to the
Odyssey. First then as to his Subject, can any thing be more simple, and at the
same time more noble? He is rightly praised by the first of those judicious
Critics, for not choosing the whole War, which, tho' he says, it hath a complete
Beginning and End, would have been too great for the Understanding to comprehend
at one View. I have therefore often wondered why so correct a Writer as Horace
should in his Epistle to Lollius call him the Trojani Belli Scriptorem.
Secondly, his Action, termed by Aristotle Pragmaton Systasis; is it possible for
the Mind of Man to conceive an Idea of such perfect Unity, and at the same time
so replete with Greatness? And here I must observe what I do not remember to
have seen noted by any, the Harmotton, that agreement of his Action to his
Subject: For as the Subject is Anger, how agreeable is his Action, which is War?
from which every Incident arises, and to which every Episode immediately
relates. Thirdly, His Manners, which Aristotle places second in his Description
of the several Parts of Tragedy, and which he says are included in the Action; I
am at a loss whether I should rather admire the Exactness of his judgement in the
nice Distinction, or the Immensity of his Imagination in their Variety. For, as
to the former of these, how accurately is the sedate, injured Resentment of
Achilles distinguished from the hot insulting Passion of Agamemnon? How widely
doth the brutal Courage of Ajax differ from the amiable Bravery of Diomedes; and
the Wisdom of Nestor, which is the Result of long Reflection and Experience,
from the Cunning of Ulysses, the Effect of Art and Subtilty only? If we consider
their Variety, we may cry out with Aristotle in his 24th Chapter, that no Part
of this divine Poem is destitute of Manners. Indeed I might affirm, that there
is scarce a Character in human Nature untouched in some part or other. And as
there is no Passion which he is not able to describe, so is there none in his
Reader which he cannot raise. If he hath any superior Excellence to the rest, I
have been inclined to fancy it is in the Pathetick. I am sure I never read with
dry Eyes, the two Episodes, where Andromache is introduced, in the former
lamenting the Danger, and in the latter the Death of Hector. The Images are so
extremely tender in these, that I am convinced, the Poet had the worthiest and
best Heart imaginable. Nor can I help observing how short Sophocles falls of the
Beauties of