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undoubtedly erred in the latter particular, and their points, conceits, and forced language, have afforded a large field for the puiffant knights in criticism to fhew their prowess in. Philoctetes and Jocafta, Thefeus and Dirce, and the old Sertorius are lawful plunder, and as fuch should be left to be ftripped by thofe, who think it worth their while to do so. The addrefs of Pymante to the bodkin of his miftrefs in the Clitandre of Corneille, is quoted by a certain author * as highly ridiculous; and a paragon of abfurdity most undoubtedly it is, perhaps not to be equalled, except by the fame author's favourite and matchless poet. Let us hear what Romeo fays of Juliet:

* Vide Remarks on the writings and genius of Shakespear.

1

I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
Two of the faireft ftars of all the heav'n
Having some business, do intreat her eyes
To twinkle in their spheres, till they return.
What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those
ftars,

As day-light doth a lamp; her eyes in heav'n
Would thro' the airy region ftream so bright,
That birds would fing, and think it were not
night.

What Galamathias is this! Two stars having fome bufinefs. How abfurd the idea, how low, how vulgar the expreffion!

What if her eyes were there, they in her head,

A pretty fuppofition indeed! but what then? why,

The brightness of her cheek would fhame thofe ftars,

As day-light doth a lamp; her eyes in heav'n

Would

Would thro' the airy region stream so bright, That birds would fing, and think it were not night.

Happy, thrice happy country, in which fuch Juliets abound! Should the fun withdraw his rays, the fair one has nothing to do but to permit her eyes to twinkle in heaven, and the cheerless gloom of fullen wintry days would be immediately difpelled. No more would the valetudinarian's fpirits rife or fall with the weather-glass, or his nerves tremble at the paffage of each cloud; nor would the English, whilst in poffeffion of fuch Juliets, be remarkable for hanging or drowning themselves in the no longer melancholy month of November. Then, though with an abfurdity equal to Romeo's, we fhould talk of our love, and call it

A

A heavy lightness, serious vanity,

Misshapen chaos of well seeming forms,

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, fick health,

Still-waking fleep, that is not what it is,

and felt, if it were poffible, in full force, what he fo marvellously defcribes ; yet whilft we beheld all nature chearful and smiling around us, we should not perhaps loath life, or feek a lover's leap to terminate our unhappy beings.

Shakespear's Juliet is an exact counterpart to his Romeo, and her ideas caft in the fame mould: hear what she says;

Give me my Romeo, and when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little ftars, And he will make the face of heav'n fo fine, That all the world will be in love with night, pay no worship to the garish fun.

And

In another place fhe calls him,

Beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical!
Dove-feather'd raven, wolvish-ravening lamb.

Whilft we can hear with patience fuch extravagant conceits as thefe, let us fhew an equal degree of toleration to those of other nations; nor reject nonsense merely because it is not of our own growth.

Whoever is acquainted with the Andromaque of Racine will acknowledge, that love in the breaft of an Hermione is capable of producing the moft tragical events; and the bad confequences of its being perverted to improper purposes, are painted in the most striking colours in the despair of Hermione and the madness of Oreftes. Nor can it

be

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