clownishly; because he there appears in person, and rusticity is his character: but Homer and Virgil, rehearsing a speech of Polyphemus, would indeed deliver thoughts suitable to his character and condition, but would express them in their own elegant and harmonious language. And hence we see, how absurdly those criticks argue, who blame Virgil for making Eneas too poetical (as they are pleased to phrase it) in the account he gives Dido of his adventures. They might with equal reason affirm, that every person in the Iliad and Odyssey, as well as Eneid, speaks too poetically. The mistake arises from confounding epick with dramatick composition, and supposing that the heroes both of the one and of the other speak in their own persons. Whereas, in the first the poet is the only speaker, and in the last he never speaks at all: nay, the first is nothing more, from beginning to end, but a narration, or speech, delivered by a person assuming, and pretending to support, the character of an inspired poet. In the style, therefore, of the epopee, the poetick character must every where predominate, as well as the heroick; because a speech, in order to appear natural, must be suited to the supposed character of the speaker, as well as to the things and persons spoken of.

The puns that Milton ascribes to his devils, on a certain occasion,* are generally and justly condemned. It has, however, been urged, as an apology for them, that they are uttered by evil beings, who may be supposed to have lost, when they fell, all taste for elegance, as well as for virtue: and that the poet, on this one occasion, might have intended to make them both detestable as devils, and despicable as buffoons. But this plea cannot be admitted. For the fiends of Milton, notwithstanding their extreme wickedness, retain an elevation of mind, without which they could not have appeared in an epick poem, and which is inconsistent with the futility of a buffoon or witling. Granting, then, (what is not likely) that the poet, in this one instance, meant to render them contemptible for their low wit, he must yet be blamed for assigning them a part so repugnant to their general character. Or, even if he could be vindicated on this score, he is liable to censure for having put so paltry a part of his narration in the mouth of the holy angel Raphael. Or, if even for this we were to pardon him, still he is inexcusable, for having forgotten the assumed dignity of his own character so far, as to retail those wretched quibbles;

* Paradise Lost, book 6. vers. 609–627.

which, whether we suppose them to be uttered by an angel, a devil, or an epick poet, are grossly unnatural, because totally unsuitable to the condition and character of the speaker. A mind possessed with great ideas does not naturally attend to such as are trifling;* and, while actuated by admiration, and other important emotions, will not be apt to turn its view to those things that provoke contempt or laughter. Such we suppose the mind of every sublime writer to be; and such in fact it must be, as long at least as he employs himself in sublime composition.

* Who that, from Alpine heights, his labouring eye Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey

The Nile or Ganges rolling his bright wave
Through mountains, plains, through empires black
with shade,

And continents of sand, will turn his gaze
To mark the windings of a scanty rill,

That murmurs at his feet?

Pleasures of Imagination, book 1. "The meditations," says a very ingenious writer, (speaking of the view from Mount Etna), are ever "elevated in proportion to the grandeur and sublimity "of the objects that surround us; and here, where you "have all nature to rouse your imagination, what man can remain inactive?" See the whole passage; which, from its sublimity, one would be tempted to think had been composed on the spot. Brydon's Travels, letter 10.

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Mean language, therefore, or ludicrous sentiments, are unnatural in an epick poem, for this reason, among others, that they do not naturally occur while one is composing it. And hence Milton's humorous description of the limbo of vanity,* however just as an allegory, however poignant as a satire, ought not to have obtained a place in Paradise Lost. Such a thing might suit the volatile genius of Ariosto and his followers: but is quite unworthy of the sober and well principled disciple of Homer and Virgil.

In dramatick poetry, the persons act and speak in their own character, and the author never appears at all. An elevated style, may, however, be natural in tragedy, on account of the high rank of the persons, and of the important affairs in which they are engaged. Even comedy, who takes her characters from the middle and lower ranks of mankind, may occasionally lift up her voice, as Horace says,† when she means to give utterance to any important emotion, or happens to introduce a personage of more than ordinary dignity. But what if persons of low condition should make their appearance in tragedy? And as the great must have attendants, how can this be guarded against? And if such persons ap

* Paradise Lost, book 3. vers. 444.

† Hor. Ar. Poet. vers. 92.

pear, will not their language be unnatural, if raised to a level with that of their superiours? Or, would it not give a motley cast to the poem, if it were to fall below that level? No doubt, an uniform colour of language, though not essential to tragi-comedy, or to the historick drama, is indispensable in a regular tragedy. But persons of mean rank, if the tragick poet find it necessary to bring them in, may easily be supposed to have had advantages of education to qualify them for bearing a part in the dialogue, or for any other office in which he may think proper to employ them. Besides, language admits of many degrees of elevation; and a particular turn of fancy, or temperature of the passions, will sometimes give wonderful sublimity to the style even of a peasant or of a savage. So that the style of tragedy, notwithstanding its elevation, may be as various as the characters and passions of men, and may yet in each variety be natural. Moreover, the subject, and consequently the emotions, of tragedy, are always important; and important emotions prevailing in the mind of a peasant will exalt and invigorate his language. When the old shepherd in Douglas exclaims, "Blest be the day that made me a poor man; "my poverty has saved my master's house;" the thought and the words, though sufficiently tra