confequence, argues they would be too much pleafed in performing it. It is only from a thorough difregard to himfelf in fuch particulars, that a man can act with a laudable fufficiency: his heart is fixed upon one point in view; and he commits no errors,. because he thinks nothing an error but what deviates from that intention. The wild havock Affectation makes in that part of the world, which should be most polite, is vifible wherever we turn our eyes: it pushes men not only into impertinences in converfation, but alfo in their premeditated fpeeches. At the bar it torments the bench, whofe bufinefs it is to cut off all fuperfluities in what is fpoken before it by the practitioner; as well as feveral little pieces of injuftice which arife from the law itself. I have feen it make a man run from the purpose before a judge, who was when at the bar himself, fo close and logical a pleader, that with all the pomp of eloquence in his power, he never fpoke a word too much *. It might be borne even here, but it often afcends the pulpit itfelf; and the declaimer, in that facred place, is frequently fo impertinently witty, fpeaks of the last day itself with so many quaint phrafes, that there is no man who understands raillery, but muft refolve to fin no more. Nay, you may behold him fometimes in prayer, for a proper delivery of the great truths he is to utter, humble himself with fo *This feems to be intended as a compliment to Chancellor COWPER. very well-turned phrafe, and mention his own unworthinefs in a way fo very becoming, that the air of the pretty gentleman is preserved, under the lowlinefs of the preacher. I fhall end this with a fhort letter I writ the other day to a very witty man, over-run with the fault I am speaking of. I Dear S I R, gave SPENT fome time with you the other day, and must take the liberty of a friend to tell you of the unfufferable Affectation you are guilty of in all you say and do. When I you an hint of it, you afked me whether a man is to be cold to what his friends think of him? No, but praise is not to be the entertainment • of every moment. He that hopes for it must be able to fufpend the poffeffion of it till proper periods of life, or death itfelf. If you would not rather be commended than be praife-worthy, contemn little merits; and allow no man to be fo free with you, as to praise you to your face. Your vanity by this means 'will want its food. At the fame time your paffion for esteem will be more fully gratified; men will praife you in their actions: where you now receive one compliment, you will then ' receive twenty civilities. Till then Till then you will never have of either, further than, T*. SIR, • Your humble fervant." By STEELE. It has the fignature R. in the original publication in folic. See final Notes to N° 5, and N° 324. N° 39. N° 39. Saturday, April 14, 1711. Multa fero, ut placeam genus irritabile vatum, Cùm fcribo IMITATED. HOR. 2 Ep. ii. 102. Much do I fuffer, much, to keep in peace A РОРЕ. S a perfect TRAGEDY is the noblest production of human nature, fo it is capable of giving the mind one of the most delightful and most improving entertainments. A virtuous man (fays Seneca) ftruggling with misfortunes, is fuch a fpectacle as gods might look upon with pleasure; and such a pleasure it is which one meets with in the representation of a wellwritten tragedy. Diverfions of this kind wear out of our thoughts every thing that is mean and little. They cherish and cultivate that Humanity which is the ornament of our NATURE. They foften infolence, footh affliction, and subdue the mind to the difpenfations of PROVI DENCE. It is no wonder therefore that in all the polite nations of the world, this part of the Drama has met with public encouragement. The modern Tragedy excels that of Greece and Rome, in the intricacy and disposition of the fable; but, what a Chriftian Writer would be be ashamed to own, falls infinitely short of it in the moral part of the performance. This I may show more at large hereafter; and in the mean time, that I may contribute fomething towards the improvement of the Englifh TRAGEDY I fhall take notice, in this and in other following Papers, of fome particular parts in it that feem liable to exception. Ariftotle obferves, that the Iambic verfe in the Greek tongue was the most proper for Tragedy: becaufe at the fame time that it lifted up the discourse from profe, it was that which approached nearer to it than any other kind of verfe. For fays he, we may obferve that men in ordinary difcourfe very often fpeak Iambics, without taking notice of it. We may make the fame obfervation of our English blank verse, which often enters into our common difcourfe, though we do not attend to it, and is fuch a due medium between rhyme and profe, that it seems wonderfully adapted to Tragedy. I am therefore very much offended when I fee a play in rhyme; which is as abfurd in English, as a tragedy of Hexameters would have been in Greek or Latin. The folecifin is I think, ftill greater in thofe plays that have fome scenes in rhyme and fome in blank verfe, which are to be looked upon as two feveral languages; or where we fee fome particular fimilies dignified with rhyme, at the fame time that every thing about them lies in blank verfe. I would not however debar the poet from concluding his Tragedy, or if he pleafes, every act of it, with two or three three couplets, which may have the fame effect as an air in the Italian OPERA after a long Recitativo, and give the actor a graceful Exit. Befides that we see a diverfity of numbers in fome parts of the old Tragedy, in order to hinder the ear from being tired with the fame continued modulation of voice. For the fame reafon I do not diflike the fpeeches in our English tragedy that clofe with an Hemiftich, or half verfe, notwithstanding the perfon who fpeaks after it begins a new verfe, without filling up the preceding one; nor with abrupt paufes and breakings off in the middle of a verse, when they humour any paffion that is expreffed by it. Since I am upon this fubject, I must observe that our English POETS have fucceeded much better in the ftile, than in the fentiments of their Tragedies. Their language is very often noble and fonorous, but the fenfe either very trifling, or very common. On the contrary, in the ancient Tragedies, and indeed in those of Corneille and Racine, though the expreffions are very great, it is the thought that bears them and fwells them. For my own part, I prefer a noble fentiment that is depreffed with homely language, infinitely before a vulgar one that is blown up with all the found and energy of expreffion. Whether this defect in our Tragedies may arife from want of genius, knowledge, or experience in the writers, or from their compliance with the vicious taste of their readers, who are better judges of the language than of the fentiments, and confequently relish the one up more |