light,

Have cast away their lives. How would they wish

"Lower'd the grim morn, in murky dies,
Damp mists involv'd the scowling skies,
And dimm'd the struggling day;
As by the brook that ling'ring laves
Yon rush-grown moor with sable waves,
Full of the dark resolve he took his sullen way.

"I mark'd his desultory pace,

His gestures strange, and varying face,
With many a mutter'd sound:
And ah! too late aghast I view'd
The reeking blade, the hand embru'd;

He fell, and groaning grasp'd in agony the ground."
T. Warton, Ode, vi. 1-3.
"Forbear, forbear;
Think what a sea of deep perdition whelms
The wretch's trembling soul, who launches forth
Unlicens'd to eternity. Think, think:
And let the thought restrain thy impious hand.
The race of man is one vast marshall'd army,
Summon'd to pass the spacious realms of Time;
Their leader the Almighty. In that march,
Ah! who may quit his post?" Mason, Elfrida.
"Who flies from life confesses

He flies from something that appears so dreadful
He dares not face it. Is it guilt or virtue
That thus shrinks back and trembles at to-
morrow?

Yes, this is meanness, and alone regards
Its selfish ease; virtue is never leagued
With its base dictates."

612. "

Mickle, Siege of Marseilles, iv. 2.

Ay, but to die, and go we know not where To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world; or to be worse than worst Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts Imagine howling!-'tis too horrible! The weariest and most loathed worldly life, That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment, Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death."

Shakespeare, Measure for Measure, iii. 1.
"To be, or not to be,-that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And, by opposing, end them? To die,-to sleep,-
No more; and, by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,-'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die ;-to sleep ;-
To sleep! perchance to dream :-ay, there's the
rub;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despis'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

He Phædra in these regions, Procris too,
And moanful Eriphyle, pointing out
The wounds from her unfeeling son, de-
scries;

Evadne also, and Pasiphäe.

To these Laodamia comrade goes,
And Cænis, erst a youth, a woman now,
E'en changed again by fate to shape of
yore.

630

Among whom Dido, the Phoenician dame,

Fresh from her wound, was wand'ring in a spacious grove.

When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life;
But that the dread of something after death,-
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns,-puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all."
Hamlet, iii. 1.

620. "Then hastens onward to the pensive grove,
The silent mansion of disastrous love.
Here Jealousy with jaundic'd look appears,
And broken slumbers, and fantastic fears.
The widow'd turtle hangs her moulting wings,
And to the woods in mournful murmurs sings.
No winds but sighs there are, no floods but tears;
Each conscious tree a tragic signal bears:
Their wounded bark records some broken vow,
And willow-garlands hang on every bough."
Garth, Dispensary, vi. 242-50.

632. "Hence, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights,

Wherein you spend your folly!
There's nought in this life sweet,
If man were wise to see't,
But only melancholy:

Oh, sweetest melancholy!
Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes,
A sigh that piercing, mortifies,
A look that's fasten'd on the ground,
A tongue chain'd up without a sound!
Fountain-heads, and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves!
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly hous'd, save bats and owls!

Near whom as soon as Troja's hero stood, And recognized her dim among the shades ;

As who in th' infant month or sees, or thinks

That he has seen, among the clouds the

moon

Arising; tears he dropped, and with sweet love

Addressed her: "Hapless Dido, was then

true

The news which me had reached, that thou wert dead,

And through the sword had sought the closing [scene] ? 640

Alas! was I to thee the cause of death?
By stars I swear, by deities above,
And if lies any faith in deep of earth,
I loth, O queen, departed from thy shore.
But me the gods' commands, which force

me now

A midnight bell, a parting groan! These are the sounds we feed upon; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy." J. Fletcher, The Nice Valour, iii. 3. Any one can see Milton's obligations to this exquisite song for some of the ideas in Il Penseroso. 636. "Or fairy elves, Whose midnight revels, by a forest side, Or fountain, some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course.

Milton, P. L., b. i. end. "For what I see, or only think I see, Is like a glimpse of moonshine, streak'd with red: A shuffled, sullen, and uncertain light, That dances through the clouds, and shuts again." Dryden, Cleomenes, iv. 1. 638. "Such is the fate unhappy women find, And such the curse entail'd upon our kind, That man, the lawless libertine, may rove Free and unquestion'd through the wilds of love; While woman, sense and nature's easy fool, If poor weak woman swerve from virtue's rule, If, strongly charm'd, she leave the thorny way And in the softer paths of pleasure stray, Ruin ensues, reproach and endless shame, And one false step entirely damns her fame. In vain with tears the loss she may deplore, In vain look back on what she was before; She sets, like stars that fall, to rise no more.' Rowe, Jane Shore, act. i. end. 645. "So spake the Fiend, and with necessity, The tyrant's plea, excused his devilish deeds." Milton, P. L., b. iv. "A fellow that makes religion his stalking-horse, He breeds a plague: thou shalt poison him." Marston, The Malcontent, iv. 3. "Come, you shall not labour

To extenuate your guilt, but quit it clean: Bad men excuse their faults; good men will leave them:

He acts the third crime that defends the first." Ben Jonson, Catiline, iii. 2.

To travel through these shades, through regions rife

In thorns through fallowness, and night's abyss,

Constrained by their behests; nor could I deem

That this such grievous anguish I on thee Could bring by my departure. Stay thy step, 650

And from our gaze withdraw not thou thyself.

Whom fliest thou? This [time], that I
Address thee, is by destiny the last."
With suchlike words Æneas tried to soothe
The soul afire, and fixing stern regards;
And tears he waked. The other, turned
aloof,

Her eyes kept riveted upon the ground;
Nor is in visage by his speech commenced
More influenced, than if she stood a flint
Unyielding, or Marpesian rock. At last
She tore herself away, and in her hate 661
Retreated to the shady forest, where
Her former consort echoes to her griefs,
And her affection does Sychæus match.
Nor less Æneas, by her fate unkind
Struck to the heart, pursues her weeping
far,

And feels compassion for her as she goes. Therefrom he toils along the route assigned.

And now they occupied the utmost fields, Which, set apart, the famed in battle 670

haunt.

Here meets him Tydeus, here, renowned in arms,

Parthenopæus, and the wan Adrastus' ghost. Here, sorely wept 'mong denizens of air, And fall'n in fight, the sons of Dardanus: All whom as he perceives in long array,

His nostrils. Him thus scarce he recognized, As quakes he, and the dread infliction hides; And with familiar tones he speaks him first: Deiphobus, of might in arms, thou seed From lofty blood of Teucer, who hath 700 To

chosen

Such bloody vengeance to inflict? whom

Was such great pow'r o'er thee allowed? To me

Brought rumor [word] on [that] last night that thou,

Worn out with mighty slaughter of the Greeks,

Down sankest on a jumbled charnel-heap.

681. The smiths in the house of Riches were equally astonished at the sight of Sir Guyon: "But when an earthly wight they present saw Glistring in armes and battailous array,

From their whot work they did themselves withdraw

To wonder at the sight; for, till that day, They never creature saw that cam that way: Their staring eyes sparckling with fervent fyre, And ugly shapes did nigh the man dismay, That, were it not for shame, he would retyre." Spenser, F. Q., ii. 7, 37. 705. As Rowe makes Slaughter do: "The dreadful business of the war is o'er ; And Slaughter, that from yester morn till ev'n, With giant steps, passed striding o'er the field, Besmear'd and horrid with the blood of nations, Now weary sits among the mangled heaps, And slumbers o'er her prey."

Tamerlane, ii. 1-6.

On thy part hath been left [undone]; all [debts]

Hast thou to thy Deiphobus discharged,
And to his corse's shades.
But me my
fates,

And [that] Laconian [woman's] deathful guilt,

Have plunged in these misfortunes. It is she

Hath these memorials left. For, our last night

How 'mid unreal joys we passed, thou know'st,

And thou must needs remember it too well. 720

What time with bound the doomful horse o'erleaped

High Pergamus, and, pregnant in its womb,

Brought infantry in armor on us; she, A dance pretending, led the Phrygian dames,

Enacting Bacchanalian revels round: Herself, the midmost, held a monster torch,

And from the castle summit hailed the Greeks.

Then me, forespent with sorrows, and with sleep

Weighed down, my luckless couchingchamber held,

735. This miserable murderess scarce deserves to be connected with any allusion to Lady Macbeth: "Come, come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty! Make thick blood my Stop up th' access and passage to remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between Th' effect and it! Come to my woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, you murd'ring ministers.

There's not a spray for birds to perch upon;
For every tree that overlooks the vale
Carries the mark of lightning, and is blasted.
The day, which smiled, as I came forth, and
spread

Fair beams about, has taken a deep melancholy,
That sits more ominous in her face than night:
All darkness is less horrid than half light.
Never was such a scene for death presented:
And there's a ragged mountain peeping over,
With many heads, seeming to crowd themselves
Spectators of some tragedy."

Shirley, The Court Secret, iv. 2.
Sun-lacking, spots of trouble."

750. Or: " Naiis. Behold the 752.

dawn

rosy
Rises in tinsell'd lawn,
And smiling seems to fawn
Upon the mountains.

Cloe. Awakèd from her dreams,
Shooting forth golden beams,
Dancing upon the streams,
Courting the fountains.'

Drayton, The Muses' Elysium, Nymphal iii.

"Is it so much, and yet the morn not up? See yonder, where the shame-fac'd maiden comes!

Into our sight how gently doth she slide, Hiding her chaste cheeks, like a modest bride, With a red veil of blushes!"

Fletcher, The Woman-Hater, i. 1. 757, 8. "The clock upbraids me with the waste of time." Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, iii. 1.

760. "Eternity, the various sentence past,
Assigns the sever'd throng distinct abodes,
Sulphureous or ambrosial: what ensues!
The deed predominant! The deed of deeds -
Which makes a Hell of Hell, a Heaven of
Heaven.

The goddess, with determin'd aspect, turns
Her adamantine key's enormous size
Through destiny's inextricable wards,
Deep driving every bolt, on both their fates.
Then, from the crystal battlement of Heaven,
Down, down she hurls it through the dark pro-
found,

Ten thousand thousand fathom; there to rust,
And ne'er unlock her resolution more.

The deep resounds; and Hell, through all her glooms,

Returns, in groans, the melancholy roar.'

Young, Complaint, N. ix.

By this the route t' Elysium lies for us;
But punishments of wicked [souls] the left
Works out,
and sends them to accursed

Hell."

Deiphobus in answer : "Storm thou not, Great priestess; I shall pass away, fill up The tale, and be restored to gloom. Go thou,

Our pride! go, better fates enjoy!" Thus much

He said, and at the word his footsteps wheeled.

770

Æneas on a sudden looks behind, And 'neath a cliff upon the left he sees A spacious hold, engirt with triple wall, Which, ravening with its scorching flames, the flood,

Tartarean Phlegethon, beclips, and whirls The booming rocks. A gate there is in front, Colossal, and of solid adamant

Its pillars; that no might of men, not e'en The heav'nly ones themselves, may have the power

To root them from their base with steel. There stands

[Up-mounting] to the gales an iron keep; And, sitting down, Tisiphone, with robe Blood-spattered, tucked beneath, the vestibule 782

Unsleeping sentinels both night and day. Hence groans are heard, and felon lashes ring;

773

"Horrors beneath, darkness in darkness, Hell Of Hell, where torments behind torments dwell; A furnace formidable, deep, and wide, O'er-boiling with a mad sulphureous tide, Expands its jaws, most dreadful to survey, And roars outrageous for the destin'd prey. The sons of light scarce unappall'd look down, And nearer press Heaven's everlasting throne." Young, Last Day, b. iii.

774. See note on 1. 416. 780. "Methinks Suspicion and Distrust dwell here, Staring with meagre forms through grated windows;

Death lurks within, and unrelenting punishment; Without, grim danger, fear, and fiercest pow'r, Sit on the rude old tow'rs and Gothic battle

ments:

While horror overlooks the dreadful wall,
And frowns on all around."

Rowe, Lady Jane Grey, act iii.

784. A touching picture of a prisoner's woe from Chaucer; Knighte's Tale. Speaking of Palamon, 1281, 2:

Æneas paused, and, startled by the din, Stood still. "What forms of guilt [are these], O maid?—

Speak forth!-or by what vengeance are they plagued?

What such distressful wailing to the air?" Then thus the prophetess began to speak : “O famous prince of Teucri, it to none 791 Is lawful in his purity to plant

66

A foot upon the cursed sill; but me When o'er the groves Avernian Hecat placed,

Herself explained the vengeance of the gods,

And she escorted me through every [spot]. These does the Gnosian Rhadamanthus hold,

Thrice-rigid realms, and punishes and hears

Their crafty sins, and forces them to own What crimes, committed in the upper world, 800

Each [soul], in unavailing secrecy Exulting, hath deferred to death ['s] late [hour].

Forthwith the guilty ones Avengeress
Tisiphone, accoutred with a scourge,
Torments in mockery, and stretching out
In her left hand her grisly snakes, she calls
The ruthless squadrons of the sister-crew.
At last then, grating on dread-jarring hinge,
The cursed gates are oped. Dost see what
guise

"The pure fetters on his shinnes grete
Were of his bitter salte teres wete."

802. "Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd;
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head:
O, horrible! O horrible! most horrible !"
Shakespeare, Hamlet,

5.

"Yet down his cheeks the gems of pity fell,
To see the helpless wretches that remain'd,
There left through delves and deserts dire to yell;
Amaz'd, their looks with pale dismay were stain'd,
And, spreading wide their hands, they meek re-
pentance feign'd.

"But ah! their scorned day of grace was past,
For (horrible to tell!) a desert wild
Before them stretch'd, bare, comfortless, and vast,
With gibbets, bones, and carcasses defil'd.
There nor trim field, nor lively culture smil'd;
Nor waving shade was seen, nor fountain fair;
But sands abrupt on sands lay loosely pil'd,
Through which they floundering toil'd with pain-
ful care,

Whilst Phoebus smote them sore, and fir'd the cloudless air."

809.

Thomson, Castle of Indolence, end.

"Before the gates there sat

On either side a formidable shape:

The one seem'd woman to the waist, and fair,