[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.