Let thou and I the battle try, And set our men aside; When these brave men had distinguished themselves in the battle, and in single combat with each other, in the midst of a generous parley, full of heroic sentiments, the Scotch earl falls; and with his dying words encourages his men to revenge his death, representing to them, as the most bitter circumstance of it, that his rival saw him fall: With that there came an arrow keen Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart Who never spoke more words than these, Fight on, my merry-men all, Merry-men, in the language of those times, is no more than a cheerful word for companions and fellow-soldiers. A passage in the eleventh book of Virgil's Eneid is very much to be admired, where Camilla, in her last agonies, instead of weeping over the wound she had received, as one might have expected from a warrior of her sex, considers only (like the hero of whom we are now speaking) how the battle should be continued after her death: A gathering mist o'erclouds her cheerful eyes; Repel the Trojans, and the town relieve : DRYDEN. Turnus did not die in so heroic a manner; though our poet seems to have had his speech in the last verse: Lord Percy sees my fall. eye upon Turnus's Vicisti, et victum tendere palmas Ausonii videre EN. xii. 936. The Latin chiefs have seen me beg my life. DRYDEN. Earl Percy's lamentation over his enemy is generous, beautiful, and passionate: I must only caution the reader not to let the simplicity of the style, which one may well pardon in so old a poet, prejudice him against the greatness of the thought: Then leaving life, Earl Percy took O Christ! my very heart doth bleed For sure a more renowned knight The beautiful line, Taking the dead man by the hand,' will put the reader in mind of Æneas's behaviour towards Lausus, whom he himself had slain as he came to the rescue of his aged father: At vero ut vultum vidit morientis, et ora, Ora modis Anchisiades pallentia miris; Ingemuit, miserans graviter, dextramque tedendit. EN. x. 821. The pious prince beheld young Lausus dead; DRYDEN. I shall take another opportunity to consider the other parts of this old song. C. N°71. TUESDAY, MAY 22, 1711. Scribere jussit amor, OVID. Epist. iv. 10. Love bade me write. THE entire conquest of our passions is so difficult a work, that they who despair of it should think of a less difficult task, and only attempt to regulate them. But there is a third thing which may contribute not only to the ease, but also to the pleasure of our life; and that is refining our passions to a greater elegance than we receive them from nature. When the passion is Love, this work is performed in innocent, though rude and uncultivated minds, by the mere force and dignity of the object. There are forms which naturally create respect in the beholders, and at once inflame and chastise the imagination. Such an impression as this gives an immediate ambition to deserve, in order to please. This cause and effect are beautifully described by Mr. Dryden in the fable of Cymon and Iphigenia. After he has represented Cymon so stupid, that He whistled as he went, for want of thought; he makes him fall into the following scene, and shews its influence upon him so excellently, that it appears as natural as wonderful: It happen'd on a summer's holiday, That to the greenwood-shade he took his way; F By chance conducted, or by thirst constrain'd, The dame herself the goddess well express'd, The fanning wind and purling streams continue her repose. Then would have spoke, but by his glimm'ring sense But lest this fine description should be excepted against, as the creation of that great master Mr. Dryden, and not on account of what has really ever happened in the world, I shall give you verbatim, the epistle of an enamoured footman in the country to his mistress. Their surnames shall not be inserted, because their passions demand a greater respect than is due to their quality. James is servant in a great family, and Elizabeth waits upon the daughter of one as numerous, some miles off her lover. James, before he beheld Betty, was vain of his strength, a rough wrestler, and quarrelsome cudgel-player; Betty a public dancer at may-poles, a romp at stoolball he always following idle women, she playing among the peasants: he a country bully, she a country coquette. But love has made her constantly in her mistress's chamber, where the young lady gratifies a secret passion of her own, by making Betty talk of James; and James is become a constant waiter near his master's apartment, in reading as well as he can, romances. I cannot learn who Molly is, who it seems walked ten miles to carry the angry message, which gave occasion to what follows: 'MY DEAR BETTY, May 14, 1711. REMEMBER your bleeding lover who lies bleeding at the wounds Cupid made with the arrows he borrowed at the eyes of Venus, which is your sweet person. Nay more, with the token you sent me for my love and service offered to your sweet person; which was your base respects to my ill conditions; when alas! there is no ill conditions in me, but quite contrary; all love and purity, especially to your sweet person; but all this I take as a jest. But the sad and dismal news which Molly brought me struck me to the heart, which was it seems, and is, your ill conditions for my love and respects to you. For she told me, if I came forty times to you, you would not speak with me, which words I am sure is a great grief to me. Now my dear, if I may not be permitted to your sweet company, and to have the happiness of speaking with your sweet person, I beg the favour of to accept of this my secret mind and thoughts, which hath so long lodged in my breast, the which if you you |