble, or -unexpected_: The _latter_ by such as are _dreadful, pitiable, tender, -or pleasant_. Of these several sources of _pleasure_, he forms what -he calls a _dramatic scale_, the extremes of which he admits to be -altogether inconsistent; no art being sufficient to bring together the -_grand_, the _noble_, or the _terrible_, into the same piece with the -_pleasant or ridiculous_. The impressions of these objects, he allows, -are perfectly opposed to each other. So that a tragedy, which takes -for its subject a _noble_, or _terrible_ event, can by no means admit -the _pleasant_. And a comedy, which represents a _pleasant_ action, -can never admit the _terrible_ or _noble_. But it is otherwise, he -conceives, with the intermediate species of this scale. The _singular_, -the _pitiable_, the _tender_, which fill up the interval betwixt the -_noble_ and _ridiculous_, are equally consistent 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 _dramatic representations_, 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 _tragedy_, for instance, which should unite the _tender_ with -the _noble_ in any degree, or even subsist entirely by means of the -_tender_: And of _comedy_, which should associate the _tender_ with the -_pleasant_, or even retain the _tender_ throughout to a certain degree -to the entire exclusion of the _pleasant_. - -“As to his laying the _scene_ 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 _Spain_ or -_England_. - -“Lastly, for what concerns the introduction of great personages into -the comic drama, he observes that by _ordinary life_, 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 _life_, -so understood, of the greatest men, is truly comic[10].” - -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. - -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 _preface_ leads him to deliver his sentiments also -of tragedy, I shall not scruple intermixing, after his example, some -reflexions on this latter drama. - -M. de Fontenelle sets out with observing, that the end of dramatic -representation is to _please_. This end is very general. But he -explains himself more precisely, by saying, “_this pleasure is of two -kinds, and consists either in attaching the mind or affecting it_.” And -this is not much amiss. But his further explanation of these terms is -suspicious. “The mind, says he, is ATTACHED by the representation of -what is _great_, _noble_, _singular_, or _unexpected_: It is AFFECTED -by what is _terrible_, _pitiable_, _tender_, or _pleasant_[11].” -In this enumeration he forgets the merely _natural_ draught of the -manners. Yet this is surely one of the means by which the drama is -enabled to _attach_ 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 _second_ division. For tho’ a lively picture of -the manners may in some sort be said to _affect_ us, yet certainly not -as coming under the consideration of what is _terrible_, _pitiable_, -_tender_, or _ridiculous_, but simply of what is _natural_. The -picture is _pleasant_ or otherwise, as it chances; but is always the -source of entertainment to the observer. When the pleasantry is high, -it takes indeed the passion of _ridicule_. In other instances, it -can scarcely be said to _move_, “emouvoir.” Now this I take to be a -very considerable omission. For if the observation of character be a -_pleasure_, 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 _proper_ end of comedy? Human life, he says, -which is the subject of the drama, can only be regarded in two views, -as either that _of the great and principally of kings_, and that of -_private men_. Now the _attachments_ and _emotions_, he speaks of, are -excited more powerfully and to more advantage in a representation of -the _former_. That which is _peculiar_ to a draught of _ordinary life_, -or which is attained _most perfectly_ by it, is the delight arising -from a just exhibition of the manners. No, he will say. The _pleasant_ -belongs as peculiarly to a picture of common life, as the _natural_. -Surely not. Common life _distorted_, or what we call _farce_, gives -the entertainment of _ridicule_ more perfectly than comedy. The only -pleasure, which an exposition of _ordinary life_ affords, distinct -from that we receive from a view of _high life_ on the one hand, -and ordinary life _disfigured_ on the other, is the satisfaction of -contemplating the _truth of character_. However then this species -of representation may be improved by incorporating other kinds of -excellence with it, is not _this, of pleasing_ by the _truth_ of -character, to be considered as the _appropriate_ end of comedy? - -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 _the weeping comedy_, _la larmoyante comedie_, 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 _only_ of the drama; or whether, as he pretends, a certain -_scale_, which connects by an insensible communication the several -modifications of dramatic representation, unites and incorporates the -two species into one. - -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, compared with the general dictates of common sense. - -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 _established customs_ instead of rules; for _Rules_ they -will not deserve to be esteemed, till they have undergone the rigid -scrutiny of reason[12]. - -In respect of the _Practice_, 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 _affect_, this will not be accomplished BETTER by taking a -subject from the public than private fortunes of men: Or, if the End -be to _please by the truth of character_, whether we are not likely -to perceive this pleasure more FULLY when the story is of private, -rather than of public life? For, as Aristotle said finely on a like -occasion, _we are not to look for every sort of pleasure from tragedy_ -[or comedy] _but that which is peculiarly proper to each_[13]. “Human -life” this writer says, “can be considered but as _high_ or _low_;” -and “a representation of it can please only as it _attaches_, or -_affects_.” I ask then, to which sort of life shall the dramatic poet -confine himself, when he would endeavour to raise these _affections_ -or these _attachments_ 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 TRANSITION OF THE PASSIONS: 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 view of the concerns of common life. The more -_important_ the interest, the greater part our minds take in it, and -the more susceptible are we of _passion_. - -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 _mixed dramas_ may give us -pleasure, yet the pleasure, in either kind, will be LESS in proportion -to the mixture. And the _end_ of each will be then attained MOST -PERFECTLY when its character, according to the ancient practice, is -observed. - -To consider then the writer’s favourite position, that _le pitoyable_ -and _le tendre_ 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 _passion_ predominates in a picture -of private life, I call it a _tragedy_ of private story, because it -produces the _end_ which tragedy designs. If _humour_ predominates -in a draught of public life, I call it a _comedy_ of public story, -because it gives the _pleasure_ 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 _passion_, I should think -myself able to raise it highest on a great subject. And if I aimed to -_attach_ by _humour_, I should depend on catching the whole attention -of the spectator more successfully on a familiar subject. - -But by a _familiar subject_, this critic will say, he means, as I -do, a subject taken from _ordinary life_; 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 _manners_. 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 _manners_ from shewing themselves, -at least with that distinctness and _relief_ 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 _heroic_, comedy is the least -fitted, of any kind of drama, to furnish this pleasure. - -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. - -1. The comedy on high life hath arisen from a _different state of -government_. 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 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. - -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 _dramatic manners_. 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, which the poet gives to -his subject. Yet _this ornament, foreign as it may be, is necessary: -so fated are we to be always dazzled by titles_[14].” 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 _vulgar_ prejudices. But the dramatic -poet writes for the people. - -2. The tragedy on low life, I suspect, has been chiefly owing to our -_modern romances_: which have brought the tender passion into great -repute. It is the constant and almost sole object of _le pitoyable_ -and _le tendre_ 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 _tender pair_ -themselves, and does not so necessarily extend itself to others. Yet -to heighten this same pathos by the _grand_ and _important_, would -methinks be the means of affording a still higher pleasure. - -3. After all, that effusion of _softness_ 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, _les femmes_ 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, “_Et -je ne crois pas au fond qu’elles ayent grand tort_.” And what gallant -man but would subscribe to this opinion? - -On the whole, this attempt of M. de Fontenelle, to innovate in the -province of comedy, 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 _Arcadia_. 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 -_fashions_ and _manners_ are confined to certain conditions of life, so -that _pastoral courtiers_ are an evident contradiction and absurdity. -But, the _appetites and passions_ 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 _comedies_. 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. - -There are, I observed, three things to be considered in his comedies, -his _introduction of great personages, his practice of laying the -scene in antiquity, and his pathos_. - -Now to see the impropriety of the _first_ 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. - -The TYRANT 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 _Tyrant_ 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 _simple citizen_ demand his -daughter 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. - -The case of his ABDOLONIME 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. - -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. - -The LYSIANASSE is a tragedy in form, of that kind which hath a happy -catastrophe. The _persons_, _subject_, every thing so important, and -attaches the mind so intirely to the event, that nothing interests -more. - -As to his _laying the scene in antiquity, and especially in the free -towns of Greece_, 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 _simple citizens_, -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 MACATE, 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, “_a l’air bien françois et bien -peu grec_.” 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 _antique_ must, on -many occasions, be cold and disgusting. At least none but professed -scholars can be taken with it. - -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 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? - -Lastly, I have very little to object to the _pathos_ of his comedy. -When it is subservient to the _manners_, as in the TESTAMENT and -ABDOLONIME, I think it admirable. When it exceeds this degree and -takes the attention intirely, as in the LYSIANASSE, 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 -_tender and pitiable_ 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 _Testament_ is -intended to raise? Every one indeed is capable of being delighted -through the _passions_; 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 _ridiculous_, is quicker than our -humanity. But I determine nothing. Both these pleasures are perfectly -consistent. And my idea of comedy requires only that the _pathos_ be -kept in subordination to the _manners_. - - - - -CHAP. IV. - -OF THE PROVINCE OF FARCE. - - -Thus much then for the general idea of COMEDY. If considered more -accurately, it is, further, of _two kinds_. And in considering these we -shall come at a just notion of the province of FARCE. For this _mirror -of private life_ either, 1. reflects such qualities and characters, -as are common _to human nature at large_: or, 2. it represents the -whims, extravagances, and caprices, which characterize the folly of -_particular persons or times_. - -Again, _each_ of these is, further, to be subdivided into _two -species_. For 1. the representations of _common nature_ may either be -taken _accurately_, so as to reflect a _faithful and exact image_ of -their original; which alone is _that_ I would call COMEDY, as best -agreeing to the description which Cicero gives of it, when he terms -it IMAGINEM VERITATIS. Or, they may be forced and overcharged above -the simple and just proportions of _nature_; as when the excesses -of a _few_ are given for _standing_ characters, when not the man is -described, but the _passion_, 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 FARCE. In like manner, -2. the other _species_, consisting in the representation of _partial -nature_, either transcribes such characters as are peculiar to _certain -countries or times_, of which _our comedy_ is, in great measure, made -up; or it presents the image of _some real individual person_; which -was the distinguishing character of the _old comedy_ properly so called. - -Both these kinds evidently belong to FARCE: 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 _characters_ -or _persons_, 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 _class_. - -And thus the _three forms of dramatic composition_, the only ones which -good sense acknowledges, are kept distinct: and the proper END and -CHARACTER of each, clearly understood. - -1. _Tragedy and Comedy_, by their lively but faithful representations, -cannot fail to _instruct_. Such natural exhibitions of the human -character, being set before us in the clear mirror of the drama, -must needs serve to the highest _moral uses_, in awakening that -instinctive approbation, which we cannot withhold from _virtue_, -or in provoking the not less necessary detestation of _vice_. But -this, though it be their best _use_, is by no means their primary -_intention_. Their proper and immediate _end_ is, to PLEASE: the _one_, -more especially by interesting the _affections_; the _other_, by _a -just and delicate imitation of real life_. _Farce_, on the contrary, -professes to _entertain_, but this, in order more effectually to serve -the interests of virtue and good sense. Its proper _end_ and purpose -(if we allow it to have any reasonable one) is, then, to INSTRUCT. -Which the reader will understand me as saying, not of what we know by -the name of _farce_ on the modern stage (whose _prime_ intention can -hardly be thought even that low one, ascribed to it by Mr. Dryden, -_of_ entertaining _citizens, country gentlemen, and Covent Garden -fops_), but of the legitimate _end_ of this _drama_; known to the -Ancients under the name of the _old Comedy_, 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, “_That it -is a sharp manner of_ instruction _for the vulgar, who are never well -amended, till they are more than sufficiently exposed_.” [Pref. to -Trans. of Fresnoy, p. xix.] - -2. Though tragedy and comedy respect the _same general_ END, yet -pursuing it by _different means_, hence it comes to pass, their -CHARACTERS are wholly different. For tragedy, aiming at _pleasure_, -principally through the _affections_, whose flow must not be checked -and interrupted by any counter impressions: and comedy, as we have -seen, addressing itself _principally_ to our _natural sense of -resemblance and imitation_; it follows, that the _ridiculous_ can never -be associated with tragedy, without destroying its _nature_, though -with the _serious comic_ it very well consists. - -And here the _practice_ coincides with the _rule_. All exact writers, -though they constantly mix _grave and pleasant_ scenes together in the -same _comedy_, yet never presume to do this in _tragedy_, and so keep -the two species of _tragedy and comedy_ themselves perfectly distinct. -But, - -3. It is quite otherwise with _comedy_ and _farce_. 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 _comedy_ lying in the accuracy -and fidelity of universal representation, and _farce_ professedly -neglecting or rather purposely transgressing the limits of common -nature and just decorum, they clash entirely with each other. And -_comedy_ must so far fail of giving the _pleasure_, appropriate to its -design, as it allies itself with _farce_; while _farce_, on the other -hand, forfeits the _use_, it intends, of promoting popular ridicule, -by restraining itself within the exact rules of _Nature_, which Comedy -observes. - -But there is little occasion to guard against this _latter_ abuse. The -danger is all on the other side. And the passion for what is now called -_Farce_, 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 _Misanthrope_ and _Tartuffe_, 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. - -Of our own comedies, such of them, I mean, as are worthy of criticism, -Ben Jonson’s _Alchymist_ and _Volpone_ 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 ALCHYMIST, some will think, is exaggerated throughout, and -so, at best, belongs to that species of comedy, which we have before -called _particular and partial_. 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 _first_, and are -further liable to an imperfect, and even unfair sentence from the -reader _afterwards_. For the welcome reception, which these pictures of -prevailing _local_ folly meet with on the stage, cannot but induce the -poet, almost without design, to inflame the representation: And the -want of _archetypes_, in a little time, makes it pass for immoderate, -were it originally given with ever so much discretion and justice. So -that whether the _Alchymist_ be farcical or not, it will _appear_, -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 -_subject_ of this Play’s being a _local folly_, which seems to bring -it directly under the denomination of Farce, it is but just to make -a distinction. Had the _end and purpose_ of the Play been to expose -_Alchymy_, it had been liable to this objection. But this mode of -_local folly_, is employed as the _means_ only of exposing _another_ -folly, extensive as our Nature and coeval with it, namely _Avarice_. So -that the subject has all the requisites of true _Comedy_. It is just -otherwise, we may observe, in the _Devil’s an Ass_; which therefore -properly falls under our censure. For there, the folly of the time, -_Projects and Monopolies_, are brought in to be exposed, as the _end -and purpose_ of the comedy. - -On the whole, the _Alchymist_ is a Comedy in just form, but a little -_Farcical_ in the extension of one of its characters. - -The VOLPONE, 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 -_Mountebank Scene_ and _Sir Politique’s Tortoise_ are in the taste -of the _old comedy_; and without its rational purpose. Besides, -the _humour_ of the dialogue is sometimes on the point of becoming -inordinate, as may be seen in the pleasantry of _Corbaccio’s mistakes -through deafness_, 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 _character_ 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 -_topics_. And lastly, his _style_ in picturing characters, though -masterly, was without that elegance of _hand_, 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. - -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 _dramatic_, as of -_real manners_. - -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 _objection_ 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 _to the first principles of beauty_ 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[15].” - - - - - A - - DISCOURSE - - ON - - POETICAL IMITATION. - - - - - DISSERTATION III. - - ON - - POETICAL IMITATION. - - -I undertake, in the following discourse, to consider TWO QUESTIONS, -in which the credit of almost all great writers, since the time of -_Homer_, is vitally concerned. - -First, “_Whether that Conformity in Phrase or Sentiment between two -writers of different times, which we call_ IMITATION, _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?_” - -Secondly, “_Whether, in the case of confessed Imitations, any certain -and necessary conclusion holds to the disadvantage of the natural_ -GENIUS _of the imitator?_”—QUESTIONS, which there seems no fit method -of resolving, but by taking the matter pretty deep, and deducing it -from its _first principles_. - - -SECTION I. - -All _Poetry_, to speak with Aristotle and the Greek critics (if -for so plain a point authorities be thought wanting) is, properly, -_imitation_. 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 -_original_, 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 _copy_, a transcript from -some brighter page of this vast volume of the universe. Thus all is -_derived_; all is _unoriginal_. And the office of genius is but to -select the fairest forms of things, and to present them in due _place_ -and _circumstance_, and in the richest colouring of _expression_, to -the imagination. This primary or original _copying_, which in the ideas -of Philosophy is _Imitation_, is, in the language of Criticism, called -INVENTION. - -Again; of the endless variety of these _original forms_, 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 _resemblances_. This magical operation the _divine_ philosopher -(whose fervid fancy, though it sometimes obscures[16] his reasoning, -yet never fails to clear and brighten his imagery) excellently -illustrates by the similitude of a _mirror_; “_which_, says he, _as you -turn about and oppose to the surrounding world, presents you instantly -with a_ SUN, STARS, _and_ SKIES; _with your_ OWN, _and every_ OTHER -_living form; with the_ EARTH, _and its several appendages of_ TREES, -PLANTS, _and_ FLOWERS[17].” 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 _American vision -of souls_[18], yet glows with such apparent life, that it becomes, -thenceforth, the object of other mirrors, and is itself _original_ to -future reflexions; This secondary or derivative image, is that alone -which Criticism considers under the Idea of IMITATION. - -And here the difficulty, we are about to examine, commences. For the -poet, in his quick researches through all his stores and materials -of _beauty_, meeting every where, in his progress, these _reflected -forms_; 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 _original_ from the _copy_; to know, with certainty, if the -_sentiment_, or _image_, presented to him, be directly taken from -the _life_, or be itself, a lively transcript, only, of some former -copy. And this difficulty is the greater, because the _original_, as -well as the _copy_, 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 _imitation_. For -it is not enough to say here, as in the case of _reflexions_, that -the latter is always the weaker, and of course betrays itself by the -degree of faintness, which, of necessity, attends a _copy_. This, -indeed, hath been said by one, to whose judgment a peculiar deference -is owing. QUICQUID ALTERI SIMILE EST, NECESSE EST MINUS SIT EO, QUOD -IMITATUR[19]. But it holds only of strict and scrupulous _imitations_. -And of such alone, I think, it was intended; for the explanation -follows, _ut umbra corpore, & imago facie, & actus histrionum veris -affectibus_; 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 _then_; 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 -_imitation_, in general, nothing can be falser or more delusive. For, -1. Besides the supposed _original_, 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 _first copy_. -2. He may also take in circumstances, omitted or overlooked before -in the _common_ object, and so give new and additional vigour to his -imitation. Or, 3. He may possess a stronger, and more plastic genius, -and therefore be enabled to touch, with more force of expression, even -those particulars, which he professedly imitates. - -On all these accounts, the difficulty of distinguishing betwixt -_original_, and _secondary_, imitation is apparent. And it is of -importance, that this _difficulty_ be seen in its full light. Because, -if the _similarity_, observed in two or more writers, may, for the most -part, and with the highest probability, be accounted for from _general -principles_, it is superfluous at least, if not unfair, to have -recourse to the _particular_ charge of _imitation_. - -Now to see how far the same common principles of nature will go towards -effecting the _similarity_, here spoken of, it is necessary to consider -very distinctly. - -I. THE MATTER; _and_ - -II. THE MANNER, _of all poetical imitation_. - -I. In all that range of _natural objects_, over which the restless -imagination of the poet expatiates, there is no subject of picture -or imitation, that is not reducible to one or other of the _three -following classes_. 1. The _material world, or that vast compages -of corporeal forms, of which this universe is compounded_. 2. _The -internal workings and movements of his own mind, under which I -comprehend the manners, sentiments, and passions._ 3. _Those internal -operations, that are made objective to sense by the outward signs of -gesture, attitude, or action._ 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 _Homer’s gods_, _Milton’s angels_, -or _Shakespear’s witches_; it being clear, that these are only -_human_ characters, diversified by such attributes and manners, as -superstition, religion, or even wayward fancy, had assigned to each. - -1. The material universe, or what the painters call _still life_, -is the object of that species of poetical imitation, we call -_descriptive_. 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 -_perception_ of beauty in the _forms_, _combinations_, and _aspects_ of -things 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 -_natural_. Accordingly we may observe, that it operates universally on -all men; more especially the young and unexperienced; who are not less -transported by the _novelty_, than _beauty_ 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 _genius_. 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 _luxuriant fancy_, 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. - -I insist the more on this strong _influence of external beauty_, -because it leads, I think, to a clear view of the subject before us, -so far as it respects _descriptive poetry_. These _living forms_ 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 _imitation_, which naturally -accompanies and keeps pace with this _sense of beauty_ in the poet, -is continually urging him to translate them into _description_. These -descriptions will, indeed, have different degrees of _colouring_, -according to the force of genius in the imitator; but the _outlines_ -are the same in all; in the weak, faint sketches of an ordinary Gothic -designer, as in the living pictures of _Homer_. - -An instance will explain my meaning. Amidst all that diversity of -natural objects, which the poet delights to paint, nothing is so -_taking_ to his imagination, as _rural scenery_; which is, always, -the _first_ passion of _good_ poets, and the _only_ one that seems, -in any degree, to animate and inspirit _bad_ ones. Now let us take a -description of such a scene; suppose that which _Aelian_ hath left us -of the Grecian TEMPE, given from the life and without 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. -_Aelian’s_ description is given in these words. - -“The Thessalian TEMPE 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 _Peneus_, 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 _arbours and resting places_; 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 _ivy_ shooting forth in it, which -flourishes and grows so 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 _smilax_[20] 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 _singing_ -birds, every where fluttering about, whose warblings take the ear of -passengers, and cheat the labours of their way through it. On the -banks of the _Peneus_, on either side, are dispersed irregularly those -_resting places_, 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.” [_Var. Hist._ lib. III. c. 1.] - -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 -_feign_. For what more is there in the _Elysiums_, the _Arcadias_, the -_Edens_, of ancient and modern fame? And the common _object_ 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 -from any _similarity_ in the materials, of which they are formed, shall -we infer an _imitation_? - -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 _horrid and detested vale_ which Tamora describes in TITUS -ANDRONICUS. It is a perfect contrast to Aelian’s, and may be called an -_Anti-tempe_. Or, to see this opposition of images in the strongest -light, the reader may turn to _L’Allegro_ and _Il Penseroso_ of Milton; -where he hath artfully made, throughout the two poems, the same kind of -subjects excite the two passions of _mirth_ and _melancholy_. - -When the reader is got into this train, he will easily extend the same -observation to other instances of _natural description_; and can hardly -avoid, after a few trials, coming to this short conclusion, “that of -all the various delineations in the poets, of the HEAVENS, in their -vicissitude of times and seasons; of the EARTH, in its diversity of -_mountains_, _valleys_, _promontories_, &c. of the SEA, under its -several aspects of _turbulence_, or _serenity_; of the _make_ and -_structure_ of ANIMALS, &c. it can rarely be affirmed, that they are -_copies_ of one another, but rather the genuine products of the same -creating fancy, operating uniformly in them all.” - -Yet, notwithstanding this _identity_ 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 _manner of Representation_; by which is not meant the -language of the poet, but simply the _form_ 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. - -Descriptions of the _morning_ 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 _stains of light_, which streak and diversify the -clouds; by the peculiar _colour of the dawn_; by its _irradiations_ on -the _sea_, or _earth_; on some peculiar objects, as _trees_, _hills_, -_rivers_, &c. A difference also will arise from the _situation_, in -which we suppose ourselves; if on the _sea shore_, this _harbinger -of day_ will seem to break forth from the _ocean_; if on the _land_, -from the extremity of a large plain, terminated, it may be, by some -remarkable object, as a _grove_, _mountain_, &c. There are many other -_differences_, of which the same precise _number_ will scarcely offer -itself to two poets; or not the _same individual_ circumstances; or not -_disposed_ in the same manner. But let the same identical circumstance, -suppose the _breaking or first appearance of the dawn_, be taken by -different writers, and we may still expect a considerable diversity -in their _representation_ of it. What we may allow to all poets, is, -that they will _impersonate_ the morning. And though this idea of it -is _metaphorical_, and so belongs to another place, as respecting -the _manner_ of imitation only; yet, when once considered under this -_figure_, the _drawing_ of it comes as directly within the province of -_description_, as the real, _literal_ circumstances themselves. Now in -descriptions of the morning under this idea of a _person_, the very -same _attitude_, which is made analogous to the _circumstance_ before -specified, and is to suggest it, will, as I said, be represented by -different writers very differently. _Homer_, to express _the rise or -appearance of this person_, speaks of her _as shooting forth from the -ocean_: - - - ——ΑΠ ΩΚΕΑΝΟΙΟ ΡΟΑΩΝ - ΩΡΝΥΘ. - -_Virgil, as rising from the rocks of Ida._ - - _Jamque jugis summae surgebat Lucifer Idae, - Ducebatque diem._ - -_Shakespear_ hath closed a fine description of the morning with the -same _image_, but expressed in a very different manner. - - ——_Look what streaks - Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: - Night’s candles are put out: and_ JOCUND DAY - STANDS TIPTOE ON THE MISTY MOUNTAINS TOP. - -The reader, no doubt, pronounces on first sight, this description to be -_original_. But why? There is no part of it, which may not be traced -in other poets. The _staining of the clouds_, and _putting out the -stars_, are circumstances, that are almost constantly taken notice of -in representations of the morning. And the last _image_, which strikes -most, is not essentially different from that of Virgil and Homer. It -would express the _attitude_ of a person impatient, and in act to make -his appearance. And this is, plainly, the _image_ suggested by the -other two. But the difference lies here. Homer’s _expression_ of this -_impatience_ is _general_, ΩΡΝΥΘ. So is Virgil’s, and, as the occasion -required, with less energy, SURGEBAT. Shakespear’s is _particular_: -that impatience is set before us, and pictured to the eye in the -circumstance of _standing tiptoe_; 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 _generally_, and -still worse by ΕΡΥΘΡΟΔΑΚΤΥΛΟΣ. ΡΟΔΟΔΑΚΤΥΛΟΣ gives the precise idea, -which was wanting[21].” - -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 -to esteem him _original_ without further scruple. For the shapes and -appearances of things are apprehended, only in the gross, by dull -minds. They think they _see_, 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 _painting_ in poetry; by which not only -the general natures of things are described, and their more obvious -appearances shadowed forth; but every single _property_ marked, and the -poet’s own image set in distinct _relief_ before the view of his reader. - -If this glow of imagery, resulting from clear and bright perceptions in -the poet, be not a certain character of _genius_, it will be difficult, -I believe, to say what is: I mean so far as descriptive poetry, which -we are now considering, is concerned. The same _general_ appearances -must be copied by all poets; the same _particular_ 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 _painting_; 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[22];” this can -be accomplished by nothing less, than the genuine plastic powers of -original creation. - -2. If from this vast theatre of _sensible and extraneous_ beauty, -the poet turn his attention to what passes _within_, 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 _similarity of mind_, if I may so speak, -which, like that of outward _form_ and _make_, by the wise provision -of nature, runs through the whole species. We are all furnished with -the same original _properties and affections_, as with the same -stock of _perceptions and ideas_; 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 _former_ division takes in all -the workings of PASSION. The _latter_, comprehends our MANNERS and -SENTIMENTS. 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 _imitation_. Painting, we know, can express the -_material universe_; and, as will be seen hereafter, can evidence the -internal movements of the soul by _sensible marks and symbols_; but -it is poetry alone, which delineates the mind itself, and opens the -recesses of the heart to us. - - EFFERT ANIMI MOTUS INTERPRETE LINGUA. - -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[23], 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 _felt_ himself. And -what he hath thus known from his own _feeling_ is so consonant to the -experience of all others, that his description must needs be _true_; -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 (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 _felt_ or _thought_ in such a conjuncture, what _sensations_ -or _reflexions_ 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 -_life_, will, we may be sure, affect other minds, in proportion to the -vigour of our conception and expression of it. In sum, - - _To catch the manners living, as they rise_, - -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 _ourselves_ (the great exemplar of _moral imitation_) -will be as unavoidably similar to any description copied on the like -occasion, by other poets; as pictures of the _natural world_ by -different hands, are, and must be, to each other, as being all derived -from the archetype of one common original. - -1. Let us take some master-piece of a great poet, most famed for -his original invention, in which he has successfully revealed the -secret internal workings of any PASSION. What does he make known of -these mysterious powers, but what he _feels_? And whence comes the -impression, his description makes on others, but from its agreement -to their _feelings_[24]? To instance, in the expression of _grief on -the murder of children, relations, friends, &c._ a _passion_, 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: _complaints of -untimely death_: _of unnatural cruelty in the murderer_: _imprecations -of vengeance_: _weariness and contempt of life_: _expostulations with -heaven_: _fond recollections of the virtues and good qualities of the -deceased_; _and of the different expectations, raised by them_? These -were the dictates of nature to the _father of poets_, when he had to -draw the distresses of _Priam’s_ family sorrowing for the death of -Hector. Yet nothing, it seems, but _servile imitation_ 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? - - —_My heart will burst, and if I speak— - And I will speak, that so my heart may burst. - Butchers and villains, bloody cannibals, - How sweet a plant have ye untimely cropt! - You have no children; butchers, if you had, - The thought of them would have stirr’d up remorse._ - -The reader, also, may consult that wonderful scene, in which MACDUFF -laments the murder of his wife and children. [MACBETH.] - -2. It is not different with the MANNERS; I mean those sentiments, -which mark and distinguish _characters_. These result immediately from -the suggestions of _nature_; which 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 _general character_, 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 _subject_ of all passions, so he becomes, in a manner, -the _aggregate_ of all _characters_. Nature may have inclined him most -powerfully to one set of _manners_; just as one _passion_ 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 _manners_. 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 -_design_ and attitude of their pictures. - -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 _characters_, with similar -passages in other poets; more especially (for I must often refer to -his authority) in the various living portraitures of _Shakespear_. Yet -he, who after taking this learned pains, should chuse to urge such -parallels, when found, for proofs of his _imitation of the ancients_, -would only run the hazard of being reputed, by men of sense, as poor a -critic of human nature, as of his author. - -I say this with confidence, because I say it on a great authority. -“Tout est dit (says an exquisite writer on the subject of _manners_) -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 MOEURS, le plus beau et -le meilleur est enlevé; l’on ne fait que glaner après les anciens, & -les habiles d’entre les modernes[25].” - -Thus far indeed, the case is almost too plain to be disputed. Strong -_affections_, and constitutional _characters_, 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 _think and speak_, in given -circumstances, after much the same manner. But what shall we say of -our cooler reasonings; the _sentiments_, 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.” - -To think of reducing the thoughts of man, which are “_more than the -sands, and wider than the ocean_,” 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 _characters_ or predominant -_passions_) may be included in the division of 1. _Religious_, 2. -_Moral_, and 3. _Oeconomical_ sentiments; understanding by this -_last_ (for I know of no fitter term to express my meaning) all those -_reasonings_, which take their rise from _particular conjunctures of -ordinary life, and are any way relative to our conduct in it_. - -1. The apprehension of some invisible power, as superintending the -universe, tho’ not _connate_ 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 _idea_, are altogether as necessary. It is easy to conceive, how -unavoidably, almost, the mind awakened by certain conjunctures of -_distress_, and working on the ground of this original _impression_, -turns itself to awful views of deity, and seeks relief in those -soothing contemplations of Providence, which we find so frequent in -the _epic_ and _tragic_ poets. And whoever shall give himself the -trouble of examining those noble _hymns_, which the _lyric_ 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 _religionists_. Their _power_, -and sovereign _disposal of all events_; their _care of the good_, -and _aversion to the wicked_; the blessings, they derive on their -_worshippers_, and the terrors, they infix in the breasts of the -_profane_; they are the usual topics of their meditations; the solemn -sentiments, that consecrate these addresses to their local, gentilitial -deities. In listening to these divine strains every one _feels_, from -his own consciousness, how necessary such reflexions are to human -nature; more particularly, when to the simple apprehension of _deity_, -a warm _fancy_ and strong _affections_ 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 _traditions_, one is -not surprized to find a strong resemblance, oftentimes, in point of -_sentiment_, 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 _that_ which nature and reason -had before kindled up in them. It follows, that either _succeeding_ -poets are not necessarily to be accused of stealing their religious -sentiments from their elder brethren, or that ORPHEUS, HOMER, and -CALLIMACHUS may be as reasonably charged with plundering the sacred -treasures of DAVID, and the other Hebrew prophets. - -It is much the same with the _illusions_ of _corrupt_ religion. The -_fauns and nymphs_ of the ancients, holding their residence in shadowy -groves or caverns, and the frightful spectres of their _Larvae_: to -which we may oppose the modern visions of _fairies_; and of _ghosts_, -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 _common apprehensions_. Reason, when misled -by superstition, takes a _certain route_, and keeps as steadily in -it, as when conducted by a sound and sober piety. There needs only a -previous conception of unseen _intelligence_ 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 RELIGION. For -they are concerned only to represent the opinions and conclusions, to -which the _idea_ of divinity leads. And these, we now see, they derive -from their own _experience_, or the received _theology_ of the times, -of which they write. _Religious sentiments_ 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 _same_ -in different writers, though perfectly _original_, and holding no -correspondence with each other? - -2. And the same is true of our _moral_, as _religious_ sentiments. -Whole volumes, indeed, have been written to shew, that all our -commonest notices of _right_ and _wrong_ have been traduced from -ancient tradition, founded on express supernatural communication. With -writers of this turn the _gnomae_ 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 _father of poetry_, whose writings all have agreed to set up as the -very prodigy of human invention. And yet a very learned Professor[26] -(to pass over many slighter Essays) hath compiled a large work of -Homer’s moral _parallelisms_; 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 _Siloam_, instead -of _Castalis_. 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 _moral_ truth on all minds; and that the -beauties of the _moral_, as _natural_ 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 _similarity_, which hath constantly been -observed in the _law_ and _moral_ 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. - -3. For what concerns the class of _oeconomical sentiments_; or such -prudential conclusions, 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 _characteristic quality_ dictates, -or _affection_ extorts, and which spring from no preconceived system -of _moral or religious_ opinions, a greater latitude of thinking is -allowed; and consequently any remarkable correspondency of _sentiment_ -affords more room for suspicion of _imitation_. 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 _natural_ 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 _Measure for Measure_, upon hearing some petty slanders thrown -out against himself, falls into this trite reflexion: - - _No might nor greatness in mortality - Can censure ’scape: back-wounding calumny - The whitest virtue strikes._ - -Friar Lawrence, in _Romeo_ and _Juliet_, observing the excessive -raptures of Romeo on his marriage, gives way to a sentiment, naturally -suggested by this circumstance: - - _These violent delights have violent ends, - And in their triumph die._ - -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 _imitation_? - -In _Cymbeline_, the obsequies of Imogen are celebrated with a song of -triumph over the evils of human life, from which death delivers us: - - _Fear no more the heat o’ th’ sun, - Nor the furious winter’s rages, &c._ - -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 farewell we have over the dead body in Lucian; ΤΕΚΝΟΝ ΑΘΛΙΟΝ, -ΟΥΚΕΤΙ ΔΙΨΗΣΕΙΣ, ΟΥΚΕΤΙ ΠΕΙΝΗΣΕΙΣ, &c.” - -When Valentine in the _Twelfth-night_ reports the inconquerable grief -of Olivia for the loss of a brother, the duke observes upon it, - - _O! she that hath a heart of that fine frame - To pay this debt of love but to a brother, - How will she love, when the rich golden shaft - Hath killed the flock of all affections else - That live in her?_ - -’Tis strange, the critics have never accused the poet of stealing this -sentiment from Terence, who makes Simo in the _Andrian_ reason on his -son’s concern for Chrysis in the same manner: - - _Nonnunquam conlacrumabat: placuit tum id mihi. - Sic cogitabam: hic parvae consuetudinis - Causâ hujus mortem tam fert familiariter: - Quid si ipse amâsset? Quid mihi hic faciet patri?_ - -It were easy to multiply examples, but I spare the reader. Though -nothing may seem, at first sight, more inconstant, variable, and -capricious, than the _thought_ of man, yet he will easily collect, -that _character_, _passion_, _system_, or _circumstance_ 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 _internal movements_, as of the visible -phaenomena of the _natural world_. 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 _real -ability_, is childish. Common sense directs us, for the most part, -to regard _resemblances_ in great writers, not as the pilferings, or -frugal acquisitions of needy _art_, but as the honest fruits of genius, -the free and liberal bounties of unenvying _nature_. - -III. Having learned, from our own conscious reflexion, the secret -operations of _reason_, _character_, and _passion_, it now remains -to contemplate their _effects in visible appearances_. 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 themselves on -the _countenance_; stand forth in _airs_ and _attitudes_; and declare -themselves in all the diversities of human _action_. 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 _imitation_. -For the external forms themselves are grateful to the _fancy_, and, -as being expressive of _design_, warm and agitate the _heart_ with -passion. Hence it is, that narrative poetry, which draws mankind under -every _apparent consequence and effect_ of passion, inchants the -mind. And even the dramatic, we know, is cool and lifeless, and loses -half its efficacy, without _action_. This, too, is the province of -_picture_, _statuary_, and all arts, which inform by mute signs. Nay, -the mute arts may be styled, almost without a figure, in this class -of _imitation_, the most eloquent. For what words can express _airs -and attitudes_, 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 _fiction_? When _passion_ is -to be made known by outward _act_, Homer himself yields the palm to -_Raphael_. - -But our business is with the _poets_. And, in reviewing this their -largest and most favoured stock of _materials_, can we do better than -contemplate them in the very order, in which we before disposed the -_workings_ of the mind itself, the _causes_ of these appearances? - -1. To begin with the _affections_. They have their rise, as was -observed, from the very _constitution_ 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 _sentiments -and reflexions_. Hence the appeal is made to every one’s own -_consciousness_, which declares the truth or falshood of the -_imitation_. When these _commotions_ are produced and made objective -to sense by _visible signs_, is _observation_ a more fallible guide, -than _consciousness_? Or, doth experience attest these _signs_ to -be less similar and uniform, than their _occasions_? By no means. -Take a man under the impression of _joy_, _fear_, _grief_, 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. Our natural curiosity is ever awake and attentive to -these _changes_. And poetry sets herself at work, with eagerness, to -catch and transcribe their various _appearances_. No correspondency -of representation, then, needs surprize us; nor any the exactest -_resemblance_ be thought strange, where the _object_ is equally present -to all persons. For it must be remarked of the _visible effects_ -of MIND, as, before, of the _phaenomena_ of the _material world_, -that they are, simply, the objects of _observation_. So that what -was concluded of _these_, will hold also of the _others_; with this -difference, that the _effects of internal movements_ do not present -themselves so _constantly_ to the eye, nor with that _uniformity_ of -appearance, as _permanent, external existencies_. We cannot survey -them at _pleasure_, but as occasion offers: and we, further, find -them diversified by the _character_, or disguised, in some degree, -by the _artifice_, of the persons, in whom we observe them. But all -the consequence is, that, to succeed in this work of painting the -_signatures of internal affection_, requires a larger experience, or -quicker penetration, than copying after _still life_. Where the proper -qualifications are possessed, and especially in describing the _marks_ -of vigorous affections, different writers cannot be supposed to vary -more considerably, in _this_ province of _imitation_, than in the -_other_. 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 _illustrations_. - -The passion of LOVE is one of those affections, which bear great sway -in the human nature. Its _workings_ are violent. And its _effects_ -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 _history_; and -hath furnished the most inchanting scenes of _fiction_. Poetry hath -ever lived by it. The modern muse hath hardly any existence without it. -Let us ask, then, of this _tyrant passion_, whether its operations are -not too familiar to _sense_, its _effects_ too visible to the _eye_, to -make it necessary for the poet to go beyond himself, and the sphere of -his own observation, for the _original_ of his descriptions of it. - -To prevent all cavil, let it be allowed, that the _signs_ of this -passion, I mean, the visible effects in which it shews itself, are -various and almost infinite. It is reproached, above all others, with -the names of _capricious, fantastic, and unreasonable_. 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 -_occasionally_ take _all_, yet it delights to be seen in _some_ shapes, -more than others. Some of its _effects_ 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 _nature_. 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 _Phaedria_ from Menander. _Horace_ and _Persius_, -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 JULIA in _The two Gentlemen of Verona_. - -Shall it be now said, that _Shakespear_ copied from Terence, as Terence -from Menander? Or is it not as plain to common sense, that the English -poet is _original_, as that the _Latin_ poet was an _imitator_? - -_Shakespear_, 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, “_than when every thing -about you demonstrates a careless desolation_.” [_As you like it._ -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 _passion_ in that -distressful moment when, “_from the naked beach, she views the parting -sail of Theseus_.” This was a time for all the signs of _desolation_ -to shew themselves. And could we doubt of his describing those _very -signs_, which nature’s self dictated, long ago, to Catullus? - - _Non flavo retinens subtilem vertice mitram, - Non contexta levi velatum pectus amictu, - Non tereti strophio luctantes vincta papillas; - Omnia quae toto delapsa è corpore passim - Ipsius ante pedes fluctus salis alludebant._ - -But there is a higher instance in view. The humanity and easy elegance -of the two Latin poets, just mentioned, joined to an unaffected -_naivetè_ 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. - -A poet, thus accomplished, would omit, we may be sure, no occasion of -yielding to his natural bias of recording the distresses of _love_. -He discovered his talent, as well as inclination, very early, in -the _Bucolics_; and even, where one should least expect it, in his -_Georgics_. But the fairest opportunity offered in his great design of -the _Aeneis_. 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 _sentiments, reflexions, and expostulations_, 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 _internal movements_: and need -not be considered. My concern at present, is with those _visible, -external indications_, the sensible marks and signatures (as expressed -in _look_, _air_, and _action_) of this tormenting frenzy. The history -of these, as related in the narrative part of Dido’s adventure, would -comprehend every natural _situation_ of a person, under _love’s_ -distractions. And it were no unpleasing amusement to follow and -contemplate her, in a series of pictures, from her first attitude, of -_hanging on the mouth of Aeneas_, through all the gradual excesses -of her rage, to the concluding fatal _act of desperation_. 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 _natural_. - -It may seem sufficient, therefore, to ascribe these portraitures of -passion, so suitable to all our expectations, and in drawing which -the 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 _resemblances_ -for _thefts_,” 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 _Homer_ hath his Calypso, and _Euripides_ -and _Apollonius_ 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[27].” -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.” - -What is here concluded of the _softer_, cannot but hold more strongly -of the _boisterous_ passions. These do not shelter, and conceal -themselves within the man. It is particularly, of their nature, to -stand forth, and shew themselves in _outward actions_. Of the more -illustrious _effects_ of the ruder passions the chief are _contentions -and wars_—_regum & populorum aestus_; 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 _description_, some difference will arise from -the instruments in use for annoyance of the enemy, and, in general, -the state of _art military_; but the actuating passions of _rage_, -_ambition_, _emulation_, _thirst of honour_, _revenge_, &c. are -invariably the same, and are constantly evidenced by the same external -marks or characters. The _shocks of armies_, _single combats_; _the -chances and singularities of either_; _wounds_, _deaths_, _stratagems_, -and the other attendants on _battle_, which furnish out the state and -magnificence of the epic muse, are, all of them, _fixed, determinate -objects_; 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 abroad into _life and -action_ for the model of all such representations. On which account we -can rarely be certain, that the _picture_ is not from _nature_, though -an exact resemblance give to superficial and unthinking observers the -suspicion of _art_. - -The same reasoning extends to all the _phaenomena_ of human life, which -are the effects or consequences of _strong affections_, and which set -mankind before us in _gestures_, _looks_, or _actions_, 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 _imitates_ 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 _battles_, _games_, -_travels_, &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; - - _Quicquid agunt homines, votum, timor, ira, voluptas, - Gaudia, &c._ - -Whatever be the _actuating passion_, it cannot but be thought unfair -to suspect the artist of _imitation_; where nothing more is pretended -than a _resemblance_ in the draught of _similar effects_, which it is -not possible to avoid. - -2. If this be comprehended, I shall need to say the less of the -MANNERS; which are not less constant in their _effects_, than the -PASSIONS. When the _character_ of any person hath been signified, and -his situation described, it is not wonderful, that twenty different -writers should hit on the same _attitudes_, 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 _attitude_, 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 - - “_Th’ immortal deeds of heroes and of kings_.” - -It was the like attention to _nature_, which led Milton to dispose of -his fallen angels after the manner, described in the second book of -_Paradise lost_. - -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 -_known character_, in conjunction with the _circumstances_ of the -person described, determines the particular _action_ or _employment_, -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 _natural_ is not -therefore of necessity _obvious_: 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 -_judgment_ is one thing, and of _invention_, another.” - -Properly speaking, what we call _invention_ in poetry is, in -respect of the _matter_ of it, simply, _observation_. And it is in -the arrangement, use, and application of his _materials_, not in -the investigation of them, that the exercise of the poet’s genius -principally consists. In the case of immediate and direct _imagery_, -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 _appearance_, -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 _must_ 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 _beautiful_, which we call _taste_, will as -often mistake in the _choice_ 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 _new sentiments or images_, but in -the forceable manner, in which their sublime genius taught them to -convey and impress _old ones_. - -And to inforce what is here said of the _familiarity_ of this class -of the poet’s materials, one may, further, appeal to the case of the -other _mimetic_ arts, which have no assistance from _narration_. -Certain _gestures_, _looks_, or _attitudes_, are so immediately -declarative of the _internal actuating causes_, that, on the slightest -view of the _picture_ or _statue_, we collect the real state of the -persons represented. This _figure_, we say, strongly expresses the -passion of _grief_; _that_, of _anger_; _that_, of _joy_; and so of -all the other affections. Or, again, when the particular _passion_ is -characterized, the general temper and disposition, which we call the -_manners_, is clearly discernible. There is a liberal and graceful -air, which discovers a fine temperature of the affections, in _one_; -a close and sullen aspect, declaring a narrow contracted selfishness -in _another_. In short, there is scarcely any mark or feature of the -human mind, any peculiarity of disposition or _character_, which the -artist does not set off and make appear at once, to the view, by some -certain turn or _conformation_ of the outward figure. Now this effect -of his _art_ would be impossible, were it not, that regular and -constant observation hath found such _external signs_ consociated with -the correspondent _internal workings_. A _heaven overhung with clouds_, -the _tossing of waves_, and _intermingled flashes of lightning_ are -not surer indications of a _storm_, than the _gloomy face_, _distorted -limb_, and _indignant eye_ are of the outrage of conflicting _passion_. -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. - -It is true, some great painters have thought it convenient to explain -the design of their works by _inscriptions_. 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 us the meaning of _airs and attitudes_, and to interpret to -us the _expression_ 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 _visible signs_, usually attendant on -any _character_ or _passion_; and whom therefore the representation of -these _signs_, would not lead to a certain knowledge of the character -or passion _intended_. - -Nay there is one advantage which _painting_ hath, in this respect, over -_narration_, and even _poetry_ itself. For though poetry represent the -_same_ objects, the _same_ sensible marks of the internal movements, -as painting, yet it doth it with less _particularity and exactness_. -My meaning will be understood in reflecting, that _words_ can only -give us, even when most expressive, the _general_ image. The pencil -touches its smallest and minutest _specialities_. And this will explain -the reason why any remarkable correspondency of _air_, _feature_, -_attitude_, &c. in two pictures, will, commonly and with good reason, -convict one or both of them of _imitation_: whereas this conclusion -is by no means so certain from a correspondency of description in -two poems. For the odds are 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, - - _Multa gemens largoque humectat flumine vultum_; - -without any suspicion of communicating with Homer, who had said, in -like manner, of his, - - Ἵστατο δακρυχέων, ὥστε κρήνη μελάνυδρος. - -But had two painters, in presenting this image, agreed in the same -particularities of _posture_, _inclination of the head_, _air of the -face_, &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 _same_; more especially -when described with the same _circumstances_. But we forget, that the -same materials are left in common to _all_ poets, and that the very -_circumstances_, alledged, can be, in _words_, but very generally and -imperfectly delineated. - -3, Of the _calmer sentiments_, 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 -_religion_. 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 _public religion_ -of mankind, had their rise in our common nature, and were the genuine -product of the workings of the human mind[28]. For it is the mere -illusion of this inveterate error concerning _imitation_, 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 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 _rite_ or _ceremony_ will be the same; but the very -peculiarities of its performance, which are prescribed by rule, remain -unaltered. Thus, if _religious sentiments_ usually express themselves, -in _all_ men, by a certain _posture of the body_, _direction of the -hands_, _turn of the countenance_, &c. these _signs_ are uniformly -and faithfully pictured in all devotional portraits. So again, if -by the genius of any _particular_ religion, to which the poet is -carefully to adhere, the practice of _sacrifices_, _auguries_, _omens_, -_lustrations_, &c. be required in its established ceremonial, the -draught of this diversity of _superstitions_, 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. - -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 _religious description_ in poetry. I say the _entire -use_; for so I understand him, when he says, “the _religion_ of the -gentiles had been woven into the contexture of all the ancient poetry -with a very _agreeable_ mixture, which made the moderns _affect_ to -give that of Christianity a place also in their poems[29].” He seems -not to have conceived, that the _visible effects_ of religious opinions -and dispositions, constitute a principal part of what is most striking -in the sublimer poetry. The _narrative species_ 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 _dramatic_. Or, if he meant this censure, of the -_intervention of superior agents_, and what we call _machinery_, the -observation (though it be seconded by one, whose profession should -have taught him much better[30]) is not more to the purpose. For the -pomp of the _epic muse_ demands to be furnished with a 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, PER AMBAGES ET -MINISTERIA DEORUM. - -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, _religion_ becomes as -necessary a part of a serious and sublime narration of human life, -as _civil actions_. And as the sublime nature of it requires even -_virtues and vices_ to be personified, much more is it necessary, that -_supernatural agency_ should bear a part in it. For, whatever some -_sects_ may think of religion’s being a divine philosophy in the mind, -the _poet_ must exhibit man’s addresses to Heaven in _ceremonies_, and -Heaven’s intervention by _visible agency_.” - -So that the intermixture of religion, in every point of view, is not -only _agreeable_, but necessary to the very genius of, at least, the -highest class of poetry. Ancients and moderns might therefore be led -to the display of this _sacred scenery_, without _affectation_. And for -what concerns _Christian poets_, 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 _grace_, as in the _poets of paganism_. -It may be concluded then, universally, that _religion_ is the proper -object of poetry, which wants no prompter of a preceding model to give -it an introduction; and that the _forms_, under which it presents -itself, are too manifest and glaring to observation, to escape any -writer. - -The case is somewhat different with what I call the _moral and -oeconomical sentiments_. These operate indeed _within_, and by -their busy and active powers administer abundant matter to poetic -description, which _alone_ is equal to these _unseen workings_. 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 so rarely come -to be susceptible of _picture_ or _representation_. One may compare -the subtle operations of these _sentiments_ 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 _woods_ and _fields_, and its pervading influence cherish and -invigorate all _animal_ or _vegetative being_. Yet no external signs -evidence its _effects_ to sense. It acts invisibly, and therefore no -power of imitation can give it _form_ and _colouring_. Its impulses -must, at least, have a certain degree of strength: it must _wave_ the -grass, _incline_ trees, and _scatter_ leaves, before the painter can -lay hold of it, and draw it into _description_. Just so it is with our -_calmer sentiments_. 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 _fixed characters_, or are prompted by _passion_, they do -not, I believe, ever make themselves visible. - -And this observation reaches as well to _event and action_ in life, -as to the _corporal figure_ of the person in whom they operate. The -sentiments, 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 _act_ on the sole conclusions of the understanding; -unless such _conclusions_, by frequent meditation, or the co-operating -influence of some affection, excite a ferment in the mind, and impel -the will by _passion_. Such moral aphorisms as these, “_that friendship -is the medicine of life_,” and, “_that our country, as including all -other interests, claims our first regard_,” 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 _produced_ therefore, they are to be considered as the -genuine consequences, not of these _moral sentiments_, taken simply by -themselves, but of strong benevolence of soul, implanted by _nature_, -and strengthened by _habit_. They are properly then, the result of the -_manners_, or _passions_, which have been already contemplated. Our -sentiments, merely as such, terminate in themselves, and furnish no -external apparent matter to _description_. - -The same conclusion would, it must be owned, hold of our _religious_, -as _moral_ sentiments, were we to regard them only in this view of -_dispassionate and cool reflexions_. For such reflexions produce no -change of _feature_, no alteration in the _form or countenance_, nor -are they necessarily followed by any _sensible_ demonstration of their -power in outward _action_. But then it usually happens (which sets the -widest difference between the two cases) that the _one_, as respecting -an _object_, whose very _idea_ interests strongly, and puts all our -faculties in motion, are, almost of necessity, associated with the -impelling causes of _affection_; and so express themselves in legible -signs and characters. Whereas the other sentiments, respecting _human -nature and its necessities_, are frequently no other than a calm -indifferent survey of common life, unattended with any _emotion_ or -inciting principle of action. Hence _religion_, inspiriting all its -meditations with _enthusiasm_, generally shews itself in _outward -signs_; whereas we frequently discern no traces, as necessarily -attendant upon _moral_. Which _difference_ is worth the noting, were -it only for the sake of seeing more distinctly the vast advantage -of _poetry_, above all _other modes of imitation_. For _these_, -explaining themselves by the help of _natural media_, which present a -_real resemblance_, are able but imperfectly to describe _religious -sentiments_; in as much as they express the _general vague disposition_ -only, and not the precise _sentiments themselves_. And in _moral_, -they can frequently give us no _image_ or representation at all. While -_poetry_, which tells its meaning by _artificial signs_, conveys -distinct and clear notices of this class of _moral and religious_ -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 _ethic and prudential_ conclusions, -being seen to produce no immediate _effect_ 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. - -And in this view they open a fresh field for _imitation_; not quite so -striking to the spectator, perhaps, but even larger, than _that_, into -which religion, with all its multiform superstitions, before led us. -For to these _internal workings_, assisted and pushed forward by the -wants and necessities of our nature, which set the inventive powers on -work, are ultimately to be referred that vast congeries of _political_, -_civil_, _commercial_, and _mechanic_ institutions, of those infinite -_manufactures_, _arts_, and _exercises_, which come in to the relief or -embellishment of human life. Add to these all those nameless _events_ -and _actions_, which, though determined by no fixed _habit_, or leading -_affection_, human prudence, providing for its security or interests, -in certain circumstances, naturally projects and prescribes. These are -ample materials for _description_; 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 _latter_, which are the pure -result of our reasonings concerning expediency, _common sense_, in -given conjunctures, often leads to the same measures: As when _Ulysses_ -in Homer disguises himself, for the sake of coming at a more exact -information of the state of his family; or, when _Orestes_ in Sophocles -does the same, to bring about the catastrophe of the _Electra_. 2. -In respect of the _former_ (which is of principal consideration) -the established modes and practices of life being the proper and -only _archetype_, experience and common observation cannot fail of -pointing, with the greatest certainty, to them. So that in the _one_ -case different writers _may_ concur in treating the _same_ matter, in -the _other_, they _must_. But this last will bear a little further -illustration. - -The critics on Homer have remarked, with admiration, in him, the almost -infinite variety of images and pictures, taken from the intire circle -of _human arts_. 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. _Rural affairs_, in their several -branches; the _mechanic_, and all the polite arts of _sculpture_, -_painting_, and _architecture_, 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 _art_, for materials of description, yet is not to be placed to -the score of his superior _inventive faculty_; 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 _natural scenery_, in all its numberless appearances, implies a -want of _genius_ in later imitators, who, if they ventured, at all, -into this province, were constrained to give us the _same unvaried -representations_. - -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 -_effects_, which spring from our internal _sentiments_ or _reasonings_. -But, though they ultimately respect those _reasonings_, 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 _effects_ themselves. These -are permanent objects, and may, nay _must_ be the _same_, whatever -be the ability or genius of the _copier_. In short, taken together, -they make up what, in the largest sense of the word, we may call, -with the painters, _il costumè_; which though it be a real excellence -scrupulously to observe, yet it requires nothing more than exact -observation and historical knowledge of _facts_ to do it. - -And now having the various objects of _poetical imitation_ before us -(the greatest part of which, as appears, _must_, and the rest _may_, -occur to the observation of the poet) we come to this _conclusion_, -which, though it may startle the _parallelist_, there seems no method -of eluding, “that of any single _image_ or _sentiment_, considered -separately and by itself, it can never be affirmed certainly, hardly -with any shew of reason, merely on account of its agreement in -_subject-matter_ 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 _matter_, but MANNER 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. - - -II. - -The sum of the foregoing _article_ is this. The _objects_ of imitation, -like the _materials_ of human knowledge, are a common stock, which -experience furnishes to all men. And it is in the _operations_ of the -mind upon them, that the glory of _poetry_, as of _science_, consists. -Here the genius of the _poet_ hath room to shew itself; and from hence -alone is the praise of _originality_ to be ascertained. The fondest -admirer of ancient art would never pretend that _Palladio_ had copied -_Vitruvius_; merely from his working with the same materials of _wood_, -_stone_, or _marble_, which this great master had employed before him. -But were the general _design_ of these two architects the _same_ in any -buildings; were their choice and arrangement of the smaller _members_ -remarkably similar; were their works conducted in the same _style_, -and their ornaments finished in the same _taste_; every one would be -apt to pronounce on first sight, that the one was _borrowed_ from -the other. Even a correspondency in any _one_ of these points might -create a suspicion. For what likelihood, amidst an infinite variety of -_methods_, which offer themselves, as to _each_ of these particulars, -that there should be found, without _design_, a signal concurrence in -_any one_? ’Tis then in the _usage and disposition_ 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 _forms_, of -which his materials are susceptible, there be nothing in the nature -of things, which determines the artist to prefer a _particular_ one -to all others.” For it is possible, that _general principles_ may -as well account for a _conformity in the manner_, as we have seen -them do for an _identity of matter_, in works of imitation. And to -this question nothing can be replied, till we have taken an accurate -survey of this _second division_ 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 MANNER _of -imitation_, if considered in its full extent, takes in 1. _The general -plan or disposition of a poem._ 2. _The choice and application of -particular subjects: and_ 3. _The expression._ - -I. _All poetry_, as lord Bacon admirably observes, “_nihil -aliud est quam_ HISTORIAE IMITATIO AD PLACITUM.” By which is not meant, -that the poet is at liberty to conduct his _imitation_ absolutely -in any manner he pleases, but with such deviations from the rule of -history, as the _end_ of poetry prescribes. This end is, universally, -PLEASURE; as _that_ of simple history is, INFORMATION. And from a -respect to this _end_, together with some proper allowance for the -diversity of the _subject-matter_, and the _mode of imitation_ (I mean -whether it be in the way of _recital_, or of action) are the essential -differences of poetry from mere history, and the _form or disposition_ -of its several _species_, derived. What these _differences_ are, and -what the _general plan_ in the composition of _each species_, will -appear from considering the _defects_ of simple history in reference to -the _main end_, which poetry designs. - -Some of these are observed by the great person before-mentioned, which -I shall want no excuse for giving in his own words. - -“1. Cum res gestae et eventus, qui verae historiae subjiciuntur, non -sint ejus amplitudinis, in quâ anima humana sibi satisfaciat, praesto -est _poësis_, quae facta magis heroica confingat. 2. Cum historia -vera successus rerum minime pro meritis virtutum & scelerum, narret; -corrigit eam _poësis_, & 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 animum -erigit & in sublime rapit; _rerum simulachra ad animi desideria -accommodando, non animum rebus (quod ratio facit, & historia) -submittendo_[31].” - -These _advantages_ chiefly respect the _narrative_ poetry, and above -all, the _Epos_. There are others, still more _general_, and more -directly to the purpose of this inquiry. For 4. The _historian_ is -bound to record _a series of independent events and actions_; and -so, at once, falls into two _defects_, which make him incapable of -affording perfect _pleasure_ to the mind. For 1. The flow of passion, -produced in us by contemplating _any signal event_, is greatly -checked and disturbed amidst a _variety and succession of actions_. -And 2. being obliged to pass with celerity over _each_ transaction -(for otherwise history would be too tedious for the purpose of -_information_) he has not time to draw out _single circumstances_ in -full light and impress them with all their force on the imagination. -_Poetry_ remedies these two defects. By confining the attention to -_one_ object only, it gives the fancy and affections fair play: and -by bringing forth to view and even magnifying all the _circumstances_ -of that _one_, it gives to every subject its proper dignity and -importance. 5. Lastly, to satisfy the human mind, there must not only -be an _unity and integrity_, but a strict _connexion and continuity_ -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 _historian_ fails, also, in this. By -proceeding in the gradual and orderly succession of _time_, the several -incidents, which compose the story, are not laid close enough together -to content the natural avidity of our expectations. Whilst _poetry_, -neglecting this regularity of succession, and setting out in the midst -of the story, gratifies our instinctive impatience, and carries the -_affections_ along, with the utmost rapidity, towards the _event_. - -These _advantages_ are common both to _narrative_ and _dramatic_ -poetry. But the _drama_, as professing to copy _real life_, contents -itself with these. The rest belong entirely to the province of -_narration_. - -Now the _general forms_ of poetical method, as distinct from _that_ -of history, are the pure result of our conclusions concerning the -expediency and fitness of these _means_, as conducive to the proper -_end_ of poetry. Which, without more words, will inform us, how it came -to pass, that the _true plan or disposition of poetical_ works, was so -early hit upon in _practice_, and established by exact _theories_; and -may therefore satisfy us of the _necessary_ resemblance and uniformity -of all productions of this kind, whether their authors had, or had not, -been guided by the pole-star of _example_. - -So much for the _general forms_ of the two greater _kinds_ of poetry. -If a proper allowance be made for a diversity of _subject-matter_, in -either _mode_ of composition, it will be easy, as I said, to account -for the _particular forms_ of the several subordinate species. And -I the rather choose to do it in this way, and not from the peculiar -_end_ 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 _practice_, not to establish the laws of each in the -exact way of _theory_. Now in considering the matter _historically_, -the diversity of _subject-matter_ was doubtless _that_ which first -determined the writer to a different _form_ of composition, tho’ -afterwards, a consideration of the _end_, accomplished by _each_, be -requisite to deduce, with more precision of method, its distinct laws. -The _latter_ is that from whence the _speculative critic_ rightly -estimates the character of every species; but the inventor had his -direction principally from the _former_. - -Let me exemplify the observation in an instance under either _mode_ of -imitation, and leave the rest to the reader. - -1. The GEORGIC is a species of _narration_. But, as _things_, not -_persons_, are its subject (from which last alone the _unity of -design_ and _continuity of action_ 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 _exquisite expression_ and _pleasing digressions_. - -2. The PASTORAL poem may be considered as a lower species of the -_Drama_. But, its subject being the _humble concerns_ of Shepherds, -there seems no room for a tragic _Plot_; and their characters are -too simple to afford materials for comic _drawing_. Their _scene_ 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. 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 -_subject_ so naturally prescribes to it. - -II. But, though the _common end_ of poetry, which is to _please by -imitation_, together with the subjects of its several species, may -determine the _general plan_, yet is there nothing, it may be said, -in the nature of things to fix _the order and connexion of single -parts_. And here, it will be owned, is great room for _invention_ -to shew itself. The materials of poetry may be put together in so -many different manners, consistently with the _form_ which governs -each species, that nothing but the power of _imitation_ can be -reasonably thought to produce _a close and perpetual similarity_ in -the composition of two works. I have said _a close and perpetual -similarity_; for it is not every degree of resemblance, that will do -here. - -The _general plan itself_ of any poem will occasion some unavoidable -conformities in the disposition of its component parts. The _identity_ -or _similarity_ 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 _causes_. - -The principal constituent members of any work, next to the essential -parts of the _fable_, are EPISODES, DESCRIPTIONS, SIMILES. By -_descriptions_ I understand as well the delineation of _characters_ -in their _speeches and imputed sentiments_, as of _places or things_ -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 _each_ in any poem will, in -numberless cases, appear necessary. - -1. The _episode_ belongs, principally, to the epic muse; and the design -of it is to diversify and ennoble the narration by _digressive_, yet -not _unrelated_, ornaments; the _former_ circumstance relieving the -_simplicity_ of the epic fable, while the _other_ prevents its _unity_ -from being violated. Now these episodical narrations 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. - -If of the _latter_ kind, a probable pretext must be contrived for -their introduction; which can be no other than that of satisfying the -_curiosity_, or of serving to the necessary _information_ of some -other. And in either of these ways a striking conformity in the mode of -conducting the work is unavoidable. - -If the _episode_ be referred to the _former_ class, its _manner_ 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 _fable_ is taken. Put these things together, and see if they will -not, with probability, account for some coincidence _in the choice -and applications_ of the _direct_ episode. And admitting this, the -similarity of even _its_ constituent parts is, also, necessary. - -The genius of Virgil never suffers more in the opinion of his -critics, than when his _book of games_ 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 _plagiarism_. 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. - -The epic plan, more especially that of the Aeneis, naturally -comprehends whatever is most august in _civil_ and _religious_ 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 _latter_. But what _games_? -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 _circumstances_ 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 _games_, 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 -_Naumachia_ was purely his own. Yet so liable are even the best and -most candid judges to be haunted by this spectre of _imitation_, that -_one_, whom every friend to every human excellence honours, cannot -help, on comparing it with the _chariot-race_ 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 _sea-fight_, for one, -who had even never seen Homer, to overlook such usual and striking -particulars, as the _justling of ships, the breaking of galleys, and -loss of pilots_. - -It may appear from this instance, with what reason a similarity -of circumstance, in the other games, hath been objected. The -_subject-matter_ admitted not any material variation: I mean in the -hands of so judicious a copier of Nature as Virgil. For, - - “Homer and Nature were, he found, the same.” - -So that we are not to wonder he kept close to his author, though at -the expence of this false fame of _Originality_. Nay it appears -directly from a remarkable instance that in the case before us, He -unquestionably judged right. - -A defect of _natural ability_ is not that, which the critics have -been most forward to charge upon _Statius_. 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 _Thebaid_ (an old story taken from -the heroic ages, which obliged him to the celebration of _funeral -obsequies_ with the attending solemnities of _public games_) to avoid -the dishonour of following too closely on the heels of Homer and -Virgil, who had not only taken the same _route_, 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 _obliquely_ to the same end. To accomplish this project, he was -forced, though in the description of the same individual _games_, to -look out for different _circumstances and events_ in them; that so the -identity of his _subject_, which he could not avoid, might, in some -degree, be atoned for by the diversity of his _manner_ 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 _Thebaid_ hath arisen from this fruitless endeavour -of being _original_, 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) _Statius_ hath not borrowed -from either of his predecessors, _and his poem is so much the worse for -it_.” - -2. The case of DESCRIPTION is still clearer, and, after what has -been so largely discoursed on the _subjects_ of it, will require but -few words. For it must have appeared, in considering them, that not -only the _objects_ themselves are necessarily obtruded on the poet, -but that the _occasions_ of introducing them are also restrained -by many limitations. If we reflect a little, we shall find, that -they grow out of the _action_ represented, which, in the greater -poetry, implies a great _similarity_, even when most _different_. -What, for instance, is the purpose of _the epic poet_, 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 _war_ with -Achilles, or _voyage_ with Ulysses. And, to work up his _fable_ to -that _magnificence_, ΜΕΓΑΛΟΠΡΕΠΕΙΑΝ, which Aristotle rightly observes -to be the characteristic of this poem, _heaven_ and _hell_ must also -be interested in the success of his enterprise. And what is this, in -_effect_, but to own, that the pomp of _epic description_, in its -draught of _battles_, with its several _accidents_; of _storms_, -_shipwrecks_, &c. _of the intervention of gods_, or _machination of -devils_, is, in great measure, determined, not only as to the _choice_, -but _application_ of it, to the poet’s hands? And the like conclusion -extends to still minuter particularities. - -What concerns the delineation of _characters_ 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 -_general_ representation. For it is conversant about the _greater -characters_; such as demand the imputation of like _manners_, and who -are actuated by the same governing _passions_. To set off these, _the -same combination of circumstances_ must frequently be imagined; at -least so _similar_, as to bring on the same series of representation. -The _piety_ of _one_ hero, and the _love of his country_, which -characterizes _another_, can only be shewn by the influence of the -_ruling principle_ in each, constraining them to neglect inferior -considerations, and to give up all subordinate affections to it. The -more prevalent the _affection_, the greater the _sacrifice_, and the -more strongly is the _character_ marked. Hence, without doubt, the -_Calypso_ of Homer. And need we look farther than the instructions -of _common nature_ for a similar contrivance in a _later_ poet? Not -to be tedious on a matter, which admits no dispute, the dramatic -writings of all times may convince us of _two things_, 1. “_that the -actuating passions of men are universally and invariably the same_;” -and 2. “_that they express themselves constantly in similar effects_.” -Or, one single small volume, _the characters of Theophrastus_, -will sufficiently do it. And what more is required to justify this -consequence, “that _the descriptions of characters_, even in the most -original _designers_, will resemble each other;” and “that the very -_contexture_ of a work, designed to evidence them in _action_, will, -under the management of different writers, be, frequently, much the -same?” A _conclusion_, 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, - - —_Si personis isdem uti aliis non licet, - Qui magis licet currentis servos scribere, - Bonas matronas facere, meretrices malas, - Parasitum edacem, gloriosum militem, - Puerum supponi, falli per servum senem_, - AMARE, ODISSE, SUSPICARI? - -3. In truth, so far as _direct and immediate description_ is concerned, -the matter is so plain, that it will hardly be called into question. -The difficulty is to account for the similarity of _metaphor and_ -COMPARISON (that is, of _imagery_, 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 _same object_, 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 must be -observed 1. that there is in the mind of man, not only a strong natural -love of _imitation_, but of _comparison_. We are not only fond of -_copying_ single objects, as they present themselves, but we delight -to set two objects together, and contemplate their mutual aspects and -appearances. The _pleasure_ we find in this exercise of the imagination -is the main source of that perpetual usage of _indirect and allusive -imagery_ in the writings of the poets; for I need not here consider -the _necessity_ of the thing, and the unavoidable introduction of -sensible images into all language. 2. This work of _comparison_ is -not gone about by the mind _causelessly and capriciously_. 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 _comparing_ 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 _actual similitude_, whether in _shape_, -_attitude_, _colour_, or _aspect_. As when _heroes_ are compared to -_gods_,—_a hero in act to strike at his foe_, to _a faulcon stooping -at a dove_,—_blood running down the skin_, to _the staining of -ivory_,—_corn waving with the wind_, to _water in motion_. Sometimes -the associating cause lies in the _effect_. As when the _return of a -good prince to his country_ is compared _to the sun_—a _fresh gale -to mariners_, to _the timely coming of a general to his troops_, &c. -more commonly, in some _property_, _attribute_, or _circumstance_. Thus -an _intrepid_ hero suggests the idea of a _rock_, on account of _its -firmness and stability_;—of _a lion_, for his _fierceness_,—_of a -deer encompassed_ with wolves, for his _situation when surrounded with -enemies_. In short, for I pretend not to make a complete enumeration of -the _grounds_ of connexion, whatever the mind observes in any object, -that bears an analogy to something in any other, becomes the _occasion_ -of comparison betwixt them; and the fancy, which is ever, in a great -genius, quick at espying these _traits_ of resemblance, and delights to -survey them, lets dip no opportunity of setting them over against each -other, and producing them to observation. - -But whatever be the _causes_, which associate the ideas of the poet, -and how fantastic soever or even casual, may sometimes appear to be -the _ground_ of such association, yet, in respect of the greater works -of genius, there will still be found the most exact _uniformity_ of -allusion, the same ideas and aspects of things constantly admonishing -the poet of the same _resemblances and relations_. I say, in _the -greater works of genius_, which must be attended to; for the folly of -taking _resemblances_ for _imitations_, in this province of _allusion_, -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 _hints_ 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. - -The _mutual habitudes and relations_ (at least what the mind is capable -of regarding as _such_), 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 _resemblance_, it were truly -wonderful, that, in any number of 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 _novelty_, may amuse and -divert the mind in other compositions; but is wholly inconsistent with -the reserve and solemnity of the _graver_ forms. There is too much -curiosity of art, too solicitous an affectation of _pleasing_, in these -ingenious exercises of the fancy, to suit with the simple majesty of -the _epos_ or _drama_; 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. DONNE, that, though agreeably to the turn of his genius, and -taste of his age, he was fonder, than ever poet was, of these _secret -and hidden ways_ in his lesser poetry; yet when he had projected his -great work “_On the progress of the soul_” (of which we have only the -beginning) his good sense brought him out into the freer _spaces_ of -nature and open day-light. - - Largior hic compos æther, et lumine vestit - Purpureo: solemque suum, sua sidera norunt. - -In this, the author of GONDIBERT, and another writer of credit, a -contemporary of DONNE, Sir FULK GREVIL, were not so happy. 2. This -work of _indirect imagery_ 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 _end_ 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; _first_, as he must employ the easiest and most -apparent resemblances: and _secondly_, of _these_, such as impress the -most delightful images on the fancy. - -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 -_material objects_; between these objects, and the _inward workings_ -of the mind; and, again, between these, and the _external signs_ 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, in respect of _allusive imagery_; it being -obvious to common observation, that numberless of the most beautiful -_comparisons_ 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 _west_ and _east_, 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 -_comparisons_, which are not drawn from his master.” - -The truth is, the _nature_ 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 _not_ contemplated his pictures, yet, drawing from one common -original, have unknowingly hit upon the very same. And those, who -_had_, with all their endeavours after _novelty_, and the utmost -efforts of genius to strike out original lights, have never been able -to succeed in their attempts. Our _Milton_, who was most ambitious of -this fame of _invention_, and whose vast and universal genius could -not have missed of new _analogies_, 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 _allusions_, 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 _images_, imported from the regions of _art_, -is very poor and scanty; and, as might be expected, makes the least -agreeable part of his divine work. - -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 _art_ and _nature_, betwixt which there is any -resemblance, may be employed here to surprize and divert the fancy. The -further and more remote from 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 _wit_. Nay, the _lowest_, 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 _allusion_, -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 _chance_ to coincide, in his imagery, with any -other, from whom he had not expressly copied. They who are conversant -in works of _wit and humour_, more especially of these later times, -will know this to be the case, in _fact_. There is not perhaps a single -comparison in the inimitable TELEMAQUE, which had not, before, been -employed by some or other of the poets. Can any thing, like this, be -said of RABELAIS, BUTLER, MARVEL, SWIFT, &c.? - -III. It only remains to consider the EXPRESSION. And in this are to -be found the surest and least equivocal marks of _imitation_. We may -regard it in _two_ lights; either 1. as it respects the _general_ turn -or manner of writing, which we call a _style_; or 2. the peculiarities -of _phrase and diction_. - -1. A _style_ in writing, if not formed in express imitation of some -certain _model_, is the pure result of the disposition of the mind, and -takes its character from the predominant _quality_ of the writer. Thus -a _short and compact_, and a _diffused and flowing_ 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 other nicer -differences and peculiarities of _manner_, which, though not reducible, -perhaps, to general heads, the critic of true taste easily understands. - -2. As men of different tempers and dispositions assume a different -cast of expression, so may the same observation be applied, still more -_generally_, to different _countries and times_. It may be difficult -to explain the _efficient causes_ of this diversity, which I have no -concern with at present. The _fact_ is, that the eloquence of the -_eastern_ world has, at all times, been of another strain from that of -the _western_. And, also, in the several provinces of _each_, there -has been some peculiar _note_ of variation. The _Asiatic_, of old, had -its proper stamp, which distinguished it from the _Attic_; just as -the _Italian_, _French_, and _Spanish_ wits have, each, their several -characteristic manners of expression. - -A different state of _times_ has produced the like effect; which a late -writer accounts for, not unaptly, from what he calls a _progression of -life and manners_. That which cannot be disputed is, that the _modes_ -of writing undergo a perpetual change or variation in every country. -And it is further observable, that these _changes_ in one country, -under similar circumstances, have a signal correspondence to those, -which the incessant rotation of taste brings about in every other. - -Of near affinity to this last consideration is _another_ arising from -the _corresponding genius_ 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[32], which the author perhaps may consider with the -same neglect, as Cicero did his earlier compositions on _Rhetoric_; -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 make of this -fine observation. The corresponding state of the English and Roman -people has produced very near the same _combinations of ideas_. May -we not carry the conclusion still further on the same principle, that -it produced very near the same _combinations of words_? 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 _peculiar styles_, 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? - -But let it suffice to leave these remarks without further comment or -explanation. - -The use the discerning reader will make of them is, that if different -writers agree in the same _general disposition_, or in the same -_national character_; live together in the _same period of time_; or -in corresponding periods of the _progression of manners_, or are under -the influence of a corresponding genius of _policy and government_; -in every of these cases, some _considerable similarity_ of expression -may be occasioned by the agency of _general principles_, without any -suspicion of studied or designed _imitation_. - -II. An _identity of phrase and diction_, is a much surer note of -_plagiarism_. For considering the vast variety of _words_, which -any language, and especially the more copious ones furnish, and -the infinite possible combinations of them into all the forms of -_phraseology_, it would be very strange, if two persons should hit on -the same identical _terms_, and much more should they agree in the same -precise arrangement of them in whole sentences. - -There is no defending _coincidences_ of this kind; and whatever -writers themselves may pretend, or their friends for them, no one can -doubt a moment of such _identity_ being a clear and decisive proof of -_imitation_. - -Yet this must be understood with some limitations. - -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 -_form_ of words. Convenience dictates this to one set of writers, -and politeness renders it sacred in another. Thus it will be true of -certain _phrases_ (as, universally, of the _words_, in any language), -that they are left in common to all writers, and can be claimed as -matter of _property_, 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 _occasions_, -which justify this negligence, or in certain _authors_, who are not -over-sollicitous about these indecorums, we may expect to meet with it. -Hamlet says of his father, - - _He was a man, take him for all in all_; - I shall not look upon his like again. - -which may be suspected of being stolen from Sophocles, who has the -following passage in the TRACHINIAE. - - Πάντων ἄριστον ἄνδρα τῶν ἐπὶ χθονὶ - Κτείνασ’, ΟΠΟΙΟΝ ΑΛΛΟΝ ΟΥΚ ΟΨΕΙ ΠΟΤΕ. v. 824. - -The sentiment being one of the commonest, that offers itself to the -mind, the sole ground of suspicion must lie in the _expression_, “_I -shall not look upon his like again_,” 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 _affectation_ of -departing from common usage. - -What is here said of the _situation of the speakers_ reminds me of -another _class_ of expressions, which will often be _similar_ in all -poets. _Nature_, under the _same_ conjunctures, gives birth to the -_same_ 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 _same_ -form of expression. The wretched Priam, in his lamentation of Hector, -lets drop the following words: - - οὗ μ’ ἄχος ὀξὺ κατοίσεται ἄïδος εἴσω: - -“This line, says his translator, is particularly tender, and almost, -word for word, the same with that of the Patriarch _Jacob_; who, upon -a like occasion, breaks out in the same complaint, and tells his -children, that, if they deprive him of his son _Benjamin, they will -bring down his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave_.” - -We may, further, except, under this head, certain privileged forms -of speech, which the peculiar idioms of _different_ languages make -necessary in them, and which poetry consecrates in _all_. But this is -easily observed, and its effect is not very considerable. - -2. In pleading this _identity of expression_, regard must be had to the -_language_, from which the _theft_ is supposed to be made. If from the -_same_ language (setting aside the exceptions, just mentioned) _the -same arrangement of the same words_ is admitted as a certain argument -of _plagiarism_: nay, less than this will do in some instances, as -where the _imitated expression_ is pretty _singular_, or so remarkable, -on any account, as to be _well known_, &c. But if from _another_ -language, the matter is not so easy. It can rarely happen, indeed, -but by design, that there should be the _same order or composition_ -of words, in two languages. But that which passes even for _literal -translation_, is but _a similar composition of corresponding words_. -And what does this imply, but that the writers conceived of their -_object_ in the same _manner_, 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 -_expression_ 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 _that_ of -our great poet, who, speaking of the state after death, calls it - - _That undiscovered country, from whose bourn - No traveller returns_. - -Shall we call this a translation of the Latin poet; - - _Nunc it per_ iter tenebricosum - Illuc, unde negant redire quenquam. - CATUL. III. v. 11. - -Or, doth it amount to any more than this, that the terms employed -by the two writers in expressing the same obvious thought are -_correspondent_? But _correspondency_ and _identity_ are different -things. The _latter_ is only, where the words are _numerically_ the -same, which can only happen in one and the same language: the other -is effected by _different sets of words_, which are numerous in every -language, and are therefore no convincing proof (abstractedly from -other circumstances) of _imitation_. - -From these general reflexions on _language_, without refining too far, -or prying too curiously into the mysteries of it, the same conclusion -meets us, as before. The _expression_ of two writers may be _similar_, -and sometimes even _identical_, and yet be _original_ in both. Which -shews the necessity there was to lead the reader through this long -investigation of the general sources of _similitude_ in works of -INVENTION, in order to put him into a condition of judging truly and -equitably of those of IMITATION. For if _similarity_, even in this -province of _words_, which the reason of the thing shews to be most -free from the constraint of general rules, be no argument of _theft_ -in all cases; much less can it be pretended of the other _subjects_ of -this inquiry, which from the necessary uniformity of _nature_ in all -her appearances, and of _common sense_ in its operations upon them, -must give frequent and unavoidable occasion to such _similarity_. But -then this is all I would insinuate. - -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 _kind_, and -in a certain _degree_, cannot fail to convict a writer of _imitation_.” -What these _are_, 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[33]. 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 _resemblance_ universally for -_imitation_. And what other method of effecting this, than by taking -a view of the extent and influence of the genuine powers of _nature_, -which, when rightly apprehended, make it an easier task to detect, in -particular instances, the intervention of _design_? - -Allowing then (what this previous inquiry not only no way contradicts -but even assists us in perceiving more clearly) that certain -_resemblances_ may be urged as undoubted proofs of _imitation_, it -remains only to the integrity of this discourse, to satisfy that other -question, “_how far the credit of the imitator is concerned in the -discovery_;” or, in other words, (since the praise of _invention_ 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 _inquiry_, 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. - - -SECTION II. - -In entering on this apology for _professed imitators_, I shall not -be suspected of undervaluing the proper merits of _invention_, which -unquestionably holds the first place in the _virtutes_ 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, _to creep -servilely after the sense of_ 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, “_Imitatio per se ipsa -non sufficit_, vel _quia pigri est ingenii, contentum esse iis, quae -sunt ab aliis inventa_.” My concern is only with those, whose talent -of original genius is not disputed, but the _degree_ of strength and -vigour, with which it prevails in them, somewhat lowered in the general -estimation, from this imputed crime of PLAGIARISM. And, with respect -to such as these, something, I conceive, may be said, not undeserving -the notice of the candid reader. - -1. The most universal cause, inducing _imitation_ in great writers, is, -the force of early _discipline and education_. Were it true, that poets -took their _descriptions and images_ immediately from common nature, -one might expect, indeed, a general _similitude_ in their works, but -such, as could seldom or never, in all its circumstances, amount to -a strict and rigorous correspondency. The _properties_ of things are -so numerous, and the _lights_ 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 _nature_, -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 _imitation_. We are habituated to a survey of this -_secondary and derivative nature_; as presented in the admired works -of _art_, 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 _men and things_, as soon as we are capable of apprehending them. -Nay, we are taught to lisp their very _words_, 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 _mirrors_, which are -the constant furniture of our schools and closets. And no wonder, were -we even left to ourselves, that such should be our _proper_ choice and -determination. For, by the prodigious and almost magical operations -of _fancy_ 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 -_discipline_ and _inclination_, we are almost necessitated to _see_ -nature in the same _light_, and to know her only in the _dress_, in -which her happier suitors and favourites first gave her to observation. - -The effect of this early bias of the mind, which insensibly grows into -the inveteracy of habit, needs not be insisted on. When the poet, -thus tutored in the works of _imitation_, comes to address himself -to _invention_, these familiar images, which he hath so often and so -fondly admired, immediately step in and intercept his observation of -their great _original_. Or, if he has power to hold them off, and -turn his eye directly on the _primary object_, he still inclines to -view it only on that side and in those _lights_, in which he has -been accustomed to study it. Nor let it be said, that this is the -_infirmity_, only, of weak minds. It belongs to our very natures, and -the utmost vigour of genius is no security against it. _Custom_, in -this as in every thing else, moulds, at pleasure, the soft and ductile -matter of a _minute_ spirit, and by degrees can even bend the elastic -metal of the _greatest_. - -And if the force of habit can thus determine a writer knowingly, to -_imitation_, it cannot be thought strange, that it should frequently -carry him into _resemblance_, 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 _sentiments_, and -sometimes the very _words_, of other writers, without any distinct -remembrance of them, or so much as the suspicion of having seen them. -At the least, their general cast of thinking or turn of expression -will be much affected by them. For the most original writer as -certainly takes a _tincture_ 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 _course of learned education_. -Which, by the way, leads to a question, not very absurd in itself, -however it may pass with most readers for paradoxical, viz. “_Whether -the usual forms of learning be not rather injurious to the true poet, -than really assisting to him?_” It should seem to be so for a _natural -reason_. For the faculty of _invention_, as all our other powers, is -much improved and strengthened by exercise. And great reading prevents -this, by demanding the perpetual exercise of the _memory_. 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 with _one_ of -our own country[34]; 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. - -2. But were early _habit_ of less power to incline the mind to -_imitation_, than it really is, yet the high hand of _authority_ 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 _prophane libertinism_ in poetry, to take them for -their guides and models. Which is said even without the licence of a -figure; at least of _one_ of them; whom Cicero calls _the fountain and -origin of all_ DIVINE _institutions_[35]; and another, of elder and -more reverend estimation, pronounces to be ὁ θεὸς καὶ θεῶν προφήτης[36]· - -And what is here observed of the _influence_ 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 _that_ of later, -though less original writers, whose uncommon merits have given them a -distinguished rank in it. - -3. _Next_, (as it usually comes to pass in other instances) what was, -at first, imposed by the rigour of _authority_, soon grew respectable -in _itself_, and was chosen for its own sake, as a _virtue_, 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 _best_, as well as -the most _ancient_, 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 _same_ language. But, when a new and different -one was to be furnished with fresh _models_, it became much more -conspicuous. For, besides the same or a still higher veneration of -their _inventions_, which the distance of place and time insensibly -procured to them, the grace of _novelty_, which they would appear -to have in another _language_, was, now, a further inducement to -copy them. Hence we find it to be the utmost pride of the _Roman_ -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 -_Grecian_. - - _Libera per vacuum posui vestigia princeps, - Non aliena meo pressi pede_— - -says _one_ of the best of those writers, who yet was only treading in -the _footsteps_ of his Grecian masters. - -But _another_ was less reserved, and seemed desirous of being taken -notice of, as an express _imitator_, 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 _palam_ imitandi, -_hoc animo ut vellet agnosci_. _Sen. Suasor._ III. - -And, on the revival of these arts in later times and more barbarous -languages, the same spirit appeared again, or rather superior honours -were paid to successful _imitation_. 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[37].” - -It should, further, be added, that this praise of borrowing from the -originals of _Greece_ and _Rome_ is now extended to the imitation of -great _modern_ authors. Every body applauds this practice, where the -imitation is of approved writers in _different_ languages. And even in -the _same_ languages, when this liberty is taken with the most ancient -and venerable, it is not denied to have its _grace_ and merit. - -4. But, besides these several incitements, _similarity of genius_, -alone, will, almost necessarily determine a writer to the studious -emulation of some other. For, though it is with the _minds_, as the -_faces_ 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 _similar_ in different persons. -When two such spirits approach, they run together with eagerness and -rapidity: the instinctive bias of the mind towards _imitation_ being -now quickened by _passion_. This is chiefly said in respect of that -uniformity of _style and manner_, which, whenever we observe it in two -writers, we almost constantly charge to the account of _imitation_. -Indeed, where the resemblance holds to the last degree of _minuteness_, -or where the _peculiarities_, 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 _peculiarities_, 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 _manner_ hath only a _general_, though -strong, resemblance to that of some other, and whose true genius is -above the suspicion of falling into the trap of what Horace happily -calls, EXEMPLAR VITIIS IMITABILE. And of these it is perhaps juster -to say, that a previous correspondency of _character_ impelled to -_imitate_, than that imitation itself produced that correspondency of -_character_. At least (which is all my concern it present) it will -be allowed to incline a writer strongly to _imitation_; 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 -_invention_. - -5. Lastly, were every other consideration out of the way, yet, -oftentimes, the _very nature of the poet’s theme_ would oblige him to a -diligent _imitation_ 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 _copy_ them closely is to -paint after _nature_. I shall explain myself by an instance or two. - -With regard to the religious opinions and ceremonies of the Pagan -world, the writings of Homer, it is said and very truly, were “_the -standard of private belief, and the grand directory of public -worship_[38].” 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 _both_, and had formed, to the satisfaction of all, -the established religion into a kind of _system_, succeeding poets -were obliged, of course, to take their theology from him; and could no -longer be thought to write _justly and naturally_ of their Gods, than -whilst their _descriptions_ conformed to the _authentic_ delineations -of _Homer_. His relations, and even the _fictions_, which his genius -had raised on the popular creed of elder Paganism, were now the proper -archetype of all _religious representations_. And to speak of _these_, -as given _truly and originally_, is, in effect, to say, that they were -borrowed or rather transcribed from the page of _that poet_. - -And the same may be observed of _historical facts_, as of _religious -traditions_. For not unfrequently, where the subject is taken from -authentic history, the authority of a preceding poet is so prevalent, -as to render _any_ 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 _credible_, -nor to _feign_ afresh for himself. In this case, again, all that the -most original genius has to do, is to _imitate_. We have been told -that the _second book of the_ AENEIS was translated from Pisander[39]. -Another thinks, it was taken from the LITTLE ILIAD[40]. Or, why confine -him to either of these, when METRODORUS, SYAGRUS, HEGESIANAX, ARATUS, -and others, wrote poems on _the taking_ of TROY? 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 -_probability_) from these writers. And why should this be thought a -greater crime in him, than in POLYGNOTUS; who, in his famous picture -on this subject, was under the necessity, and for the same reason, of -collecting his _subject-matter_ from several poets[41]? - -It follows, from these considerations, that we cannot justify ourselves -in thinking so hardly, as we commonly do, of the class of _imitators_; -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 _true_ poet, that it is so. For _imitations_, when real and -confessed, may still have their merit; nay, I presume to add, sometimes -a _greater_ 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. - -After all the praises that are deservedly given to the novelty of a -_subject_, or the beauty of _design_, the supreme merit of poetry, and -that which more especially immortalizes the writers of it, lies in the -_execution_. It is thus that 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^{th} 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 _fact_. 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. - -The solution of this _fact_, 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. - -The faculties, or, as we may almost term them, the magic powers, -which _ope the palace of eternity_ to great writers, are a _confirmed -judgment_, and _ready invention_. - -Now the _first_ 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 _manners_, in which a work of art may be -conducted, and the various _topics_ which may be employed to adorn -it, _judgment_ 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, _Quòd artis -pars magna contineatur imitatione_. - -Nay, by means of this discernment, the very _topic_ 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 -_judging right_, the copier shall almost lose his title, and become an -inventor: - - Tantum _de medio_ sumptis accedit honoris. - -But imitation, though it give most room to the display of judgment, -does not exclude the exercise of the other faculty, _invention_. 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 -_imitator_, we do not speak, as the poet says, of - - A barren-spirited fellow, one who feeds - On abject orts, and imitations— - -but of one, who, in aiming to be like, contends also to be equal to -his original. To attain to this _equality_, 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 _expression_, where it is defective -or barely passable: he must throw fresh lights of fancy on a common -_image_: he must strike out new hints from a vulgar _sentiment_. Thus, -he will complete his original, where he finds it _imperfect_: he will -supply its _omissions_: he will emulate, or rather surpass, its highest -_beauties_. Or, in despair of this last, we shall find him taking a -different _route_; giving us 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. - -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 _imitation_, is an immortal instance. - -Thus much I could not forbear saying on the _merit_ of successful -imitation. As to the _necessity_ 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; 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[42].” - -He adds, “_I fairly confess, that I have served myself all I could by -reading_:” where the good sense of the _practice_, is as conspicuous, -as the ingenuity, so becoming the greatness of his character, in -_confessing_ 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 _original_, -nothing can be expected but an aukward straining in every thing. -_Improper method_, _forced conceits_, and _affected expression_, are -the certain issue of such obstinacy. The business is to be _unlike_; -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 well, if he be not forced, beside his -purpose, to leave _common sense_, as well as his _model_, 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 _uneasy -attitudes_, and _violent contorsions_; and, if he gain his liberty at -last, it is by an _effort_, which carries him much further than the -_point_ he would wish to stop at. - -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 WILLIAM D’AVENANT; whose -_Gondibert_ will remain a perpetual monument of the mischiefs, which -must ever arise from this affectation of originality in lettered and -polite poets. - -The great author, when he projected his plan of an heroic poem, was -so far from intending to steer his course by _example_, that he sets -out, in his preface, with upbraiding the followers of Homer, as a -base and timorous crew of _coasters_, 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[43].” - -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[44].” These were the principles he went upon: -let us now attend to the success of his endeavours. - -The METHOD of his work is defective in many respects. To instance in -the two following. Observing the large compass of the 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 _raising the passions_ by a close -accelerated plot, and for the convenience of _representation_, to -conclude their subject in _five acts_, 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 _truth and reality_ to the fable, he -failed in accomplishing the proper _end_ of this poem, ADMIRATION; -_produced_ by a grandeur of design and variety of important incidents, -and _sustained_ by all the energy and minute particularity of -description. - -2. It was essential to the ancient epos to raise and exalt the fable -by the intervention of _supernatural agency_. This, again, the poet -mistook for the prejudice of the affected imitators of Homer, “who -had so often led them 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[45].” 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 _work_, but also the _possibility_ -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[46].” 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 admitting nothing, however well established in -the general opinion, that was _supernatural_. - -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 _gallantry_ in ordinary life, as high, as they had done -those of _preternatural agency_, 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 -_love and honour_. And so hath adopted, in his draught of _characters_, -that elevation of sentiment which a change of manners could not but -dispose the reader to regard as _fantastic_ in the Gothic romance, at -the same time that he rejected what had the truest grace in the ancient -epic, a _sober intermixture of religion_. - -The _execution_ of his poem was answerable to the general _method_. His -SENTIMENTS are frequently forced, and so tortured by an affectation of -wit, that every stanza hath the air of an epigram. And the EXPRESSION, -in which he cloaths them, is so quaint and figurative, as turns his -description almost into a continued riddle. - -Such was the effect of a studious affectation of _originality_ in a -writer, who, but for this 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; _contemplated_ in her own proper form, or, by -_reflexion_, in the faithful mirror of those very models, he so much -dreaded. - -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 _general conclusion_, 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 _principal_, ever, is, THIS -ANXIOUS DREAD OF IMITATION IN POLITE AND CULTIVATED WRITERS.” - -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 _originality_, and turn themselves -to a stricter imitation of the best models. I say, a _seasonable -admonition_; 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, _affectation_. -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 _fame_, 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. - - - - -A - -DISSERTATION - -ON - -THE MARKS OF IMITATION. - - - - -DISSERTATION IV. - -ON - -THE MARKS OF IMITATION. - - -TO MR. MASON. - -I have said, in the discourse on POETICAL IMITATION, “that -coincidencies of a certain _kind_, and in a certain _degree_, cannot -fail to convict a writer of Imitation[47].” You are curious, my friend, -to know what these _coincidencies_ 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 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 _first_ of these conditions; Or, -if I were, do you imagine that, at this time o’ day, I can have the -leisure to perform the _other_? 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. - -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, _Haec studia adolescentiam -alunt; senectutem oblectant_. We make a full meal of them in our -youth. And no philosophy requires so 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 _nourishment_ of Age; such a name as Cicero’s, -I am afraid, would be wanting, and not easily found, to justify the -practice. - -Let us own then, on a greater authority than His, “That every thing is -beautiful in its season.” The Spring hath its _buds and blossoms_: 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 _mellow hangings_, the poet somewhere speaks of. - -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 - - Pieriosque dies, et amantes carmina somnos. - -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 notes -I have by me, would furnish, the design, you think, is not totally to -be relinquished. - -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 _Imitations_. And I address them to YOU, 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. - -You tell me I have not succeeded amiss in explaining the difficulty of -detecting _Imitations_. 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, where there is no thought or design of -_Imitating_. 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 _external proofs_, the previous knowledge we have, -from considerations not respecting the _Nature_ of the work itself, of -the writer’s _ability_ or _inducements_ to imitate. Our first enquiry, -then, will be, concerning the _Age_, _Character_, and _Education_ of -the supposed Imitator. - -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. - - Hither, as to their fountain, other Stars - Repairing, in their golden urns draw light. - -The Greek writers then were, or, for any thing we can say, might be -Original. - -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? - -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 ONE -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. - -The golden times of the English Poetry were, undoubtedly, the reigns -of our two Queens. Invention was at its height, in the _one_; and -Correctness, in the _other_. In _both_, the manners of a court refin’d, -without either breaking or corrupting the spirit of our poets. But do -you forget that ELIZABETH 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 _learned_ -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? - -I scarcely need say a word of our OTHER 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. - -I mention these things only to put you in mind that hardly _one_ of our -poets has been in a condition to do without, or certainly be above, -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 DRAMA, or some later ODES were -formed on the ancient model? - -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 _suspicion_ of imitation. To convert this suspicion into a -proof, it is not enough to say, that a writer _might_, but that his -circumstances make it plain or probable at least, that he _did_, -imitate. - -Of these _circumstances_ then, the _first_ I should think deserving our -attention, is the AGE 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 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. - -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. - - Ut flos in septis secretus nascitur hortis, - Ignotus pecori, nullo convulsus aratro, - Quem mulcent auræ, firmat sol, educat imber, - Multi illum pueri, multæ optavere puellæ. - Idem, quum tenui carptus defloruit ungui, - Nulli illum pueri, nullæ optavere puellæ. - -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. - - Look, how a flower that close in closes grows, - Hid from rude cattle, bruised with no plows, - Which th’ air doth stroke, sun strengthen, show’rs shoot high’r, - It many youths, and many maids desire; - The same, when cropt by cruel hand, is wither’d, - No youths at all, no maidens have desir’d. - -—It was not thus, you remember, that Ariosto and Pope have translated -these fine verses. But to return to our purpose: - -To this consideration of the _Age_ of a writer, you may add, if you -please, that of his EDUCATION. 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 -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. - -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 CHARACTER 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 -_William D’Avenant_. In detecting the imitations of such a writer, -one must then proceed with some caution. But what if our concern be -with _one_, 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 _imitation_ in him, which in the other might have passed for -_resemblance_ only? - -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 _one_, in particular, very much his superior in true -genius. I know not whether you agree with me, that the famous line in -the _Essay on Man_; - - “An honest man’s the noblest work of God,” - -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, - - “For modes of Faith let graceless zealots fight, - His, can’t be wrong whose life is in the right:” - -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 CRASHAW. - - “His Faith perhaps in some nice tenets might - Be wrong; his life, I’m sure, was in the right.” - -Mr. Pope, who found himself in the same circumstances with Crashaw, -and had suffered no doubt from the like uncharitable constructions -of _graceless zeal_, was very naturally tempted to adopt this candid -sentiment, and to give it the further heightening of his own spirited -expression. - -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 on his being a professed imitator, much will depend on the -certain knowledge you have of his _Age_, _Education_, and _Character_. -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 -_imitation_. - -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. - -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 _circumstances_ -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. - -Perhaps then we shall find undoubted marks of Imitation, both in the -SENTIMENT, and EXPRESSION of great writers. - -To begin with such considerations as are most GENERAL. - -I. An identity of the _subject-matter_ of poetry is no sure evidence of -Imitation: and least of all, perhaps, in natural description. Yet where -the _local_ peculiarities of nature are to be described, there an exact -conformity of the matter will evince an imitation. - -Descriptive poets have ever been fond of lavishing all the riches of -their fancy on the _Spring_. But the appearances of this _prime of the -year_ 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 _genial dews_ -and _fostering breezes_, speak nothing but what is agreeable to their -own experience and feeling. - - It ver; et Venus; et Veneris praenuntius antè - Pinnatus graditur Zephyrus vestigia propter: - Flora quibus mater praespergens antè viaï - Cuncta coloribus egregiis et odoribus opplet. - -Venus, or the spirit of love, is represented by those poets as brooding -o’er this delicious season; - - Rura foecundat voluptas: rura VENEREM sentiunt. - Ipsa gemmas purpurantem pingit annum floribus: - Ipsa surgentis papillas de Favonî spiritu - Urguet in toros tepentes; ipsa roris lucidi, &c. - -and a great deal more to the same purpose, which every one recollects -in the old classic and in the Provencial poets. - -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 -_observation_, but of a sportful fancy; enchanted by the native -loveliness of these exotic images, and charmed by the secret insensible -power of _imitation_. - -And to shew the certainty of this conclusion, Shakespear, we may -observe, who had none of 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 _nips the blooming infants of the Spring_. - -But there are other obvious examples. In Cranmer’s prophetic speech, at -the end of HENRY VIII. when the poet makes him say of Queen Elizabeth, -that, - - “In her days ev’ry man shall eat with safety - Under his own vine what he plants.” - -and of King James, that, - - “He shall flourish, - And, like a mountain Cedar, reach his branches - To all the plains about him”— - -It is easy to see that his _Vine_ and _Cedar_ 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 was not his own, that is, not suggested by -his own observation of nature. - -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, _when the properties of one clime are given to -another_. - -II. You will draw the same conclusion whenever you find “The Genius of -one _people_ given to another.” - -1. Plautus gives us the following true picture of the Greek manners: - - —In hominum aetate multa eveniunt hujusmodi— - Irae interveniunt, redeunt rursum in gratiam, - Verùm irae siquae fortè eveniunt hujusmodi, - Inter eos rursum si reventum in gratiam est, - Bis tanto amici sunt inter se, quàm prius. - AMPHYT. A. III. S. 2. - -You are better acquainted with the modern Italian writers than I am; -but if ever you find any of them transferring this placability of -temper into an eulogy of his countrymen, conclude without hesitation, -that the sentiment is taken. - -2. The late Editor of Jonson’s works observes very well the impropriety -of leaving a trait of Italian manners in his _Every man in his humour_, -when he fitted up that Play with English characters. Had the scene been -laid originally in England, and that _trait_ been given us, it had -convicted the poet of _Imitation_. - -3. This attention to the genius of a people will sometimes shew you, -that the _form_ 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 history of Florence with so many -harangues, if the classical bias, imperceptibly, it may be, to himself, -had not hung on his mind? - -Another example is remarkable. You have sometimes wondered how it has -come to pass that the moderns delight so much in _dialogue-writing_, -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. - -Still another instance comes in my way. How happened it, one may ask, -that Sir PHILIP SYDNEY in his Arcadia, and afterwards SPENSER 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 doubt, is, that they were copying the design, -or disorder rather, of ARIOSTO, the favourite poet of that time. - -III. Of near akin to this contrariety _to the genius of a people_ is -another mark which a careful reader will observe “in the representation -of certain TENETS, different from those which prevail in a writer’s -country or time.” - -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 -_Measure for Measure_, pleads for his life in that famous speech, - - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where; - To lye in cold obstruction, and to rot; - This sensible warm motion to become - A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit - To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside - In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; - To be imprison’d in the viewless winds, - And blown with restless violence about - The pendant world— - -It is plain that these are not the Sentiments which any man entertained -of _Death_ in the 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, - - aliae panduntur inanes - Suspensae ad ventos: aliis sub gurgite vasto, - Infectum eluitur scelus, aut exuritur igni. - Virg. l. vi. - -2. A prodigiously fine passage in Milton may furnish another example of -this sort, - - When Lust - By unchast looks, loose gestures, and foul talk, - But most by lewd and lavish act of Sin, - Lets in defilement to the inward parts, - The soul grows clotted by contagion, - Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose - The divine property of her first being. - Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp, - Oft seen in charnel vaults and sepulchres, - Ling’ring, and sitting by a new-made grave, - As loth to leave the body, that it lov’d, - And linkt itself by carnal sensuality - To a degenerate and degraded state. - _Mask at Ludlow Castle._ - -This philosophy of _imbruted souls_ becoming _thick shadows_ 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 PHAEDO. - -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—— - -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, - - How charming is divine philosophy! - Not harsh, and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, - But musical as is Apollo’s lute, - And a perpetual feast of nectar’d sweets, - Where no crude surfeit reigns— - -The very ideas which Lord SHAFTESBURY has employed in his encomiums -on the Platonic philosophy; and the very language which Dr. HENRY MORE -would have used, if he had known to express himself so soberly. - -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 _Soul_, the _chyming of celestial orbs_, and -presiding _Syrens_.” 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 _Amintas_ of this poet. - -One sees then where Milton had been for that imagery in the ARCADES, - - then listen I - To the celestial Syrens’ harmony, - That sit upon the nine enfolded spheres - And sing to those that hold the vital shears, - And turn the adamantine spindle round, - On which the fate of Gods and men is wound. - -The best comment on these verses is a passage in the x^{th} Book of -Plato’s Republic, where this whole system, of _Syrens quiring to the -fates_, is explained or rather delivered. - -IV. We have seen a _Mark_ 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 _rites, customs, language, and theology of Paganism_. - -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 _Allusion_ 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 this detection will sometimes account for the _manner_ in which he -disposes of them. However, I will but detain you with a remark or two -on this class of Imitations. - -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 MASKS 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 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 -_did_, and with such success as to disgrace the very best things of -this kind we find in Jonson. The short Mask in the _Tempest_ is fitted -up with a classical exactness. But its chief merit lies in the beauty -of the _Shew_, and the richness of the _poetry_. Shakespear was so -sensible of his Superiority, that he could not help exulting a little -upon it, where he makes _Ferdinand_ say, - - This is a most majestic _Vision_, and - Harmonious charming _Lays_— - -’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 _Mask at Ludlow Castle_ -was, in some measure, owing to the _fairy Scenes_ of his Predecessor; -who chose this province of _Tradition_, not only as most suitable to -the wildness of his vast creative imagination, but as the _safest_ -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. - -2. It were endless to apply this _note_ of imitation to other poets -confessedly learned. Yet one instance is curious enough to be just -mentioned. - -Mr. Waller, in his famous poem on the victory over the Dutch on June 3, -1665, has the following lines; - - His flight tow’rds heav’n th’ aspiring BELGIAN took; - But fell, like PHAETON, with thunder strook: - From vaster hopes than his, he seem’d to fall, - That durst attempt the BRITISH Admiral: - From her broadsides a ruder flame is thrown, - Than from the fiery chariot of the Sun: - THAT, bears THE RADIANT ENSIGN OF THE DAY; - And SHE, the flag that governs in the Sea. - -He is comparing the British Admiral’s _Ship_ to the _Chariot_ 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 _latter_, he says, bears _the radiant ensign of the day_: The -_other_, _the ensign of naval dominion_. We understand how properly the -_English Flag_ is here denominated. But what is that _other Ensign_? -The _Sun_ 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 _starry or radiate figure_; nay, that such a figure -was placed aloft, as an _Ensign_, over the _Sun’s charioteer_, as we -may see in representations of this sort on ancient Gems and Medals. - -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 -_Chariot of the Sun_, and _Phaeton’s fall_ 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. - - Proptereà noctes hiberno tempore longæ - Cessant, dum veniat RADIATUM INSIGNE DIEI. - _Lucr._ l. v. 698. - -Here, you see, the poet’s allusion to a classic idea has led us to the -discovery of the very passage from which it was taken. And this use -a learned reader will often make of the species of Imitation, here -considered. - -V. Great writers, you find, sometimes forget the character of the -_Age_, they live in; the _principles_, and _notions_ that belong to it. -“Sometimes they forget _themselves_, that is, their own situation and -character.” Another sign of the influence of _Imitation_. - -1. When we see such men, as STRADA and MARIANA, 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 DE RETZ, is but assumed by these Jesuits. And we are not -surprized to discover, on examination, that their best reflexions are -copied from TACITUS. - -On the other hand, when a man of the world took it into his head, the -other day, in a moping fit, to talk _Sentences_, 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 _Stoical Fop_, he -affected so much contempt of, SENECA. - -2. Sometimes we catch a great writer deviating from his _natural -manner_, and taking pains, as it were, to appear the very reverse of -his proper _character_. Would you wish a stronger proof of his being -seduced, at least for the time, by the charms of _imitation_? - -Nothing is better known than the easy, elegant, agreeable vein of -VOITURE. Yet you have read his famous Letter to BALZAC, 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 _imitation_. - -3. This remark on the turn of a writer’s _genius_ may be further -applied to that of his _temper or disposition_. - -The natural misanthropy of Swift may account for his thinking and -speaking very often in the spirit of ROCHEFOUCAULT, without any -thought of taking from his _Maxims_, 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.” - -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? - -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 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 _situation_, -_genius_, or _complexion_ would naturally lead him, you may well -suspect him of imitation.” - -Still it may be, these considerations are rather too general. I come to -others more particular and decisive. - -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. - -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.” - -Turn now to the _Essay on Man_, and tell me if Mr. Pope did not work up -the following lines out of these reflexions. - - “Chaos of thought and passion, all confus’d; - Still by himself abus’d or disabus’d; - Created half to rise, and half to fall, - Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all; - Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl’d: - The glory, jest, and riddle of the world.” - -2. This conclusion is still more certain, when, together with a general -likeness of sentiments, we find the same _disposition_ of the parts, -especially if that disposition be in no common form. - - “Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet - With charm of earliest birds: pleasant the sun, - When first on this delightful land he spreads - His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flow’r, - Glist’ring with dew”—— - -and the rest of that fine speech in the IVth Book of _Paradise Lost_, -which you remember so perfectly that I need not transcribe more of it. - -Milton’s fancy, as usual, is rich and exuberant; but the conduct and -application of his imagery shews, that the whole passage was shadowed -out of those charming but simpler lines in the DANAE of Euripides. - - ——φίλον μὲν φέγγος ἡλίου τόδε. - Καλὸν δὲ πόντου χεῦμ’ ἰδεῖν εὐήνεμον, - Γῆ τ’ ἠρινὸν θάλλουσα, πλούσιόν θ’ ὕδωρ, - Πολλῶν τ’ ἔπαινόν ἐστί μοι λέξαι καλῶν. - Ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν οὕτω λαμπρὸν, οὐδ’ ἰδεῖν, καλὸν, - Ὡς τοῖς ἄπαισι, καὶ πόθῳ δεδηγμένοις, - Παίδων νεογνῶν ἐν δόμοις ἰδεῖν φάος. - -VII. There is little doubt in such cases as these. There needs not -perhaps be much in the case, sometimes, of _single_ sentiments or -images. As where we find “a sentiment or image in two writers precisely -the same, yet new and unusual.” - -1. Thus we are told very reasonably, that _Milton’s clust’ring locks_ -is the copy of Apollonius’ ΠΛΟΚΑΜΟΙ ΒΟΤΡΥΟΕΝΤΕΣ. _Obs. on Spenser_, 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. - -2. What the same critic observes of Milton’s - - ——“And _curl_ the grove - In ringlets _quaint_”— - -being taken from Jonson’s - - When was old Sherwood’s head more _quaintly curl’d_? - -is still more unquestionable. For here is a combination of signs to -convict the former of imitation: Not only the _singularity of the -image_, but the _identity of expression_, and, what I lay the most -stress upon, the _boldness of the figure_, as employed by Milton. -Jonson speaks of old Sherwood’s _head_, as curl’d. Milton, as conscious -of his authority, drops the preparatory idea, and says at once, The -_grove_ curl’d. - -Let me add to these, two more instances from the same poet. - -3. _Spenser_ tells us of - - A little _glooming light_, much like a shade. - F. Q. c. II., s. 14. - -Can you imagine that Milton did not take his idea from hence, when he -said, in his _Penseroso_, - - —glowing embers thro’ the room - Teach _light_ to counterfeit a _gloom_? - -4. Again, in his description of Paradise, - - Flow’rs of all hues, and without thorn the rose. - -Every poet of every time is lavish of his flowers on such occasions. -But _the rose without thorn_ 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; - - Senza quei suoi pungenti ispidi dumi - Spiegò le foglie la purpurea Rosa. - -5. Another instance, still more remarkable, may be taken from Mr. -Pope. One of the most striking passages in the _Essay on Man_ is the -following, - - Superior Beings, when of late they saw - A mortal man unfold all nature’s law, - Admir’d such wisdom in an earthly shape, - And shew’d a NEWTON, as we shew an ape. - Ep. ii. v. 31. - -Can you doubt, from the _singularity_ 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. _Hipp. Major._ - -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 _superior Beings_ only. The consequence is, that the _Ape_ is -an object of _derision_ in the former case, of _admiration_, in the -latter. - -To conclude this head, I will just observe to you, that, though the -_same uncommon sentiment_ in two _writers_ be usually the effect of -imitation, yet we cannot affirm this of _Actors_ in real life. The -reason is, when the situation of two men is the same, _Nature_ will -dictate the same sentiments more invariably than _Genius_. To give a -remarkable instance of what I mean. - -Tacitus relates, in the _first_ book of his _Annals_, 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. _Dabat famæ_, says the historian, _ut vocatus -electusque potiùs à Republicâ videretur, quàm per uxorium ambitum -et senili adoptione irrepsisse_. One of his courtiers would not be -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, VALERIUS MESSALLA moved RENOVANDUM PER -ANNOS SACRAMENTUM IN NOMEN TIBERII; 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, “_Num, se mandante, eam sententiam promsisset?_” His -answer is in the following words. “Spontè _dixisse, respondit; neque -in iis, quæ ad rempublicam pertinerent_, consilio nisi suo usurum, vel -cum periculo offensionis.” _Ea_, concludes the historian, _sola species -adulandi supererat_. - -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. - -Colonel WILLIAM JEPHSON 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 which the other replied, “_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_.” - -Here we have a very striking coincidence of _sentiment_, 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 _feigned_, 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 _same_, without affording any just reason to conclude that -their prompters had turned plagiaries. - -VIII. If to this singularity of a sentiment, you add the _apparent -harshness_ of it, especially when not gradually _prepared_ (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 _curl’d_ grove. But there are others -still more remarkable. Shall I presume for once to take an instance -from yourself? - -Your fine Ode to Memory begins with these very lyrical verses: - - Mother of Wisdom! Thou whose sway - The throng’d ideal hosts obey; - Who bidst their ranks now vanish, now appear, - Flame in the van, and darken in the rear. - -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 STRADA. - -“Quid accommodatius, says he, speaking of your subject, Memory, -quàm _simulachrorum ingentes copias_, tanquàm _addictam ubique tibi -sacramento militiam_, eo inter se nexu ac fide conjunctam cohærentemque -habere; ut sive unumquodque separatim, sive confertim universa, sive -singula ordinatim _in aciem proferre_ velis; nihil planè in tantâ rerum -herbâ turbetur, sed alia _procul atque in recessu_ sita prodeuntibus -locum cedant; alia, se tota confestim promant atque in medium _certò -evocata prosiliant_? Hoc tam magno, tam fido domesticorum _agmine_ -instructus animus, &c.” - _Prol. Acad._ I. - -Common writers know little of the art of _preparing_ 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 _leading_ idea to introduce it. - -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. - -1. B. Jonson, in his Prologue to the _Sad Shepherd_, is opening the -subject of that poem. The _sadness_ of his shepherd is - - For his lost Love, who in the TRENT is said - To have miscarried; _’las! what knows the head - Of a calm river, whom the feet have drown’d!_ - -The reflexion in this place is unnecessary and even impertinent. Who -besides ever heard of the _feet_ of a river? Of _arms_, we have. And so -it stood in Jonson’s original. - - Greatest and fairest Empress, know you this, - Alas! no more than Thames’ calm head doth know - Whose meads his arms drown, or whose corn o’erflow. - Dr. DONNE. - -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.” - -2. I don’t know whether you have taken notice of a miscarriage, -something like this, in the most judicious of all the poets. - -Theocritus makes Polypheme say, - - Καὶ γὰρ θὴν οὐδ’ εἶδος ἔχω κακὸν, ὥς με λέγοντι, - Ἦ γὰρ πρὰν ἐς Πόντον ἐσέβλεπον· ἦν δὲ γαλάνα. - -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, - - Nec sum adeò informis: nuper me in littore vidi, - Cùm placidum ventis staret _mare_—— - -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, - - Certè ego me novi, liquidæque in imagine vidi - Nuper aquæ, placuitque mihi mea forma videnti. - -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 _sea_, and Virgil be contented with Ovid’s _water_. However -this be, you may be 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, - - ————————————————————————Non son’ io - Da disprezzar, se ben me stesso vidi - Nel liquido del mar, quando l’altr’ hieri - Taceano i venti, et ei giacea senz’ onda. - -But of all the misappliers of this fine original sentiment, commend me -to that _other_ Italian, who made his shepherd survey himself, in a -_fountain_ indeed, but a fountain of his own weeping. - -3. You will forgive my adding one other instance “of this vicious -application of a fine thought.” - -You remember those agreeable verses of Sir _John Suckling_, - - “Tempests of winds thus (as my storms of grief - Carry my tears which should relieve my heart) - Have hurried to the thankless ocean clouds - And show’rs, that needed not at all the courtesy. - When the poor plains have languish’d for the want, - And almost burnt asunder.”—— - _Brennoralt._ A. III. S. 1. - -I don’t stay to examine how far the fancy of _tears relieving the -heart_ 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. SPRAT, in his history of the _Royal Society_, 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 _Religion_, 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 _philosophy_, which have been -hitherto barren, and might soon have been made fertile.” _p. 25._ - -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 -naturally no relation. Besides, there is an absurdity in speaking -of a shower’s doing _injury_ to the sea by falling into it. But the -thing illustrated by this comparison requiring the idea of _injury_, -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 _another_ purpose—” - -But a poet of that time has no better success in the management of this -metaphor, than the Historian. - - LOVE makes so many hearts the prize - Of the bright CARLISLE’S conqu’ring eyes; - Which she regards no more, than they - The tears of lesser beauties weigh. - So have I seen the lost clouds pour - Into the Sea an useless show’r; - And the vex’d Sailors curse the rain, - For which poor Shepherds pray’d in vain. - WALLER’S Poems, p. 25. - -The Sentiment stands thus: “She regards the captive _hearts_ of others -no more than those others—the _tears_ of lesser beauties.” Thus, with -much difficulty, we get to _tears_. And when we have them, the allusion -to _lost clouds_ is so strained (besides that he makes his shower both -_useless_ and _injurious_), that one readily perceives the poet’s -thought was distorted by _imitation_. - -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.” - -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. - -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. - -PRIOR, one may observe, has acted more naturally in his _Alma_, 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 BUTLER: - - He perfect Dancer climbs the Rope, - And balances your fear and hope: - If after some distinguish’d leap, - He drops his Pole and seems to slip; - Strait gath’ring all his active strength - He rises higher half his length. - With _wonder_ you approve his slight, - And owe your pleasure to your _fright_. - C. II. - -Though the two last lines seem taken from the application of this -similitude in Pliny, “Sunt enim maximè _mirabilia_, quæ maximè -inexpectata, et maximè _periculosa_.” - -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.” - -You remember these lines of Milton in his Comus, - - Wisdom’s self - Oft seeks to sweet retired Solitude, - Where, with her best nurse, Contemplation, - She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, - That in the various bustle of resort - Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impair’d. - -On which Dr. Warburton has the following note. “Mr. Pope has imitated -this thought and (as was always his way when he imitated) improved it. - - “Bear me, some Gods! oh, quickly bear me hence - To wholesome Solitude, the nurse of Sense; - Where Contemplation prunes her ruffled wings, - And the free Soul looks down to pity Kings. - -“Mr. Pope has not only improved the harmony, but the sense. In -Milton, _Contemplation_ is called the _Nurse_; in Pope, more properly -_Solitude_: In Milton, _Wisdom_ is said to _prune_ her wings; in Pope, -_Contemplation_ is said to do it, and with much greater propriety, as -she is of a _soaring_ nature, and on that account is called by Milton -himself, the _Cherub Contemplation_.” - -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 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 _general_ 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 -_studies_ 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. - -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. - -1. AURELIUS VICTOR observes of Fabricius, “quòd difficiliùs ab -honestate, quàm Sol à suo cursu, averti posset.” - -TASSO flourishes a little on this thought; - - Prima dal corso distornar la Luna - E le stelle potrà, che dal diritto - Torcere un sol mio passo— - C. x. S. 24. - -Mr. Waller rises upon the Italian, - - “where her love was due, - So fast, so faithful, loyal, and so true, - That a bold hand as soon might hope to force - The rowling lights of heav’n, as change her course.” - _On the Death of Lady_ RICH. - -But Mr. COWLEY, knowing what authority he had for the general -sentiment, gives the reins to his fancy and wantons upon it without -measure. - - Virtue was thy Life’s centre, and from thence - Did silently and constantly dispense - The gentle vigorous influence - To all the wide and fair circumference: - And all the parts upon it lean’d so easilie, - Obey’d the mighty force so willinglie, - That none could discord or disorder see - In all their contrarietie. - Each had his motion natural and free, - And the whole no more mov’d, than the whole world could be. - BRUTUS. - -2. The ingenious author of the _Observations on Spenser_ (from which -fine specimen of his critical talents one is led to expect great -things) directs us to another imitation of this sort. - -Tasso had said, - - Cosi a le belle lagrime le piume - Si bagna Amore, e gode al chiaro lume. - -On which short hint Spenser has raised the following luxuriant imagery, - - The blinded archer-boy, - Like lark in show’r of rain, - Sate bathing of his wings, - And glad the time did spend - Under those crystal drops, - Which fall from her fair eyes, - And at their brightest beams - Him proyn’d in lovely wise. - -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.” - -The Italian poet, just now quoted, says sublimely of the _Night_, - - —Usci la Notte, è sotto l’ali - Menò il silentio— - C. v. S. 79. - -Milton has given a paraphrase of this passage, but very much below his -original, - - Now came still ev’ning on, and twilight gray - Had in her sober livery all things clad; - _Silence accompany’d_— - -The striking part of Tasso’s picture, is, “_Night’s bringing in Silence -under her wings_.” So new and singular an idea as this had detected an -Imitation. Milton contents himself, then, with saying simply, _Silence -accompany’d_. However, to make amends, as he thought, for this defect, -_Night itself_, which the Italian had merely personized, the English -poet not only _personizes_, but employs in a very becoming office: - - Now came still ev’ning on, and twilight gray - Had in her sober livery all things clad. - -Every body will observe a little blemish, in this fine couplet. He -should not have used the epithet _still_, when he intended to add, - - _Silence_ accompanied— - -But there is a worse fault in this _Imitation_. To hide it, he speaks -of _Night’s livery_. When he had done that, to speak of her _wings_, -had been ungraceful. Therefore he is forced to say obscurely as well as -_simply_, _Silence accompany’d_: And so loses a more noble image for a -less noble one. The truth is, they would not stand together. _Livery_ -belongs to _human grandeur_; _wings_ to _divine_ or _celestial_. So that -in Milton’s very attempt to surpass his original, he put it out of his -power to employ the _circumstance_ that most recommended it. - -He is not happier on another occasion. Spenser had said with his usual -simplicity, - - “Virtue gives herself light thro’ darkness for to wade,” - F. Q. B. 1. - -Milton catched at this image, and has run it into a sort of paraphrase, -in those fine lines, - - “Virtue could see to do what virtue would - By her own radiant light, tho’ Sun and Moon - Were in the flat sea sunk—” - COMUS. - -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—_thro’ darkness for to_ WADE. On the contrary, Milton, -in borrowing, substitutes the physical for the moral idea—_by her own -radiant light_—and _tho’ Sun and Moon were in the flat sea sunk_. It -may be asked, how this happened? Very naturally, Milton was caught -with the obvious _imagery_, which he found he could display to more -advantage; and so did not enough attend to the noble _sentiment_ that -was couched under it. - -XIII. These are instances of a paraphrastical licence in dilating on a -famous Sentiment or Image. The _ground_ 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 _adding_ 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 plain and simple thought had not -preceded and given rise to it. You will apprehend my meaning by what -follows. - -1. Shakespear had said of Henry IV^{th}, - - —He cannot long hold out these pangs; - The incessant care and labour of his mind - Hath wrought the mure, that should confine it in, - So thin, that life look through, and will break out. - HEN. IV. A. 4. - -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, _the mure that confines_ it, to say, that as that case wears away -and grows thin, life looks through, and is ready to break out. - -DANIEL, by refining on this sentiment, if by nothing else, shews -himself to be the copyist. Speaking of the same Henry, he observes, - - And Pain and Grief, inforcing more and more, - Besieg’d the hold that could not long defend; - Consuming so all the resisting store - Of those provisions Nature deign’d to lend, - As that the Walls, worn thin, permit the mind - To look out thorough, and his frailty find. - -Here we see, not simply that _Life_ is going to break through the -infirm and much-worn habitation, but that the _Mind_ looks through and -_finds_ 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 -_Paraphrase_, considered in the last article: And that the _expression_ -of the others is too much the same to be original. But we are not yet -come to the head of _expression_. And I choose to confine myself to the -single point of view we have before us. - -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 _its own frailty_, but the frailty of the _building_ it inhabits. -However, I have endeavoured to rectify this mistake in my explanation. - -The truth is, Daniel was not a man to improve upon Shakespear. But -now comes a writer, that knew his business much better. 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 _thin_ body, much more one that was _cracked_ 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. - -The lines are Mr. Waller’s, and in the best manner of that very -_refined_ writer. - - Stronger by weakness, _wiser_, men become - As they draw near to their eternal home. - The Soul’s dark cottage, batter’d and decay’d, - Lets in new light thro’ chinks that time has made. - -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 -_Penseroso_? - - Entice the dewy-feather’d sleep; - And let some strange mysterious dream - Wave at his wings in airy stream; - Of lively portraiture display’d - Softly on my eye-lids laid. - -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 _Vision of Delight_. - - Break, Phant’sy, from thy cave of cloud, - And spread thy purple wings: - Create of airy forms a stream, - And tho’ it be a waking dream, - Yet let it like an odour rise - To all the senses here, - And fall like sleep upon their eyes - Or musick in their ear. - -It is a delicate matter to analyze such passages as these; which, how -exquisite soever in the poetry, when estimated by the _fine phrenzy_ -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 _Fancy_ is here employed in one of her -nicest operations, the production of a _day-dream_; which both poets -represent as an _airy form_, or forms _streaming_ in the air, gently -falling on the eye-lids of her entranced votary. So far their imagery -agrees. But now comes the _mark_ of imitation I would point out to -you. Milton carries the idea still further, and improves finely upon -it, in the _conception_ as well as expression. Jonson evokes fancy -out of her _cave of cloud_, 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, _create_ this stream of forms. All -this is just and truly poetical. But Milton goes further. He employs -the _dewy-feather’d sleep_ as his Minister in this machinery. And the -mysterious day-dream is seen _waving at his wings in airy stream_. -Jonson would have Fancy _immediately_ produce this Dream. Milton more -poetically, because in more distinct and particular imagery, represents -Fancy as doing her work by means of _sleep_; that soft composure of -the mind abstracted from outward objects, in which it yields to these -phantastic impressions. - -You see then a wonderful improvement in this addition to the original -thought. And the notion of _dreams waving at the wings of sleep_ is, by -the way, further justified by what Virgil feigns of their _sticking_ -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, _falling, -like sleep upon their eyes_, Milton took his _feather’d sleep_, which -he impersonates so properly; And from _Phant’sy’s spreading her purple -wings_, a circumstance, not so immediately connected with Jonson’s -design _of creating of airy forms a stream_, he catched the idea of -_Sleep spreading her wings_; and to good purpose, since the airy stream -of forms was to _wave at them_. - -However, Jonson’s image is, in itself, incomparable. It is taken from a -_winged_ insect breaking out of its Aurelia state, its _cave of cloud_, -as it is finely called: Not unlike that of Mr. Pope, - - So spins the Silk-worm small its slender store, - And labours till it _clouds_ itself all o’er. - IV. _Dunc._ v. 253. - -And nothing can be juster than this allusion. For the ancients always -pictured FANCY and HUMAN-LOVE with Insect’s wings. - -XIV. Thus then, whether the poet _prevaricates_, _enlarges_, or _adds_, -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 _glances_ -at his original. “For, in this case, 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 -_last_. A writer, sometimes, takes a pleasure to _refine_ 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 _explain_ it. - -A poet of the last age has the following lines, on the subject of -_Religion_: - - Religion now is a young Mistress here, - For which each man will fight, and dye at least; - Let it alone awhile, and ’t will become - A kind of married wife; people will be - Content to live with it in quietness. - -SUCKLING says this in his Tragedy of Brennoralt; which is a Satire -throughout on the rising troubles of that time. BUTLER has taken the -thought and applied it on the same occasion: - - When hard words, jealousies, and fears - Set folks together by the ears, - And make them fight, like mad or drunk, - For dame Religion, as for Punk. - -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 _other_ gives the reason of the Debauch, namely, _fondness -for a new face_; 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 _Inventor_ of this humorous thought; a -_Borrower_ might be content to allude to it. - -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 _purpurei panni_ 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. - -The verses, I have in my eye, are these fine ones, addressed to Lord -Bolingbroke, - - Oh, while along the stream of time thy name - Expanded flies, and gathers all it’s fame, - Say, shall my little Bark attendant sail, - Pursue the triumph, and partake the Gale? - -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 STATIUS, - - Sic ubi magna novum Phario de litore puppis - Solvit iter, jamque innumeros utrinque rudentes - Lataque veliferi porrexit brachia mali - Invasitque vias, in eodem angusta phaselus - Æquore, et immensi partem sibi vendicat Austri. - SILV. l. V. I. v. 242. - -But, especially, this other, - - —immensæ veluti CONNEXA carinæ - CYMBA MINOR, cum sævit hyems, pro parte, furentes - Parva receptat aquas, et EODEM VOLVITUR AUSTRO. - SILV. l. I. iv. v. 120. - -XVI. I release you from this head of _Sentiments_, 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.” - -1. In delivering this rule, I will not dissemble that I myself am -copying, or rather stealing from a great critic: From _one_, 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, - - O think what anxious moments pass between - The birth of plots, and their last fatal periods, - Oh, ’tis a dreadful interval of time, - Fill’d up with horror all, and big with death, - -observes “that Mr. Addison was so struck and affected with the -_terrible graces_ of Shakespear (in the passage he is there -considering) that, instead of imitating his author’s sentiments, -he hath, before he was aware, given us only the copy of his own -impressions made by them. For, - - Oh, ’tis a dreadful interval of time, - Fill’d up with horror all, and big with death, - -are but the affections raised by such forcible images as these, - - ——All the Int’rim is - Like a Phantasma, or a hideous dream - ——The state of man, - Like to a little kingdom, suffers then - The nature of an Insurrection.” - -The observation is new and finely applied. Give me leave to suppose -that the following is an instance of the same nature. - -2. Milton on a certain occasion says of _Death_, that she - - “Grinn’d horrible a ghastly smile—” - _P. L._ B. II. v. 846. - -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 occasion, suggests that it might probably be copied from -Spenser’s, - - Grinning griesly— - B. V. c. 12. - -And there is the more likelihood in this conjecture, as the poet a -little before had call’d _death—the griesly terror_—v. 704. But after -all, if he had any preceding writer in view, I suspect it might be -FLETCHER; who, in his _Wife for a Month_, has these remarkable lines, - - The game of Death was never play’d more nobly, - The meagre thief grew _wanton_ in his mischiefs, - And _his shrunk hollow eyes smil’d_ on his ruin. - -The word _Ghastly_, I would observe, gives the precise idea of _shrunk -hollow eyes_, and looks as if Milton, in admiration of his original, -had only looked out for an _epithet_ to Death’s smile, as he found it -pictured in Fletcher. - -THUS MUCH, then, may perhaps serve for an illustration of the first -part of this Inquiry. We have found out several _marks_, and applied -them to various passages in the best writers, from which we may -reasonably enough be allowed to infer an Imitation in point of -_Sentiment_. For what respect the other part of _Expression_, this is -an easier task, and will be dispatched in few words. - -Only you will indulge me in an observation or two, to prevent your -expecting from me more than I undertake to perform. - -When I speak of _Expression_, then I mean to confine myself “to -single words of sentences, or at most the structure of a passage.” -When _Imitation_ is carried so far as to affect the general cast of -language, or what we call a _Style_, no great sagacity is, perhaps, -required to detect it. Thus the _Ciceroniani_, 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, _Virgilian_. 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. - -Another point seems of no importance in the present inquiry. I know, it -is asked, How 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 _credit_ of the supposed imitator. For this is affected -by nothing but direct and _intended_ imitation. But as we are looking -at present only for those marks in the expression which shew it _not_ -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 _sentiments_ 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. _Sentiments_ may be strikingly similar, or even identical, -without the least thought, or even effect, of a preceding original. -But the identity of _expression_, except in some few cases of no -importance, is, in the same language, where the writer speaks 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. - -So that you see, the _marks_ of imitated or, if you will, _derived -expression_ are much less equivocal, than of _sentiment_. We may -pronounce of the _former_ without hesitation, that it is taken, when -corresponding marks in the _latter_ would only authorise us to conclude -that it was the _same_ or perhaps _similar_. - -I need not use more words to convince you, that the distinction of -_casual_ and _design’d_ imitation is still of less significancy in this -class of imitations, than the other. - -And with this preamble, more particular perhaps and circumstantial than -was necessary, I now proceed to lay before you some of those _signs_ -of derived expression, which I conceive to be _unequivocal_. 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 _rule_, and to _exemplify_ it. - -I. An identity of expression, especially if carried on through an -intire sentence, is the most certain proof of imitation. - -Mr. Waller of Sacharissa, - - So little care of what is done below - Hath the bright dame, whom heav’n affecteth so; - Paints her, ’tis true, with the same hand which spreads - Like glorious colours thro’ the flow’ry meads; - _When lavish nature with her best attire_ - Cloaths the gay spring, the season of desire. - -Mr. Fenton takes notice that the poet is copying from the _Muiopotmos_ -of Spenser. - - To the gay gardens his unstaid desire - Him wholly carried to refresh his sprights: - _There lavish Nature, in her best attire,_ - Pours forth sweet odours and alluring sights. - -We shall see presently that, besides the identity of expression, there -is also another mark of imitation in this passage. - -II. But less than this will do, where the similarity of thought, and -application of it, is striking. - -Mr. Pope says divinely well, - - Shall burning Ætna, if a sage requires, - Forget to thunder and recall its fires? - On _air_ or sea _new motions be impress’d_, - Oh blameless Bethel! to relieve thy breast? - When the loose mountain trembles from on high, - Shall _gravitation cease if you go by_? - Or some old temple nodding to its fall - For Chartres’ head reserve the hanging wall? - _Essay_ IV. v. 123. - -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 -_expression_, as well as the fire of his conception in this place, -from the philosopher: - -“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 _suspend the force of gravitation till he is gone by_, 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 _new motions be impressed upon the -atmosphere_, and new directions given to the floating parts of it, by -some extraordinary and new influence from God?” - -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. - - For in the secret of her troubled thought - A doubtful combat love and honour fought. - _Fairfax’s Tasso_, B. IV. S. 70. - -Hence Mr. Waller, - - There public care and private passion _fought_ - _A doubtful combat_ in his noble _thought_. - _Poems_, p. 14. - -_Public care_ is the periphrasis of _honour_, and _private passion_, of -_love_. For the rest you see—_disjecti membra poetæ_. - -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.” - -In Fletcher’s _faithful Shepherdess_, the speaker says, - - — — — — — — — In thy face - Shines more awful majesty, - Than dull weak mortality - Dare with misty eyes behold, - AND LIVE— - -The writer glanced, but very improperly on such an occasion, at _Exod._ -xxxiii. 20. “Thou canst not see my face: for there shall no man see me, -_and live_.” - -V. An uncommon _construction_ of words not identical, especially if the -subject be the same, or the ideas similar, will look like imitation. - -Milton says finely of the _Swan_, - - — — — — —The Swan with arched neck - Between her white wings mantling proudly ROWS - HER STATE— - -I should think he might probably have that line of Fletcher in his head, - - How like a Swan she SWIMS HER PACE! - -The expression, you see, is very like. ’Tis true, the _image_ in -Milton is much nobler. It is taken from a barge of state in a public -procession. - -VI. We may even pronounce that a _single word_ is taken, when it is new -and uncommon. - -Milton’s calling a ray of light—a levell’d _rule_ 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. - -Again, Mr. Pope’s, - - “Or ravish’d with the _whistling_ of a name,” - -is for the same reason, if there were no other points of likeness, -copied from Mr. Cowley’s - - “Charm’d with the foolish _whistlings_ of a name.” - Transl. of Virgil’s _O! fortunati nimium_, &c. - -VII. An improper _use_ of uncommon expression, in very exact writers, -will sometimes create a suspicion. Milton had called the _sight_ -indifferently _visual nerve_ and _visual ray_, P. L. iii. 620. xi. 415. -Mr. Pope in his Messiah thought he might take the same liberty, but -forgot that though the _visual nerve_ might be purged from film, the -_visual ray_ could not. Had Mr. Pope _invented_ this bold expression, -he would have seen to apply his _metaphor_ more properly. - -VIII. Where the word or phrase is _foreign_, there is, if possible, -still less doubt. - - — — — —at last his sail-broad _vans_ - He spreads for flight. - Milton, P. L. ii. v. 927. - -Most certainly from Tasso’s, - - —Spiega al grand volo i _vanni_. ix. - -And that of Jonson in his _Sejanus_, - - O! what is it proud slime will not believe - Of his own worth, to hear it _equal prais’d_ - _Thus with the Gods_— - A. 1. - -from Juvenal’s - - ------nihil est quod credere de se - Non possit, cum _laudatur Diis æqua_ potestas. - -IX. Conclude the same when the expression is _antique_, in the writer’s -own language. - -In Mr. Waller’s Panegyric on the Protector, - - So, when a Lion shakes his dreadful mane, - And angry grows, if he _that first took pain_ - To tame his youth, approach the haughty beast, - He bends to him, but frights away the rest. - -The antique formality of the phrase _that first took pain_, for, _that -first took the pains_, 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: - - So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane, - And beats his tail, with courage proud, and wroth, - If his commander come, _who first took pain_ - To tame his youth, his lofty crest down go’th. - Fairfax’s _Tasso_, B. VIII. S. 83. - -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. - - 1. “Stuck o’er with titles, and hung round with strings, - That thou mayst be _by Kings, or whores of Kings_.” - Essay on Man, E. IV. v. 205. - -from Mr. Cowley in his translation of _Hor._ 1. _ep._ 10. - - “To Kings, or to the favourites of Kings.” - - 2. “Such is the world’s great harmony, that _springs_ - From order, union, full _consent of things_.” - Ep. III. 295. - -from Denham’s _Cowper’s Hill_, - - “Wisely she knew the _harmony of things_ - As well as that of sounds from discord _springs_.” - - 3. “Far as the solar walk, or milky way.” - Essay on Man, Ep. I. v. 102. - -from Mr. Dryden’s Pindaric Poem to the memory of K. Charles II. - - “Out of the solar walk, or heav’n’s high way.” - -Though these consonancies chyming in the writer’s head, he might not -always be aware of the imitation. - -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 -_flatness of expression_ for the sake of rhyme, you may ev’n previously -conclude that he has some precedent for it.” - -In the famous lines, - - Let modest Foster, if he will, excell - Ten metropolitans _in preaching well_. - Ep. to Satires, v. 131. - -I used to suspect that the phrase of _preaching well_ so unlike the -concise accuracy of Pope, would not have been hazarded by him, if some -eminent writer, though perhaps of an older 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. - - Your’s sounds aloud, and tells us you _excell_ - No less in courage, than _in singing well_. - Poem to Sir W. D’Avenant. - -Our great poet is more happy in the application of these rhymes on -another occasion, - - Let such teach others, who themselves _excell_, - And censure freely, who have written _well_. - Essay on Crit. v. 15. - -The reason is apparent. But here he glanced at the Duke of Buckingham’s, - - “Nature’s chief master-piece is _writing well_.” - -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. - -1. That noble verse in the essay on criticism, v. 625. - - “For fools rush in, where angels dare not tread,” - -is certainly fashion’d upon Shakespear’s, - - ——————————“the world is grown so bad - That wrens make prey, where angels dare not perch.” - _Rich._ III. A. I. S. III. - -2. The verses to Sir W. Trumbal in Past. 1. - - “And carrying with you all the world can boast, - To all the world illustriously are lost.” - -from Waller’s _Maid’s Tragedy_ alter’d, - - Happy he that from the world retires - And carries with him what the world admires. - p. 215. Lond. 1712. - -XIII. When to these marks the same _Rhyme_ is added, the case is still -more evident. - - “Men would be angels, angels would be Gods.” - Essay on Man, Ep. I. v. 126. - -Without all question from Sir Fulk Grevil, - - Men would be tyrants, tyrants would be _Gods_. - Works, _Lond._ 1633. p. 73. - -XIV. The seeming quaintness and obscurity of an expression frequently -indicates imitation. As when in Fletcher’s _Pilgrim_ we read, - - “_Hummings_ of higher nature vex his brains.” - A. II. S. 2. - -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, - - aliena negotia centum - Per caput, et circa saliunt latus; - -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 _ears_, and strike him in the face like Dorres.” -_Disc. of Liberty._ And still more clearly, from Mr. Pope’s, - - “A hundred other men’s affairs, - Like bees, are _humming_ in my ears.” - -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. - -XV. I will trouble you with but one more note of _imitated expression_, -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: - - 1. “Man never is, but always to be blest.” - Essay on Man, Ep. I. v. 69. - -from Manilius, - - Victuros agimus semper, nec vivimus unquam. - - 2. —“Hope never comes, - That comes to all.”— - MILTON, P. L. I. v. 66. - -from Euripides in the Troad. v. 676. - - —οὐδ’, ὃ πᾶσι λείπεται βροτοῖς, - Ξύνεστιν ἐλπὶς.— - -3. But above all, that in Jonson’s Catiline, - - “He shall die: - _Shall_ was too slowly said: He’s _dying_: That - Is still too slow: He’s _dead_.” - -from Seneca’s _Hercules furens_, A. III. - - “Lycus Creonti debitas poenas _dabit_: - Lentum est, dabit; _dat_: hoc quoque est lentum; _dedit_.” - -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 SENSE and EXPRESSION of great writers. I would not -pretend that the same stress is to be laid on _all_; 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 _identity_ -of words and phrases, upon which so much depends, especially in the -article of _expression_, is only to be had in the _same_ 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. - -But you will best understand of what importance this affair of -_expression_ 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. - -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 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, _He had less -Greek_) and the learned English writers, he takes nothing but the -_sentiment_; the expression comes of itself, and is purely English. - -I might indulge in other reflexions, and detain you still further with -examples taken from his works. But we have _lain_, as the Poet speaks, -_on these primrose beds_, too long. It is time that you now rise to -your own nobler _inventions_; 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 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 _it_, and _you_. 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. - -And for the rest, - - “Be no unpleasing melancholy mine.” - -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. - - _I am,_ - - _Dear Sir,_ - - _Your most affectionate - Friend and Servant._ - - CAMBRIDGE, - Aug. 15, 1757. - - - - -INDEX - -TO THE - -TWO VOLUMES. - - - A. - - ADDISON, Mr., his judgment of the double sense of verbs, i. 359. - his _Cato_, defended, 102. - not too poetical, ib. - its real defects, ib. - his criticism on _Milton_ proceeds on just principles, 393. - how far defective, 396. - - AENEIS, prefigured under the idea of a temple, i. 333. - the destruction of Troy, an episode, why, i. 139. - - AGLAOPHON, his rude manner of painting; why preferred to _Parrhasius_ - and _Zeuxis_, i. 346. - - ALLEGORY, the distinguished pride of ancient poetry, i. 343. - a fine instance from _Virgil_, 333. - - ANCIENTS, immoderately extolled, why, i. 346. - - ANTIGONE, the chorus of it defended, i. 158. - - APHORISMS, condemned in the _Roman_ writers, i. 184. - why used so frequently by the Greeks, 185. - - APOLLONIUS _Rhodius_, why censured by _Aristophanes_ and - _Aristarchus_, i. 267. - - APOTHEOSIS, the usual mode of flattery in the _Augustan_ age, i. 333. - - ARISTOTLE, his opinion of _Homer’s_ imitations, i. 67. - of _Euripides_, 116. - of the business of the chorus, 145. - of the sententious manner, 186. - his fine Ode, corrected, 188. n. - translated, 189. - of the origin of tragedy, 194. - a passage in his poetics explained, 123. - his censure of the _Iphigenia at Aulis_, considered, 131. - he was little known at Rome in Cicero’s time, 191. - why _Horace_ differs from him in his account of _Aeschylus’s_ - inventions, 240. - a supposed contradiction between him and _Horace_ reconciled, 262. - his judgment of moral pictures, 375. - his admiration of an epithet in _Homer_, on what founded, ii. 126. - - ART and NATURE, their provinces in forming a poet, i. 273. - - ATELLANE FABLE, a species of Comedy, i. 192. - different from the satyric piece, 195. - the Oscan language used in it, 198. - why criticised by _Horace_, 206. - in what sense Pomponius, the Inventor of it, 198. - - ATHENAEUS, of the moralizing turn of the Greeks, i. 187. - - AUCTOR ad Herennium, defines an aphorism, i. 184. - - AUGUSTUS, fond of the old Comedy, i. 228. n. - - - B. - - BACON, Lord, his idea of poetry, ii. 178. - - BALZAC, Mr., his flattery of LOUIS LE JUSTE, i. 344, 345. - - BEAUTY, the idea of, how distinguished from the pathetic, i. 110. - - BENTLEY, Dr., corrections of his censured, i. 71, 72, 106, 142. - an interpretation of his confuted, 110. - a conjecture of his confirmed, 349. - - BOS, _M. de_, how he accounts for the effect of Tragedy, i. 119. - for the degeneracy of taste and literature, 264. - what he thought of modern imitations of the ancient poets, ii. 224. - - BOUHOURS, P., his merit as a critic, pointed out, i. 393. - wherein censured, 395. - - BRUMOY, P., his character, i. 133. - commends the _Athalie_ and _Esther_ of _Racine_, 145. - justifies the chorus, ib. - accounts for the sententious manner of the _Greek_ stage, 185. - an observation of his on the imitation of foreign characters, 247. - - BRUYERE, _M. de la_, an observation of his concerning the manners, - ii. 135. - - BUSIRIS, in what sense a ridiculous character, i. 208. - - - C. - - CAESAR, _C. Julius_, his judgment of _Terence_, i. 225. - - CASAUBON, _Isaac_, his book on satyric poetry recommended, i. 194. - an emendation of his confirmed, 208. - - CHARACTER, the object of comedy, ii. 56. - of what sort, 40. - of what persons, ib. - plays of, in what faulty, 48. - instances of such plays, 53. - - CHARACTERS, of comedy, general; of tragedy, particular, why, ii. 48. - this matter explained at large, to 54. - - CHORUS, its use and importance, i. 145. - its moral character, 156. - more easily conducted by ancient than modern poets, 161. - improvements in the Latin tragic chorus, 179. - - CICER, _M. Tullius_, of the use of old words, i. 89. - of self-murder, 162. - of poetic licence, 174. - of the language of _Democritus_ and _Plato_, 180. - of the music of his time, 182. - of the neglect of philosophy, 191. - of the mimes, 205. - of _Plautus’s_ wit, 220. - does not mention _Menander_, 229. - mentions corporal infirmities as proper subjects for ridicule, 231. - of a good poet, 249. - of decorum, 251. - of the use of philosophy, ib. - - CID, of _P. Corneille_, its uncommon success, to what owing, i. 398. - - CLOWNS, their character in _Shakespear_, i. 186. - - COMEDY, _Roman_, three species of it, i. 192. - - —— the author’s idea of it, ii. 30. - conclusions concerning its nature, from that idea, 37. - attributes, common to it and tragedy, 42. - attributes, peculiar to it, 45. - its genius, considered at large, 57. - M. _de Fontenelle’s_ notion of it, considered, 75. - idea of it enlarged since the time of _Aristotle_, 65. - polite and heroic, what we are to think of it, 86. - on high life, censured, ib. - of modern invention, ib. - accounted for, 87. - why more difficult than tragedy, ib. - - COMPARISON, similarity of, in all writers, why necessary, ii. 194. - why more so in the graver than lighter poetry, 198. - - CORNEILLE, P., his objection to _Euripides’s Medea_, confuted, i. 163. - his notion of comic action considered, ii. 41. - - CRITICISM, the uses of it, ii. 105. - its aim, 391. - when perfect, ib. - - - D. - - DACIER, _M._, criticisms of his considered, i. 94, 168, 173, 174, 175, - 240, 244, 245, 268, ibid. - the author’s opinion of him, as a critic, 62, n. and 272. - his account of the opening of the _Epistle to Augustus_ censured, - 326. - - DANCE, the choral commended, i. 178. - - DAVENANT, Sir _William_, his _Gondibert_ criticised, ii. 235. - - DEMETRIUS PHALEREUS, characterizes the satyric piece, i. 193. - - DESCRIPTION, natural and moral, why similar in the form as well as - matter in all poets, ii. 191, 192. - - DIALOGUE, _Socratic_, the genius of, i. 252. - - DIO CASSIUS, instances from him of the gross flattery paid to - _Caesar_, i. 330. - - DIOMEDES, of the Satyric and Atellane fables, i. 195. - of the use of the Satyric piece, 203. - a passage in him corrected by _Casaubon_, 208. - his character of the Atellanes, 234. - distinguishes the different kinds of the _Roman_ drama, 241. - - DIONYSIUS, of _Halicarnassus_, of the use of words, i. 92. - of _Plato’s_ figurative style, 254. - - DOCTUS, the meaning of, explained, i. 350-352. - - DONATUS, distinguishes the three forms of comedy, i. 192, 193. - - DRAMA, see _Tragedy_, _Comedy_, _Farce_. - - —— _Peruvian_, some account of, ii. 66, 67. - _Chinese_, 67. - _Greek_ and _Roman_, its character, 69. - the laws of, in what different from those of history, ii. 179. - - DULCE, its distinction from _pulchrum_, i. 109. - - DUPORT, _Pr._, his collection of moral parallelisms in _Homer_, and - Sacred Writ, of what use? ii. 140. - - - E. - - ELECTRA, of _Euripides_, vindicated, i. 125. - a circumstance in the two plays of that name by _Euripides_ and - _Sophocles_ compared, 259. - - ELFRIDA, of Mr. Mason, i. 148. - the best apology for the ancient chorus, ibid. - - ENVY, how it operates in human nature, i. 329. - how it operated in the case of Mr. _Pope_, 328. - - EPIC _Poetry_, admits new words, i. 73. - its plan how far to be copied by the tragic poet, 137. - in what different from history, ii. 179. - - EPISODE, its character and laws, ii. 185. - - EPISTLE, didactic and elegiac, Intr. to vol. i. 17. - _Didactic_, the offspring of the satyr, ibid. - its three-fold character, 24. - _Elegiac_, the difference of this from the didactic form, 23, 24. - - ERATOSTHENES, his idea of the end of poetry, ii. 4. - - EURIPIDES, his character, i. 116. - his _Medea_ commended, 121. - _Electra_ vindicated, 125. - _Iphigenia_ in _Aulis_ vindicated, 131. - the decorum of his characters, 132. - his _Hippolytus_ led _Seneca_ into mistakes, 150. - an observation on the chorus of that play, 161. - and of the _Medea_, 162. - _Quintilian’s_ character of him, 191. - a circumstance in his _Electra_ compared with _Sophocles_, 259. - his genius resembling _Virgil’s_, ii. 152. - - EXPRESSION, why similar in different writers without imitation, ii. - 204. - - - F. - - FABLE, why essential to both Dramas, ii. 42. - why an unity and even simplicity in the fable, 43. - a good one, why not so essential to comedy as tragedy, 45. - - FARCE, the author’s idea of it, ii. 30. - its laws, 96. - its end and character, how distinguished from those of tragedy and - comedy, 98. - - FEELING, rightly made the test of poetical merit, i. 390. - - FENELON, of the use of old words, i. 91. - - FICTION, _poetical_, when credible, ii. 130. - the soul of poetry, ii. 11. - - FLATTERY of the _Roman Emperors_ excessive, i. 330. - imported from the _Asiatic_ provinces, 331. - - FONTENELLE, M. _de_, his opinion of the origin of comedy, i. 244. - his notion of the drama, ii. 75, &c. - his comedies criticised, 90. - his pastorals censured, ibid. - his opinion of the uses of criticism, 105. - - - G. - - GEDDES, J. Esq., his notion of the most essential principles of - Eloquence, i. 381. - - GELLIUS, _Aulus_, his opinion of _Laberius_, i. 206. - - GENIUS, original, a proof of, in the particularity of description, - ii. 126. - similarity of, in two writers, its effects, 225. - - GEORGIC, the form of this poem, what, ii. 183. - - GREEKS, their most ancient writers falsely supposed to be the best, - i. 347. - - - H. - - HEINSIUS, his idea of true criticism, i. 65. - his explanation of a passage in _Horace_, 148. - thought one part of the Epistle to the _Pisos_ inexplicable, 269. - his transposition of the Epistle censured, 272. - - HIPPOLYTUS, of _Euripides_; an observation on the chorus, i. 161. - of _Seneca_, censured, 149. - - HOBBES, Mr., his censure of the Italian romancers in their unnatural - fiction, ii. 238. - - HOESLINUS, his opinion of the fourth book of the Aeneis, ii. 154. - - HOMER, first invented dramatic imitations, i. 42. - his excellence in painting the _effects_ of the manners, ii. 157. - - HORACE, explained and illustrated, _passim_. - his _Epistle to the Pisos_, a criticism on the Roman drama, Introd. - to vol. i. 15. - the character of his genius, 24. - his _Epistle to Augustus_, an apology for the _Roman_ poets, 325. - design and character of his other critical works, 407. - what may be said for his flattery of _Augustus_, 330. - fond of the old _Latin_ poets, 349. - his knowledge of the world, 379. - - HUME, _David_, Esq., his account of the pathos in tragedy, considered, - i. 118. - his judgment of Fontenelle’s discourse on pastoral poetry, 218. - - HUMOUR, the end of comedy, ii. 57. - two species of humour, 59. - one of these not much known to the ancients, ibid. - neither of them in that perfection on the ancient as modern stage, - 60. - may subsist without ridicule, 62. - yet enlivened by it, 64. - - HYMNS, profane and sacred, why similar, ii. 138. - - - I. and J. - - INVENTION, in poetry, what, ii. 111. - principally displayed in the _manner_ of imitation, 158. - - JESTER, a character by profession amongst the _Greeks_, i. 235. - - IMITATION, primary and secondary, what, ii. 113. - the latter not easily distinguishable from the former, ibid. - shewn at large in respect of the matter of poetry, 115 to 176. - of the _manner_, 176 to 215. - in painting, sooner detected than in poetry, why, 162. - how it may be detected, 208 and _Letter to Mr. Mason_, throughout. - Why no rules delivered for it in the _Discourse on imitation_, 214. - confessed, no certain proof of an inferiority of genius, 215, 216. - accounted for from habit, 217. - from authority, 221. - from judgment, 222. - from similarity of genius, 224. - from the nature of the subject, 226. - its singular merit, 228. - not to be avoided by literate writers without affectation, 234. - - INCOLUMI GRAVITATE, a learned critic’s interpretation of these words, - i. 201. - - INNOVATION, in words, why allowed to old writers, and not to others, - i. 88. - - INTRIGUE, when faulty in comedy, ii. 39. - - JONSON, _Ben_, a criticism on his _Catiline_, i. 135. - his _Every man out of his humour_ censured, ii. 52. - his _Alchymist_ and _Volpone_ criticized, 101. - the character of his genius and comedy, 103. - - IPHIGENIA at AULIS, of Euripides, vindicated, i. 131. - - JULIUS POLLUX, shews the _Tibia_ to have been used in the chorus, - i. 177. - - JUNCTURA CALLIDA, explained, i. 74. - exemplified from Shakespear, 77. - - - K. - - KNOWLEDGE of the world, what, i. 379. - - - L. - - LABERIUS, his mimes, what, i. 205. - - LAMBIN, his comment on _communia_ supported, i. 133. - - LANDSKIP-PAINTING, wherein its beauty consists, i. 71. - - LEX TALIONIS, i. 127. - - LICENCE, of particular seasons in _Greece_ and _Rome_, its effect - on taste, i. 234, 235. - of ancient wit, to what owing, 231. - - LIPSIUS, his extravagant flattery, i. 332. - - LONGINUS, his opinion of imitators without genius, i. 250. - accounts for the decline of the arts, 265. - his opinion of the mutual assistance of art and nature, 273. - his method of criticizing, scientific, 392. - wherein defective, 394. - - LOVE, subjects of, a defect in modern tragedy, why, ii. 34. - passion of, how described by _Terence_ and _Shakespear_, ii. 144. - by _Catullus_ and _Ovid_, 151. - by _Virgil_, 152. - - LUCIAN, the first of the ancients who has left us any considerable - specimens of comic humour, i. 225. - his ΑΛΕΚΤΡΥΩΝ and ΛΑΠΙΘΑΙ, 235. - - - M. - - MACHINERY, essential to the epic poetry, why, ii. 166. - - MALHERBE, M., the character and fortune of his poetry, i. 358. - - MANNERS, why imperfect in both dramas, ii. 60. - description of, whence taken, 129. - - MARKLAND, Mr., an emendation of his confirmed, i. 71. - - MARKS, of _Imitation_, ii. _Letter to Mr. Mason_. - - MASON, his _Elfrida_, commended, i. 148. - - MEDEA, of _Euripides_, commended, i. 121. - its chorus vindicated, 162. - of _Seneca_, censured, 122. - - MENAGE, his judgment of ancient wit, i. 230. - his intended discourse on imitation, 405. - - MENANDER, why most admired after the _Augustan_ age, i. 223. - did not excel in comic humour, 225. - his improvements of comedy, ii. 72. - - MILTON, his angels, whence taken, ii. 116. - his attention to the effects of the manners, 158. - - MIMES, the character of them, i. 205. - defined by _Diomedes_, 206. - - MODERNS, bad imitators of _Plato_, i. 234. - - MOLIERE, his comedies farcical, ii. 100. - his _Misanthrope_ and _Tartuffe_ commended, 101. - - MONEY, love of, the bane of the ancient arts, i. 264. - - MORNING, descriptions of, in the poets compared, ii. 123. - when most original, 126. - - MUSIC, old, why preferred by the _Greek_ writers, i. 181. - why by the _Latin_, 182. - - —— of the stage, its rise and progress at _Rome_, i. 168. - defects of the old music, 182. - - - N. - - NARRATION, oratorial, the credibility of, on what it depends, - ii. 130. n. - - NOVELS, modern, criticized, ii. 18. - - - O. - - ODE, its character, i. 94. - its end, 270. - the poet’s own odes, apologized for, ibid. - - OPINION, popular, of writings, under what circumstances to be - regarded, i. 355. - - D’ORVILLE, Mr., his defence of the double sense of verbs examined, - i. 358. - - OSCI, their language used in the Atellanes, i. 196. - - OTWAY, his _Orphan_ censured, i. 68. - - OVID, the character of his genius, Introd. to i. 23, 24. - a conjecture concerning his _Medea_, i. 143. - makes the satyrs to be a species of the tragic drama, 192. - his account of the mimes, 205. - - - P. - - PAINTING, _Landskip_, wherein its beauty consists, i. 71. - _Portrait_, its excellence, ii. 49. - difference between the _Italian_ and _Flemish_ schools, i. 256. - its moral efficacy, 375. - inferior to poetry, in what, ii. 130. - wherein superior to poetry, 146. - expresses the general character, 160. - hath an advantage in this respect over poetry, 162. - unable to represent moral and œconomical sentiments, 168. - - PASSIONS, the way to paint them naturally, ii. 131. - - PASTORAL poetry, its genius, and fortunes, i. 214. - - PATHOS, the supreme excellence of tragedy, i. 116., 397. - how far to be admitted into comedy, ii. 73. - the pleasure arising from, how to be accounted for, i. 119. - - PATERCULUS, _Velleius_, an admirer of _Menander_, i. 229. - his character of Pomponius, 197. - - PAUSANIAS, describes two pictures of _Polygnotus_, ii. 161. - - PERRON, Cardinal, his manner of criticizing _Ronsard_, i. 394. - - PLATO, his opinion of _Homer’s_ imitations, i. 67. - commends the _Aegyptian_ policy in retaining the songs of - _Isis_, 181. - his _Symposium_ criticized, 235. - his manner of writing, characterised, 255. - his _Phaedrus_ censured, ibid. - his objection to poetry answered, 256. - - PLAUTUS, why _Cicero_ commends his wit, and _Horace_ condemns - it, i. 220. - copied from the middle comedy, 228. - his apology for the _Amphitruo_, why necessary, ii. 42. - preferred to _Terence_ in the _Augustan_ age, i. 228. - - PLOTS, double, in the _Latin_ comedies, admired, why, i. 354. - - PLUTARCH, his admiration of _Menander_, i. 229. - - POETRY, the art of, wherein it consists, ii. 3. - the knowledge of its several species, necessary to the dramatic - poet, i. 94. - more philosophic than history, 257. - tragic, its peculiar excellence, 397. - hath the advantage of all other modes of imitation, in what, - ii. 172. - - —— descriptive, an identity in the subject of, no proof of - imitation, ii. 118. - - —— pure, the proper language of Passion, i. 104. - - POETS, old, much esteemed by _Horace_, i. 349. - their apology, 380. - bad soldiers, 384. - dramatic, a rule for their observance, i. 105. - bad, characterized by _Milton_, 378. - - POLYGNOTUS, his simple manner, why admired, under the emperors, - i. 346. - his expedient to explain the design of his pictures, ii. 161. - - POMPONIUS, in what sense Inventor of the Atellane poem, i. 198. - - POPE, Mr., honoured after death, by whom, i. 329. - his censure of a passage in the _Iliad_, defended, 359. - his judgment of the 6th book of the _Thebaid_, ii. 191. - his censure of the comparisons in _Virgil_ considered, 201. - his opinion of imitation, 234. - - POUSSIN, _Gaspar_, his landskips, in what excellent, i. 70. - - PRODIGIES, inquiry into, the author’s opinion of that discourse, - ii. 206. - an observation quoted from it, ib. - - PULCHRUM, how distinguished from _Dulce_, i. 109. - - - Q. - - QUINTILIAN, his judgment of new words, i. 88, 93. - of _Varius’_ tragedy of Thyestes, 95. - of the pathetic vein of _Euripides_, 116. - of _Ovid’s Medea_, 144. - of the state of Music in his time, 182. - of _Euripides’_ use of sentences, 190. - of the old _Greek_ comic writers, 223. - of _Terence’s_ wit, 225. - and elegance, 226. - of the licentious feasts of _Bacchus_, &c., 235. - of _Aeschylus_, 239. - of the false fire of bad writers, 250. - his opinion of the necessary inferiority of a copy to its - original, how far to be admitted, ii. 114. - his rule for oratorial narration, 130. n. - - - R. - - RANDOLPH, his _Muse’s Looking-glass_, censured, ii. 53. - - RHYME, how far essential to modern poetry, ii. 11. - - RICCOBONI, L., his observation of the difference betwixt the - _Greek_ and _French_ drama, ii. 43. n. - a good critic, though a mere player, ib. - - ROBORTELLUS, his explanation of a passage, inforced, i. 110. - - ROMANS, much addicted to spectacles, i. 389. - - RUISDALE, his waters, i. 71. - - - S. - - SALMASIUS, what he thought of the method of the _Epistle to the - Pisos_, Intr. to vol. i. 25. n. - - SAPERET, the meaning of this word in A. P., i. 169. - - SATYRS, a species of the tragic drama, i. 192. - distinct from the Atellane fables, 195. - - —— of elder _Greece_, what, i. 194. - - —— why _Horace_ enlarges upon them, i. 202, 203. - their double purpose, 200. - style, 210. - measure, 219. - - SCALIGER, J., what he thought of the Epistles of _Horace_, Intr. - to i. 24. n. - of the ancient Mimes, i. 205. - his wrong interpretation of the _Art of Poetry_, to what owing, - Intr. to i. 16. - - SCENE, of comedy, laid at home; of tragedy, abroad; the reason - of this practice, ii. 55. - - SCHOLARS, their pretensions to public honours and preferments, - on what founded, i. 399. - - SCHOLIA, of the _Greeks_, i. 187. - Aristotle’s translated, 189. - - SENECA, the philosopher, his account of the mimes of _Laberius_, - i. 206. - - —— his _Medea_, censured, i. 121, 143. - his _Hippolytus_ censured, 149. - his Aphorisms quaint, 191. - - SENTENCES, why so frequent in the _Greek_ writers, i. 185. - - SENTIMENTS, religious, moral, and œconomical, why the descriptions - of, similar in all poets, ii. 136, 145. - - SERMO, the meaning of this word, i. 327. - - SHAFTESBURY, E., of, his opinion of _Homer’s_ imitations, i. 67. - of the writings of _Plato_, 252. - his Platonic manner liable to censure, 253. - - SHAKESPEAR, excels in the _callida junctura_, i. 77. - how he characterizes his clowns, 200. - his want of a learned education, 248. - advantages of it, ib. - his excellence in drawing characters, wherein it consists, ii. 53. - his power in painting the passion of grief, 133. - his description of œconomical sentiments, original, 144. - - STATIUS, his character, ii. 190. - his book of games criticized, 191. - - SHIRLEY, a fine passage from one of his plays, i. 86. - - SIDNEY, Sir Philip, his character, i. 116. - his encomium on the pathos of tragedy, 397. - - SOCRATES, his office in the symposia of _Xenophon_ and _Plato_, i. - 236. n. - his judgment of moral paintings, 375. - - SOPHOCLES, the chorus of his _Antigone_ defended, i. 158, 163. n. - a satyric tragedy ascribed to him, 193. - a circumstance in his _Electra_ compared with _Euripides_, 259. - - STEPHENS, H., his observations on the refinement of the _French_ - language, i. 90. - - STRABO, a passage from him to prove the Tuscan language used in - the Atellanes, i. 198. - - STYLE, of poetry, defined, ii. 10. - - SUBJECTS, public, how to acquire a property in them, i. 219. - domestic, why fittest for the stage, 247. - real, succeed best in tragedy; feigned, in comedy, why, ii. 46. - - - T. - - TACITUS, a bold expression of his, justified, i. 103. - - TELEMAQUE, why no new similes in this work, ii. 203. - - TELEPHUS, a tragedy of _Euripides_, i. 107. - another tragedy of that name glanced at by _Horace_, 108. - - TEMPE, _Aelian’s_ description of, translated, ii. 119. - - TEMPLE, Sir William, his sentiments on the passion of avarice, - i. 265. - his notion of religious description in modern poets, ii. 166. - - TERENCE, why his plays ill received, i. 224. - fell short of _Menander_ in the elegance of his expression, 225. - a remarkable instance of humour in the Hecyra, ii. 62. - the characteristic of his comedies, his _Hecyra_ vindicated, - i. 354, 355. - a passage in his _Andrian_ compared with one in _Shakespear’s - Twelfth-Night_, ii. 144. - his opinion of the necessary uniformity of moral description, 194. - - TRAGEDY, the Author’s idea of, ii. 30. - conclusions, concerning its nature, from this idea, 31. - attributes, common to it and comedy, 42. - attributes peculiar to it, 45. - - —— admits pure poetry, i. 101. - why its pathos pleases, 119. - on low life, censured, ii. 84. - a modern refinement, 86. - accounted for, 87. - - TRAPP, Dr., his interpretation of _communia_, i. 134. - his judgment of the chorus, 146. - - TRUTH IN POETRY, what, i. 255. - may be followed too closely in works of imitation, ib. - - - U. - - VARRO, _M. Terentius_, assigns the distinct merit of _Cæcilius_ - and _Terence_, i. 353. - - VATRY, Abbé, his defence of the ancient chorus, i. 148. - - VICTORIUS, of the satyric Metre, i. 219. - - VIRGIL, his method in conducting the _Aeneis_ justified, i. 139. - his address in his flattery of _Augustus_, 332. - his introduction to the third _Georgic_ explained, 333. - three verses in the same, spurious, 341. n. - his moral character, vindicated, 403. - his poetical, vol. ii. _Discourse on poetical imitation_, throughout; - his book of _games_ defended from the charge of plagiarism, 187. - why few comparisons in his works, but what are to be found - in _Homer_, 201. - - UNCTI, the meaning of, in the Epistle to _Augustus_, i. 349. - - VOLTAIRE, _M. de_, his judgment of machinery, what, ii. 166. n. - - UPTON, Mr., his criticism on the satyrs, examined, i. 202. - - - W. - - WARBURTON, Mr., his edition of Mr. _Pope_; Intr. to i. 26. - and of Shakespear, Ded. to Epistle to Augustus, 287. and 80. - his judgment of the intricacy of the comic plot, ii. 39. - of the scene of the drama, 55. - of comic humour, 61. - of the double sense in writing, i. 365. - of the similarity in religious rites, ii. 165. - - WHOLE, its beauty consists not in the accurate finishing, but in - the elegant disposition, of the parts, i. 69. - - WIT, ancient, licentious, i. 230. - why, 231. - - WORDS, old ones, their energy, how revived, i. 89. - - - X. - - XENOPHON, an elegant inaccuracy in a speech in the _Cyropaedia_, - i. 99. n. - his fine narration of a circumstance in the story of _Panthea_, - unsuited to the stage, 143. - his symposium explained, 235. n. - a conversation on painting from the _Memorabilia_, translated, - 375. - - - Z. - - ZEUXIS, his pictures, in what repute under the Emperors, i. 346. - - -THE END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. - - Nichols and Son, Printers, - Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, London. - - - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Empedocles. See Plutarch, vol. I. p. 15. Par. 1624. - -[2] See STRABO, l. i. p. 15. Par. 1620. - -[3] ADV. OF LEARNING, vol. i, p. 50. Dr. Birch’s Ed. 1765. - -[4] Aristotle was of the same mind, as appears from his definition of -comedy, which, says he, is ΜΙΜΗΣΙΣ ΦΑΥΛΟΤΕΡΩΝ; [κ. ε.] that is, _the -imitation of characters_, 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 ACTIONS. 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 _persons_, not _actions_, 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. - -[5] The neglect of this is one of the greatest defects in the _modern -drama_; 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 _History of the Italian -Theatre_ (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 _tragedy_. “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.” [_Hist. -du Theatre Italian_, par LOUIS RICCOBONI, p. 293. _Paris_ 1728.] - -[6] _Non hominem ex ære fecit, sed iracundiam._ Plin. xxxiv. 8. - -[7] P. ALVAREZ SEMEDO, speaking of their poetry, says, “Le plus grand -advantage et la plus grande utilité qu’en ont tiré les CHINOIS, est -cette grande modestie et retenuë incomparable, qui se voit en leurs -ecrits, _n’ayant pas meme une lettre en tous leurs livres, ni en toutes -leurs ecritures, pour exprimer les parties honteuses de la nature_.” -[HIST. UNIV. DE LA CHINE, p. 82, à LYON 1667. 4^{to}.] - -[8] LE RIDICULE EST CE QU’IL Y A DE PLUS ESSENTIEL A LA COMEDIE. [P. -RAPIN, REFLEX. SUR LA POES. p. 154. PARIS 1684.] - -[9] 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 _species of_ POETRY. They were -occasioned, he says, by the different and even opposite _tempers -and dispositions of men: those of a loftier spirit delighting in -the encomiastic poetry, while the humbler sort betook themselves to -satire_. But this, also, is the just account of the rise and character -of the different _species of the_ DRAMA. For they grew up, he tells -us in this very chapter, from the DITHYRAMBIC, and PHALLIC songs. And -who were the _men_, who chaunted _these_, but the ΣΕΜΝΟΤΕΡΟΙ, and -ΕΥΤΕΛΕΣΤΕΡΟΙ, before-mentioned? And how were they _employed_ in them, -_but the former, in hymning the praises of Bacchus; the latter, in -dealing about obscene jokes and taunting invectives on each other_? So -that the _characters_ of the men, and their _subjects_, being exactly -the same in _both_, what is said of the _one_ is equally applicable -to the _other_. It was proper to observe this, or the reader might, -perhaps, object to the use made of this passage, _here_, as well as -_above_, where it is brought to illustrate Aristotle’s notion of the -_natures_ of the tragic and comic poetry. - -[10] _Pref. generale_, tom. vii. Par. 1751. - -[11] “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. - -[12] “Que nous sommes en droit d’examiner si, en fait de Theatre, nous -n’aurions pas quelquefois des _habitudes_ au lieu de _regles_, car les -regles ne peuvent l’être qu’ après avoir subi les rigueurs du tribunal -de la raison.” p. 37. - -[13] Οὐ πᾶσαν δεῖ ζητεῖν ἡδονὴν ἀπὸ τραγῳδίας, ἀλλὰ τὴν οἰκείαν. -Ποιητ. κ. ιδʹ. - -[14] _Reflex. sur la Poes._ p. 132. - -[15] “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.” - M. DE FONTENELLE. - -[16] Μελαίνει τε, says Dionysius of Halicarnassus, speaking of his -figurative manner, τὸ σαφὲς καὶ ζόφῳ ποιεῖ παραπλήσιον· [T. ii. p. 204. -_Ed. Hudson_.] - -[17] PLATO DE REPUB. lib. x. - -[18] Spectator, No. 56. - -[19] QUINCTIL. lib. x. c. 11. - -[20] Botanists give it the name of _oriental bind weed_. 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. - -[21] ARIST. RHET. lib. iii. c. xi. - -[22] Ὅταν ἃ λέγῃς, ὑπ’ ἐνθουσιασμοῦ καὶ πάθους βλέπειν δοκῇς, καὶ -ὑπ’ ὄψιν τιθῇς ἀκούουσιν. [ΠΕΡ. ΥΨ. § xv.] - -[23] What is here said of _poetical fiction_, Quinctilian hath applied -to _oratorial narration_; the credibility of which will depend on the -observance of this rule. _Credibilis erit narratio antè omnia, si priùs -consuluerimus nostrum_ ANIMUM, _nequid naturae dicamus adversum_. [L. -iv. 2.] - -[24] 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 _think, opine, reason, hope, fear_, &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.” - LEVIATHAN, _Introd. p. 2. fol. London_. 1651. - -[25] M. DE LA BRUYERE, Tom. 1. p. 91. Amst. 1701. - -[26] Dr. Duport. - -[27] JEREMIAS HOELSLINUS, _Prolegom. ad. Apollon. Rhodium_. - -[28] DIV. LEG. vol. ii. par. 1. p. 355. ed. 1741. - -[29] Sir WILLIAM TEMPLE’S _Works_, vol. i. p. 245. ed. 1740. fol. - -[30] “_La machine du merveilleux_, _l’intervention d’un pouvoir -céleste_, la nature des episodes, tout ce qui _depend de la tyrannie de -la coutume_, & de cet instinct qui on nomme goût; voilà sur quoi il y a -mille opinions, & _point de régles générales_.” M. DE VOLTAIRE, _Essaye -sur la poësie Epique_, chap. i. - -[31] DE AUGM. SCIENT. lib. ii. c. 13. - -[32] _A Critical and Philosophical Inquiry into the causes of prodigies -and miracles_, &c. p. 130. - -[33] Letter to Mr. MASON. - -[34] Mr. Addison. - -[35] _Somn. Scip._ ii. c. 10. - -[36] PLATO, _Alcibiad._ - -[37] _Reflex. sur la Poës. et sur la Peint._ tom. ii. 80. Par. 1746. - -[38] _Inquiry into the L. and W. of Homer_, p. 174. - -[39] MACROBIUS, V. _Saturnal._ - -[40] _Inquiry into L. &c. of Homer_, p. 319. - -[41] _Mem. de l’Acad. des Inscript. &c._ tom. vi. p. 445. - -[42] Mr. Pope’s Preface to his Works. - -[43] Pref. to GONDIBERT, p. 2. Lond. 1651, 4^{to}. - -[44] Ibid. p. 30. - -[45] Pref. to GONDIBERT, p. 3. Lond. 1651, 4^{to}. - -[46] Answer to the Preface, p. 81. - -[47] P. 214. - - - - -[Transcriber’s Note: - -All instances of a stigma (ϛ) in words have been changed to sigma tau -(στ). - -The original text had an alternative pi (ϖ) at the start of a word. -These have been changed to the standard pi (π). - -Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.] - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Works of Richard Hurd, D. D., -Lord Bishop of Worcester. Volume II. - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORKS OF RICHARD HURD, VOL. II *** - -***** This file should be named 53012-0.txt or 53012-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/1/53012/ - -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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - 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. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/53012-0.zip b/old/53012-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 85d418a..0000000 --- a/old/53012-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53012-h.zip b/old/53012-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 7f42a5e..0000000 --- a/old/53012-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53012-h/53012-h.htm b/old/53012-h/53012-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 8a9a016..0000000 --- a/old/53012-h/53012-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11599 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Works of Richard Hurd, Volume 2 (of 8), by Richard Hurd.--a Project Gutenberg eBook - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -a { - text-decoration: none} - -small { - font-style: normal; - font-size: small} - -#coverpage { - margin: 2em auto} - -body { - padding: 4px; - margin: auto 10%} - -p { - text-align: justify} - -sup { - line-height: .1em; - font-size: small} - -.i2 { - padding-left: 1em} - -.i4 { - padding-left: 2em} - -.i6 { - padding-left: 3em} - -.i8 { - padding-left: 4em} - -.i10 { - padding-left: 5em} - -.small { - font-size: small} - -.medium { - font-size: medium} - -.large { - font-size: large} - -.x-large { - font-size: x-large} - -h1, h2, .ph1 { - page-break-before: always} - -h1, h2, h3 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; - margin: 2em auto 1em auto} - -.ph1 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; - font-weight: bold; - font-size: xx-large; - margin: 2em auto 1em auto} - -.author { - display: block; - text-align: right; - margin: auto 10px} - -.index { - list-style: none} - -.ifrst { - text-align: center; - font-weight: bold; - margin: 2em auto auto auto} - -.indx { - font-weight: bold; - margin-left: 0em; - padding-left: 3em; - text-indent: -3em} - -.isub1 { - margin-left: 1em; - padding-left: 3em; - text-indent: -3em} - -.isub2 { - margin-left: 2em; - padding-left: 3em; - text-indent: -3em} - -/* Tables */ -.table { - display: table; - margin: auto} - -table { - border-collapse: collapse; - margin: 2em auto} - -th { - padding-top: 10px} - -td { - vertical-align: top; - text-indent: -2em; - padding-left: 2em} - -.tdr { - text-indent: 0; - padding-left: .5em; - text-align: right} - -.tdrb { - text-indent: 0; - padding-left: 1em; - vertical-align: bottom; - 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - 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. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/53012-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/53012-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3653e5e..0000000 --- a/old/53012-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53012-h/images/titlepage.png b/old/53012-h/images/titlepage.png Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 7395d3c..0000000 --- a/old/53012-h/images/titlepage.png +++ /dev/null |
