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overwhelmed with infamy and the reproach of mankind, which they feel more severely than those who have less integrity, and, consequently, a worse opinion of others than they have, are exposed, for a time, to all the torment of conscious turpitude. The blush of guilty confusion often inflames the complexion of innocence, and disorders her lovely features. To be rescued from undeserved affliction, Imogen flies for relief to the review of her former conduct; and, surprized at the accusation, and indignant of the charge, The triumphs in confcious virtue.

False to his bed! what is to be false ?
To lie in watch there, and to think on him?
To weep 'twixt clock and clock ? if neep charge nature
To break it with a fearful dream of him,
And cry myself awake? That's false to his bed ?

Yet resentánent is so natural in cases of heinous injury, that it arifes even in minds of the mildest temper. It arises, however, without any excessive or unfeemly agita

tion ;

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tion: Its duration is exceedingly tranfient. It is governed in its uiterance by the me. mory of former friendship: And, if the blame can be transferred to any insidious or fly seducer who may have prompted the evil we complain of, we wreck upon them the violence of our displeasure.

I false! thy conscience witness, Iachimo.
Thou didft accuse him of incontinency :
Thou then look’dst like a villain : Now, methinks,
Thy favour's good enough. Some jay of Italy $,
Whose mother' was her painting, hath betray'd hini.

The resentment of Imogen is of short continuance: It is a sudden solitary flash, extinguished instantly in her sorrow.

Poor I am ftale, a garment out of fashion,

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It is not the malice of a crafty step-dame that moves the heart of Imogen to complain ; nor the wrath of her incensed and deluded parent; nor that she, bred up in

softness,

§ The word painting in this passage is a substantive noun, fynonimous to portrait,

softness, and little accustomed to suffer hardships and sorrow, should wander amid falitary rocks and desarts, exposed to perils, famine, and death : It is, that she is forfạken, betrayed, and persecuted by him, on whose constancy she relied for protection, and to whose tenderness the entrusted her repose. Of other evils she is not infenfible ; but this is the “ fupreme crown

of her grief,” Cruelty and ingratitude are abhorred by the spectator, and resented by the sufferer. But, when the temper of the person injured is peculiarly gentle, and the author of the injury the object of confirmed affection, the mind, after the first emotion, is more apt to languish in despondency than continue inflamed with resentment. The sense of misfortune, rather than the sense of injury, rules the disposition of Imogen, and, instead of venting invective, she laments thc misery of her condition.

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Poor I am ftale, a garment out of fashion; And, for I am richer than to hang by the walls, I must be ript.-To pieces with me!

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If a crime is committed by a person with whom we are unconnected, or who has no pretensions to pre-eminent virtue, we feel indignation against the individual ; but form no conclusions against the fpecies. The case is different, if we are connected with him by any tender affection, and regard him as of superior merit. Love and friendship, according to the immutable conduct of every passion, lead us to magnify, in our imaginations, the distinguished qualities of those we love. The rest of mankind are ranked in a lower order, and are valued no otherwise than as they resemble this illustrious model. But, perceiving depravity where we expected perfection, mortified and disappointed, that appearances of re&titude, believed by us most fincere and unchangeable, were merely specious and exterior, we become

fufpicious

suspicious of every pretension to merit, and regard the rest of mankind, of whose integrity we have had less positive evidence; with cautious and unkind reserve.

True honest men being heard, like false Æneas,
Were, in his time, thought false : And Sinon'a

weeping
Did scandal many a holy tear; took pity
From most true wretchedness. So thou, Posthumus,
Wilt lay the leaven on all proper men:
Goodly, and gallant, shall be false and perjur'd,
From thy great fail,

Imogen, conscious of her innocence, convinced of Leonatus's perfidy, and overwhelmed with sorrow, becomes careless of life, and offers herself a willing facrifice to her husband's cruelty.

Be thou honest:
Do thou thy master's bidding: When thou seeft him,
A little witness my obedience. Look !
I draw the sword myself: take it, and hit
The innocent mansion of my love, my heart :
Pr’ythee, dispatch :
The lamb intreats the butcher. Where's thy knife?

Thou

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