--Even _Marcia_'s (or rather Mr.
_Addison_'s) beautiful Simile at the End of the first Act of _Cato_,
is scarcely to be forgiven.
What then would a Work be, that was filled with far-fetched and
Problematick Thoughts? How infinitely superior to all such dazling
Ideas, are these simple and natural Words of _Monimia_ to her angry
Brother?
_Look kindly on me then. I cannot bear
Severity; it daunts, and does amaze me:_
_My Heart's so tender, should you charge me rough,
I should but weep, and answer you with sobbing.
But use me gently, like a loving Brother,
And search through all the Secrets of my Soul._
Or these of _Brutus_, when he receives the News of his Wife's Death:
Brutus. _Now, as you are a_ Roman, _tell me true._
Messala. _Then like a_ Roman _bear the Truth I tell;
For certain she is dead, and by strange manner._
Brutus. _Why farewel_ Portia.--_We must die,_ Messala.
_With meditating that she must die once,
I have the Patience to endure it now._
Or these noble ones of _Titinius_, when he stabs himself:
_By your leave Gods--this is a_ Roman's _Part._
It is not that which is called Wit, but what is sublime and noble that
makes true Beauty.
I have purposely chose these Examples from good Authors, that they may
be the more striking; and I speak not of those Points and Quibbles,
whose Impropriety is easily perceiv'd.
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