SELECT Pa.s.sAGES FROM DRAMATIC WRITERS, EXPRESSIVE OF THE _PRINc.i.p.aL EMOTIONS AND Pa.s.sIONS_.

JOY.

Then is Orestes blest! My griefs are fled!

Fled like a dream! Methinks I tread in air!-- Surprising happiness! unlook'd for joy!

Never let love despair! The prize is mine!-- Be smooth, ye seas! and, ye propitious winds, Blow from Epirus to the Spartan coast!

GRIEF.

I'll go; and in the anguish of my heart--- Weep o'er my child--If he must die, my life Is wrapt in his; I shall not long survive.

'Tis for his sake that I have suffer'd life; Groan'd in captivity; and outliv'd Hector.-- Yes, my Astyanax! we'll go together; Together--to the realms of night we'll go.

PITY.

Hadst thou but seen, as I did, how, at last, Thy beauties, Belvidera, like a wretch That's doom'd to banishment, came weeping forth, Whilst two young virgins, on whose arms she lean'd, Kindly look'd up, and at her grief grew sad!

E'en the lewd rabble, that were gather'd round To see the sight, stood mute when they beheld her, Govern'd their roaring throats--and grumbled pity.

FEAR.

Come on, Sir,--here's the place--stand still,-- How fearful 'tis to cast one's eyes so low!

The crows and coughs, that whig the midway air, Shew scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down, Hangs one that gathers samphire--dreadful trade!

Methinks he seems no bigger than one's head, The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon tall anchoring bark Seems lesson'd to a c.o.c.k; her c.o.c.k, a buoy Almost too small for fight. The murmuring surge; That on th' unnumbered idle pebbles chases, Cannot be heard so high.--I'll look no more, Lest my brain turn and the disorder make me Tumble down headlong.

AWE AND FEAR.

Now, all is hush'd and still as death-- How reverend is the face of this tall pile, Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, To bear aloft its arch'd and pond'rous roof, By its own weight made stedfast and immoveable, Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe And terror on my aking sight. The tombs, And monumental caves of death look cold, And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.

Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice-- Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear Thy voice--my own affrights me with its echoes.

HORROR.

Hark!--the death-denouncing trumpet founds The fatal charge, and shouts proclaim the onset.

Destruction rushes dreadful to the field, And bathes itself in blood. Havock, let loose.

Now, undistinguish'd, rages all around; While Ruin, seated on her dreary throne, Sees the plain strew'd, with subjects truly her's, Breathless and cold.

ANGER.

Hear me, rash man; on thy allegiance hear me, Since thou hast striven to make us break our vow, Which, nor our nature, nor our place can bear, We banish thee forever from our sight And kingdom. If, when three days are expir'd, Thy hated trunk be found in our dominions, That moment is thy death---Away!

REVENGE.

If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me of half a million; laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies. And what's his reason--I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, pa.s.sions? Is he not fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? if you p.r.i.c.k us do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And, if you wrong us--shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility?--Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example?---Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me, I will execute; and it shall go hard, but I will better the instruction.

ADMIRATION.

What find I here?

Fair Portia's counterfeit?--What demi-G.o.d Hath come so near creation! Move these eyes!

Or, whether, riding on the b.a.l.l.s of mine, Seem they in motion?--Here are sever'd lips, Parted with sugar breath: so sweet a bar Should sunder such sweet friends.--Here, in her hair, The painter plays the spider, and hath woven A golden mesh, t' entrap the hearts of men Falter than gnats in cobwebs.--But her eyes-- How could he see to do them! having made one, Methinks it should have power to steal both his, And leave itself unfinish'd!

HAUGHTINESS.

Make thy demands to those that own thy power!

Know, I am still beyond thee. And tho' fortune Has strip'd me of this train, this pomp of greatness; This outside of a king, yet still my soul, Fix'd high, and on herself alone dependant, Is ever free and royal: and, even now, As at the head of battle--does defy thee!

CONTEMPT.

Away! no woman could descend so low, A skipping, dancing, worthless tribe you are; Fit only for yourselves. You herd together; And when the circling gla.s.s warms your vain hearts, You talk of beauties that you never saw, And fancy raptures that you never knew.

RESIGNATION.

Yet, yet endure--nor murmur, O my foul!