And bring about again, the hours, the days,
The years that made me happy?

Almeria.

Oroonoko, Act II. Sc. 2.

-How hast thou charm'd

The wildness of the waves and rocks to this?
That thus relenting they have giv'n thee back
To earth, to light and life, to love and me?

Mourning Bride, Act I. Sc. 7.

I would not be the villain that thou think'st

For the whole space that's in the tyrant's grasp,
And the rich éarth to boot.

Macbeth, Act IV. Sc. 4.

The following passage expresses finely the progress of conviction.

Let me not stir, nor breathe, lest I dissolve
That tender, lovely form, of painted air,

So like Almeria. Ha! it sinks, it falls;

I'll catch it e'er it

goes, and grasp her shade.
'Tis life! 'tis warm! 'tis she! 'tis she herself!

It is Almeria, 'tis, it is my wife!

Mourning Bride, Act II. Sc. 6.

In the progress of thought, our resolutions become more vigorous as well as our passions:

If ever I do yield or give consent,

By an action, word, or thought, to wed

Another lord; may then just heav'n show'r down, &c.
Ibid. Act I. Sc. 1.

And this leads to a second observation. That the different stages of a passion, and it different directions, from birth to extinction, must be carefully represented in their order; because otherwise the sentiments, by being mis

placed, will appear forced and unnatural. Resentment, for example, when provoked by an atrocious injury, discharges itself first upon the author: sentiments therefore of revenge come always first, and must in some measure be exhausted before the person injured think of grieving for himself. In the Cid of Corneille, Don Diegue having been affronted in a cruel manner, expresses scarce any sentiment of revenge, but is totally occupied in contemplating the low situation to which he is reduced by the affront:

O rage! ô desespoire! ô vieillesse ennemie !
N'ai je donc tant vecu que pour cette infamie?
Et ne suis-je blanchi dans les trauvaux guerriers.
Que pour voir en un jour fletrir tant de lauriers ?
Mon bras, qu'avec respect toute l'Espagne admire,
Mon bras, qui tant de fois a suavé cet empire,
Tant de fois affermi le trône de son Roi,
Trahit donc ma querelle, et ne fait rien pour moi!
O cruel souvenir de ma gloire passée !

Oeuvre de tant de jours en un jour effacée !
Nouvelie dignité fatale à man bonheur !
Precipice elevé doù tombe mon honneur !

Faut il de votre eclat voir triompher le Comte.
Et mourir sans vengeance, ou vivre dans la honte ?
Comte, sois de mon Prince à present governeur,
Ce haut rang n'admet point un homme sans honneur;
Et ton jaloux orgueil par cet affront insigne,
Malgre le choix du Roi, m'en a sû rendre indigne.
Et toi, de mes exploits glorieux instrument,
Mais d'un corps tout de glace inutile ornement,
Fer jadis tant à craindre, et qui dans cette offense,
M'as servi de parade, et non pas de defense,
Va, quitte desormais le dernier des humains,
Passe pour me venger en de meilleures mains.

Le Cid, Act I. Sc. 7.

1

These sentiments are certainly not the first that are suggested by the passion of resentment. As the first movements of resentment are always directed to its object, the very same is the case of grief. Yet with relation to the sudden and severe distemper that seized Alexander bathing in the river Cydnus, Quintus Curtius describes the first emotions of the army as directed to themselves, lamenting that they were left without a leader, far from home, and had scarce any hopes of returning in safety: their King's distress, which must naturally have been their first concern, occupies them but in the second place, according to that author. In the Aminta of Tasso, Sylvia, upon a report of her lover's death, which she believed certain, instead of bemoaning the loss of her beloved, turns her thoughts upon herself, and wonders her heart does not break:

Ohime, ben son di sasso,

Poi che questa novella non m'uccide.

Act IV. Sc. 2.

In the tragedy of Jane Shore, Alicia, in the full purpose of destroying her rival, has the following reflection:

Oh jealousy thou bane of pleasing friendship,

Thou worst invader of our tender bosoms;

How does thy rancour poison all our softness,

And turn our gentle natures into bitterness?

See where she comes! once my heart's dearest blessing,
Now my changed eyes are blasted with her beauty,
Loathe that known face, and sicken to behold her.

Act III. Sc. 1.

These are the reflections of a cool spectator. A passion while it has the ascendant, and is freely indulged, suggests not to the person who feels it any sentiment to its own prejudice reflections like the foregoing occur not readily till the passion has spent its vigour.

A person sometimes is agitated at once by different passious; and the mind, in that case, vibrating like a pendulum, vents itself in sentiments that partake of the same vibration. This I give as a third observation:

Queen. 'Would I had ne'er trod this English earth,
Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it!

Ye've angels' faces, but heaven knows your hearts.
What shall become of me now? wretched lady!
I am the most unhappy woman living.

Alas! poor wenches, where are now your fortunes?

Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,
No friends, no hope! no kindred weep for me!
Almost no grave allow'd me.

Othello. Oh devil, devil!

To her women.

Henry VIII. Act III. Sc. 1.

If that the earth could teem with woman's tears,
Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
Out of my sight!

Desdemona. I will not stay t' offend you.
Lodovico. Truly, an obedient lady :

I do beseech your lordship, call her back.

Oth. Mistress

Des. My Lord.

Oth. What would you with her, Sir?

Lod. Who, I, my Lord?

Oth. Ay; you did wish that I would make her turn :

Sir, she can turn and turn, and yet go on ;

And turn again. And she can weep, Sir, weep:

And she's obedient: as you say, obedient;
Very obedient-proceed you in your tears-
Concerning this, Sir--oh well painted passion!
I am commanded home--get you away,

I'll send for you anon-Sir, I obey the mandate,
And will return to Venice. Hence, avaunt!

(going

VOL. I.

[Exit Desdemona. Othello, Act IV. Sc. 6.

46

Emilia. Oh! my good Lord, I would speak a word with you.

Othello. Yes, 'tis Æmilia--By and by--She's dead.
'Tis like she comes to speak of Cassio's death :
The noise was high-Ha! no more moving?

Still as the grave. Shall she come in? were't good
I think she stirs again-No-What's the best?
If she come in, she'll sure speak to my wife;

My wife! my wife! What wife; I have no wife;
Oh insupportable! O heavy hour!

Othello, Act IV. Sc. 7.

A fourth observation is, That nature, which gave us passions, and made them extremely beneficial when moderate, intended undoubtedly that they should be subjected to the government of reason and conscience.* It is therefore against the order of nature, that passion in any case should take the lead in contradiction to reason and conscience: such a state of mind is a sort of anarchy, which every one is ashamed of, and endeavours to hide or dissemble. Even love, however laudable, is attended with a conscious shame when it becomes immoderate: it is covered from the world, and disclosed only to the beloved object:

Et que l'amour souvent de rumors combattu
Paroisse une foiblesse, et non une vertu.

Boileau, L'art poet. Chant. iii. 1. 101.

O, they love least that let men know their love.

Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act I. Sc. 3.

Hence a capital rule in the representation of immoderate passions, that they ought to be hid or dissembled as much as possible. And this holds in an especial manner with respect to criminal passions: one never counsels the commission of a crime in plain terms: guilt must not appear in its native colours, even in thought: the proposal must

* See Chapter ii. Part vii.