clination of mind towards it, it is called hatred, When our hatred and disapprobation of any object are accompanied with a painful sensation upon the apprehension of its presence or approach, there follows an inclination to avoid it, called aversion.

Hatred, or aversion, draws back the body as to avoid the hated object; the hands at the same time thrown out spread, as if to keep it off. The face is turned away from that side towards which the hands are thrown out; the eyes looking angrily, and obliquely the same way the hands are directed; the eye-brows are contracted, the upper lip disdainfully drawn up, and the teeth set; the pitch of the voice is low, but loud and harsh, the tone chiding, unequal, surly, and vehement, the sentences are short and abrupt.

A description and example of this passion from Shakespeare is given in the introduction to these examples, p. 313. To these we shall add a few others :

Hatred cursing the object hated.

Poison be their drink,

Gall, worse than gall, the daintiest meat they taste;
Their sweetest shade a grove of cypress trees,
Their sweetest prospects murd'ring basilisks,
Their softest touch as smart as lizard's stings,
Their musick frightful as the serpent's hiss,
And boding screech-owls make the concert full

;

All the foul terrours of dark-seated hell. Shakesp. Hen. VI.

This seems imitated by Dr. Young.

Why get thee gone, horrour and night go with thee.
Sisters of Acheron, go hand in hand,

Go dance about the bow'r and close them in ;
And tell them that I sent you to salute them.
Profane the ground, and for th' ambrosial rose
And breath of jessamin, let hemlock blacken,
And deadly night-shade poison all the air :
For the sweet nightingale may ravens croak,
Toads pant, and adders rustle through the leaves
May serpents, winding up the trees, let fall

Their hissing necks upon them from above,

And mingle kisses-such as I would give them.

Hatred of a rival in glory.

He is my bane, I cannot bear him ;

One heaven and earth can never hold us both;
Still shall we hate, and with defiance deadly
Keep rage alive till one be lost for ever;
As if two suns should meet in one meridian,
And strive in fiery combat for the passage.

ANGER, RAGE, FURY.

Revenge.

Rowe's Tamerlane.

When hatred and displeasure rise high on a sudden from an apprehension of injury received, and perturbation of mind in consequence of it, it is called anger; and rising to a very high degree, and extinguishing humanity, becomes rage and fury.

Anger, when violent, expresses itself with rapidity, noise, harshness, and sometimes with interruption and hesitation, as if unable to utter itself with sufficient force. It wrinkles the brows, enlarges and heaves the nostrils, strains the muscles, clinches the fist, stamps with the foot, and gives a violent agitation to the whole body. The voice assumes the highest tone it can adopt consistently with force and loudness, though sometimes to express anger with uncommon energy, the voice assumes a low and for

cible tone.

Narrative in suppressed Anger.

My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But I remember when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin, new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble land at harvest-home :
He was perfumed like a milliner;
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held

A pouncet-box which ever and anon,

He
gave
his nose, and took't away again ;-
Who, therewith angry when it next came there,
Took it in snuff and still he smil❜d and talk'd,
And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them-untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly, unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms,
He question'd me, among the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.

I then all smarting with my wounds being cold,
To be so pestered with a popinjay,

Out of my grief and my impatience

Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what,

He should, or he should not ;-for he made me mad,

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,

And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,

Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (heav'n save the mark!) And telling me the sovereign'st thing on earth,

Was parmacity for an inward bruise

And that it was great pity, so it was,
That villanous salt-petre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said,
And I beseech you, let not his report,
Come current for an accusation,

Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

Shakespeare's Henry IV. First Part,

Scorn and violent Anger, reproving.

Tut! tut!

Grace me no grace, nor uncle me no uncle,
I am no traitor's uncle; and that word-grace
In an ungracious mouth is but profane;

Why have those banish'd and forbidden legs

Dar'd once to touch a dust of England's ground? But more than why-Why have they dar'd to march many miles upon her peaceful bosom ;

So

Frighting her pale fac'd villages with war,

And ostentation of despised arms?

Com'st thou because the anointed king is hence?

Why foolish boy, the king is left behind,
And in my loyal bosom lies his pow'r.
Were I but now the lord of such hot youth
As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself
Rescu'd the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French;
Oh, then, how quickly should this arm of mine,
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee,
And minister correction to thy fault!

REVENGE.

Shakes. Rich. It.

Revenge is a propensity and endeavour to injure the offender, which is attended with triumph and exultation when the injury is accomplished. It expresses itself like malice, but more openly, loudly, and triumphantly.

Determined Revenge.

I know not: if they speak but truth of her

These hands shall tear her; if they wrong her honour,
The proudest of them shall well hear of it.

Time hath not yet so dry'd this blood of mine,

Nor age so eat up my invention,

Nor fortune made such havock of my means,
Nor my bad life 'reft me so much of friends,
But they shall find awak'd in such a kind,
Both strength of limb and policy of mind,
Ability in means, and choice of friends
To quit me of them thoroughly.

Eager Revenge.

Ibid. Much Ada, Sc.

Oh, I could play the woman with mine eyes,
And braggart with my tongue !-But, gentle heav'n,
Cut short all intermission: front to front,

Bring thou this fiend of Scotland, and myself;
Within my sword's length set him; if he 'scape,
Heav'n forgive him too!

Shakes. Macbeth

Unrestrained Fury.

Alive! in triumph! and Mercutio slain k

Away to heaven, respective lenity,

And fire-ey'd fury be my conduct now !→→→→
Now, Tybalt, take the villain back again,
That late thou gav'st me; for Mercutio's soul
Is but a little way above our heads

Staying for thine to keep him company,
And thou or I, or both, shall follow him.

Romeo and Juliet.

REPROACH.

Reproach is settled anger or hatred chastising the object of dislike, by casting in his teeth the severest censures upon his imperfections or misconduct : the brow is contracted, the lip turned up with scorn, the head shaken, the voice low, as if abhorring, and the whole body expressive of aversion.

Reproaching with Stupidity and Inconstancy.

Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,

Το

grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?

You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
O, you
hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew ye not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To tow'rs and windows, yea, to chimney tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The live-long day, with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome :
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tyber trembled underneath his banks,
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in his concave shores ?

And do you now put on your best attire ?
And do you now cull out a holiday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood ?

Be gone;

Run to your houses; fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague,
That needs must light on this ingratitude.

Shakesp. Jul. Cas.