But now, admitting rhyme to be an unfit dress for grand and lofty images; it has one advantage however, which is, to raise a low subject to its own degree of elevation. Addison[104] observes, “That rhyme, without any other assistance, throws the language off from prose, and very often makes an indifferent phrase pass unregarded; but where the verse is not built upon rhymes, there, pomp of sound and energy of expression are indispensably necessary, to support the style and keep it from falling into the flatness of prose.” This effect of rhyme is remarkable in the French verse, which, being simple and natural and in a good measure unqualified for inversion, readily sinks down to prose where it is not artificially supported. Rhyme, by rousing the mind, raises it somewhat above the tone of ordinary language: rhyme therefore is indispensable in the French tragedy; and may be proper even for their comedy. Voltaire[105] assigns this very reason for adhering to rhyme in these compositions. He indeed candidly owns, that even with the support of rhyme, the tragedies of his country are little better than conversation-pieces. This shows, that the French language is weak, and an improper dress for any grand subject. Voltaire was sensible of this imperfection; and yet Voltaire attempted an epic poem in that language. The chearing and enlivening power of rhyme, is still more remarkable in poems of short lines, where the rhymes return upon the ear in a quick succession. And for that reason, rhyme is perfectly well adapted to gay, light, and airy subjects. Witness the following. O the pleasing, pleasing anguish. When we love, and when we languish! Wishes rising, Thoughts surprising, Pleasure courting, Charms transporting, Fancy viewing, Joys ensuing, O the pleasing, pleasing anguish. _Rosamond, act 1. sc. 2._ For this reason, such frequent rhymes are very improper for any severe or serious passion: the dissonance betwixt the subject and the modulation, is very sensibly felt. Witness the following. Ardito ti renda, T’accenda Di sdegno D’un figlio Il periglio D’un regno L’ amor E’ dolce ad un’ alma Che aspetta Vendetta Il perder la calma Fra l’ire del cor. _Metastasio. Artaserse, act 3. sc 3._