Of his terrific engine, he shall hear
Infernal thunder, and for light'ning fee
Black fire and horror fhot with equal rage
Amongst his angels-and his throne itself
Mixt with Tartarian fulphur, and ftrange fire;
His own invented torments- -but perhaps
The way feems difficult and fteep, to scale
With adverse wing against a higher foe-
Let fuch bethink them, if the fleepy drench
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still,
That with our proper motion we afcend
Up to our native feat-defcent and fall
To us are adverfe-Who but felt of late,
When our fierce foe hung on our broken rear,
Infulting and purfued thro' the deep,
With what compulfion and laborious flight
We funk thus low? The afcent is eafy then-
Th' event is fear'd-Should we again provoke
Our enemy, fome worfe way he may find
To our deftruction; if there be in hell

Fear to be worfe deftroy'd-What can be worfe Than to dwell here?Driven out from blifs, condemn'd

From this abhorred deep to utter woe,
Where pain of unextinguishable fire,
Muft exercise us, without hope of end;
The vaffals of his anger, when the fcourge.
Inexorable, and the tort'ring hour

Calls us to penance? More destroyed than thus
We must be quite abolished and expire.

What fear we then? what doubt we to incenfe
His utmost ire? which to the height enraged
Will either quite confume us, and reduce
To nothing this effential: happier far
'Than miferable to have eternal being.
Or if our fubftance be indeed divine,

And

And cannot cease to be, we are at worst
On this fide nothing; and by proof we feel
Our pow'r fufficient to difturb his heav'n;
And with perpetual inroads to alarm,
Tho' inacceffible, his fatal throne:
Which if not victory is yet revenge.

A Climax of jealous Rage Shakespeare give us in the following lines.

I had been happy if the general camp
(Pioneers and all) had tasted her fweet body,
So I had nothing known-Oh, now, for ever
Farewel the tranquil mind! farewel content!
Farewel the plumed troops, and the big war
That make ambition virtue! O farewel!
Farewel the neighing fteed, and the fhrill
trump;

The fpirit-ftirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
The royal banner; and all quality,

Pride, pomp, and circumftance of glorious war! And, oh, ye mortal engines, whofe rude throats Th' immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewel Othello's occupation's gone.

A Climax of more Rapidity, proceeding from a fudden Burst of Grief, Shakespeare gives as follows.

Come, fhew me what thoul't do!

Woo't weep? woo't faft? woo't fight? woo't tear thyfelf?

Woo't drink up Eifel, eat a crocodile ?

I'll do't!—Doft thou come hither but to whine ?
To outface me with leaping in her grave?
Be buried quick with her, and fo will I!
And if thou prat' of mountains, let them heap

Millions of acres on us, till our ground,
Singeing its pate against the burning zone,
Make Offa like a wart..

Any perfon who can do juftice to thefe, or fiml lar paffages, either by genius or inftruction, may claim a fufficient knowledge of climax; which, however, as well as emphafis, is farther explained under the term MODULATION.

If we confider the human voice through the whole extent of its feveral divifions, we fhall eafily difeover that nothing can require more, the affift ance of art to render it pleafing and expreffive.

The art of harmonious éxpreffion is diftinguished by the term modulation; for the better comprehending of which let us borrow a divifion from mufic; counter-tenor, tenor, and bafe, or upper, medium, and lower notes. Every one of thefe, fo far as reading and declamation extend, may be found or created, more or less perfectly, in every voice, according to the organs of utterance, and the proper use of thofe organs; it then remajns properly to appropriate each of the divisions.

To all plaintive, amorous paffages, humble infinuation, flattery, and frequently to exclamations of joy and diftractions, the counter-tenor is moft properly applied, as will appear from the following examples, firft from Otway, in the plaintive frain.

Oh, Belvidera! doubly I'm a beggar ;

Undone by Fortune, and in debt to thee;
Want, worldly want, that hungry meagre fiend,
Is at my heels, and chaces me in view,

Canft thou bear cold and hunger? Can thefe

limbs,

Fram'd

Fram'd for the tender offices of love,
Endure the bitter gripes of fmarting poverty?
When banish'd by our miseries abroad,
(As fuddenly we fhall be) to feek out

In fome far climate, where our names are strangers,
For charitable fuccour ;-wilt thou then,
When in a bed of ftraw we fhrink together,
And the bleak winds fhall whistle round our heads,
Wilt thou then talk thus to me? Wilt thou then
Hush my cares thus, and shelter me with love?
Venice Preferv'd.

All

Inftance of the amorous Style, from Lee. No more of this, no more; for I disdain pomp when thou art by. Far be the noise Of kings and courts from us, whofe gentle fouls Our kinder ftars have steer'd another way. Free as the foreft-birds we'll pair together, Without rememb'ring who our fathers were; Fly to the arbours, grots, and flow'ry meads, And in foft murmurs interchange our fouls ; Together drink the chryftal of the ftream, Or tafte the yellow fruit which Autumn yields; And, when the golden ev'ning calls us home, Wing to our downy neft, and fleep till morn. Theodofius.

Humility and Infinuation are thus happily fet forth by Shakespeare.

Thus, Brutus, did my mafter bid me kneel;
Thus did Marc Antony bid me fall down,
And, being proftrate, thus he bade me fay :
Brutus is no le, valiant, wife, and honeft;
Cæfar was mighty, royal, bold, and loving:
Say I love Brutus, and I honour him ;
Say I fear'd Cæfar, honour'd him and lɔv'd him.

If Brutus will vouchfafe that Antony
May fafely come to him, and be refolv'd
How Cæfar hath deferv'd to lie in death,
Marc Antony fhall not love Cæfar dead
So well as Brutus living; but will follow
The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus,
Thorough the hazards of this untrod ftate,
With all true faith.
Julius Cafar.

Diffimulation, which requires the fame tone of ex preffion, we find in these lines of Young.

It hurts not me, my lord, but as I love you:
Warmly as you I wish Don Carlos well;
But I am likewife Don Alonzo's friend:
There all the difference lies between us two.
In me, my lord, you hear another felf,
And give me leave to add, a better too;
Clear'd from thofe errors, which, tho' born of

virtue,

Are fuch as may hereafter give you pain.

Revenge.

Inftances of Exclamation in Joy and Rage are thus fet forth by Shakespeare.

Oh my foul's joy!

If after every tempeft come fuch calms,

May the winds blow till they have waken'd

death;

And let the lab'ring bark climb hills of feas
Olympus high, and duck again as low

As hell's from heav'n

-Whip me, ye devils,

From the poffeffion of this heav'nly fight; Blow me about in winds, roast me in fulphur, Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire

Othello.

of