[1] Chap. 8.
[2] Dunciad, b. 4. l. 405.
[3] Book 2. l. 111.
[4] Book 2. l. 551.
[5] See Vidæ Poetic. lib. 2. l. 282.
[6] See chap. 4.
[7] Beginning of book 3.
[8] Book 4. l. 498.
[9] Guardian No. 153.
[10] Strada de bello Belgico.
[11] It is accordingly observed by Longinus, in his treatise of the
Sublime, that the proper time for metaphor, is when the passions are so
swelled as to hurry on like a torrent.
[12] Chap. 2. part 5.
[13] Philoctetes of Sophocles, act 4. sc. 2.
[14] Alcestes of Euripides, act 2. sc. 1.
[15] See this principle accounted for, chap. 25.
[16] Philoctetes of Sophocles, at the close.
[17] The chastity of the English language, which in common usage
distinguishes by genders no words but what signify beings male and
female, gives thus a fine opportunity for the prosopopœia; a beauty
unknown in other languages, where every word is masculine or feminine.
[18] See appendix, containing definitions and explanation of terms.
[19] _Æneid._ iv. 173.
[20] Chap. 19.
[21] Dec. 1. l. 1.
[22] Chap. 31. of his treatise on the sublime.
[23] L. 8. cap. 6. in fin.
[24] See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 4.
[25] See chap. 1.
[26] L. 8. cap. 6. sect. 2.
[27] Reflexions sur la Poesie, _&c._ vol. 1. sect. 24.
[28] Act 4. sc. 6.
[29] See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 4.
[30] I have often regretted, that a factious spirit of opposition to
the reigning family made it necessary in public worship to distinguish
the King by his proper name. One will scarce imagine, who has not made
the trial, how much better it sounds to pray for our Sovereign Lord the
King, without any addition.
[31] Poet. lib. 2. l. 30.
[32] Part 1. sect. 6.
[33] Henry V. act 4. sc. 4.
[34] Merry Wives of Windsor, act 3. sc. 15.
[35] Lib. 4. l. 632.
[36] See Æneid. lib. 1. 188.--219.
[37] Montaigne, reflecting upon the then present modes, observes, that
there never was at any other time so abject and servile prostitution
of words in the addresses made by people of fashion to one another;
the humblest tenders of life and soul, no professions under that
of devotion and adoration; the writer constantly declaring himself
a vassal, nay a slave: so that when any more serious occasion of
friendship or gratitude requires more genuine professions, words are
wanting to express them.
[38] Ch. 18. sect. 3.
[39] One can scarce avoid smiling at the blindness of a certain critic,
who, with an air of self-sufficiency, condemns this expression as low
and vulgar. A French poet, says he, would express the same thought in
a more sublime manner: “Mais tout dort, et l’armée, et les vents, et
Neptune.” And he adds, “The English poet may please at London, but the
French every where else.”
[40] See chap. 4.
[41] Georg. l. ii. 468.
[42] Lib. 8. cap. 6. § 2.
[43] See chap. 18.
[44] See chap 2. part 4.
[45] The dialogue in a dramatic composition separates it so clearly
from other compositions, that no writer has thought it necessary to
search for any other distinguishing mark. But much useless labour has
been bestowed, to distinguish an epic poem by some such mark. Bossu
defines this poem to be, “A composition in verse, intended to form the
manners by instructions disguised under the allegories of an important
action,” which will exclude every epic poem founded upon real facts,
and perhaps include several of Esop’s fables. Voltaire reckons verse
so essential, as for that single reason to exclude the adventures
of Telemachus. See his _Essay upon Epic Poetry_. Others, affected
with substance more than with ornament, hesitate not to pronounce
that poem to be epic. It is not a little diverting, to see so many
shallow critics hunting for what is not to be found. They always take
for granted, without the least foundation, that there must be some
precise criterion to distinguish epic poetry from every other species
of writing. Literary compositions run into each other, precisely like
colours: in their strong tints they are easily distinguished; but are
susceptible of so much variety, and take on so many different forms,
that we never can say where one species ends and another begins. As to
the general taste, there is little reason to doubt, that a work where
heroic actions are related in an elevated style, will, without further
requisite, be deemed an epic poem.
[46] Poet. ch. 25. sect. 6.
[47] Lib. 7. from line 385. to line 460.
[48] The same distinction is applicable to that sort of fable which
is said to be the invention of Æsop. A moral, it is true, is by all
critics considered as essential to such a fable. But nothing is
more common, than to be led blindly by authority. Of the numerous
collections I have seen, the fables that clearly inculcate a moral,
make a very small part. In many fables, indeed, proper pictures of
virtue and vice are exhibited: but the bulk of these collections convey
no instruction, nor afford any amusement beyond what a child receives
in reading an ordinary story.
[49] See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 3.
[50] In Racine, tender sentiments prevail; in Corneille, grand and
heroic manners. Hence clearly the preference of the former before the
latter, as dramatic poets. Corneille would figure better in an heroic
poem.
[51] Part 4.
[52] If one can be amused with a grave discourse which promiseth much
and performs nothing, he may see this subject treated by Brumoy in his
_Theatre Grec._ Preliminary discourse on the origin of tragedy.
[53] See essays on the principles of morality, edit. 2. p. 291.
[54] Chap. 2. part 1. sect. 6.
[55] I would not from this observation be thought to undervalue modern
manners. The roughness, plainness, and impetuosity of ancient manners,
may show better in an epic poem, without being better fitted for
society. But without regard to this circumstance, it is the familiarity
of modern manners that unqualifies them for a lofty subject. The
dignity of our present manners, will be better understood in future
ages when they have become ancient.
[56] Third part of his art of poetry.
[57] Chap. 20. sect. 1.
[58] Ibid.
[59] See chap. 2. part 1. sect. 6.
[60] Canto 9.
[61] Racine, in his preface to the tragedy of _Berenice_, is sensible,
that simplicity is a great beauty in tragedy, but mistakes the cause.
“Nothing (says he) but verisimilitude pleases in tragedy: but where is
the verisimilitude, that within the compass of a day, events should be
crowded which commonly are extended through months?” This is mistaking
the accuracy of imitation for the probability or improbability of
future events. I explain myself. The verisimilitude required in
tragedy, is that the actions correspond to the manners, and the manners
to nature. When this resemblance is preserved, the imitation is just,
because it is a true copy of nature. But I deny that the verisimilitude
of future events, meaning the probability of future events, is any
rule in tragedy. A number of extraordinary events, are, it is true,
seldom crowded within the compass of a day: but what seldom happens may
happen; and when such events fall out, they appear not less natural
than the most ordinary accidents. To make verisimilitude in the sense
of probability a governing rule in tragedy, would annihilate this sort
of writing altogether; for it would exclude all extraordinary events,
in which the life of tragedy conflicts. It is very improbable or
unlikely, pitching upon any man at random, that he will sacrifice his
life and fortune for his mistress or for his country: yet when this
event happens, supposing it agreeable to the character, we recognize
the verisimilitude as to nature, whatever want of verisimilitude or of
probability there was _a priori_ that such would be the event.
[62] Spectator, No. 44.
[63] Poet. cap 6. See also cap. 7.
[64] Chap. 8.
[65] See chap. 1.
[66] See chap. 21.
[67] I am sensible that a commencement of this sort is much relished
by certain readers disposed to wonder. Their curiosity is raised, and
they are much tickled in its gratification. But curiosity is at an end
with the first reading, because the personages are no longer unknown;
and therefore at the second reading a commencement so artificial, loses
all its power even over the vulgar. A writer of genius loves to deal in
lasting beauties.
[68] Bossu, after observing, with wonderful critical sagacity, that
winter is an improper season for an epic poem, and night not less
improper for tragedy; admits however, that an epic poem may be spread
through the whole summer months, and a tragedy through the whole
sun-shine hours of the longest summer-day. _Du poeme epique, l. 3.
chap. 12._ At this rate an English tragedy may be longer than a French
tragedy; and in Nova Zembla the time of a tragedy and of an epic poem
may be the same.
[69] Chap. 2. part 1. sect. 6.
[70] Act 1. sc. 6.
[71] Act 2. sc. 2.
[72] Act 2. sc. 1.
[73] Act 2.
[74] Act 4. at the close.
[75] Act 5. sc. 4.
[76] See chap 15.
[77] See chap. 8.
[78] See appendix to part 5. chap. 2.
[79] A square field appears not such to the eye when viewed from any
part of it; and the centre is the only place where a circular field
preserves in appearance its real figure.
[80] Chap. 8.
[81] Chap. 2. part 4.
[82] See the place immediately above cited.
[83] The influence of this connection surpassing all bounds, is
visible in many gardens, left in their original form of horizontal
plains forc’d with great labour and expence, perpendicular faces of
earth supported with massy stone walls, terrace-walks in stages one
above another, regular ponds and canals without the least motion,
and the whole surrounded, like a prison, with high walls excluding
every external object. At first view it may puzzle one to account
for a taste running cross to nature in every particular. But nothing
happens without a cause. Perfect regularity and uniformity are
required in a house; and this idea is extended to its accessory the
garden, especially if it be a small spot incapable of grandeur or much
variety. The house is regular, so must the garden be: the floors of
the house are horizontal, and the garden must have the same position:
in the house we are protected from every intruding eye, so must we
be in the garden. This, it must be confessed, is carrying the notion
of resemblance very far. But where reason and taste are laid asleep,
nothing is more common than to carry resemblance beyond proper bounds.
[84] See chap. 4.
[85] See these terms defined, chap. 3.
[86] Taste has suggested to Kent the same artifice. The placing a
decay’d tree properly, contributes to contrast; and also produces a
sort of pity, grounded on an imaginary personification.
[87] “Houses are built to live in, and not to look on. Therefore let
use be preferred before uniformity, except where both may be had.”
_Lo. Verulam, essay 45._
[88] p. 94.
[89] Chap. 2. part 4.
[90] Chap. 10.
[91] Chap. 8.
[92] See chap. 20. sect. 5.
[93] See chap. 8.
[94] See Essays on morality and natural religion, part 1. essay 2. ch.
1.
[95] See chap. II.
[96] Yet a singular opinion that impressions are the only objects of
perception, has been espoused by some philosophers of no mean rank;
not attending to the foregoing peculiarity in the senses of seeing and
hearing, that we perceive objects without being conscious of an organic
impression or of any impression. See the treatise upon human nature,
where we find the following passage, book 1. p. 4. sect. 2. “Properly
speaking it is not our body we perceive when we regard our limbs and
members; so that the ascribing a real and corporeal existence to these
impressions or to their objects, is an act of the mind as difficult to
explain,” &_c._
[97] From this definition of an idea, the following proposition must
be evident, That there can be no such thing as an innate idea. If the
original perception of an object be not innate, which is obvious, it is
not less obvious, that the idea or secondary perception of that object
cannot be innate. And yet to prove this self-evident proposition, Locke
has bestowed a whole book of his treatise upon human understanding.
So necessary it is to give accurate definitions, and so preventive of
dispute are definitions when accurate. Dr Berkeley has taken great
pains to prove another proposition equally evident, That there can be
no such thing as a general idea. All our original perceptions are of
particular objects, and our secondary perceptions or ideas must be
equally so.
[98] Bacon, in his natural history, makes the following observations.
Sounds are meliorated by the intension of the sense, where the common
sense is collected most to the particular sense of hearing, and the
sight suspended. Therefore sounds are sweeter, as well as greater, in
the night than in the day: and I suppose they are sweeter to blind men
than to others: and it is manifest that between sleeping and waking,
when all the senses are bound and suspended, music is far sweeter than
when one is fully waking.