I would not be the villain that thou think'st
For the whole

space that's in the tyrant's grasp
And the rich East to boot.

Macbeth, Act IV. Sc. 3.
The fol owing 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 ere 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 any action, word, or thought, to wed
Another lord; may then just heav'n show'r down, &c.

Mourning Bride, Act I. Sc. 1. And this leads to a second observation, that the different stages of a passion, and its different directions, from birth to extinction, must be carefully represented in their order; because otherwise the sentiments, by being misplaced, 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 thinks of grieving for himself. In the Çid of Corneille, Don Diegue having been affronted in a cruel manner, expresses scarcely any sentiment of revenge, but is totally occupied in contemplating the low situation to which he is reduced by the affront:

O rage! ô désespoir! ô vieillesse ennemie !
N'ai-je donc tant vécu que pour cette infamie?
Et ne suis-je blanchi dans les travaux guerriers,
Que pour voir en un jour flètrir tant de lauriers ?
Mon bras, qu'avec respect toute l'Espagne admire,
Mon bras, qui tant de fois a sauvé cet empire,
Tant de fois affermi le trône de son Roi,
Trahit donc ma querrelle, et ne fait rien pour moi!
O cruel souvenir de ma gloire passée!
Euvre de tant de jours en un jour effacée!
Nouvelle dignité fatale à mon bonheur !
Précipice élevé d'où tombe mon honneur !
Faut-il de votre éclat voir triompher le Comte.
Et mourir sans vengeance, ou vivre dans la honte ?
Comte, sois de mon Prince à présent gouverneur,
Ce haut rang n'admet point un homme sans honneur ;
Et ton jaloux orgueil par cet affront insigne,
Malgré 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 défense,
Va, quitte désormais le dernier des humains,
Passe pour me venger en de meilleures mains.

Le Cid, Act I. Sc. 7 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 scarcely 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.

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 rancor poison all our softness,
And turn our gentle natures into bitterness?
See where she comes ! once my heart's dearest blessing,
Now my chang'd 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 his own prejudice: reflections like the foregoing occur not readily till the passion has spent its vigor.

A person sometimes is agitated at once by different passions; 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 hird observation :

Queen. 'Would I had never 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 ? (To her women
Shipwreck'd upon a kingdom, where no pity,
No friends, no hope! no kindred weep for me!
Almost no grave allow'd me.

Henry VIII. Act III. Sc. I.
Othello. Oh devil, devil!
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. (going.

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

que

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 ! (Exit Desdemona

Othello, Ac IV. Sc. 1.
Æmilia. Oh! my good Lord, I would speak a word with you.

Othello. Yes, 'tis Æmilia-By and by-She's deud.
'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 ? re'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 V. Sc. 2. 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, of which every one is ashamed, and endeavors 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 l'amour souvent de remors combattu,
Paroisse une foiblesse, et non une vertu.

Boileau, L'Art Poét. Chant. 3. 1. 101.
O, they love least that let men know their love.

Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act I. Sc. 2. Hence a capital rule in the representation of immoderate passions, that they ought to be hid or dissembled as much as possible. And chis 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 colors, even in thought: the proposal must be made by hints, and by representing the action in some favorable light of the propriety of sentiment upon such an occasion, Shakspeare, in the Tempest, has given us a beautiful example, in a speech by the usurping Duke of Milan, advising Sebastian to murder his brother the King of Naples : Antonio

What might,
Worthy Sebastian, -0, what might-no more.
And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face,
What thou shouldst be: th'occasion speaks thee, and
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.

Tempest, Act II. Sc. 1.
There never was drawn a more complete picture of this kind, than
that of King John soliciting Hubert to murder the young Prince
Arthur:

K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh

There is a soul counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love.
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand, I had a thing to say—
But I will fit it with some better time.
By Heav'n, Hubert, I'm almost asham'd
To say what good respect I have of thee.

Hubert. I am much bounden to your Majesty.

K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet-
But thou shalt have-and creep time ne'er so slow,
Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.
I had a thing to say—but let it go;
The sun is in the heaven; and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,
To give me audience. If the midnight bell
Did with his iron-tongue and brazen mouth
Sound one into the drowsy race of night;
If this same were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit Melancholy
Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy-thick,
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot Laughter keep men's eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
(A passion hateful to my purposes ;)
Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;
Then, in despite of broad-ey'd watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.
But ah, I will not-Yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st mé well

.
Hubert. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By Heav'n I'd do't.

K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy. I'll tell thee what, my friend;
He is a very serpent in my way.
And, wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me. Dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.

King John, Act III. Sc. 3. As things are best illustrated by their contraries, I proceed to faulty sentiments, disdaining to be indebted for examples to any but the most approved authors. The first class shall consist of sentiments that accord not with the passion; or, in other words, sentiments that the passion does not naturally suggest. In the second class, shall be ranged sentiments that may belong to an ordinary passion, but unsuitable to it as tinctured by a singular character Thoughts that properly are not sentiments, but rather descriptions, make a third. Sentiments that belong to the passion represented, but are faulty as being introduced too early or too late, make a fourth. Vicious sentiments exposed in their native dress, instead of being concealed or disguised, make a fifth. And in the last class, shall be collected sentiments suited to no character nor passion, and therefore unnatural.

The first class contains faulty sentiments of various kinds, which
I shall endeavor to distinguish from each other; beginning with
sentiments that are faulty by being above the tone of the passion:
Othello.

O my soul's joy!
If after every tempest come such calms,
May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!
And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas
Olympus high, and duck again as low
As heli's from heaven.

Othello, Act II. Sc. 1.
This sentiment may be suggested by violent and inflamed passion,
but is not suited to the calm satisfaction that one feels upon escaping
danger.

Philaster. Place me, some god, upon a pyramid
Higher than hills of earth, and lend a voice
Loud as your thunder to me, that from thence
I may discourse to all the under-world
The worth that dwells in him.

Philaster of Beaumont and Fletcher, Act IV. Second. Sentiments below the tone of the passion. Ptolemy, by putting Pompey to death, having incurred the displeasure of Cæsar, was in the utmost dread of being dethroned: in that agitating situation, Corneille makes him utter a speech full of cool reflection, hat is in no degree expressive of the passion.

Ah! si je t'avois cru, je n'aurois pas de maître,
Je serois dans le trône où le Ciel m'a fait naître;
Mais c'est une imprudence assez commune aux rois,
D'écouter trop d'avis, et se tromper aux choix.
Le Destin les aveugle au bord du précipice,
Où si quelque lumière en leur ame se glisse,
Cette fausse clarté dont il les éblouit.
Les plonge dans une gouffre, et puis s'évanouit.

La Mort de Pompée, Act IV. Sc. 1.
In Les Frères ennemis of Racine, the second act is opened with a
love-scene. Hemon talks to his mistress of the torments of absence,
of the lustre of her eyes, that he ought to die no where but at her
feet, and that one moment of absence is a thousand years. Antigone
on her part acts the coquette; pretends she must be gone to wait on
her mother and brother, and cannot stay to listen to his courtship.
This is odious French gallantry, below the dignity of the passion
of love: it would scarcely be excusable in painting modern French
Manners; and is insufferable where the ancients are brought upon
the stage. The manners painted in the Alexandre of the same
author are not more just. French gallantry prevails there throughout.

Third. Sentiments that agree not with the tone of the passion; as where a pleasant sentiment is grafted upon a painful passion, or the contrary. In the following instances the sentiments are too gay for a serious passion :

No happier task these faded eyes pursue;
To read and weep is all they now can do.

Eloisa to Abelard, 1. 47.