, a cruel Spoiler came,
Cropt this fair Rose, and rifled all its Sweetness,
Then cast it, like a loathsome Weed, away._

This Thought has a prodigious Eclat: There's a great deal of Wit in
it, and even an Air of Simplicity that imposes upon one. We all see,
that these Verses, pronounced with the Art and Enthusiasm of a good
Actor never fail of Applause; but I think we may also see, that the
Tragedy of the _Orphan_ wrote entirely in this Taste would never have
lived long.

In effect, why should _Chamont_ make such a long-winded Simile almost
in the Height of Rage for the Ruin of his Sister? Is that natural?
Does not the Poet here quite hide his Hero to shew himself?

This brings into my Mind the absurd Custom of finishing the Acts of
almost all our modern Tragedies with a Simile; surely in a great
Crisis of Affairs, in a Council, in a violent Passion of Love or
Wrath, in a pressing Danger, Princes, Ministers, Heroes or Lovers,
should not make Poetical Comparisons.--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. There is no one but laughs when
_Hotspur_ says,

_Why, w