external circumstances, desirous of success, doubtful concerning the means, delivered from opposing principles, and capable of reflecting, without abhorrence, on intended injury, our soliloquies, if we are disposed to them, are more coherent. Macbeth, reasoning anxiously concerning the consequences of his design, reflecting on the opinions of mankind, on the hatred and infamy he must incur, and on the resentment he must encounter, overcome by fear, relinquishes his undertaking. If it were done, when 'tis done, then 'twere well Could tramel up the consequence, and catch Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been And pity, like a naked new-born babe, That tears shall drown the wind. We will proceed no further in this business: He hath honour'd me of late; and I have bought Golden opinions from all sorts of people, Which should be worn now in their newest gloss, Thus, the irregular passion is again repulsed: yet symptoms of the decay of virtue are manifest. Immediate instinctive aversion, in cases of censure, accompanies the decisions of our moral faculty: and those who are deterred from crimes, merely by the dread of punishment, and a regard to the opinions of mankind, betray a vitiated and depraved constitution*. The lively feelings, opposed to ambition, unable, by the vivacity of their first impression, to ex * Tu nihil admittes in te formidine poenae; Sit spes fallendi; miscebis sacra profanis. HoR. tirpate the habit, languish, and are enfeebled. The irregular passion, like the persevering Fabius, gathers strength by delay: the vir tuous principle, like the gallant, but unsupported Hannibal, suffers diminution, even by success. Thus, it is manifest, that the contest between the obstinacy of an habituated passion, and the vehemence of an animated feeling, is unequal; and that there is infinite danger even in the apparently innocent and imaginary indulgence of a selfish passion. The harmony of the internal system is nicely adjusted; and the excessive tension or relaxation of any of the parts produces irregular and discordant tones. The opinions of mankind are variable: for nations and communities, no less than individuals, are liable to prejudice. Particular emergencies and prepossessions mislead the judgment; and we applaud, at one time, what we blame at another. A system of conduct, founded on the opinion of others, is, therefore, unstable, inconsistent, and often vicious. Macbeth, considering the assassination of Duncan as a deed deserving punishment, is deterred from his enterprize; } but, reflecting upon it as an event which he desired, but durst not accomplish, his courage is questioned, and his honour impeached. When the sense of honour is corrupted, virtue expires. Influenced by fatal prejudices, and flattering himself with the hope of impunity, he finally determines himself, and engages to execute the black design. To be the same in thine own act and valour, As thou art in desire? Would'st thou have that, I dare do all that may become a man.- La. Mach. We fail! But screw your courage to the sticking place, And we'll not fail. When Duncan is asleep, &c. Macb. I'm settled, and bend up Each corporal agent to this terrible feat. A In the natural and healthful state of the rect. mind, all its operations are regular and corThe external organs of the senses, corresponding with memory, present objects to the understanding; and we regulate our actions according to the notices they communicate. But, when the mind is seized and occupied by violent passions, its operations are disturbed, and the notices we receive from the senses are disregarded. The soldier, in the field of battle, eager to signalize his valour, perceives not that he is wounded, till he falls. The priests of Cybele, actuated by wild enthusiasm, inflicted wounds on their own bodies, and seemed insensible of the pain. In like manner, the notices communicated to the soul of Macbeth, agitated and shaken by tumultuous passions, are wild, broken, and incoherent: and reason, beaming at intervals, heightens the horror of his disorder. Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come let me clutch thee: I have thee not; and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision! sensible To feeling as to sight? or art thou but A dagger of the mind; a false creation |