A TREATISE OF THE LOFTINESS OR ELEGANCY OF SPEECH.  
Written Originally in Greek by LONGIN; And now Translated out of French by Mr. J. P.  
Praeclarum mihi quiddam videtur adeptus is qui qua re homines bestiis praestent ea in re hominibus ipsis antecellat.  Cic. de Juven, Rhet. 
London, Printed by N. T. for John Holford, Bookseller in the Pall-Mall, over against St. Albans-street. 1680.   

To William Pulteney Esq  
A Dedication, accorcording to the mode, is nothing but a mere Panegyric; you must not therefore look for a modish one from me; for, besides that 'twere a needless, if not almost impossible thing to recount all those Excellency which Fame has already reported, and which ye● remain to be said of you● 'tis not consistent with that modesty wherewith we ought to speak of any Relation, lest while we are transported with his Commendations, we seem implicitly to arrogate some to ourselves. All that I can or do propose to myself in this Epistle, is to recommend to your protection the following Treatise, which is a Translation out of French into English, two Languages (if the latter may be properly so called) wherein you have atained so great perfection, by being Educated for some time at the French Court, and now since at this in England, (which are the two Fountains from whence the Purity of either Language does naturally flow) that (laying aside all other Obligations and Motives, which might induce me to offer this Piece to you) I do not know any one Person, under whose wing I could better shadow it than yours, whose very Name, if stamped upon the basest Metal, is sufficient to make it pass for current Coin. I shall say nothing of that Loftiness of Fancy, Solidness o● Judgement, Elegancy o● Speech, or those other Faculties of the Mind, which are the Subject Matter of this Treatise, and which I have always observed in you, but leave it to an impartial Judge, and one who is not biased with that strong and natural Affection, which obliges me to subscribe myself,  
Your, etc. J. P.   

THE PREFACE.  
A Preface, with those who by Translation, or any other means, do expose an Author to public view, aught to be like that usual Ceremony, which, when we are to introduce any one into a strange company, obliges us to give some account of the Party introduced: Wherefore I thought it convenient to say something in this place concerning the Author and Original of this following Treatise; but seeing the French Translator (whom I have all along copied) has already done it so incomparably well, I need only make use of his words, thus rendered into English.  
This small Treatise (the Translation whereof I have here published) is a Relic of those most excellent Books which the famous Longin has composed: yet alas! though but small, 'tis not come to our hands very complete, but is deficient in many places; and we have utterly lost that Treatise of the Passions which our Author had wrote by itself, and which is a natural continuation of this. However, this piece is not so mangled and defaced, but that there still remains enough to give us a very great Idea of its Author, and a true sense of our misfortune in the loss of his other Works, the number whereof were very considerable; Suidas reckons up Nine, of of all which, there 'tis scarce any one thing left but the bare Titles: They were all pieces of Criticism, and doubtless we cannot sufficiently deplore the loss of those incomparable Originals, which (to judge of 'em by this one) ought to be looked upon as so many Patterns of true sense, Learning, and Eloquence; I say of Eloquence, for that Longin does not, like Aristotle and Hermogenes, lay down his Precepts in a plain ordinary way, but takes care to avoid that fault which he found in Cecilius, when he said of him, That he had wrote of Loftiness in a mean style. He writes of Eloquence with all the Excellencies of Eloquence, many times, when he teaches us any Figure, he himself uses that Figure which he teaches, and treating of Loftiness, is himself very Lofty; all which he does with so much Accurateness and Art, that throughout his whole style there is no one place, wherein he is not himself an Example to his own Rules. Hence is it, that this Book has been of so great esteem amongst the Learned, who have always looked upon it as the best piece of Rhetoric that Antiquity can boast of. Causabon calls it A Golden Book, intimating thereby how weighty it is, which notwithstanding it is but of a little bulk, may very well be put in the scale with the biggest Volume. Nor do I find, but that Longin was accounted one of the most famous men of his time. Porphyrius the Philosopher, (who had been his Scholar) speaks of him as of a Prodigy; for (as he tells us) his judgement was the Probate of true sense, his Verdict was in all Writings a final Decree, and nothing was bad or good till Longin had either approved or censured it. Nay, Eunapius goes yet farther, and, to express how much he values Longin, suffers himself to be carried away with extravagant Hyperboles, thinking it altogether improper to speak of the extraordinary deserts of so great an Author in a common and familiar style. Yet after all, Longin was not only a great Critic, but a considerable Minister of State; and 'tis a sufficient Encomium for him to say, That he was in great favour with Zenobia that famous Queen of Palmyra, who, after the death of her Husband Odenatus, declared herself Queen of the East She at first made use of him to teach her the Greek Tongue, but soon preferred him to be one of her principal Ministers; 'twas he that encouraged her to maintain the Title of Queen of the East, 'twas he that buoyed her up in all her adversities, and supplied her with those expressions which she made use of in her Letter to Aurelian the Emperor, when by him she was required to yield herself up; which very thing was the occasion of our Author's death, a death as equally glorious to him, as inglorious to Aurelian, and which has quite eclipsed the brightness of all his former actions. Now then, since the death of this person is one of the most remarkable passages in the History of those times, it will not perhaps be amiss to let you see what Flavius Vopiscus has written thereupon. The Army of Zenobia and the Confederater (says he) being routed near the Town of Emaus, Aurelian laid Siege to Palmyra, a City to which this Princess was fled, but finding a stronger resistance than he looked for, or could possibly be expected from a Woman, and being almost tired out with the Siege, he endeavoured to win it by Capitulation, and in order thereunto wrote a Letter to Zenobia, wherein he offered to save her life, and allow her a place of retirement, provided she would surrender herself within a certain time. Zenobia (says Vopiscus) answered this Letter with a greater haughtiness, than was consistent with the juncture of her present affairs, whereby she thought to frighten Aurelian. This was her answer.  
Zenobia Queen of the East, to the Emperor Aurelian. No one ever made so insolent a demand as thou. Know, Aurelian, that 'tis valour does all in War. Thou commandest me to yield myself up, as if you had forgot that Cleopatra chose rather to die a Queen, than live in any other condition. We expect aid from the Persians, the Saracens will take up Arms for us, the Armenians will secure us. A company of Highwaymen in Syria has defeated your Army, think then what you must necessarily expect when all these Forces are united; then you will abate of that pride, wherewith, as if you were Master of the Universe, you command me to surrender.  
This Letter (continues Vopiscus) did rather incense than terrify Aurelian; for some few days after the Town of Palmyra was taken, and with it Zenobia, as she was flying to the Persians. The whole Army would have had her put to death, but Aurelian was unwilling to slain his Victory with the blood of a Woman; therefore he reserved her to grace his Triumph, and put such 〈◊〉 to the sword as were of 〈◊〉 Co●●●●●● amongst whom (says our Historian) was Longin the Philosopher, who taught the Queen Greek, and was adjudged to die for having indicted the  Letter; for though it was in the Syriack Tongue, yet was he suspected to be the Author thereof. Zosimus the Historian is of opinion, that Zenobia herself impeached him. Zenobia (says he) being taken Prisoner, laid all the blame upon her Ministers, who (says she) taking advantage of the weakness of my Sex, have been the instruments of that crime with which I am now charged. Amongst others, she named Longin, whom accordingly Aurelian caused to be put to death. This Noble Person (says Zosimus) died with so much resolution and unconcern, that even those who were most grieved for him, were in some measure comforted. Whereby we may see, that Longin was not only an able rhetorician as Quintilian and Hermogenes, but a Philosopher worthy to be compared to the Socrates and Cato's. There is not one thing in all his Book which does not agree with what I have said, and throughout the whole, we may read the Character of a brave Person. To conclude therefore, I am of opinion with the French Translator, (of whom I shall say nothing, he being already sufficiently known) that those few hours cannot be misspent, which are employed in the perusal and Translation of a Piece, which (if we are not wholly taken up with Novels) may be both profitable and delightful to us; but that I leave to the judicious Reader.   

A TREATISE OF THE LOFTINESS OR Elegancy of Speech.  

CHAP. I. A Preface to the whole, etc.  
YOu are not ignorant (dear Terentianus) that when we read together the small Treatise of Loftiness, which Cecilius wrote, we found, that the meanness of his Style did not at all suit with the greatness of his Subject; that he had omitted the most material Branches thereof; and that, in a word, it was not a work any ways useful to the Reader, which ought to be the chiefest aim and endeavours of those who writ. Besides, he that will treat of any Art, must carefully consider two things: the First of which is, so to handle his Subject, that it be clearly understood. The Second (and, as I take it, the most material which we now drive at) is, to show, how and by what means the same may be attained. In the first of these, Cecilius has been extremely careful; for in many words he tells us what this loftiness is, as if it were a thing altogether unknown; but is not so kind, as to instruct us what way we must take to acquire it, that he passes by, yet wherefore, I know not, unless that he look upon it as useless, and not worth his while. However, to give him his due, this Author is not so much to be discommended for the faults he has committed, as worthy of praise for his well-meant design, and the great pains he has taken. Now then, since your earnest entreaties have prevailed with me to say something upon this Toppick, I have made a few reasonable observations thereupon, which perhaps may prove advantageous to many of our Rhetoricians. But upon this condition, that we shall peruse them together, and that you will freely speak your opinion. For as a certain 
* Pythagoras.  wise man has very well observed, If there is any thing that can liken us to the Gods, 'tis to be courteous, and speak the truth. Lastly, it being to you, a man of profound Learning and Knowledge, that I direct this Discourse, I shall not dwell long upon several points, very necessary to be laid down and understood, before I proceed to the principal matter; nor use many words to tell you, that Loftiness is the thing which gives a Sovereign perfection to well-speaking, and that by which, not only Poets, but other Writers of all Ages have grown famous to Posterity; for it does not so much persuade, as transport us to a certain admiration and astonishment, which is a clear different thing from bare pleasing or persuading. It may be said of Persuasion, that for the most part it has no more power over us, than we ourselves will allow; but 'tis not so of Loftiness, that gives life and vigour to Speech, which works irresistably upon the very Souls of those who have it. Nor is any thing sufficient to the recommendation of a piece, or the setting off the fineness of the invention, and beauty of the Oeconomy or disposition thereof, unless there be a just Height and Loftiness, whereby the whole strength and finews of Oratory are firmly united and contracted together. But all I shall or can say herein, will be of little use to you, who already know these things by experience, and are able to be my Instructor.   

CHAP. II. If Loftiness be a peculiar Art, etc.  
FIrst, let us see whether Loftiness be a peculiar Art; for there are those that will not allow that it ought to be so reckoned, or that it may be reduced to a certain method by Rules and Precepts. Loftiness, say they, is not artificially to be learned, but the only way to have it, is to be born to it. In this, as in many other things, they will admit of no other Mistress than Nature herself, confidently and ignorantly affirming, that from the constraint of Rules, nothing can be expected but weak and barren thoughts. Yet I doubt not manifestly to prove the contrary. True it is, that Nature never appears more liberal than in sublime and pathetical Speech; yet not so, as altogether to exclude Art: I grant, that in all things she is the principal Foundation and Basis; but certain it is, that we ought to have some method, which may teach us what may be said, and in what place; and this is that that contributes to a perfect habit of Loftiness. For as a Ship that is set a drift, and not duly balanced, is in great danger of perishing; so is it of Loftiness, if it be suffered to be carried away with the impetuous stream of a rash ignorant Nature. Our Fancy hath oftentimes as much need of a Curb as a Spur. And Demosthenes tells us, that the greatest good which can befall us in this life, is to be happy; but that there is yet another, without which, the former cannot subsist, (viz.) To know how to carry ourselves discreetly. The same may be said of the Elegancy of Speech, Nature is that which must lead the way to it, but without the conduct of Art, she becomes blind, and leads us astray. Note, 
* Note, the Author had spoken of a Romantic Style, and to that purpose cited some fooleries of a Tragic Poet.  These are his thoughts, The torrent of twisted flames, to vomit against Heaven, to make Borcas his Flutinist. And many more such like expressions is this piece stuffed with, which are not lofty and great, but extravagantly Bombastick, and if closely examined, so confounded with vain and intricate thoughts; that they rather seem troublesome and ridicilous, then Delightful or Magnificent; if then it be a fault in Tragedy, (which naturally is Lofty and Great) to be crammed with impertinent Raptures; how much more is it to be dissalowed in common Speech; hence is it, that Georgius is censured for calling Xertes, the Jupiter of the Persians: and Vultures, living Sepulchers. The same Fate hath Calisthenes found, who in many places of his Writings, not observing a due Pitch has soared quite out of sight. Yet do I not find any one so guilty of this folly as Clytarcus, Who affects such Haughtiness in all his expressions, that (so speak in Sophocles' terms) he looks like one who opens his Mouth wide to breath into a small Pipe: The same may be said of Amphicartes, Hegesias, and Matris, all so full of Enthusiasm, and Divine Ecstasy, that when they think to Thunder, they do but make noise, and play the Fool like little Children; and without doubt in Eloquence, there is nothing so hard to be avoided, as Excess of Fancy: for while we aim naturally at something that is extraordinary out of fear of being thought too lowly, for the most part we are subject to this Error, upon this persuasion that.  The fall is brave, that's in a Noble Cause. 
But most certain it is, that a Tumour in any part of the Body is not more dangerous then in Speech; which, however it appears outwardly, is within a mere Vacuum and Timpany: as 'tis observed, that there is no disease so juceless, or that renders the Patient so thirsty, as the Dropsy. In fine, the fault of a two Haughty Style, is, that it transgresseth the very bounds of greatness; contrary to this, is a Childish and Foolish Style, than which nothing can be more averse to the delicacy and grandeur of Speech. Let us then see what it is, and we shall find, 'tis nothing but a Schoolboys thought, which by a too nice examination becomes cold and insipid. This is the fault of those, who striving to say something extremely fine, and affecting altogether Tropes and Figures, produce nothing but dull affectation. There is another Enemy to true Elocution, which relates to the pathetical part; Theodorus calls it, an unseasonable Madness; when one rages too high where he ought to be calm, or grows too hot, where he should be but lukewarm; so that some men drunk with this fury, do not express themselves with a becoming Air, but fall into the extravagant Fit, of a declaiming Schoolboy; and thereby become insupportably odious to their audience; which necesarily must happen, when they rise where they should fall, and fall where they ought to rise, but of this in another place.   

CHAP. III. Of a Faint Style.  
OF this faint childish style, whereof we have just before spoken, Timeus is very full; not but that here and there he has a touch of greatness; and to say truth, his fancy is good, and well enough expressed. yet is he naturally inclined to censure other men's faults, though blinded with his own; and so curious in searching after new unheard of thoughts, that he cannot in the end avoid this Childishness. To this purpose I shall quote only two or three examples; seeing Cecilius has already afforded us so many in his commendation of Alexander the great, he has (saith he) Conquered Asia in less time, then Isocrates spent in Writing his Panegyric. Here is an excellent comparison of Alexander the great with a Rhetorician, by the same reason (if I mistake not good Timeus) should the Lacedæmonians yield to Isocrates; seeing they spenth thirty years in beseiging Messina, whereas he composed his Panegyric in ten. Again, when several Athenians were taken Prisoners in Sicily, what think you was the exclamation he made, you shall hear. It is (said he) a punishment from Heaven by reason of their Impiety towards the God Hermes, 
Hermes in Greek Sngnifies Mercury.  otherwise called Mercury, in Demolishing his statues; and the rather for that one of the chief Officers in the Enemy's Army was called Hermocrates the Son of Hermes saith Terrentianus. I wonder why he did not as well say, that the Gods permitted Dionysius the Tyrant to be driven out of his Kingdom by Dyon and Herclydes by reason of his irreverence to Dyon and Heracles, 
〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, Jupiter 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 Herculis.  (that is) Jupiter and Hercules, but what need I trouble myself, any longer with Timeus, Xenophon and Plato those ancient worthies, and Scholars of Socrates, did sometimes forget themselves, and fall into such mean silly expresions; for example, the former of these two in the Book which he wrought of the Government of the Lacedæmonians hath these words. You shall no more hear them Speak (saith he) than Stones; they stir their Eyes no more than if they were made of Brass. Lastly they have more modesty than is in those parts of the Eye which in Greek we call Virgins. 'Twere more proper for Ampicartes then Zenophon to say the Eyeballs were Virgins full of modesty. Good God what a thought was there, because Core, which in Greek signifies the Apple of the Eye; doth also signify a Virgin, to say that all Eyeballs generally are Virgins full of modesty; when as there is no place, wherein Impudence doth sooner appear than in the Eye; which makes Homer, when he would give the Character of an Impudent Fellow say, Thou Drunkard with thy Dog's Eyes. Tymeus could not see this poor and weak thought in Zenophon, but as if it had only belonged to him, takes it, from that Author; and thus applies it in his life of Agathocles It is not strange that he should Ravish his own Cousin who was just Married to another, is it not I say strange that he should Ravish her the very next day after her Wedding; for who could have done such a thing that had Virgins in his Eyes, and not immodest Women; But enough of such trash; now what think you of Plato, who (otherwise a most Divine Author) Speaking of the Tables of Cypress-Wood, whereon the Laws were Written; said, When they had wrought all these things, they placed the Monuments of Cypress in the Temples. And in another place he saith, as touching the Walls (Megillas. 
The Spartans' had then no Wall. ) I am of Opinion with the Spartans', to let them sleep and not raise 'em, so long as they are laid down to rest. There is a very ridicilous passage in Herodotus, when he calls beautiful Women, the disease of the Eyes: but this is the more tolerable, in respect 'tis supposed to be spoken by a company of Barbarians in the heat of their Debaucheries; yet for that these sort of People are of no great credit, 'tis not wisely done by the using an undecent expression, to run the hazard of displeasing future Ages.   

CHAP. IU. Of the cause of a Faint Style.  
ALl these mean Childish affections proceed from a too great fondness of new thoughts, a very Epidemical disease amongst the Writers of the present times; Certain it is, that good and bad do often come from the same source; therefore we see that the self same thing, which sometimes serves to adorn a piece, that I say the self same thing which often gives the grace and beauty to Elocution, does at other times work clear contrary effects, as plainly may appear by Hyperboles, and other Figures called plurals, but how dangerous 'tis to use them, shall be shown elsewhere. Now then let us see, how we may avoid those Errors which seem slightly to pass for loftiness; and without doubt we shall arrive at our intended purpose if we can obtain a clear and distinct knowledge, and learn to judge rightly thereof, which is no very easy thing; since that a true Judgement of distinguishing between the Elegancy and Weakness of Speech, must be the Product of a long practice, and consummated Study. But to proceed, I will now Chalk out a way, which perhaps may serve to lead thither.   

CHAP. V The means in general how to know loftiness.  
WE cannot say, (dear Terentianus) that the things of this life are great, when there is a manifest greatness in the very undervaluing and despising the same; such are riches, power, honour, Empire, and other like seeming blessings, glorious 'tis true in appearance, but such as can never pass with a discreet man for real and substantial good. Hence is it that we admire not so much those who do, as others who may, but out of a nobleness of mind will not enjoy them. The same may be said of the works of Poets and Orators; and we ought to be very cautious, not to take a hideous noise, and jingling of words shuffled together, for Sublime Eloquence. For that which is truly Sublime, has this inseparable quality, that it affects the Soul of him who hears it, and makes her conceive a better Opinion of herself, filling her with an unusual Joy, and a kind of a (I know not what) pride, as if she herself had been the Author of what she does but barely hear. When therefore, any thing is recited to a Judicious and understanding man, if after hearing it repeated several times, he does not find himself edified, or any impression left upon his mind; but if on the other hand, after listening to it attentively, he still remains unmoved, or is rather dejected, we must believe, there is nothing in it that is weighty or sublime, but that it is an empty sound, which strikes the ear, and reaches not the mind. 'Tis an infallible sign of a lofty Speech, when it sets our thoughts a working, and has that effect over us, which 'tis difficult, if not impossible to withstand, leaving behind a strong remembrance and Idea of the things we have heard. In a word, you may conclude a piece to be Sublime, and Elegant, when there is a pleasing Symmetry throughout. For when a great Assembly of men, of as different humours and inclinations, as age or profession, are equally touched with a Speech, that concurrence of opinions and joint approbation, is an undoubted proof of the force and greatness thereof.   

CHAP. VI Of the five Sources or Heads of Loftiness.  
THere are five principal Heads of Loftiness, but they all presuppose a good faculty of speaking, as a common foundation, without which they cannot stand. That therefore being supposed the first and most considerable is, a regular elevation of thought. As is already shown in our remarks upon Xenophon. The second consists in being pathetical; by which is meant that Enthusiasm and Natural vehemency which touches and affects us. These two first, we own chief to Nature, and have from our Cradles; whereas the two latter do partly depend upon Art. The third is nothing but figures diversely fashioned. And those are of two sorts, figures in thoughts, and figures in words. The fourth shall be a staetliness of Expression. Which may be subdivided into two parts, (viz.) the choice of words and elegant figurative Phrases. The fifth and last (whence, properly speaking, all greatness is derived, and which includes the other four) is the ordering and well placing of sentences according to their magnificence and dignity. Now then as to every one in particular; but by the way let me mind you, that Cecilius has forgot some of these, and amongst the rest, that of being Pathetical; which if he has done out of an Opinion, that it always goes hand in hand with loftiness, and that both make but one, he is mightily deceived: Since there are some passions which are void of all greatness, as trouble, fear, and sorrow, and again many Sublime and lofty things, without any passion at all. As is that which Homer says of the 
* These were the Giants, Odyss. l. 11.  Aloydes; 
By them vast Pelion was on Ossa thrown,  
To storm the skies, and snatch the Heavenly Crown.  Nay he goes yet further, Sure they had done it too, etc. And in prose Panegyrics, and such sort of Speeches, made only for Ostentation, may be full of greatness and sublimity, tho' there be no passion. So that amongst Orators themselves, that which is most pathetical, is least fit for Panegyric; and on the other hand, that which is most proper for Panegyric, is least able to affect the Passions. But if Celicius believes that the being Pathetical, does no ways contribute to loftiness, and therefore not worth mentioning, he is as grossly mistaken: for I dare be bold to say, there is nothing sets off speech, more than a genteel movement, and a passion well carried on. To be short, 'tis a kind of Enthusiasm, or divine rapture, which is the life and vigour of speech.   

CHAP. VII. Of loftiness of Thought.  
THough of the five things whereof we have spoken, the first and most material (viz. the Elevation of the fancy) be rather a gift of Heavens, than a qualification altogether to be acquired; yet ought we, as much as possible we can, to employ it daily about something that is great. And because it may be asked how this can be done? I have already showed, That the Elevation of the fancy, is a perfect representation of the greatness of the soul. Which makes us sometimes admire the very thoughts of a man, tho' he says not a word: because of that presence of mind, which we discover in him. For Example, the silence of Ajax in Hell, in the Odysseys; That silence declared something more noble and glorious, 
* Lib 11.  than all be could have said. The first good quality therefore requisite to a complete Orator is, that his thoughts be not mean and humble: for is it possible that a man, whose thoughts are employed about base and servile matters, should ever be Author of any thing worthy to be committed to Posterity? No sure, that can only be expected from the exalted and lofty fancies of High-Spirited men. See for example, the Answer which Alexander made, when Darius proffered him half Asia in marriage with his Daughter. Were I Alexander (said Parmenio) I would accept the offer, and so would I (replied the Prince) If I were Parmenio. Can any one but an Alexander have made such a reply 'tis in this that Homer is so excellent, whose thoughts are always sublime, as appears in his description of Eris, or the Goddess of strife, when he says, Her head's in Heaven, and on Earth her feet.  
It may justly be said, that this large extent, is not so much the measure of that Goddess, as of the Capacity and height of Homer's fancy: far different from this, is that verse of Hesiod's, in his Poem Entitled the Buckler (if it be true that he Wrote it) where speaking of the Goddess of Darkness, he says, A nasty Humour from her Nose Distilled. Here instead of rendering this Goddess, as he ought to do, terrible, he makes her odious and loathsome: but observe what Majesty Homer gives to all his Gods, Iliad l. 5.  
— as far as Humane Eye,  
Into the Sea, can from a Hill Descry,  
So far, Heaven's Fiery Steeds at once can Leap.  
He measures the length of their leaps by the Universe, who then, at this strong Hyperbole, will not naturally cry out; that if the Horses of the Gods would take a Second jump, they could not find room enough in the World, no less excellent are those Descriptions, which he makes of the Fight of the Gods. (viz.) Il. l. 21.  The Heaven's echoed, and Olympus shaken. 
And in another place, 
Hell was in Arms, and the infernal King  
Leapt from his Throne, Cried out, least over him, Iliad l. 20.  
Neptune should cleave the earth, and so the dim,  
Loathed, filthy Mansion of the howling Fiends,  
Should open both to Gods and men, etc.  Behold (dear Terentianus) the Earth opened to its Centre Hell ready to appear, and all the Machine of the world unhinged: to show that in this Combat, Heaven, Hell, and all things, as well mortal, as immortal, were engaged; and that nature herself was in danger. But all these thoughts, are to be taken in an Allegorical sense, otherwise are they Atheistical, and unbecoming the Majesty of the Gods. And, for my part, when I read in Homer, of the wounds, Punishments, Tears, and Imprisonment of Gods, with such like accidents which continually befall them; I cannot but think, that he endeavoured nothing more than to make his men at the Siege of Troy Gods, and the Gods themselves, men; Nay he has made their Condition the worst of the two; for when we are unhappy, Death, at least, will put an end to our afflictions; but as for the Gods, he makes them not so much immortal, as eternally miserable, much better success has he, when he describes a God in his full brightness and Majesty, and not sullied with earthly concerns: as may appear, in that most remarkable place, where speaking of Neptune, he says, Il. l. 13.  
Great Neptune marched, and at each step he took,  
Under his Feet the woods and mountains shook.  
And he goes on, 
— then to the Sea he drove,  
Whilst Whales from Whirlepits round his Chariot throng,  
To see their Monarch as he passed along.  
The Sea for joy opened its liquid arms,  
Whilst he flew swiftly on, etc.  So that incomparable Lawgiver of the Jews, having a strong notion of the greatness and power of God, has, in the beginning of his Book, these words; God said, let there be light, and there was light, etc. let there be a firmament, and there was a firmament, etc. It may not perhaps be unpleasant to you (dear Terentianus) if I should quote another passage out of the same Poet; whereby you may judge how Heroic he himself appears, in writing the Character of a Hero. A general darkness was spread over all the Grecian Camp, which prevented 'em from engaging: at this Ajax being at a stand cries out in a rage, Il. l. 17.  
Drive, O ye Gods, these dusky Clouds away,  
And fight us fairly in the open day.  
This is like such a blunt Warrior as Ajax was, he does not beg for life, that were a thing too mean for a Hero; But wanting an opportunity to signalise his valour by reason of the Darkness, which hindered him from fight: He calls out, in a passion, for Daylight, that he might fall, like himself, in grappling with Jupiter. Here our Author enforces his thoughts with such a vehement fury, as if he himself were enraged. Il. l. 15.  
Like angry Mars amidst the thickest troops,  
Or as a raging flame, that in the night  
Runs through the woods, and spreads its dismal light,  
He foaming at the mouth appeared, etc.  
But I must desire you, for several reasons, to observe how flat he grows in his Odysseys. Whereby you will find. that when a great genius gins to decline, it becomes delighted with fables and stories. For to prove that his Odysseys were composed after his Iliads, I can bring many instances. And first, how many thoughts are there in the Odysseys; which, without doubt, are but the continuation of several misfortunes mentioned in the Iliads, and set down in this last piece as so many effects of the Trojan war. And besides many accidents in the Iliads are bewailed by the Heroes of the Odysseys, as disasters well known and of a long date. The Odysseys ought therefore properly to be called the Epilogue to the Iliads 

* These are the words of Nestor in the Odysseys.  There the great Ajax lies, Achilles there,  
There fell his Godlike and much valued friend,  
There my dear Son Antilochus took end.  Now than I am of opinion, that the Iliads, which Homer wrote when his fancy was at the highest, are full of life and action: Whereas for the most part, the Odysseys consist of tedious speeches and relations, the certain symptoms of a feeble and decayed fancy. So that in respect of this last, I can only compare him to the setting Sun, which still retains the same splendour, but abates of its heat. To be short, It has not that Harmony or loftiness which is so delicately spread throughout the whole Iliads; it wants that variety of passionate and fine thoughts, so curiously heaped one upon another. You will not find the same force, and (if I may so say) fluency of language, and livelyness of description. It may be called the ebb of his sancy, which, like the unconstant Ocean, sometimes shrinks up and forsakes its Banks. At every turn he deviats into fictions, and most incredible fables. Not but that his descriptions of Tempests, Vlysses' adventures with Polyphemus, and some few more, are very excellent. Yet after all, though this weakness be in Homer, 'tis still Homer's weakness. I have been the longer upon this matter to let you see, (as I have already said) That a lofty and manly Genius, when once the heat of natural parts abates, does now and then dwindle into mere dotage, and fooleries: amongst which may be reckoned that of Aeolus' shutting up the Winds; and Ulysses' Companions Metamorphosed into Swine. Whom Zoilus pleasantly calls little weeping Pigs. Such another is that of Doves feeding Jupiter like a young Pigeon, or Vlysses' Poverty, Who lived ten days after his Shipwreck without eating: and those absurd fictions of the murder of Penelope's wooers. For the most that can be said in the commendation of such Chimaeras is, that they are witty and pleasant inventions. Or if you will, you may call them the dreams of Jupiter. That which made me speak of the Odysseys, was to show you, that great Poets, and other famous writers, wanting strength and vigour to be pathetical, grow dull and insipid. Hence is it, that when Homer describes how Penelope's suitors lived in Vlisses' house, the whole description is a sort of Comedy, wherein the characters of so many different persons are drawn.   

CHAP. VIII. Of Loftiness drawn from Circumstances.  
NOw let us consider what other means may be found out to advance Loftiness. Certain it is, that nothing happpens in this World, which is not attended by some certain Circumstances; a choice therefore of the most considerble, drawn together into a well-proportioned body, will be of no little advantage; which is the reason, that when Sappho would express the disorders of Love, she calls to mind all the accidents which are either inherent, or consequential to this Passion, but singles out such chief, as declare the excessive violence thereof 
Blessed is the man, thrice blessed who sits by thee,  
Enjoys thy Tongue's soft melting harmony,  
Sees silent joys sit smiling on thy brow;  
The Gods themselves do not such pleasure know.  
When thou appear'st, straight at my heaving heart  
My blood boils up, and runs through every part.  
Into such Ecstasies of Joy I'm thrown,  
My voice forsakes me, and I'm speechless grown;  
A heavy darkness hovers o'er my eyes,  
From my pale cheeks the coward colour flies:  
Intranc'd I lie, panting for want of breath,  
And shake, as in the Agony of death.  
Yet since I'm wretched, I must dare, etc.   
Don't you wonder how she brings together all these different things, the Soul, Body, Speech, Looks, etc. as if they had been so many distinct persons just expiring? Observe how strangely she is tossed too and fro; now she freezes, than she burns; now is out of her wits, than again grows sober; now at the very point of death: In a word, her Soul does not so much seem the seat of one single Passion, as the general Rendezvous of all; and so is it with all those who love. By this it may appear, how much a fit application of choice Circumstances tends to the ornament of Speech. Thus Homer, when he would describe a Storm, taketh care not to omit any one frightful accident. The Author of the Poem concerning the 
A People of Scythia.  Arimaspians thought to be wonderful lofty, when he said, 
Unheard of madness, and strange prodigy  
Of giddy men! whom tottering Vessels please;  
They quit the Shore to float upon the Seas:  
Through trackless ways and unknown paths they go,  
Repose and gentle rest they never know,  
But take much pains how to increase their woe.  
Their eyes on Heaven, their thoughts on Ships are fixed:  
To deaf and unregarded Gods they pray, etc.   
What man cannot perceive, that this is rather the flourishing of a weak Pencil, than the true paint of an Artist? Let's see then what Homer says, and particularly in this place.  
So angry Billows rise with all their force,  
To dash against the Bark that stops their course;  
Amidst the tattered Sails Winds loudly roar,  
The Sea with hoary froth is covered over;  
The fearful Pilot, now his Art is gone,  
Sees with each wave his Fate come rolling on.  
Aratus has endeavoured to enhance this last Verse, in saying, A little slender Plank has saved their lives. But instead of improving the thought, he has made it flat and little, which was before very terrible, and thinking to sum up all that can be said to express danger in these words, (A little slender Plank has saved their lives) he has rather impaired than added to the thought. Homer does not make the Sailors once only in danger of being drowned, but draws 'em subject to the rage of every threatening wave. And I see, methinks, in his expressions the very Picture of a Tempest. Archilocus took the same measures in his description of a Shipwreck, as likewise did Demosthenes, where he speaks of the confusion the Athenians were in at the newi of Helice's being taken: these are his words, 
* This Speech is so long, that our Author has thought ●●●o omit it.  It was now very late, etc. Both these have been very diligent to make choice of the best and most pertinent circumstances, and avoid nothing more, than the inserting superfluous and pedantic particulars, which must necessarily spoil all, and are like Mortar and Rubbish any way heaped together to raise a Foundation.   

CHAP. IX. Of Amplification.  
AMongst those things that conduce to the Loftiness and Excellency of Speech, we may very well reckon Amplification. For when the nature of the Subject we treat of, or any other matter we debate, requires large and full Periods, consisting of many Sentences, we may so draw 'em out, that they shall enforce one another, and mount gradually to a just height of Greatness; and this serves either to spin out a Speech, to explain and strengthen any Action, or to carry on and methodise a Passion. So that Amplification may be divided into many parts, but it is to be premised, that no one of 'em can be complete without Loftiness. Unless when we would undervalue and speak slightingly of any thing, or endeavour to move pity. In all other cases, if we strip Amplification of what ever is great and lofty, we take away its very essence; and, in a word, when once it wants that prop to lean upon, it grows weak and tottering. Now then, for better distinction, we will show the difference between this, and that which we, have lately mentioned in the precedent Chapter, and which (as I have already observed) is nothing but a Collection of choice Circumstances, to the end we may see whether Amplification in general differs from Loftiness.   

CHAP. X. What Amplification is.  
I Cannot by any means harken to some men, who define Amplification to be, A certain Speech which greatens and enlargeth the Subject matter. This Definition may as well agree with the being Lofty, Pathetical, or Figurative; all which give the stamp of Greatness to what ever they treat of: Yet are they very much unlike. And first, Loftiness consists in the Nobleness, but Amplification in the Plenty of Words. The first may oftentimes be found in a single thought, whereas the latter depends wholly upon the abundancy of expression, and thus therefore to be defined. Amplification is a multiplying of Words, drawn from the particular Circumstances and Heads of the matter in hand, to enlarge the Speech, and confirm what we have before said. And herein Argument and Amplification differ; that the one is made use of to prove that point, which th'other doth but stretch out and augment. 
In this place our Author is very defective, etc.  The same difference of Loftiness in my mind is there between Demosthenes and Cicero, as far as we Greeks are able to judge of a Latin Author; for Demosthenes' excellence lies in being concise and pithy; Cicero's, on the other hand, in being very copious. The Grecian, by reason of that violence and fierceness, wherewith he rages throughout, may be likened to a Whirlwind or Thunderbolt, and the Roman to a Confiagration, that shoots its head up into the air, and disperses its flames round about, which work different effects according to the diversity of Places, yet prey upon, and feed themselves with all manner of things they can reach. But of this, you are best able to judge. I confess, Demosthenes his Loftiness, and vehemency of expression, is much the fittest to surprise and storm; but a variety, doubtless, (if I may so say) is that which casts a dew over the minds of the Audience, and is proper in Common Places, Digressions, Perorations, and  is in genere demonstrativo, (that is) demonstrative; as likewise in History, Treatises of Natural Philosophy, and many more such like pieces.   

CHAP. XI. Of Imitation.  
TO return to the matter in hand, Plato's stile, though soft and easy, is never the less Majestical; which, if you have ever read his Politics, you must needs acknowledge. These unhappy men (says he) who know not what 'tis to be Wise, or Virtuous, but spend their time in Revelling and Feasting, grow daily worse and worse, and are out of the way all their life time; Virtue has no attractive Charms over them, they never open their Eyes to look after her, nor indeed do they ever taste of any true and solid pleasure; but like Beasts with their looks fixed always on the Earth; they think of nothing else, then eating, drinking, and satisfying their brutal appetites, and in the heat of their riotting, they quarrel and fight with one another, till in the end they perish by their insatiable gluttony. This Philosopher has pointed out another way (if we will follow it) which leads to loftiness, and what is it? 'tis the imitation and emulation of famous Poets and other Writters, who have gone before us; and this is the mark we ought daily to levelly at: for some there are, who seem to be carried away with a Divine Inspiration, as 'tis said Pythia Apollo's Preistess was, when placed upon the Tripo●s, or Golden Table in the Temple; under which (they tell us) there is a certain Gap in the Earth, through which is breathed a Vaporous and Celestial air, filling her with Divine instinct, whereby she declares the Oracles. So the most remarkable excellencies in the writings of ancient Authors, are as so many Sources, whence a Divine greatness arises, and overflows the Souls of all their imitators; animating them with a more than natural heat; till they become transported with the ecstasy of others. Therefore we see, how much Herodotus, and (before him) Stefichorus and Arthilocus strove to imitate Homer, but none of them comes so near as Plato, for he has drained whole Rivulets out of that Fountain, and turned them into his own Channel. Whereof I could give many instances, had not Amonias afforded enough already; yet after all, we ought not to look upon this as a Theft, but a delicate form, which he himself has moulded out of the Substance of another's inventions. And in my opinion, throughout his whole Body of Philosophy, he never says so fine things, as when he digresses into Poetical expressions; and like a daring Rival, disputes the Prize with Homer himself, who has from all ages been the allowed Champion of the World. And though perhaps he may seem to do it with too much heat; and, as we say fire and Sword, yet that hurts not, since according to Hesiod, A noble envy does avail Mankind. And is it not a commendable thing, and worthy of a generous Soul, to contend for Honour and Victory with our Predecessors? especially when to be vanquished is no discredit.   

CHAP. XII. Of the way of imitation.  
WHen ever we undertake any thing that ought to be great and lofty, 'tis very necessary we should reflect and consider with ourselves, what Homer would have said on the like occasion. Or if it be History, what way Plato, Demosthenes, or Thucydides would have taken, that we may follow the same; for such great men being set before our eyes to be copied, do often raise our fancies to as great a height, as the Idea which we conceive of their Genius: But above all, we ought thus to argue with ourselves, how would Homer or Demosthenes approve of this, if they heard it; or what would they say of me? 'Twill certainly be very advantageous to us, if we seriously fancy to ourselves that we are giving an Account of our writings, at the high Tribunal, or on the public Theatre, where we have such Learned Judges for our audience. But there is yet a stronger motive to excite us to this self-examination, and that is, to consider what after ages will say of our writings. For if a man grows so jealous of himself, as to think his works will not survive him, his fancy can produce nothing but what is shapeless and abortive; nor will he take pains in that, which he he never expects should be long lived.   

CHAP. XIII. Of Fancies.  
Fancy's (and as others call 'em) Conceits or Fictions, do very much contribute to the magnificence or vigour of speech. This word Fancy, in general is taken for any notion or conception, any how representing a thing to the mind, able to beget expression; but in a more particular and strict sense, for that which we say, when by an Euthusiasm or other such like extraordinary notion, we seem to see the things we speak of, and set 'em before the eyes of those who hear us. I need not tell you that Fancies in Rhetoric, are different from those in Poetry. For that in verse they are used to astonish and surprise, but in prose to manifest and convince. Yet in this they agree, that both are moving.  

* These are the words of Orestes in Euripides  Hold cruel mother, hence with the Fiends of night;  
Remove the dismal object from my sight:  
They come, they come, my punishment draws near,  
Fierce hissing Serpents, on their heads appear.  
And in another place; Where shall I go, she comes, she's there, I die: Here the Poet did not see the Furies, but he gives so lively a representation of them, that he almost makes his Auditors believe they do: and though I cannot well say how good his Talent is in expressing the other passions, yet in those two of Love and Fury (which are his Masterpiece) he is very excellent; not but that he has a bold stroke in many other things. For notwithstanding his fancy is not naturally high, yet in weighty subjects, he screws it up to a Tragical greatness; not unjustly therefore, may we say that of him, which the Poet does of the Lyon.  
When threatening dangers and the foe he spies,  
He calls forth all his rage into his eyes,  
And with his Tail lashes his foaming Sides, etc.  
Now for a proof of what we have said, let us have recourse to that place, where the Sun being about to deliver the reins of his Horses into Phaeton's hand, gives the young Charioteer these directions.  
— take care,  
They force you not through the scorched Libian-Air.  
There in the tracks no moistening showers lay,  
To cool the Chariot in its fiery way.  
And going on, 
Keep to the right, and through the road that leads  
To the seven Plyades, direct the Steeds.  
This said, the raw and new made Coachman took  
The reins, and the high mettled Horses struck.  
Forth than they spring, and when their guide they knew,  
Swifter than Lightning through the Skies they flew.  
Mean while his Father, full of fear and pain,  
Sees 'em run headlong o'er the Heavenly plain.  
Then he pursues, then teaches him the way,  
Go here he cries, come back, turn hither, stay.  Who would not say, that the very soul of the Poet, mounted in the Coach-box with Phaeton, partook of all his dangers, and flew in the Air with the Horses; for how otherwise is it possible he could have described it so lively. Not unlike to this is that of Cassandra, But O brave Trojans, etc. Aeschylus too, has for the most part a Noble and Heroical fancy, as may appear in his Tragedy, entitled the Seven before Thebes. When a Courier bringing Eteocles the news of those seven Captains, that made a joint and solemn Oath to kill themselves, does thus deliver his Message.  
Seven brave and warlike Captains of the field,  
When they had slain a Bullock on a shield,  
And had imbrued their hands i'th' reeking gore,  
By Fear, Bellona, and by Mars they swore, etc.  
But when this Poet, does too much force himself to rise, he often falls into harsh and uncouth expressions, as also does Euripides. For example in Aeschylus, the Palace of Lychurgus falls into a rage at the sight of Bacchus.  The Palace bellowed at the sight of him. 
Euripides hath made use of this very thought, though in another way, and somewhat softened.  The bellowing Mountains echoed to their shouts. 
How excellent Sophocles is in his descriptions, let that wittness which he hath given us of Oedipus' dying, and burying himself in a most prodigious Tempest. As likewise that other of Achilles' apparition on his Tomb, when the Grecians were weighing Anchor. Yet as to this last, I question whether any one hath out done Simonides. But 'twere an endless, and almost impossible thing, to instance in every particular example that is to this purpose, To return therefore to what we were saying; Fancies in Poetry are generally full of fabulous and incredible accidents: whereas in Rhetoric, they are then most commendable, when they represent a thing as in itself it is; and make the truth thereof most perspicuous. For a Poetical and fabulous invention in prose, causes impertinent digressions, and consequently becomes very absurd. Yet nevertheless 'tis that which the Orators of these present times are passionately enamoured with. Who thinking thereby to be accounted great, talk of the furies with as much heat as any Tragedian of 'em all. Not considering, that when Orestes says in Euripides.  
Thou that wouldst plunge me into Hell, give o'er  
Thy cruel plagues, and torture me no more.  
'Tis his madness that makes him imagine all this. What then is the effect of fancies in Rhetoric? 'tis that (besides several other properties) they beautify and enliven: so that being artificially interwoven with arguments, they do not persuade only, but overcome and command the audience.  
If (says a certain Orator) there should be a great noise at the Session's house, and straight one comes and says the Prisoners have broke Goal; there is no one old man, though never so decripid, or young man, though never so careless, but what will endeavour to apprehend 'em again; and if at that Juncture of time, they should be showed the Author of that disturbance, alas poor wretch! he must expect to have his brains beat out by the rabble, before he can be heard to make any defence.  
Hyperides in that Speech, wherein he gave an account of the order he had caused to be made, after the defeat at Chironea, for the delivery of the Prisoners; took this way. 'Tis not (says he) an Orator which enacted this Law, but the Battle and defeat at Chironea. At the same time that he gave reasons for what he said, he made use of a delicate fancy, wherewith he did more than persuade: for it being natural to us to mind that most which makes the greatest show; our thoughts are taken up with a pleasing fancy, which coming in at the middle of the Argument, does divert us from a serious examination of the force and weight thereof. Nor ought we to wonder at it, since experience teaches us, that when two things are mixed together, that which is of the greatest, draws to itself the force and virtue of the other. But enough of this sort of loftiness which consists in the thoughts, and (as I have already said) proceeds either from the greatness of the Soul, Imitation, or Fancy.   

CHAP. XIV. Of Figures, and chief that called Apostrophe.  
NOw according to our Method, we come to speak of Figures, for (as I have already said) they are no small constituent part of loftiness, if rightly managed. But 'twill require a long, if not infinite deal of time, to take an exact view of every Figure that is proper in Speech. Wherefore it shall be sufficient for us, to touch upon the most principle, and most immediately requisite to the perfection of Loftiness. Demosthenes would justify his conduct, and prove to the Athenians, that they did not amiss in giving Battle to Philip. What in that case had been the direct way? You have not done amiss, Sirs, (he might have said) in hazarding your lives for the liberty and safety of Greece, and of this we have Domestical, and undeniable examples, for we cannot say those men have been too blame, who fought for the same cause, upon the plains of Marathon, at Sallamis, or before Plateae. This he might have said, but he has taken a clear different way; and of a sudden (as if inspired by some God, or possessed with the Soul of Apollo himself) he swears by those valiant Defenders of Greece, no Sirs no! You have not done amiss; I swear by all the Ghosts of those brave Men, who died Fight for the same Cause upon the Plains of Marathon, etc.  
Thus by this Oath, (which I here call Apostrophe) he deisies those ancients; and consequently shows, that all who die in the like Cause, are to be esteemed as so many Gods, by whom we ought to Swear. Here instead of a natural way of arguing, making use of this strong, and pathetical manner of affirming by Oaths, so extraordinary, new, and withal credible; he infuses into his Judges, the very minds of those Illustrious Men that died, as an Antidote to expel all the venom of their own; here, by his commendations, he persuades them to think, they ought to be as proud of the Battle they lost against Philip, as those Victories which they got at Marathon and Sallamis; and by all these different means, drawn into one single Figure, he prevails with them to be of his Opinion. Yet some perhaps will pretend; that Eupolis is the first who taught this way, when he says, 
Their joy no more, shall fill my breast with care,  
By my great Fight, at Marrathon I swear.  But to swear downright, is not to be commended, or accounted great; we ought to consider how, where, upon what occasion, and to what purpose we do it. So then, that of this Poet, who spoke to the Athenians, at that time happy, and not needing to be comforted, is nothing but a bare Oath: besides, he does not swear by such great and Immortal men as Demosthenes does, nor endeavour with him to kindle in the breasts of the Athenians, thoughts worthy the bravery of their Ancestors; seeing that instead of Swearing by the names of those who Fought, he Swears by the Fight itself; a thing altogether inanimate. On the contrary, the Oath in Demosthenes, was to Encourage the Athenians, who were just before beaten, that from henceforward, they should not look upon the loss of the Battle at Chironea, to be any misfortune. So that (as is already said) he proves to them by reason that they have not done ill, he gives them an example, confirms them by Oaths, commends them, excites them to a War against Philip, and all this with one single Figure. But for that it might be thus objected to our Orator; you speak of a Battle lost against Philip, while you managed the Affairs of the Common Wealth, and at the same time, Swear by the Victory our Ancestors have won. He has therefore taken great care to regulate his Expressions, and make use of such only as are most necessary for his purpose; to show, that upon all occasions, though never so transporting we ought to carry ourselves with equal sobriety and deliberation. Wherefore when he Speaks of the Fight their Ancestors had by Land at Marathon, by Sea at Salamis, and those other near Artemis and Plateae, he forbears to say, how Victorious they were; passing by the happy events of those Battles, as well as the unhappy success of that at Chironea; and to prevent all Objections, he says, those O Aeschynes whom we have lost in this Engagement are as much to be called the Defenders of their Country, as those whom fortune has made Victorious.   

CHAP. XV. That Figures ought necessarily to be lofty.  
WE must not forget, that as Figures do naturally contribute to the perfection of Loftiness, so on the other hand does Loftiness to that of Figures; but how, and wherein, that we are now to show. In the first place, most certain it is, that the use of Figures apart, and by themselves, creates a jealousy in the audience, of some trick or fallacy, especially when we are to speak before any Chief Magistrate; and above all, an Emperor, a King, or a Great General of an Army; for such an one is immediately incensed, and will not suffer himself, like a little Child, to be put upon by the gross cheats of a pedantic and crafty Rhetorician; but looking upon the whole Speech to be a mere subtlety, (though now and then he listens to, and is perhaps pleased with the quaintness thereof) he retains a firm resolution to give no credit to what is said. Wherefore that is the most excellent which is so disguised, as not to be known to be a Figure; and there is nothing can effect this better, than the being Lofty and Pathetical; because, when wrapped in something that is great and wonderful, it has what was before wanting, and is no longer suspected of deceit. An example whereof is that which I have lately mentioned, I swear by the Ghosts of those great Men, etc. How has our Author concealed this Figure? Do not we plainly see, 'tis by the very brightness of his thoughts? For as all lesser Lights disappear when the Sun shines out, so do the Subtleties in Rhetoric when surrounded by a dazzling Greatness; and as when parallel Lines are drawn upon a Plain, with the same Colours and Shade, a reflection of Light (caused by that Shadow which the Piece casts) is that which first appears to the Eye: So the being Pathetical and Lofty by a natural sympathy which they have with the Affections of the Soul, or by reason of their Lustre, move us much more than those Figures which appear naked, and without any Art.   

CHAP. XVI. Of Interrogations.  
WHat shall I say of Questions and Interrogations; for who can deny, but that they add much to the grace and vigour of Speech? Will you never do any thing else (says Demosthenes to the Athenians) then ramble all over the Town, to inquire after one another? What news is there? Why, what greater news can there be, then that a Macedonian makes himself Master of Athens, and gives Laws to all Greece? Is Philip Dead, says one? No, says another, he is only Sick. What I'd fain know, is it to you, whether he be Sick or Dead? When Heaven has set you at liberty, you will soon find another Philip. And in another place, Let us Embark for Macedonia; where shall we Land says one? the War itself, Sirs, will show where Philip is weakest and easiest to be Conquered. If this had been spoken in an ordinary way, 'twould not have answered the weight of his Subject. Whereas by ask the question, and answering it himself, as if 'twere some other person, he does not only make that which he says stronger and more considerable, but at the same time probable; for the being pathetical never succeeds better, then when the Orator seems not to hunt after it, but that 'tis naturally incident to the thing itself; and nothing resembles this more than such kind of Questions and Answers▪ for they that are asked a question of any thing, whereof they know the truth, find a sudden motion within themseives which makes them eager to answer; so that by this Figure the audience is cunningly wheedled to believe, that which is most meditated, to be ex tempore and spoken in a heat. 
* Here our Author is very defective.  There is nothing that gives a greater quickness to Speech then to remove the Copulatives, for when the sentences do not hang one upon another, they run swiftly on of themselves; nay without great care, swifter than the very thoughts of the Orator. Having clinched Bucklers (says Xenophon) they gave back, Fought, slew, and died together. So it is of that, which Euryllochus says to Ulysses in Homer.  
— At your command we went,  
Through those thick woods you saw, a vast descent  
Showed us a stately house in lightsome ground,  
Where Circe dwelled, etc.  
These Periods cut off and pronounced in haste, are the true signs of a lively grief, which choking up the passage, hinders the smoothness of the utterance. Thus Homer knew how and when to take away connexion.   

CHAP. XVII. Of the uniting of Figures.  
YEt after all, there is nothing of greater force in Eloquence, than a well uniting and contracting of many figures together. For thereby they become sociable, and partake of each others strength and Ornament, as may be seen by this passage, in the speech which Demosthenes made against Midas. Where, without any connexion at all, he has made use of these two figures, Anaphora, and Diatiposis, (that is) a Repartition, and description. For every man (says he] that injures another, does many things, by the behaviour, eyes, or voice, which he who has been injured, cannot well remember. And least in the end his speech should slacken, knowing that Order, and Method, is most suitable to a settled and deliberate mind; And on the contrary, that disorder and confusion, is the best Argument of Passion, Which is itself nothing but a disorder and confusion of the soul; he goes on as before; One while he beats him like an Enemy, another while insults over him, now with his fist, then with his looks. By such violent expressions, so heaped one upon another, our Orator makes his Judges as much concerned as if they should see the man striking in their presence. He rallies up again, and taking breath, pours in like a Tempest. These affronts provoke, these affronts are insupportable to a stout man not used to bear them, 'tis not to be imagined how heinous an offence it is. By this continual change, he carries on throughout the Character of these blustering figures. So that there is a disorder in his method, and a method in his disorder. Now then let us put Conjunctions to this passage, as Isocrates' Scholars do. And certainly it must not be forgot, that he who injures another, does many things, first by the behaviour, afterwards by the Eyes, and lastly by the voice itself, etc. Here in making all these of an equal force and proportion, while we cement 'em to each other, we make that which before had a pathetical strength and violence, to become a slight and flashy niceness of language, which is of no substance, but presently goes out of itself. And as if the Body of a man who is to run be bound, be loses his speed; So if we bind the passion with useless Copulatives, we take away that swiftness and violence, which otherwise it would have.   

CHAP. XVIII. Of Hyperbat's.  
AMongst other things we must not forget Hyperbat's. An Hyperbate is nothing but a Transposition of thoughts or words from the Grammatical order.  
This figure gives a true character of a violent and strong passion. Thus we see those who are extremely moved with anger, fear, indignation, jealousy, or any other of the passions, (too many to be reckoned up) are in a continual distraction: no sooner have they thought of one thing, but another does immediately succeed it; and e'er they have half finished the first, they run headlong to the second; till finding that does not please 'em, they again return to the first. This passion of theirs, like a fickle wind, hurries 'em now one way, than another; and by reason of this perpetual Ebb and flow of contrarieties, they stagger in their thoughts every moment, and neglect all manner of form and method. The ablest writers, in intimation of these sudden motions of nature, make use of Hyperbat's and to say true, the perfection of Art is to resemble, and pass for Nature herself; as on the other hand, nature never succeeds better, then when she conceals art in her bosom. An example of this, is that in Herodotus, which Dionysius Phocensis says to the jonians. In fine, our affairs are come to the last push Sirs, so that we must necessarily either be free men or slaves, I and miserable slaves: To prevent therefore, the thick storm which hangs threatening over your heads, you must instantly bestir yourselves, and purchase your liberty with the defeat of your Enemies. Now, to have followed the natural way, he should have said, Sirs, 'tis high time we should now think of be stirring ourselves, when our afairs are come to the last push, etc. First then he transposes this word, Sirs, and does not insert it till he had given 'em a hint of his fearful apprehension; as if the greatness of the danger, had made him forget that usual ceremony, wherewith we ought to address ourselves to those before whom we are speaking. Afterwards he inverts the order of his conceptions; for before he comes to the main point (which is to exhort 'em to bestir themselves) he gives the reason which ought to induce 'em thereunto: In fine, our affairs are brought to the last extremity. And this he does that they may think what he says is not studied, but proceeding from the very force of his great concern for them. Thucydides is very remarkable in his Hyperbats, for he does most admirably transpose those things which seem to have a natural dependence one upon another, and altogether inseparable. As for Demosthenes, tho' in all other points he is more reserved than Thucydides, yet in this he is not, for no one ever took greater delight in Hyperbat's than he, who out of a desire to have whatever he says, seem as if spoken upon the nick of time, leads his audience through the dangerous labyrinths of long transpositions. Many times therefore, breaking off abruptly in the middle of his Speech, as if he affected disorder and confusion, and interposing several things no ways material to the matter in hand, he startles his Auditors; who supposing the strength of his Arguments to be just spent, are themselves concerned at the danger they fancy him in; when of a sudden, and unexpectedly, wheeling about, and falling upon that which was so long suspended, by this transposition as equally useful as dangerous, he prevails more than if he had observed an exact method throughout, but of this there are so many many exampels, that I shall forbear to instance in any.   

CHAP. XIX. Of the alteration of the number.  
WHatsoever has been said of the foregoing Figures, as much may be said of Polyptotes, or diversities of Cases, Collections, alterations, Gradations, and such like, which being strong and vehement, are consequently very useful to the Ornament of Speech; and more especially to that of being Lofty and pathetical. What shall I say of the alteration of Cases, Tenses, Persons, Number, and Genders? For who does not plainly see: how necessary they are to vary and revive an expression. Now then, for an expression of the alteration of the number, let us take those Singulars, which have the Termination of Singulars, but when rightly examined, the force and Virtue of Plurals; straightways a multitude of People running to the Port, made the shore echo to their shouts. These singulars are the more remarkable, for that sometimes there is nothing so stately as plurals; that multitude and number which they contain, giving them a delicate sound and Emphasis. Such are these Plurals in Sophocles concerning Oedipus 
Hymen! cursed Hymen! 'twas thou gav●st me life,  
But back into the Womb from whence I came,  
Thou'st made that blood return by which I am;  
And by that single Act hast made Brothers,  
Fathers, and Sons, Husbands, Wives, and Mothers,  
And all that's horrid to mankind, etc.   
All these different names denot only one individual person, that is Oedipus on one part, and his Mother Jocasta on the other, but this number so divided and multiplied into different plurals, does seem insome measure to multiply the misfortune of Oedipus. 'Tis by a such like plecnasm, that a certain Poet said.  See the Sarpedons, and the Hectors come, etc. 
The same may be said of the passage in Plato to the Athenians, which I have elsewhere taken notice of, There are not Polips', not (admus, not Aegyptus', not Danaus', or other Barbarians that live amongst us. We are Greeks far from the Traffic and conversation of Foreign Nations, etc. Now than all these plurals, so piled one upon another, give us a much greater Idea of the things they represent. Yet must we be very cautious not to use them in all Cases, but then only when we are to amplify, multiply, or be Pathetical; that is in short, when the Subject is capable of any one or more of these, for always to be tinkling these Cymbals, savours too much of Sophistry.   

CHAP. XX. Of Plurals reduced into Singulars.  
PLurals on the other hand may be reduced into Singulars, and then they carry something in them which is great and lofty. All Peloponesus (says Demosthenes) was divided into factions, and so of that passage in Herodotus, Phrynacus' Tragedy of the taking of Miletus, being acted, all the Theatre wept. For when many things are contracted into one, they render the Expression more substantial and sinewey. Yet the effects of both these distinct Figures, do proceed generally from one and the same cause. So that whether Singulars divided into Plurals, do make many things of one, or Plurals contracted into Singulars, one of many, they are no small ingredient to the being pathetical.   

CHAP. XXI. Of the alteration of the Tense.  
THe same may be said of the alteration of the Tense, which is, when we speak of a thing past, as if 'twere now present, whereby that which we say, is not so much a Narration, as representation of a thing in being. A Soldier (says Xenephon) falling under Cyrus his Horse, and being trampled upon, runs the Horse thorough the Belly with his Sword, the Horse at the smart of the Wound grows resty and throws his Rider; Cyrus falls.  
You'll meet with this Figure very often in Thucydides.   

CHAP. XXII. Of the alteration of the Persons:  
OF the same efficacy is the alteration of the Persons: for it oftentimes makes the audience fancy themselves engaged in the middle of the danger they hear of.  
Had you but seen with what a rage they fought,  
You'd swear each blow had a new rage begot;  
That the long combat would have ne'er been done.  
Still as they fought, you'd think 'twas just begun.  
And in Aratus, Forbear to trust the Seas this dangerous Month. So in Herodotus, when you are out of Elephantine (says this Histoiran) at the upper end of the Town, you'll come to a Hill, etc. From thence you'll descend into a Plain; when you have crossed that, you may embark again, and in twelve days you will come to a great city called Meroe. See here (dear Terentianus) how he takes your mind along with him, and leads it through all these several countries, which you rather see than hear of. This if judiciously done, obliges the audience to listen earnestly to the present business; especially if the address be made to one particular person, and not many in general.  
So close the parties met, you could not know  
On which Tydides' fought, etc.  
For one that is alarmed with such Apostraphes, which seem to be directed to him in particular, fancies himself more immediately concerned, and is consequently the more attentive.   

CHAP. XXIII. Of Sudden Transitions.  
IT often happens, that a Poet, or any other writer, speaking of any one, does unexpectedly slip in himself, and personate the party he is speaking of. And this figure shows the vehemency of Passion.  
But Hector loudly roaring on the shore,  
Commands his Troops to give the plunder o'er,  
And rush upon the fleet.—  
For by the Gods! if any one denies  
To do what I command, the traitor dies.  
With my own hand, to wash away the guilt,  
I'll shed his blood, etc.  
Here the Poet reserves the narration as a thing most proper for himself, but of a sudden puts the threatening oath into the mouth of the hot boisterous Warrior: for had he inserted this, or the like clause, Hector then said so or so. The whole speech had fainted, whereas by this quick transition, he anticipates the Reader, who finds it made before he is ware. The use therefore of this figure, is never so good, as when the urgency of the time and opportunity given, will not admit of a Demur, but hurries the writer away from one person to another: As 'tis in Hecataeus. The Herald, having throughly considered the consequence of all things, commands the family of the Heraclidae to departed: 'tis not in my power to help you any further, you are lost, and will shortly force me to betake myself to some other Country. Demosthenes in his speech against Aristogiton, uses this figure in a different way, but withal, extremely pathetical. There is not one amongst you (saith he) that is concerned to see an impudent, scandalous fellow, violate the most sacred laws; a Villain, I say, who,— Oh! thou worst of men, nothing can withstand thy unbridled boldness; I say nothing of breaking open doors, or grates, others may do that as well as you, etc. Here, just upon the point of one word, his anger distracts him between two different persons, and makes him leave his thoughts imperfect. Who— Oh! thou worst of men. Then turning unawares that part of the speech, which he seemed to have done with, upon Aristogiton; he made a much greater impression upon the minds of the audience. So is it of Penelope's behaviour in Homer, when she saw an Herald coming to her from her wooers.  
Now Herald speak, what would the wooers have?  
Is it to tell the Maids, they must forbear  
To do my work, and their feasts prepare?  
Would to the Gods they'd leave off wooing me,  
And that at length, this feast their last may be.  
When e'er they meet, 'tis with design to spoil,  
And reap the profits of another's Toil.  
Have not your fathers told you heretofore  
Who this Ulysses was? etc.   

CHAP. XXIV. Of Paraphrase.  
I Do not believe any body can doubt, whether Paraphrase be of great use in loftiness. For as in Music all Harmony is made by the agreement of different Notes; so Paraphrase by a circumlocution, wherein every part is consonant to the whole, does beget a delicate Harmony in speech; especially if there be no Bombast nor jarring, but a pleasing Symmetry throughout. Of this Plato has given us a most excellent example, in the beginning of his Funeral Oration. In fine (says he) we have performed the last rites which are due to them: and those being past, they immediately arrive at the end of this fatal Journey; gloriously set out by those high solemnities wherewith the whole Town, and more particularly their own Relations, have conducted 'em out of this world. First he calls death a fatal Journey: And afterwards interprets the funeral Obsequies to be a solemn Pomp made purposely to attend 'em at their departure out of this life. Shall we then say, that all this served but to enlarge upon, or raise the thought? no; let us rather affirm, that by this curious Paraphrase, he has out of one single word made a most Harmonious Consort. So Xenophon, You look upon labour as the only path that leads to a happy and pleasant life; and you have attained to that which is most necessary, and commendable in warlike men which is to be delighted with nothing so much as renown. instead of saying you are very laborious, he uses this circumlocution, you look upon labour as the path that leads to a happy and pleasant life. So that by stretching out, and enlarging upon every clause, he adds at once both to the excess of his own thoughts, and their commendation. This Paraphrase in Herodotus is in my mind most incomparable. The Goddess Venus to punish the insolence of the Scythians, who had pillaged her Temple, sent amongst 'em the Female 
* Hemorrhoides  disease. Now then there is nothing of greater use than Paraphrase, provided it spread not beyond the bounds of reason and modesty; for than it grows dull and childishly troublesome. And therefore Plato, who is always figurative in his Expressions, (and many times improperly) was (as some give out) jeered for saying in his Commonwealth, Riches whether of gold, or silver, must not be suffered to take footing, or dwell in a City. Suppose (say they) he would have forbid the having of Cattle in the same reason he should have said the riches of Sheep and Oxen. But what we have already said in general, will suffice to let you see how useful figures are to the perfection of loftiness, in that they are the Nerves and Sinews of speech and tend to the being pathetical; which participates as much of loftiness, as loftiness itself does of what is delicate and delightful.   

CHAP. XXV. Of the choice of Words.  
SInce thoughts and expressions are so reciprocal, that by the one we come to the knowledge of the other: let us see what remains to be said in this part of the Treatise concerning expression; but, for that every one must needs be sensible, what a great power there is in select and proper words, 'twill be altogether needless to insist long upon this point. In short therefore, Orators, or any other Writers, who endeavour to be Sublime and Lofty, have not any one thing, that affords them so much greatness, Elegancy, Neatness, Weight, or Vigour for their Works, as does a careful choice of Words; 'tis they that dress out Speech in all its splendour, 'tis they give it the beauty, nay the very life and Soul which it has; in a word, they are the proper, and most natural light of our thoughts. Yet must we take heed, how and upon what occasion we use them, for to express a mean Subject in Great and Lofty Words, is like putting a little Child to act a Tragical or Heroical part. 
* Our Author after he had showed how Impertinent great Words, are in an ordinary stile, does let us see, that sometimes little words may be made use of in a noble Style.  A further proof hereof is that passage in Theopompus which Cecilius censures, but upon what ground, I know not; for in my mind, it is much to be commended as being both correct and very expressive. Philip (says he) Swallowed patiently those affronts, which the necessity of his affairs obliged him to endure. Now, that plain and familiar terms, do many times express a thing better than all the highflown Eloquence whatever, the daily experience which we have from the transactions of this life, can sufficiently testify. Besides that which is spoken in plain and familiar words, is more fully and distinctly understood, and therefore so much the sooner believed. Therefore (when spoken of a man, who consulting his Interest, does easily, nay, willingly bear with Injuries) this Phrase, to swallow Affronts, seems to me to have a very strong signification. So is it of that expression in Herodotus. Cleomenes being Mad, with a Knife Minced his own flesh, and after having so mangled himself, died. And in another place, Pythes stood Fight on the Deck till he was Hacked in pieces. Such plain expressions as these, show that the Author of them, does not so much aim at Elegancy, as naked truth; and yet are they far from being dull, or trivial.   

CHAP. XXVI. Of Metaphors.  
AS for the number of Metaphors, Cecilius is one of those, who will not allow above two or three at the most to the expressing of one single thing: but let us follow Demosthenes, he shows us, that there are several cases wherein we may make use of many at one and the same time. As when the passions, like a rapid stream, necessarily suck 'em in one upon another. These wretched men (says he) these base Sycophants, these furies of the Republic, have inhumanly torn in pieces their own Country. These are they who heretofore, in their debaucheries, sold our liberties to King Philip, as at this day they do to Alexander. These are they, who, measuring all their happiness by the brutish pleasures of eating, and scandalous rioting, have thrown down all the bounds of reputation, and destroyed that fundamental, and wholesome Law of levelling, wherein consisted the felicity of the ancient Greeks. With this band of Metaphors our Orator falls furiously upon those Traitors. Yet Aristotle and Theophrastes are of opinion, that to alleviate the boldness of these figures, 'tis convenient to use some such expression; as, If I may so say, as it were, to go yet further. For (say they very well) the previous excuse is an Atonement for their boldness. But I still stick to my first position, that there is no excuse so natural, or allowable for the abundance, or boldness, either of Metaphors, or any other Figures, as the using 'em to a fit purpose, that is, the being pathetical and lofty; both which, requiring strong and weighty expressions, have a natural force and violence, wherewith they hurry every thing after them, and will not give the audience time to criticise upon the number of the Metaphors; being at that instant possessed with the same fury as he that says them. And many times in common places, and descriptions, there is nothing so advantageous as a chain of Metaphors well linked together. 'Tis with the Assistance thereof, that Xenophon has so delicately anatomised man's body, though not altogether so well as Plato. This calls the Head of a Man a Citadel, the Neck an Isthmus placed between it and the body, the Joints are as Hinges upon which it turns. Pleasure is the bait for all misfortunes that happen to mankind: the Tongue is the Judge of Taste; The Heart is the Root of the veins; the fountain of blood; which flows from thence through all the other parts, and is in a place every way fortified. He calls the Pores narrow streets. The Gods (says he) willing to preserve the Heart from Batteries which are made by a sudden surprise of frightful objects, or from the violent flames of choler, have placed underneath it, the Liver, which is of a soft bloudless substance, but full of little holes like a sponge, which serve for conveyances to the Heart, that it be not choked up, and disturbed from doing its office, when the choler is too much inflamed. He calls the seat of the affections, the women's Nursery; and the seat of the Passions, the men's Apartment; The spleen, he says, is the Kitchen of the entrails, which being full of the excrements of the Liver, swells and boils up. afterwards (continues he) the Gods covered all these parts with flesh, as a Bulwark and defence against the assaults of heat and Cold, or any other accident; and is (says he) like soft wool, which encompasses the body, and yields to any impression. The Blood he calls the food of the flesh, and to the end (says he) that every part should be nourished, there are several Pipes like Conduit Pipes in a Garden, through which the little streams of blood, flowing from the heart, as the Springhead, run into every part of the Body. And when death comes (he says) that the Organs are untied, like the Ropes of the Ship, and so let the soul go a drift. There are many more no less pleasant and admirable, but these shall suffice to show the natural loftiness of such figures, to show, I say, how material they are, not only to the being lofty and pathetical, but excellent in description. Now that these figures, as well as all other elegancies of speech, are apt to transport a thing to excess, is a most undeniable truth, and not to be learned of me. Hence is it, that divine Plato has been much found fault with, for suffering himself to be sometimes hurried away by extravagant and harsh Metaphors, to a vain allegorical Ostentation. 'Twill not easily be conceived (says he) that 'tis with a City as with a Vessel, wherein if Wine be poured which is never so strong and heady, yet of a sudden entering into the Society, of another sober divinity which corrects it, it becomes mild, and fit to be drunk; To call Water a sober Divinity, to use the word correct, in stead of Temperate; and to affect such odd conceits savours too much, say they, of a Poet, who himself is not very sober. And this perhaps was it, that gave occasion to Cecilius, in his Commentaries upon Lycias, to conclude that in the whole Lycias was a better Orator than Plato; induced thereunto by two distinct motives, both equally unreasonable; for though he loved Lycias dearer than himself, yet he hated Plato more than he loved Lycias; being therefore byased by a strong inclination for the one, and as strong an aversion for the other, he has not passed that true, and impartial Judgement upon several points in these Authors, as probably he may imagine. For he accuses Plato of growing flat in many places, but speaks of the other as a most correct and unquestionable writer; which is so far from being true, that there is not the least glimpse of reason for what he says: and where shall we meet with an Author that does not now and then forget himself, and let slip something justly to be carped at?   

CHAP. XXVII. Whether that which is plain and profitable, is to be preferred to Loftiness, which is defective.  
IT may not perhaps be unseasonable to examine in this place, whether is most to be preferred, be it in Prose or Poetry, that which is Lofty and Defective, or that which is Plain; but withal very complete: and again, whether a piece is most to be valued, according to the number or quality of the good things contained therein? For these Questions, being naturally incident to the present Subject, must inevitably be resolved. First then, that which is extoarrdinary Great and Lofty, cannot have that natural purity, that which is plain and easy, for that a too great care of being Polite and Elegant, does oftentimes degenerate into lowliness; and as those who have vast Estates, must though unwillingly, neglect some one part or other; so, those who aim at an extroardinary Loftiness, cannot possibly but be careless in some few particulars. On the contrary, 'tis very hard, if not impossible, to find any faults in a stile that is plain and indifferent, for the fancy not venturing to mount too high, but observing a just Medium, remains secure, whereas in Loftiness, it soars to so great a pitch, that 'tis apt to grow Giddy, and so be in continual danger of falling. Nor am I ignorant of what may be Objected, that 'tis natural to judge of men's Writing according to what is worst in them, and that the faults which are observed, leave a strong impression upon the mind, when that which is exact and smooth passes currently off; and though I have taken notice of several faults in Homer and the most remarkable Authors, and am perhaps one who will as little countenance them as any body, yet give me leave to say, that I look upon them to be very slight, and not so much to be accounted faults, as insignificant mistakes, which while their thoughts were wholly intended upon great things, they have carelessly let slip. In a word, I hold that a Lofty Style, though in some places deficient, (seeing that deficiency proceeds from the very being Lofty) is to be preferred before that which is complete and indifferent. True 'tis, Apollonius who wrote the Poem of the Argonantes, does never slacken. Theocritus (baiting some few things which are none of his own) has in all his Works nothing but what is very delightful. Yet after all, had you rather be Apollonius or Theoeritus, than Homer Eratosthenes? Erigo is a piece not to be censured, but will you therefore reckon him a greater Poet than Archillicus? who I confess is confused and wants order and Oeconomy in many parts of his Writings, but 'tis then only when that Divine Enthusiasm, with which he is hurried on, will not permit him to follow the Dictates of his own Judgement; and so for Lyric Poesy; had you rather be Bachillides, than Pindar; or for Tragedy, jon, than Sophocles? notwithstanding these two (viz) Pachillides, and jon, never stumble, but have a great deal of Elegancy, and Analogy, in whatsoever they writ: which cannot be said of Pindar and Sophocles; for in the height of their greatest raptures, while they are Thundering and Lightning (as I may so say) when they should not, they most unfortunately smother their own fancies. Yet is there any sober, and Judicious man, who will vouchsafe to compare all that jon ever wrote, to that single Play of Sophocles' Oedipus.   

CHAP. XXVIII. A Comparison betwixt Hyperide and Demosthenes.  
NOw then, if we esteem a piece according to the number and quality of the good things which are contained therein; 'twill follow that Hyperides is clearly to be preferred before Demosthenes: for besides that he is more Musical, he has more accomplishments requisite to an Orator; in most of which he is very eminent, like the Olympic Gamesters, who perform five several sorts of exercises, and though in any one they come short of the chief Professors; yet in the whole, they surpass the common rank. Demosthenes has not any one excellence, which he has not imitated, unless it be that of Composition or placing the sentences: he has the smoothness of Lycias, he knows how and where to be soft and tender; and does not express all things with one and the same tone as Demosthenes does; he is very pleasant in his Ethics: the liveliness of his stile is tempered with a certain agreeable and blooming sweetness: There is in his works abundance of very facetious things, his way of deriding is very genteel and handsome, he is wonderfully expert in handling an Irony, his raileries are not dry or forced (like theirs who Ape the Attic stile) but lively and touching; he is very quick at answering all objections by turning 'em into ridicule; he has several delightful and Comical humours, which always take where he aims, and are most incomparably enamelled with short witty sentences; he has a natural Genius to stir up, and beget pity, he is very copious in his fabulous relations, he is extremely easy in his digressions, he turns about, and takes breath where he pleases, as may be seen in those fictions which he relates of Latona; Lastly, he has made a Funeral oration, which is so curiously penned, that I question very much whether it can be matched: on the other hand, Domosthenes is not very good at Ethics, his stile is not full or luxuriant, but somewhat harsh. In a word, he wants almost all those qualities just before mentioned; if he strives to be pleasant rather than not divert, he makes himself ridiculous. And the more he endeavours at being delightful, he is the further off. Yet after all, for that in my mind all these excellencies, which are thus crowded in Hyperides, have nothing in 'em that is great and lofty: they discover him to be at best, but a weak and sober orator, who does not rouse the mind, and therefore no one was ever much transported at the reading his works. Whereas Demosthenes contriving in himself all the qualities of an Orator truly born to loftiness, and perfectly accomplished by study (viz) That stately and Majestical accent, those lively movements, that fullness, sharpness, readiness, and what is most to be valued in him; that vehemence of expression, which no man else could ever attain, or come near to; with the Assistance of all these divine qualities, which I look upon as so many extraordinary gifts from Heaven, and which I may not presume to call humane endowments; he hath supplanted all the most famous Orators that ever were, and (if I may so say) has violently thrown down, and eclipsed their glories by his Thunder and Lightning. For in those things, wherein his excellency lies, he does so much exceed all others; that he makes sufficient amends for those wherein he is deficient, and without doubt 'tis much easier to look steadfastly, and with open eyes upon the Thunderbolts which shoot from Heaven, than not to be moved at those violent and passionate expressions, with which his writings are very full.   

CHAP. XXIX. Of Plato and Lysias, etc.  
AS for Plato there is yet another difference, for he out-do's Lysias, not only in the nature, but number of his Excellencies. Nay more, those defects which Lysias has, render him less inferior to Plato, than those faults, with which he does mightily abound. What therefore is the reason, that these Divine Authors have neglected an exact delicacy and correctness, to look after nothing, but Loftiness in their Writings? 'Tis, that nature has not formed Man like a heavy sordid Animal, but sent him into the World, as into a Spacious Theatre to be a Spectator of all that is Acted therein. That she has, I say, brought him into the List, as a noble Combatant, that is, to aim at nothing but Glory. And therefore has she created in the Soul a fervent desire after every thing that appears most transcendently great and magnificent. And do we not see, that the Circumference of the whole World, is not large enough to contain the thoughts of Man, but that they oftentimes Mount above the Heavens, and o'er leap the bounds of Nature herself. And without doubt, if we do but cast our Eyes upon any one, who throughout the whole course of his life, has no one action that is not great and illustrious, 'twill easily be understood, to what end and purpose we were first created; hence it is, that we admire not little Brooks, though the water be never so clear and useful for us, but are extremely delighted with, and surprised at the sight of the Danube, the Nile, the Rhine, and above all the main Ocean. We are not at all concerned to see a little Flame, which we ourselves have kindled, retain its brightness, but are startled at those which come from Heaven, though they are consumed e'er scarce they can appear, and there is nothing so wonderful in nature as those Furnaces in Mount Aetna, which from its Abyss does sometimes throw out. Pint. Pyth. 1.  Stones, Rocks, and Streams of Flame, etc. 
From what has been said we may conclude, that whatever is profitable and necessary, is not to be wondered at, as being easily attained, but that all which is extroardinary, and beyond common expectation, is very admirable and surprising.   

CHAP. XXX. That the faults in Loftiness are excusable.  
ANd now, as to the great Masters of Oratory in whom both what is Lofty and useful do concur, we must needs allow, that in those jousts before mentioned, (though not altogether faultless) there is something Supernatural and Divine, two qualities which almost equal us to the Gods themselves, whilst a never so great excellency in all the rest, bespeaks us no more than men. All the benefit we have in committing no faults, is that we avoid being censured; but in being Lofty we become admirable. What shall I then say, that any one of those stately and sublime thoughts, which are in the works of those most incomparable Authors, may throughly reconcile us to the Errors, or rather mistakes, they have been guilty of? Nay further, I will maintain, that if all the faults which are in Homer, Demosthenes, Plato, and those other famous Writers, were summed up, they would not amount to a Moiety, Nay not the thousand part of the good things they have said. Wherefore the most envious in all Ages have yielded the Trophy to 'em, and no body, as yet, being able to dispute it with 'em, they have boar it away hitherto, and will in all probability keep it.  
As long as Streams do in the Meadows run,  
Or Trees at Spring, put their Green Livries on.  
It may be objected, that a Colossus which has some faults, is no better than a small statue that is complete. As for example, Polycletus' Soldier. 
* Odorysphorus a small statue of Polycletus'  To this I answer, That in artificial matters, the Workmanship and pains is most regarded, whereas in the work of nature, that is most to be valued, which is most prodigious and magnificent, seeing it is the property of man to reason: besides, in a Statue, we examine how like 'tis to the thing it represents; but in Speech (as I have already said) we look for something that is Supernatural and Divine. Now (to keep close to what we have already laid down) since 'tis impossible, that the fancy should continue long at a high pitch, without being subject to totter; and that Art is the only thing which can buoy it up. 'Tis very necessary to a Sovereign perfection of Loftiness, that there be a mutual concurrence and assistance of Art and Nature. Thus much I have thought fit to say upon these occurrent questions; not but that every man is freely left to his own private opinion.   

CHAP. XXXI. Of Similes, Comparisons, and Hyperboles.  
SImiles, and Comparisons, have a great resemblance with Metaphors, and in this only they differ 
* This place is very deficient, and all that our Author had said of these figures is wanting.  Such another is this Hyperbole, although your brains are in your head, and you do not trample them under your heels. Wherefore we ought carefully to consider, how far a figure may be stretched, lest, like a string that is screwed too high, it breaks, and produces an effect clear contrary to what we expected. As Isocrates in his Panegyric, affecting to put a strong Emphasis upon every thing he said, is fallen I know not how into the Errors of a mere Schoolboy. The design of the Panegyric is to manifest, that the Athenians have been more serviceable to Greece then the Lacedæmonians, you shall see what measure he has taken. Since Speech has a natural Power to make great things seem small, and small great: since it knows how to make that which is Old appear New; and again, that which is New to pass for Old. How (says one) is it so Isocrates, do you intent to invert the nature of those things which relate to the Athenians, and Lacedæmonians. See how this unseasonable commendation of Speech, turns to an Exodium, to persuade the audience, nor to gave credit to what he says. That therefore which has been said of all Figures in general, may be applied in particular to Hyperboles (viz.) That they never succeed better than when they are so distinguished, as not to be taken for Hyperboles, which constantly happen;, when they are poured out in a passion amidst some great circumstance. As is that of Thucydides in his account of those who died in Sicily. The Sicilians going thither made a great Slaughter of those who were thrown into the River, immediately the Water was coloured with the blood of those wretches, nevertheless as muddy and thick with blood as 'twas, they drank it, nay and some fought about it. 'Tis not very credible that men should drink Dirt and blood, nay and fight for it, but the violence of the passion, in the middle of that strange circumstance, would not suffer a reason to be given for what was said. So is it of that which Heroditus has concerning those Lacedæmonians, who fought in the straits of Thermopylae. They defended themselves for some time in that place, with what weapons they had, and with their Hands and Teeth, till the Barbarians by continual shooting at them, had buried them under their Arrows. What will you say of this Hyperbole? what likely hood is there, that these men should defend themselves with their Hands and Teeth against whole Troops that were Armed, till they were buried under the enemy's Arrows? Yet is this probable, for that the thing seems not to be sought after to express but that the Hyperbole does naturally proceed from the very essence of the thing. So that (as I have already observed) there is no such remedy against the too great boldness of such Figures, as not to make use of 'em, but to a fit purpose, that is, the being pathetical and lofty. This is so infallible a truth, that we say several commical things, which in themselves are absurd, yet pass for probabilities, because they excite passion, that is laughter, which is a passion of the Soul caused by something that is delightful. There is this passage in a commical Poet, The Land he has in the Country, is no larger than a Lacedaemonian Epistle. Lastly, Hyperboles may serve as well to diminish any thing, as to add to it, for Exageration is proper to both these different effects, and Dyasirmus, (which is a kind of Hyperbole) is nothing but an Exageration of a thing that is mean and ridiculous.   

CHAP. XXXII. Of Composition or placing of Sentences.  
OF those five branches of Loftiness, which we reekoned up in the beginning of this Treatise, there yet remains the fifth to be examined, which is, The composition or placing of Sentences. But since we have already handled this Topick in two entire volumes, wherein we have been as copious, as the long observation we have made would permit. It shall suffice in this place to say no more, than what is absolutely necessary to the present subject, (viz.) That Harmony which has a power of persuading, or delighting, is not naturally given to man only, but that even Instruments, altogether inanimate, have a strange influence over our affections. For do not we find, that the sound of a Flute does move the very souls of those who hear it, and transport 'em beyond themselves? that it charms their Ears with the soft movement of its cadence, and forces 'em to bear a part in that Heavenly Music, with a proportionable motion of their Bodies. Nor is it so of Flutes only, but all other tuneable Instruments. For tho' of themselves the Notes signify nothing, yet by being often interchanged, and shuffled one with another, they beget so delicate an Air, that it transports, and ravishes, all those who hear it; Yet after all, they want the power of persuasion, and are but the Echoes, or (if I may so say) Bastards of a voice, and not effects of the nature of man. What then may we not say of composition? which is the Harmony of Speech, the use whereof is natural to man; which does not only strike the ear, but penetrate the mind, which musters up such different words, thoughts, things, and Elegancies suitable to the affections of the Soul, which by a mixture and variety of pleasing sounds, crept into the mind, does create in him who hears 'em, the same passions, that the Author himself has; and which upon this stately pile of words raises that noble Structure of loftiness. Can we deny, but that it contributes much to the Greatness, Majesty, Stateliness, and all other excellencies of Speech; and that having an absolute command over the mind, it can at all times Elevate and ravish the same. This certainly is a truth so approved, and generally received, that to dispute it must needs argue a great ignorance and madness. 
* Here our Author for an example of the placing of Sentences, brings a passage out of Demosthenes. But because that which he says, depends clearly upon the Greek Tongue, and because I find it not in the French I have omitted it.  'Tis with Speech as with the Body, which owes its chiefest perfection to the well setting together, and just proportion of the Members: for though any one part disjointed from the rest has nothing in it that is temarkable, yet all together make a perfect Body. So if the parts of Loftiness be taken asunder, Loftiness itself is destroyed; but when they are drawn into a Body, and firmly jointed by Harmony, the turn of every Period gives them an Emphasis. Not unfitly therefore may Loftiness in respect of periods, be compared to a Feast, for which many persons club: And hence is it, that several Poets, and other writers have succeeded so well, notwithstanding they had no natural Genius to Loftiness, and that their expressions are for the most part mean and ordinary, since by the delicate connexion and ordering of the Sentences, they have put a gloss upon the courseness of their expressions; Philestus is one of these, and so is Aristophanes in some places, and Euripides in many: as is already sufficiently showed. For example, Hercules in the last of these three Authors, after he had killed his Children, says, 
So many Plagues have crowded up my Breast,  
There is no room for any other Guest.  This thought is very trivial, yet in the whole there is something that is Musical and pleasant, which gives weight and vigour to it; and without doubt if we invert the method of this Period, we shall apparently find, how much happier Euripides is in the composition and placing of his Sentences, than the substance of his thoughts. Again, in his Tragedy entitled Dirce carried away by a Bull, there is this passage.  
Round then he turned and running to and fro,  
Where e'er his rage, and madness made him go  
He drew the Woman, Tree, and Craggy-Rock.  
True it is, this thought is great and noble, but withal it must needs be confessed that it becomes yet greater, by that gentle and easy Harmony wherewith the Sentences are not huddled together like a heap of rubbish by its own weight, but linked to each other with distinct and proportionable stops, which are as so many foundations, whereon the superstructure of the whole Speech is raised.   

CHAP. XXXIII. Of the measure of Periods.  
ON the other hand. There is nothing that depresses and abates Loftiness more than those numbers which are broken and pronounced in haste, such as are Pyrreckei, Trochaei, and Dichoraei, Fit only for the nimble movements of a dance, for that all these kind of Feet and measures, have no more than a certain quaintness and agreement of meeter, which is always the same, and therefore very unable to produce any effects in the Soul. Yet what I look upon to be worst of all, is, that, as when any thing is sung to us, we do not mind the sense of the words, but are altogether taken up with the pleasantness of the Tune; so whatsoever is composed of these numbers, does not move the Passions of the mind which ought to be the product of Speech, but fills the Ear with the movement of the Cadence, or proportion of time; and thereby the Audience foreknowing what must necessarily follow next, anticipates him that is Speaking, and (as in a Dance) takes notice of the Cadence before it happens. Another thing which does very much weaken Speech, is when the Periods, are nicely ordered, when the members thereof are too concise, and and have too many short Syllables tacked together in those places where they ought to be divided. Cautiously therefore must we avoid too short periods; for there is nothing that stifles Loftiness more than the endeavouring to comprehend it in a small space. Now when I speak of short Periods, I mean not those which have their due extent and proportion, but such only as are too little, & as 'twere maimed or imperfect, which latter serve only to confound the understanding, whereas the former do direct and enlighten it. Not but that Periods which are too long, and all Sentences inserted for no other reason then the Impertinent lengthening of Speech, are altogether as bad, and perfectly Excrementitious.   

CHAP. XXXIV. Of the meanness of Words  
AMongst those things, which tend so much to the Embasening of Speech, we may very well reckon that of Meanness of Words. Therefore do we find in Herodotus, a description of a Tempest, most excellent, I confess, as to the Sense, but cramped in many places with very Bald Words. As when he says the Sea began to 
* The Greek has it 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, which signifies Boyl up, but because in our Language that word sounds well. I have rather followed the French and rendered it rumble.  Rumble. The ill sound of this word Rumble, takes from the Greatness of his thought. The Wind (said he in another place) tossed 'em very much, and those who were scattered by the Tempest made a disagreeable end. This word tossed is very mean, and the Epithet, disagreeable, is improper to express an accident of that nature. So likewise Theopompus the Historian, has made a Description of the King of Persia's expedition into Egypt, which would be very admirable, were it not spoiled by the baseness of many of the words. Is there a City or Nation (says this Historian) throughout all Asia, that has not sent Ambassadors to the King? Is there any rarity or precious thing either of the Growth, or Manufacture of any of these Countries, which has not been presented to him? What a quantity of Arras, and rich Carpets, some red, some white, and some party-collour? How many Embroidered Tents, furnished with all things necessary? How many costly Robes, and Beads, How many Gold and Silver Vessels, some set with Diamonds, others most curiously engraved, besides all this a vast deal of Armour, after the Barbarian and Grecian Fashion, an innumerable head of Cattle for carriages, and Beasts fitted for Sacrifice, how many Bushels full of dilicious provision, how many Chests, and Sacks full of Books, and other Utensils, together with so great a quantity of high seasoned meat, and all sorts of Fowl, that whosoever sees 'em at a distance would take them for little Hills rising out of the Earth. Here, from the highest pitch of Loftiness he tumbles down to the lowest degree of flatness, and in that place too where she should rise highest. For when speaking of the Glorious provision, he makes mention of Bushels, Ragous', and Sacks, he seems to design nothing more than the description of a Kitchen; and, as if any one, who is to set out Furniture, should amidst Embroidered Tents and Silver and Gold Cups, place Sacks and Bushels, it must necessarily make a very bad appearance; so if amidst the Ornament of Speech, we make use of mean and ordinary words, they are as so many Clouds or Mists, which obscure the lustre of Expression. He needed only to have made some little alteration, and as to those Hills of seasoned meat, and the rest of the Provisions, to have said in general that they sent the King Camels, and many Carriage Horses loaden with all manner of dainties, or heaps of the most savoury, and delicious Food imaginable; or (if you will) all the delicate and choice Dishes that the Purveyors themselves could possibly expect should please their Masters curious Pallat. For we must not descend from what is great and Lofty, to mean and inconsiderable things, unless there be a very urgent necessity. The words must be answerable to the stateliness of the Subject, and therein 'tis good to imitate nature, which has so framed man's Body as not to expose the undecent and filthy part to outward view— But, (to use Xenophons' own words) She has concealed and removed the loathsome parts as far as may be, lest they should spoil the beauty of the Creature. Yet after all, we need not be too nice and critical, in examining what words are lowly in Speech. And, to conclude, since we have set down, what 'tis that Elevates and gives a vigour to Speech, 'tis easy to infer, that for the most part, the contrary is that which degrades and weakens it.   

CHAP. XXXV. The Causes of the decay of Fancy.  
NOw (dear Terentianus) there remains but one thing more to be considered, which is the question that was put to me sometime since by a Philosopher, very material to be explained, and therefore more particularly for your further Instruction; I have thought fit to annex it to this Treatise. Amongst several other things, I cannot but admire (said he) how it comes to pass, that in the present age, there are so many very able and eloquent Orators, that there are, I say so many, who have a lively and clean way of expressing themselves, and yet few or none who can attain to Loftiness. Is it not (continued he) as is commonly supposed, that Democracie is the best Nurse for great Genius 's; since what ever is famous in Oratory, flourished with, and is now extinct with that sort of Government. And doubtless, there is nothing that elevates the mind of men more than Liberty, or that excites and stirs them up to an Emulation, and strong ambition of o'er topping all others. Besides the encouragements and rewards which are found in a Commonwealth, do give an Edge to, and (if I may so say) polish the minds of Orators, making them take great care to improve their natural Talon. In so much that their very works do manifest the liberty of their Country. But we (said he going on) who from our Childhood have felt the Tyranny of an absolute Government, and have been perplexed with the Laws and Customs of Monarchy, when we were young, and capable of any impression. In a word, we who have never tasted of this lively and plentiful spring of Eloquence, I would say, liberty, can only expect to become great and remarkable flatterers. Wherefore 'tis allowed (said he) that one born to Slavery may be capable of other Sciences, but no Slave can ever attain to that of Oratory. For the mind (continued he) being kept under, and subject to control, dares not attempt any thing that is bold or noble. But all the Spirit and vigour it ever had, does sensibly decay. And it always remains fettered as in a Prison. In a word, (to use Homer's expression) 
The day which makes a Freeman be Slave  
Robs him of half his worth.—  If therefore it be true (which is so frequently reported) that those Boxes wherein Pigmies or Dwarves are bred, do not only hinder 'em from growing to a full Stature, but make even those little Animals, less, according to the Band which goes round about; So slavery (to give it a Definition) is a kind of Prison, wherein the Soul famishes and pines away, I am not ignorant that 'tis very easy, and natural for man to find fault with the present times, but take heed that 
* There is much wanting in this place, and here our Author takes up the question himself.  And certainly (said I taking up the question) If the ease of a too long Peace, is able to rust the brightest Souls, à Fortiori, this endless War, which has so long infested these parts, is a strong obstacle to our present desires: Besides those inseparable passions, which attend this life, throw us daily into some confusion and disorder: So that 'tis the Epidemical disease of Covetousness, and immoderate Love of Pleasure, which (to say true) has brought us into slavery, or rather a Gulf in which all our thoughts and affections are swallowed up. There is no passion so mean and sordid as Avarice, and no Vice so foul as Sensuality. I do not see therefore how 'tis possible, that those who set so great a value upon Riches, as even to Idolise them, can be infected with that disease, without being liable to all the ill symptoms with which 'tis naturally attended. And doubtless, Prodigality, Rioting, and such like Debaucheries, are the inseparable Companions of immoderate Riches; by whose assistance, they open the Gates of Cities, and Houses, and entering thereinto, take possession. But scarce have they resided there for any time, when they begin to build their Nests, and (according to the opinion of the Wise) strive to increase and multiply. Observe then what their Progeny is, they beget Pride and Luxury, the true offsprings of such Parents; which if once suffered to brood in us, will hatch Insolence, Unruliness, Impudence, and all those other inexorable Tyrants of the Soul. As soon therefore as any one, laying aside all the thoughts of Virtue, gives himself over to such frivolous and transitory things; he must necessarily expect all these fatal consequences before mentioned. He cannot look beyond himself, and therefore be the Author of nothing but what is very mean and ordinary. And if he ever had any thing that was great or Lofty, in a little time, it withers and dries up, till a general contagion and corruption spread itself all over the Soul. And as 'tis impossible that a Judge who is bribed, should give a true or impartial judgement, for that he who suffers himself to be corrupted by any reward, is so blinded therewith, that he looks upon that only to be Just, and Honest, which is most advantageous and useful to himself. How then is it possible, that in these times, when men's minds and manners are so strangely corrupted; when we make it our business to defraud this man of his Inheritance, to lay snares for, and wheadle another man to make us his Heir, to force unreasonable gain out of every thing, and to expose even our own selves to sale; How is it possible, I say, that in this universal infection we should find a man of sound Judgement, and free from Passion? who not being blinded or misled by the insatiable lust of Riches, can distinguish what is truly great and worthy to be recorded to all Posterity. Now then, since it is thus with us, were it not better we should be subject to the Authority of another, then remain under our own jurisdiction; lest the insatiable lust of Avarice (like a Madman, who having broke his Chains, flies upon all those who are about him) should set the whole World on Fire. In a word, I told him 'twas an excessive Luxury which had caused this Lethargy of mind, which (excepting some few) was the fatal distemper of man kind; so that if there be any one who does now and then study, 'tis I fear, with as great faintness as those do, who are lately recovered of a Fit of Sickness; and that for pleasure, or vain glory, and not out of emulation, or any thirst after solid and commendable profit. But enough of this, Now let us proceed to the passions, whereof we have promised a distinct Treatise, for in my opinion they are none of the least Ornaments of Speech, especially such as is Great and Lofty.   
FINIS.