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tering Dalila affords a just and striking description of the stratagems and allurements of feminine hypocrisy: --These are thy wonted arts, And arts of every woman false like thee, To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray, Then as repentant to submit, beseech, And reconcilement move with feign'd remorse, Confess and promise wonders in her change; Not truly penitent, but chief to try Her husband, how far urg'd his patience bears, His virtue or weakness which way to assail: Then with more cautious and instructed skill Again transgresses, and again submits. When Samson has refused to make himself a spectacle at the feast of Dagon, he first justifies his behaviour to the chorus, who charge him with having served the Philistines, by a very just distinction: and then destroys the common excuse of cowardice and servility, which always confound temptation with compulsion: _Chor_. Yet with thy strength thou serv'st the Philistines. _Sams_. Not in their idol worship, but by labour Honest and lawful to deserve my food Of those, who have me in their civil power. _Chor_. Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not. _Sams_. Where outward force constrains, the sentence holds. But who constrains me to the temple of Dagon, Not dragging? The Philistine lords command. Commands are no constraints. If I obey them, I do it freely, venturing to displease God for the fear of Man, and Man prefer, Set God behind. The complaint of blindness which Samson pours out at the beginning of the tragedy is equally addressed to the passions and the fancy. The enumeration of his miseries is succeeded by a very pleasing train of poetical images, and concluded by such expostulation and wishes, as reason too often submits to learn from despair: O first created Beam, and thou great Word "Let there be light, and light was over all;" Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree? The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. Since light so necessary is to life, And almost life itself, if it be true That light is in the soul, She all in every part; why was the sight To such a tender hall as the eye confin'd, So obvious and so easy to be quench'd? And not, as feeling, through all parts diffus'd, That she may look at will through every pore? Such are the faults and such the beauties of Samson A
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