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principal fubject. In fhort, this is the fame kind of beauty which the criticks admire in the Spanish Friar, or the Double Discovery, where the two different plots look like counter-parts and copies

of one another.

The fecond qualification required in the action of an epick poem, is, that it, fhould be an entire action. An action is entire when it is complete in all its parts; or, as Ariftotle defcribes it, when it confifts of a beginning, a middle, and an end. Nothing fhould go before it, be intermixed with it, or follow after it, that is not related to it. As, on the contrary, no fingle step fhould be omitted in that juft and regular procefs, which it must be fuppofed to take from its original to its confummation. Thus we fee the anger of Achilles in its birth, its continuance, and effects; and Æneas's fettlement in Italy, carried on through all the oppofitions in his way to it both by fea and land. The action in Milton excells (I think) both the former in this particular: We fee it contrived in Hell, executed upon Earth, and punished by Heaven. The parts of it are told in the moft diftinct manner, and grow out of one another in the moft natural order.

The third qualification of an epick poem is its Greatness. The anger of Achilles was of fuch confequence, that it embroiled the kings of Greece, deftroyed the heroes of Afia, and engaged all the gods in factions. Æneas's fettlement in Italy produced the Cæfars, and gave birth to the Roman empire. Milton's fubject was ftill greater than either of the former; it does not determine the

fate of fingle perfons or nations, but of a whole fpecies. The united Powers of Hell are joined together for the destruction of mankind, which they effected in part, and would have completed, had not Omnipotence itfelf interpofed. The principal actors are Man in his greatest perfection, and Woman in her highest beauty. Their enemies are the Fallen Angels; the Meffiah their friend, and the Almighty their protector. In fhort, every thing that is great in the whole circle of being, whether within the verge of nature, or out of it, has a proper part affigned it in this admirable Poem.

In poetry, as in architecture, not only the whole, but the principal members, and every part of them, fhould be great. I will not prefume to fay, that the book of games in the Eneid, or that in the Iliad, are not of this nature, or to reprehend Virgil's fimile of the top, and many other of the fame kind in the Iliad, as liable to any cenfure in this particular; but I think we may fay, without derogating from thofe wonderful performances, that there is an indifputable and unqueftioned magnificence in every part of Paradife Loft, and indeed a much greater than could have been formed upon any pagan fyftem.

But Ariftotle, by the greatnefs of the action, does not only mean that it thould be great in its nature, but alfo in its duration, or in other words, that it fhould have a due length in it, as well as what we properly call greatnefs. The juft measure of this kind of magnitude, he explains by the following fimilitude. An animal, no bigger than a mite, cannot appear perfect to the eye, becaufe the fight

takes it in at once, and has only a confufed idea of the whole, and not a distinct idea of all its parts; if, on the contrary, you should fuppofe an animal of ten thousand furlongs in length, the eye would be fo filled with a single part of it, that it could not give the mind an idea of the whole. What thefe animals are to the eye, a very short or a very long action would be to the memory. The first would be, as it were, loft and swallowed up by it, and the other difficult to be contained in it. Homer and Virgil have shown their principal art in this particular; the action of the Iliad, and that of the Eneid, were in themselves exceeding fhort, but are fo beautifully extended and diverfified by the invention of epifodes, and the machinery of gods, with the like poetical ornaments, that they make up an agreeable ftory, fufficient to employ the memory without overcharging it. Milton's action is enriched with fuch a variety of circumstances, that I have taken as much pleasure in reading the contents of his books, as in the beft invented story I ever met with. It is poffible that the traditions, on which the Iliad and Encid were built, had more circumftances in them, than the hiftory of the Fall of Man, as it is related in Scripture. Besides, it was easier for Homer and Virgil to dash the truth with fiction, as they were in no danger of offending the religion of their country by it. But as for Milton, he had not only a very few circumftances upon which to raise his Poem, but was alfo obliged to proceed with the greateft caution in every thing that he added out of his own invention. And, indeed, notwithstanding all the reftraint he was under,

he has filled his ftory with fo many furprifing incidents, which bear fo close an analogy with what is delivered in Holy Writ, that it is capable of pleafing the most delicate reader, without giving offence to the moft fcrupulous.

The modern criticks have collected, from feveral hints in the Iliad and Eneid, the space of time, which is taken up by the action of each of those poems; but, as a great part of Milton's ftory was tranfacted in regions that lie out of the reach of the fun and the sphere of day, it is impoffible to gratify the reader with fuch a calculation, which indeed would be more curious than inftructive;

which bear fo close an analogy with what is delivered in Holy Writ,]"It would not, I believe, be impoffible, though the task might appear too invidious, to point out feveral incidents in Milton, that are fo far from having a clofe analogy with what is delivered in Holy Writ, that in reality they have no analogy with it at all. And, fetting afide this confideration, it is not eafy to determine, how far invention, the poet's peculiar province, extends, when it is circumfcribed by the Chriftian System. For it may be questioned, whether fiction is at all allowable, when the Divine Being is the fubject of it." A Letter concerning Epick Poems, taken from Scripture Hiftory, Lond. 1764, p. 21. The writer of this Letter cites the remark of Gibbon, in his Ejay on the Study of Literature. See the English edition, 1764, p. 23. "The Almighty Fiat of Mofes ftrikes us with admiration; but reafon cannot comprehend, nor imagination de fcribe, the operations of a Deity, at whofe command alone millions of worlds are made to tremble: nor can we read with any fatisfactory pleasure of the Devil, in Milton, warring for two whole days in Heaven against the armies of the Omnipotent."

TODD.

which indeed would be more curious than inftructive;] The following account of the time, employed in the action of the Poem, is copied from a MS found among Sir Robert Walpole's Papers

none of the criticks, either ancient or modern, having laid down rules to circumfcribe the action

in bishop ATTERBURY's hand-writing; and is printed in the 5th vol. of Atterbury's Epift. Correfpondence, 1798, p. 191.

"The fcene opens 18 days after the defeat of the rebellious Angels: for they were nine days falling, and had lain nine days aftonished on the burning lake, B. vi. 871, B. i. 50.

"What time was spent in the confultation of Devils, and Satan's voyage to the gates of Hell, and through Chaos, &c. till he alighted on the top of Mount Niphates, Milton no where intimates; and it is vain to measure that space: but he is faid to have stopped on Mount Niphates at noon, B. iv. 30.

"He fees Adam and Eve towards evening, B. iv. 331, 355, 540, and 590.

"That night he tempts Eve with a dream, and leaves Paradife juft before day-light, B. iv. 1014, 1015.

"In the morning Adam and Eve wake, B. v. 1'; and pay their adorations, B. v. 139; and then go to work, and return to their bower at noon, where Raphael then vifits them, B. v. 300, 311, 369, 376. Raphael ftays with them till evening, B. v. 376; and then departs, B. viii. 653.

"Satan returns at midnight, B. xi. 53, into Paradife on the eighth night after he parted from thence, B. ix. 63, 67, including the night of his departure, that is, the feventh night inclufive, after Raphael left Paradife.

"During the night he ranges Paradife, B. ix. 181; and enters the ferpent, B. ix. 187.

"In the morning, B. ix. 192, Adam and Eve go out feparately to their work. Eve is tempted, and about noon eats the forbidden fruit, B. ix. 739.

"That evening the Son comes down to Paradife to judge them, B. x. 53, 92, 95. Adam and Eve fpend that night in mutual expoftulations, and then in devotions.

"Next morning, B. xi, 135, 175, as they are going to their labour, Raphael meets and ftops them; and, after revealing to them what was to happen to them and their feed, drives them that evening out of Paradise.

"So that ten days and ten nights is the utmost extent of time during which the action of the Poem continues; except the time

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