Chapter 4

A glass thatfeatur’dthem.Cymb. A.I.S. 1.——Simon’s weepingDidscandalmany a holy tear—A.III.S. 4.Great griefs, I see,medicinethe less.A.IV.S. 5.——that kissI carried from thee, Dear; and my true lipHathvirgin’dit e’er since—Cor. A.V.S. 3.

A glass thatfeatur’dthem.Cymb. A.I.S. 1.

——Simon’s weepingDidscandalmany a holy tear—A.III.S. 4.

Great griefs, I see,medicinethe less.A.IV.S. 5.

——that kissI carried from thee, Dear; and my true lipHathvirgin’dit e’er since—Cor. A.V.S. 3.

Orverbsintosubstantives;

——Then beganA stop i’ th’ chaser, aRetire—Cymb. A.V.S. 2.——takeNo stricterrenderof me—A.V.S. 3.——handkerchiefStill waving, as the fits andstirsof’s mindCould best express—Cymb. A.I.S. 5.——Sextus PompeiusHath giv’n thedareto Cæsar—A. C. A.I.S. 3.

——Then beganA stop i’ th’ chaser, aRetire—Cymb. A.V.S. 2.

——takeNo stricterrenderof me—A.V.S. 3.

——handkerchiefStill waving, as the fits andstirsof’s mindCould best express—Cymb. A.I.S. 5.

——Sextus PompeiusHath giv’n thedareto Cæsar—A. C. A.I.S. 3.

4. By usingactiveverbs neutrally,

——He hath fought to-dayAs if a god in hate of mankind hadDestroy’d, in such a shape—A. C. A.IV.S. 6.It is the bloody business, thatinformsThus to mine eyes—Macb. A.II.S. 2.

——He hath fought to-dayAs if a god in hate of mankind hadDestroy’d, in such a shape—A. C. A.IV.S. 6.

It is the bloody business, thatinformsThus to mine eyes—Macb. A.II.S. 2.

Andneutralverbs actively,

——never manSigh’d truer breath; but that I see thee here,Thou noble thing! moredancesmy rapt heartThan when I first my wedded mistress sawBestride my threshold—Cor. A.IV.S. 4.——like smiling Cupids,With divers-colour’d fans, whose wind did seemToglowthe delicate cheeks which they did cool—A. C. A.II.S. 3.

——never manSigh’d truer breath; but that I see thee here,Thou noble thing! moredancesmy rapt heartThan when I first my wedded mistress sawBestride my threshold—Cor. A.IV.S. 4.

——like smiling Cupids,With divers-colour’d fans, whose wind did seemToglowthe delicate cheeks which they did cool—A. C. A.II.S. 3.

5. By convertingAdjectivesinto Substantives.

——I do not thinkSo fair anoutwardand such stuff withinEndows a man but him—Cymb. A.I.S. 1.

6. By convertingParticiplesinto Substantives.

He would have well become this place, and grac’dThethankingsof a King—Cymb. A.V.S. 5.The herbs, that have in them cold dew o’ th’ night,Arestrewingsfitt’st for Graves—A.IV.S. 5.——“Then was I as a treeWhose boughs did bend with fruit. But, in one night,A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,Shook down my mellowhangings——Cymb. A.III.S. 3.——Comes in my father,And like the tyrannousbreathingof the NorthShakes all our Buds from blowing——Cymb. A.I.S. 5.

He would have well become this place, and grac’dThethankingsof a King—Cymb. A.V.S. 5.

The herbs, that have in them cold dew o’ th’ night,Arestrewingsfitt’st for Graves—A.IV.S. 5.

——“Then was I as a treeWhose boughs did bend with fruit. But, in one night,A storm, or robbery, call it what you will,Shook down my mellowhangings——Cymb. A.III.S. 3.

——Comes in my father,And like the tyrannousbreathingof the NorthShakes all our Buds from blowing——Cymb. A.I.S. 5.

Which last instance I the rather give for the sake of proposing an emendation, which I think restores this fine passage to its Integrity. Before the late edition of Shakespear it stood thus,

And like the tyrannous breathing of the NorthShakes all our Buds fromgrowing—

But the sagacious Editor saw that this reading was corrupt, and therefore altered the last word,growing, for unanswerable reasons, intoblowing. See Mr. W’s note upon the place. This slight change gives propriety and beauty to the passage, which before had no sort of meaning. Yet still all is not quite right. For, as the great Critic himself observes, “Breathingis not a very proper word toexpress the rage and bluster of the north wind.” Besides, one does not see how theshakingof these Buds is properly assign’d as the cause of their not blowing. The wind might shake off theblossomsof a fruit tree, i. e. the Buds when they werefull-blown; but so long as the blossom lies folded up in the Bud, it seems secure from shaking. At least theshakingis not theimmediatecause of the effect, spoken of; it is simply thecoldof the north-wind that closes the Bud and keeps it fromblowing. I am therefore tempted to propose another alteration of the text, and to read thus,

And like the tyrannous Breathing of the NorthShutsall our Buds from blowing—

If this correction be allowed, every thing is perfectly right. It is properly thebreathing, the cold breath of the North, that shuts up the Buds when they are on the point of blowing. Whence the epithettyrannouswill be understood not as implying the idea ofblust’ring(an idea indeed necessary if we retain the wordshakes) but simply ofcruel, thetyrannyof this wind consisting in imprisoning the flower in its Bud and denying it the liberty of coming out intoBlossom. The application too of this comparison, which required the change ofgrowingintoblowing, seems also to require the present alteration ofshakes. For there was no manner of violence inthe father’scoming in upon the lovers. All the effect was, that his presencerestrainedthem from that interchange of tender words, which was going to take place between them.

Thus far I had written in the last edition of these notes, and I, now, see no cause to doubt thegeneraltruth and propriety of this emendation. Only it occurs to me that, instead ofSHUTS, the poet’s own word might, perhaps, beCHECKS; as not only being more like insoundto the wordshakes, but as coming nearer to thetracesof the Letters. Besides,CHECKSgives the precise idea we should naturally look for, whether we regard the integrity of thefigure—tyrannous—checks—, or thethingillustrated by it, viz. the abrupt coming in of the father, which was properly acheckupon the lovers. Lastly, the expression is mended by this reading; for though we may be allowed to sayshuts from blowing, yetchecks from blowing, is easier and better English.

But to return to other Instances of the Poet’s artifice in the management ofknownwords. An apparent Novelty is sometimes effected

7. By turningParticiplesinto Adverbs—

——tremblinglyshe stoodAnd on the sudden dropt—A. C. A.V.S. 5.

(One remembers the fine use Mr. Pope has made of this word in,

Or touch, iftremblinglyalive all o’er—)——But his flaw’d heart,Alack, too weak the conflict to support,’Twixt two extremes of Passion, joy and grief,Burstsmilingly—Lear, A.V.S. 8.

Or touch, iftremblinglyalive all o’er—)

——But his flaw’d heart,Alack, too weak the conflict to support,’Twixt two extremes of Passion, joy and grief,Burstsmilingly—Lear, A.V.S. 8.

8. Byfigurative terms; i. e. by such terms as though common in theplain, are unusual in the figurative application.

——This common BodyLike to a vagabond flag, upon the stream,Goes to, and back,lacquyingthe varying tide.A. C. A.I.S. 5.——When snow the Pasturesheets.ib

——This common BodyLike to a vagabond flag, upon the stream,Goes to, and back,lacquyingthe varying tide.A. C. A.I.S. 5.

——When snow the Pasturesheets.ib

To this head may be referred those innumerable terms in Shakespear which surprize us by their novelty; and which surprize us generally, on account of his preferring thespecificidea to thegeneralin thesubjectsof his Metaphors and thecircumstancesof his Description; an excellence in poetical expression which cannot be sufficiently studied. The examples are too frequent, and the thing itself too well understood, to make it necessary to enlarge on this article.

9. Byplain words, i. e. such as are common in the figurative, uncommon in the literal acceptation.

Disastersvail’d the Sun—Ham. A.I.S. 1.

See the note on the place.

Th’extravagantand erring spirit hiesTo his confine—ib.——Can’t such things beAndovercomeus, like a Summer’s cloud,Without our special wonder?—Macb. A.III.S. 5.

Th’extravagantand erring spirit hiesTo his confine—ib.

——Can’t such things beAndovercomeus, like a Summer’s cloud,Without our special wonder?—Macb. A.III.S. 5.

10. Bytransposition of words—unauthoriz’d use of terms—and ungrammatical construction. Instances in all his plays,passim.

11. Byforeign idioms. ’Tis true these are not frequent in Shakespear. Yet some Latinisms and e’en Grecisms we have. As

Quenched of hope—Cymb. A. v. S. 5.

And the like. But, which is more remarkable and served his purpose just as well, the writers of that time had solatiniz’dthe English language; that the pureEnglishIdiom, which Shakespear generally follows, has all the air ofnoveltywhich other writers are used to affect by a foreign phraseology.

The Reader sees, it were easy to extend this list of Shakespear’s arts in theCallida juncturamuch farther. But I intended only a specimen of them; so much as might serve to illustrate the rule of Horace.

It is enough, that we have now a perfect apprehension of what is meant byCallida Junctura; And that it is, in effect, but another word forLicentious Expression: The use of which is, as Quintilian well expresses it, “Ut quotidiani et semper eodem modo formati sermonis Fastidium levet, et nos à vulgari dicendi genere defendat.” In short, the articles, here enumerated, are but so many ways of departing from the usual and simpler forms of speech, without neglecting too much the grace ofease and perspicuity; In which well-tempered licence one of the greatest charms of all poetry, but especially of Shakespear’s poetry, consists. Not that He was always and every where so happy, as in the instances given above. His expression sometimes, and by the very means, here exemplified, becomeshard,obscure, andunnatural. This is the extreme on the other side. But in general, we may say, that He hath either followed the direction of Horace very ably, or hath hit upon his Rule very happily.

We are not perhaps to expect the same ability, or good fortune from others.Noveltyis a charm which nothing can excuse the want of, in works of entertainment. And the necessity of preventing the tedium arising fromhacknied expressionis so instant, that those, who are neither capable of prescribing to themselves this Rule of thecallida Junctura, or of following it when prescribed by others, are yet inclined to ape it by some spurious contrivance; which being slight in itself will soon become liable to excess, and ridiculous by its absurdity. I have a remarkable instance in view, with which the reader will not be displeased that I conclude this long note.

About the middle of the 17th century one of the most common of these mimic efforts was the endless multiplication ofEpithets; which soon made their poetry at once both stiff and nerveless. When frequent and excessive use had made this expedient ridiculous as well as cheap, they tried another, it’svery oppositethe rejection of all Epithets, and so of languid poetry, made rigid Prose. This too had it’s day. A dramatic Poet of that time has exposed these opposite follies with much humour. A character of sense and pleasantry is made to interrogate a Poetaster in the following manner.

GOLDSWORTH.MasterCaperwit, before you read, pray tell me,Have your verses anyAdjectives?CAPERWIT.Adjectives! Would you have a poem withoutAdjectives? They are the flow’rs, the grace of all our language;A well-chosen Epithete doth give new SouleTo fainting Poesie; and makes everye verseA Bribe. With Adjectives we baite our lines,When we do fish for Gentlewomen’s loves,And with their sweetness catch the nibbling earOf amorous Ladies: With the music ofThese ravishing Nouns, we charm the silken tribe,And make the Gallant melt with apprehensionOf the rare word: I will maintain ’t (againstA bundle of Grammarians) in PoetryThe Substantive itself cannot subsistWithout an Adjective.GOLDSWORTH.But for all that,These words would sound more full, methinks, that are notSo larded; and, if I might counsel you,You should compose a Sonnet, cleane without them.A row of statelySubstantiveswould march,Like Switzers, and bear all the field before them;Carry their weight, shew fair, likeDeedsenroll’d;NotWrits, that are first made, and after fill’d:Thence first came up the title ofBlankverse.You know, Sir, whatBlanksignifies? When the SenseFirst fram’d, is tied with Adjectives, like Points,And could not hold together, without wedges.Hang ’t, ’tis Pedanticke, vulgar Poetry.Let children, when they versifye, sticke hereAnd there these pidling words, for want of matter;Poetswrite masculine numbers.CAPERWIT.You have given me a pretty hint: ’TisNEW.I will bestow these verses on my footman;They’ll serve a Chambermaid—Shirley’sChances, or Love in a Maze.

GOLDSWORTH.

MasterCaperwit, before you read, pray tell me,Have your verses anyAdjectives?

CAPERWIT.

Adjectives! Would you have a poem withoutAdjectives? They are the flow’rs, the grace of all our language;A well-chosen Epithete doth give new SouleTo fainting Poesie; and makes everye verseA Bribe. With Adjectives we baite our lines,When we do fish for Gentlewomen’s loves,And with their sweetness catch the nibbling earOf amorous Ladies: With the music ofThese ravishing Nouns, we charm the silken tribe,And make the Gallant melt with apprehensionOf the rare word: I will maintain ’t (againstA bundle of Grammarians) in PoetryThe Substantive itself cannot subsistWithout an Adjective.

GOLDSWORTH.

But for all that,These words would sound more full, methinks, that are notSo larded; and, if I might counsel you,You should compose a Sonnet, cleane without them.A row of statelySubstantiveswould march,Like Switzers, and bear all the field before them;Carry their weight, shew fair, likeDeedsenroll’d;NotWrits, that are first made, and after fill’d:Thence first came up the title ofBlankverse.You know, Sir, whatBlanksignifies? When the SenseFirst fram’d, is tied with Adjectives, like Points,And could not hold together, without wedges.Hang ’t, ’tis Pedanticke, vulgar Poetry.Let children, when they versifye, sticke hereAnd there these pidling words, for want of matter;Poetswrite masculine numbers.

CAPERWIT.

You have given me a pretty hint: ’TisNEW.I will bestow these verses on my footman;They’ll serve a Chambermaid—Shirley’sChances, or Love in a Maze.

54.Cæcilio Plautoque dabit Romanus, ademptum Virgilio Varioque?] The question is but reasonable. Yet the answer will not be to the satisfaction of him that puts it. This humour, we may observe, holds here in England, as it did formerly at Rome; and will, I suppose, hold every-where, under the same circumstances. Cæcilius and Plautus were allowed tocoin, but not Virgil and Varius. The same indulgence our authors had at the restoration of letters; butit is denied to our present writers. The reason is plainly this. While arts are refining or reviving, the greater part are forced, andallare content to beLearners. When they are grown to their usual height, all affect to beTeachers. With this affectation, a certain envy, as the poet observes,

——cur adquirere pauca,Si possum, invideor—

insinuates itself; which is for restraining the privileges of writers, to all of whom every reader is now become a Rival. Whereas men, under the first character ofLearners, are glad to encourage every thing that makes for their instruction.

But whatever offence may be taken at this practice, good writers, as they safely may, shoulddareto venture upon it. A perfect language is a chimæra. In every state of it there will frequently be occasion, sometimes a necessity, to hazard anewword. And let not a great genius be discouraged, by the fastidious delicacy of his age, from a sober use of this privilege. Let him, as the poet directs,

Commandoldwords, that long have slept, to wake,Words, that wiseBacon, or braveRaleghspake;Or bid thenewbe English ages hence,ForUsewill father what’s begot bySense.

This too was the constant language of ancient criticism. “Audendum tamen; namque, ut ait Cicero, etiam quæ primò dura visa sunt, usu molliuntur,”Quintil.l. i. c. v.

70.Multa renascentur, quae jam cecidere.] Thisrevivalofoldwords is one of thosenicetiesin composition, not to be attempted by any but great masters. It may be done two ways, 1. by restoring such terms, as are grown entirely obsolete; or, 2. by selecting out of those, which have still a currency, and are not quite laid aside, such as are most forcible and expressive. For so I understand a passage in Cicero, who urges this double use of old words, as an argument, to his orator, for the diligent study of the old Latin writers. His words are these:Loquendi elegantia, quamquam expolitur scientiâ literarum, tamen augetur legendis oratoribus [veteribus] et poetis: sunt enim illi veteres, qui ornare nondum poterant ea, quae dicebant, omnes prope præclare locuti—Neque tamen erit utendum verbis iis, quibus jam consuetudo nostra non utitur, nisi quando ornandi causâ, parcè, quod ostendam; sed usitatis ita poterit uti, lectissimis ut utatur is, qui in veteribus erit scriptis studiosè et multum volutatus.[De Orat. l. iii. c. x.] Thesechoicewords amongst such as are still inuse, I take to be those which are employed by the old writers in some peculiarly strong and energetic sense, yet so as with advantage to be copied by the moderns, without appearing barbarous or affected. [SeeHor.lib. ii. ep. ii. v. 115.] And the reason, by the way, of our finding such words in the old writers of every language, may be this. When ideas are new to us, they strike us most forcibly; and we endeavour to express, not oursenseonly, but oursensations, in the terms we use to explain them. The passion of wonder, which Philosophy would cure us of, is of singular use in raising the conception, and strengthening the expression of poets. And such is always the condition of old writers, when the arts are reviving, or but beginning to refine. The other use of old terms,i. e.when becomeobsolete, he says, must be madeparcè, more sparingly. The contrary would, in oratory, be insufferable affectation. The rule holds in poetry, but with greater latitude; for, as he observes in another place, and the reason of the thing speaks,hæc sunt Poetarum licentiæ liberiora. [De Or. iii. 38.] But the elegance of the style, we are told, is increased both ways. The reason is, according to Quinctilian (who was perfectly of Cicero’s mind in this matter. See l. x. c. i.)Verba à vetustate repetita afferunt orationi majestatem aliquam non sine delectatione; nam et auctoritatem antiquitatis habent; et, quia intermissa sunt, gratiam novitati similem parant.[Lib. i. c. vi. sub fin.] But this is not all: The riches of a language are actually increased by retaining its old words; and besides, they have often a greater real weight and dignity, than those of a more fashionable cast, which succeed to them. This needs no proof to such as are versed in the earlier writings inanylanguage. A very capable judge hath observed it in regard of the most admiredmodernone:Nous avons tellement laissé ce qui étoit au viel françois,que nous avons laissé quant et quant la plus part de ce qu’il avoit de bon.[Trait. préparatif à l’ Apol. pour Herod. l. i. c. xxviii.] Or, if the reader requires a more decisive testimony, let him take it in the words of that curious speaker, Fenelon.Nôtre langue manque d’un grand nombre de mots et de phrases. Il me semble même qu’on l’a genée et appauvrie depuis environ cent ans en voulant la purifier. Il est vrai qu’elle étoit encore un peu informe et trop verbeuse. Mais le vieux language se fait regretter, quand nous le retrouvons dansMarot,dansAmiot,dans le Cardinal d’Ossat,dans les ouvrages les plus enjoues, et dans les plus serieux. Il y avoit je ne scai quoi de court, de näif, de vif et de passioné.[Reflex. sur la Rhetorique, Amst. 1733. p. 4.] From these testimonies we learn the extreme value, which these masters of composition set upon their old writers; and as the reason of the thing justifies their opinions, we may further see the important use of some late attempts to restore a better knowledge of ourown. Which I observe with pleasure, as the growing prevalency of a very different humour, first catched, as it should seem, from our commerce with the French models, and countenanced by the too scrupulous delicacy of some good writers amongst ourselves, had gone far towards unnerving the noblest modern language, and effeminating the public taste. This was not a little forwarded by, what generally makes its appearance at the same time, a kind of feminine curiosity in the choice of words; cautiouslyavoiding and reprobating all such (which were not seldom the most expressive) as had been prophaned by a too vulgar use, or had suffered the touch of some other accidental taint. This ran us into periphrases and general expression; the peculiar bane of every polished language. Whereas the rhetorician’s judgment here again should direct us:Omnia verba (exceptis paucis parum verecundis) sunt alicubi optima; nam et humilibus interim et vulgaribus est opus, et quæ cultiore in parte videntur sordida, ubi res poscit, propriè dicuntur. Which seems borrowed from Dionysius of Halicarnassus [περ. συνθεσ. § xii.] οὐδὲν οὕτω ταπεινὸν, ἢ ῥυπαρὸν, ἢ μιαρὸν, ἢ ἄλλην τινὰ δυσχέρειαν ἔχον ἔσεσθαί φημι λόγου μόριον, ᾧ σημαίνεταί τι σῶμα ἢ πρᾶγμα, ὃ μηδεμίαν ἕξει χῶραν ἐπιτηδείαν ἐν λόγοις. However those two causes, “The rejection of old words, as barbarous, and of many modern ones, as unpolite,” had so exhausted the strength and stores of our language, that, as I observed, it was high time for some master-hand to interpose and send us for supplies to our old poets; which, there is the highest authority for saying, no one ever despised, but for a reason, not very consistent with his credit to avow:rudem enim esse omnino in nostris poëtis aut inertissimæ segnitiæ est aut fastidii delicatissimi. [Cic. de fin. l. i. c. ii.]

72.—SI VOLET USUS, &c.]Consuetudo certissima loquendi magistra; utendumque planè sermone,ut nummo, qui publica forma est.[Quinctil. l. i. c. vi.] imitated from Horace. InLuciantoo, we find it one of the charges brought against the Pedant,Lexiphanes, thathe clipped the standardCoinof the Greek language—σπουδὴν ποιούμενος ὡς δή τι μέγα ὂν, εἴτι ξενίζοι καὶ τὸ καθεστηκὸς ΝΟΜΙΣΜΑ τῆς φωνῆς παρακόπτοι (c. 20.)

73.Res gestae, etc.] The purport of these lines [from v. 73 to 86] and their connexion with what follows, hath not been fully seen. They would express this general proposition, “That the several kinds of poetry essentially differ from each other, as may be gathered, not solely from their different subjects, but their different measures; which good sense, and an attention to the peculiar natures of each, instructed the great inventors and masters of them to employ.” The use made of this proposition is to infer, “that therefore the like attention should be had to the different species of thesame kindof poetry [v. 89, &c.] as in the case of tragedy and comedy (to which the application is made) whose peculiar differences and correspondencies, as resulting from the natures of each, should, in agreement to the universal law ofdecorum, be exactly known and diligently observed by the poet.”

Singula quæque locum teneant sortita decentem.v. 92.

But, there is a further propriety in this enumerationof the several kinds of poetry, as addressed to the dramatic writer. He is not only to study, for the purposes here explained, the characteristic differences of either species of the drama: He must further be knowing in the otherkindsof poetry, so as to be able, as the nature of his work shall demand, to adopt the genius of each, in its turn, and to transfer the graces of universal poetry into the drama. Thus, to follow the division here laid down, there will sometimes be occasion for the pomp and highcoloringof theEPICnarration; sometimes for the plaintive softness and passionate inconnexion of theELEGY: and the chorus, if characterized in the ancient manner, must catch the fiery, inraptured spirit of theODE.

Descriptas servare vices operumque colores,Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroque,POETAsalutor?

Hence is seen the truth of that remark, which there hath been more than once occasion to make, “That, however general these prefatory instructions may appear, they more especially respect the case of thedrama.”

90.Indignatur item, etc.—coena Thyestae.]Il met le souper de Thyeste pour toutes sortes de tragedies, says M. Dacier; but why this subject was singled out, as the representative of the rest, is not explained by him. We may be sure, it was not taken up at random. The reason was, that the Thyestes of Ennius was peculiarly chargeable withthe fault, here censured: as is plain from a curious passage in theOrator; where Cicero, speaking of the loose numbers of certain poets, observes this, in particular, of the tragedy of Thyestes,Similia sunt quædam apud nostros: velut in Thyeste,

Quemnam te esse dicam? qui tardâ in senectute.

et quæ sequuntur: quæ nisi cùm tibicen accesserit,ORATIONI SUNT SOLUTÆ SIMILLIMA: which character exactly agrees tothisof Horace, wherein the language of that play is censured, as flat and prosaic, and hardly rising above the level of ordinary conversation in comedy. This allusion to a particular play, written by one of their best poets, and frequently exhibited on the Roman stage, gives great force and spirit to the precept, at the same time that it exemplifies it in the happiest manner. It seems further probable to me, that the poet also designed an indirect compliment toVarius, whose Thyestes, we are told, [Quinctil.l. x. c. i.]was not inferior to any tragedy of the Greeks. This double intention of these lines well suited the poet’s general aim, which is seen through all his critical works, of beating down the excessive admiration of the old poets, and of asserting the just honours of the modern. It may further be observed that the critics have not felt the force of the wordsexponiandnarrariin this precept. They are admirably chosen to express the two faults condemned: the first implying a kind of pomp and ostentation in the language,which is therefore improper for the low subjects of comedy: and the latter, as I have hinted, a flat, prosaic expression, not above the cast of a commonnarrative, and therefore equally unfit for tragedy. Nothing can be more rambling than the comment of Heinsius and Dacier on this last word.

94.Iratusque Chremes tumido dilitigat ore: Et tragicus plerumque dolet sermone pedestri.] It may not be amiss to open a little more particularly the grounds of this criticism: which may best be done by a commentary on the following lines of the poet:

Format enim natura priùs nos intùs ad omnemFortunarum habitum; juvat aut impellit ad iram;Aut ad humum mærore gravi deducit et angit:Pòst effert animi motus interprete linguâ:

Todrawafter the life, in any given conjuncture, the poet must recollect (which may easily be done by consulting with his own conscious experience) thatpeculiar dispositionof mind, into which the speaker is, of necessity, carried by the circumstances of his situation. And thesentiments, which give the image of this peculiar disposition, are the genuine lineaments of the character intended.

But thetruthof sentiment may be hurt or effaced by incongruous language, just as the exactest lineaments of a portrait are often disguised or lost under a vicious coloring. Topaintthen as well as draw after the truth, it is requisite that a further regardbe had to theexpression. Which again is no great difficulty for the artist, the same common nature holding the torch to him, as before. For in entering into ourselves we find, that as the mind, in any supposed situation, gives birth to acertainset of conceptions and sentiments, correspondent to its true state, and expressive of it: so by attending to thelanguage, in which those sentiments ordinarily manifest themselves, we easily perceive they takeonestyle or manner of expression preferably to every other. Forexpression, where false art is not employed to distort it, gives the just image of oursentiments; just asthese, when nature is not suppressed or counteracted, are ever the faithful representatives of themanners. They result, like the famousSimulacraof Epicurus, as by a secret destination, from theiroriginal forms; and are,each, the perfect copies ofother. All which will be clearly understood by applying these general observations to the instances in view.

The passion ofANGERrouses all the native fire and energy of the soul. In this disorder, and, as it were, insurrection of the mental powers, our sentiments are strong and vigorous; nature prompting us to liberal and lofty conceptions of ourselves, and a superior disdainful regard of others. This again determines thegeniusof our language, which, to conform to such sentiments, must be bold and animated; breaking out into forcible imagery, and swelling in all the pomp of sounding epithets andviolent figures. And this even amidst the humbler concerns of private and inferior fortunes:

Iratusque ChremesTUMIDO DILITIGAT ORE.

In the passion ofGRIEF, on the contrary, the reverse of this takes place. For the mind, oppressed and weighed down by its sorrows, sinks into a weak and timorous despondency; inclining us to submit, almost without resistance, to the incumbent affliction; or if we struggle at all with it, it is only to ease the labouring heart by putting forth some fruitless sighs and ineffectual complainings. Thus we find it represented by those perfect masters of simple nature, the Greek tragedians. So far are their sorrowing personages from entertaining any vigorous thoughts or manly resolutions, that they constantly languish into sad repinings at their present, and trembling apprehensions of future, misery.

When these sentiments come to express themselves inwords, what can they be but the plainest and simplest which the language of the complainant furnishes? Such negligence, or more properly such dejection, of sorrow disposes the speaker to take up with terms as humble as his fortune. His feeble conception is not only unapt or unable to look out for fine words and painted phrases; but, if chance throw them in his way, he even rejects them as trappings of another condition, and which serves only to upbraid his present wretchedness. The pomp of numbers and pride ofpoeticexpression are so littlehis care, that it is well if he even trouble himself to observe the ordinary exactness ofmere prose11. And this even where the height of rank and importance of affairs conspire to elevate the mind to more state and dignity.

Et tragicus plerumqueDOLET SERMONE PEDESTRI.

Thus far the dramatic writer may inform himself by entering into his ownconsciousness, and observing the sure dictates of experience. For what concerns the successful application of this rule inpractice, every thing, as is remarked below, [on v. 102.] must depend on the constitution of his own mind; which yet may be much assisted by the diligent study of those writers, who excel most in this way: in which class all agree to give the palm toEuripides.

But here it may not be improper to obviate a common mistake that seems to have arisen from the too strict interpretation of the poet’s Rule.Tragic characters, he says,will generally express their sorrows in a prosaic language. From this just observation, hastily considered and compared with the absurd practice of some writers, it hath been concluded, That what we callpure Poetry, the essence of which consists in bold figures and a lively imagery, hath no place on the Stage. It may not be sufficient to oppose to this notion thepracticeof thebest poets, ancient and modern; for the question recurrs, how far that practice is to be justified on the principles of good criticism and common sense. To come then,to the Reason of the thing.

The capital rule in this matter is,

Reddere Personæ—convenientia cuique.

But to do this, theSituationof the persons, and the variouspassionsresulting from such situation, must be well considered. Each of these has acharacteror turn of thinking peculiar to itself. Butallagree in this property, that they occupy the whole attention of the speaker, and are perpetually offering to his mind a set of pictures or images, suitable to his state, and expressive of it. In these the tragic character of every denomination loves to indulge; as we may see by looking no farther than on what passes before us in common life, where persons, under the influence of any passion, are more eloquent and have a greater quickness at allusion and imagery, than at other times. So that to take from the speaker this privilege of representing such pictures or images is so far from consulting Nature, that it is, in effect, to overlook or reject one of her plainest lessons.

’Tis true, ifonecharacter is busied in running after the Images which Nature throws in the way only of someother; or if, in representing such images as are proper to the character, the Imagination is taken up in tracing minute resemblances andamusing itself with circumstances that have no relation to the case in hand: then indeed the censure of these critics is well applied. It may befine poetry, if you will, but very baddramatic writing. But let the imagery be ever so great or splendid, if it be such only as the governing passion loves to conceive and paint, and if it be no further dilated on, and with no greater sollicitude and curiosity, than the natural working of the passion demands, the Drama is so far from rejecting such Poetry that it glories in it, as what is most essential to its true end and design.

Ille per extentum funem mihi posse videturIre poeta, meum qui pectus inaniter angit,Inritat, mulcet, falsis terroribus implet,Ut magus——

An office, which the dramatic poet hath no means of sustaining but by that strong painting and forcible imagery, above described.

What seems to have given a colour to the opposite opinion, is the faulty practice which good critics have observed in theFrenchtragedies, and in some of our own that have been formed upon their model. But the case is mistaken. It is not thePoetryof the French or English drama that deserves their censure, but its prolix and languidDeclamation, neglecting passion forsentiment, or expressingpassionin a calm circuit of words and without spirit. Even Mr. Addison’sCato, which from being immoderatelyextolled has had the usual fate of being as immoderately undervalued, is not to be censured for its abundance of poetry, but for its application of it in a way that hurts thepassion. General sentiments, uncharacteristic imagery, and both drawn out in a spiritless, or, which comes to the same thing, a too curious expression, are the proper faults of this drama. What the critic of just taste demands in this fine tragedy, is even more poetry, but better applied and touched with more spirit.

Still, perhaps, we are but on the surface of this matter. The true ground of this mistaken Criticism, is, The Notion, that when the Hero is at the crisis of his fate, he is not at liberty to use Poetical, that is, highly figurative expression: but that the proper season for these things is when he has nothing else to do. Whereas the truth is just the contrary. The figures, when he is greatly agitated, come of themselves; and, suiting the grandeur and dignity of his situation, are perfectly natural. To use them in his cool and quiet moments, when he has no great interests to prosecute or extricate himself from, is directly againstNature. For, in this state of things, he mustseekthem, if he will have them. And when he has got them and made his best use of them, what do they produce? Not sublimity, but Bombast. For it is not thefigures, but the suitableness to theoccasion, that produces either. Not that I am ignorant that there are vices in theformationof figures, as well as in their application. But these vices gounder various other names. Thepure simple Bombast(if I may be indulged so bold a catachresis) arises from putting figurative expression to an improper use. To give an instance of what I mean.Tacituswrites under one continued resentment at the degeneracy of his times, and speaking of some sumptuary Laws proposed by the Senate, in 2Ann.c. 33, he says they decreed,Ne Vestis Serica virosFOEDARET. This became the dignity of his historic character and genius. But had his Contemporary, Suetonius, who wrote Chronicles in the spirit of ourStowandHolinshed, used the same language, it would have set his readers a laughing.

Not but figurative expression, even whensuitableto the character, genius, and general subject of a writer, may still bemisplaced. Thus, had Tacitus, speaking of the honours decreed to Tiberius on a certain occasion, said with his translator Gordon—which of these he meant to accept or which to reject, the approaching issue of his days hasBURIEDin oblivion—thefigure, the reader sees, would have been miserably out of place; the conceit of theburialof his intentions, on the mention of his death, being even ridiculous. But the ridicule, we may be sure, falls on the translator only, and not on his great original, who expresses himself on this occasion, not only with propriety, but with the greatest simplicity—quos omiserit receperitveIN INCERTOfuit ob propinquum vitæ finem. Ann. l. vi. c. 45.

I have brought these instances to shew thatfigurative expressionis not improper even in a fervent animated historian, on afit subject, and indue place: much less should the tragic poet, when his characters are to be shewn in the conflict of the stronger passions, be debarred the use of it.

The short of the matter is, in one word, this. Civil Society first of alltames us to humanity, as Cicero expresses it; and, in the course of its discipline, brings us down to one dead level. Its effect is to make us all the same pliant, mimic, obsequious things; not unlike, in a word, (if our pride could overlook the levity of the comparison) what we see of trained Apes. But when the violent passions arise (as in the case of these Apes when the apples were thrown before them) this artificial discipline is all shaken off, and we return again to the free and ferocious state of Nature. And what is the expression of that state? It is (as we understand by experience) a free and fiery expression, all made up of bold metaphors and daring figures of Speech.

The conclusion is, that Poetry,pure Poetry, is the proper language ofPassion, whether we chuse to consider it as ennobling, or debasing the human character.

There is, as I have said, an obvious distinction to be made (and to that the poet’s rule, as explained in this note, refers) between the soft and tender, and the more vigorous passions. When the former prevail, the mind is in a weak languid state; and thoughall allusion and imagery be not improper here, yet as that fire and energy of the soul is wanting, which gives a facility of ranging over our ideas and of seizing such as may be turned to any resemblance of our own condition, it will for that reason be lessfrequentin this state of the mind than any other. Such imagery, too, will for the same reason be lessstriking, because the same languid affections lead to, and make us acquiesce in a simpler and plainer expression. But universally in the stronger passions thepoetical characterprevails, and rises only in proportion to the force and activity of those passions.

To draw the whole then of what has been said on this subject into a standingRulefor the observance of the dramatic Poet.

“Manis so formed that whether he be in joy, or grief; in confidence or despair; in pleasure or pain; in prosperity or distress; in security or danger; or torn and distracted by all the various modifications of Love, Hate, and Fear: The Imagination is incessantly presenting to the mind an infinite variety of images or pictures, conformable to his Situation: And these Pictures receive their various coloring from the habits, which his birth and condition, his education, profession and pursuits have induced. Therepresentationof these is thePoetry, and ajustrepresentation, in a great measure, theArt, of dramatic writing.”

95.Et tragicus plerumque dolet sermone pedestri.] Dr. Bentley connects this with the following line:

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