"Mr. Ricaric," replied Selim, "the only consequence that I can draw from your argument is, that as the moderns are in possession of treasures amassed up to their times, they must be richer than the ancients; or, if this comparison displeases you, that as they are raised on the shoulders of those giants, they ought to see farther than them. And in fact, what is their natural philosophy, their astronomy, their navigation, their mechanics, their calculations, in comparison of ours? And why may not our eloquence and poesy have the superiority likewise?" "Selim," said the Sultana, "Ricaric will, at some proper time, give you the reasons of this difference. He will tell you why our tragedy is inferior to that of the ancients: for my part, I willingly undertake to shew you, that it is so. I will not accuse you," continued she, "of not having read the ancients. Your mind is too well adorned, to be ignorant of their stage. Now, abstracting from certain notions relative to their customs, manners and religion, which shock you purely because circumstances are changed; you will allow that their subjects are noble, well-chosen, and interesting; that the action naturally develops itself; that their dialogue is simple, and very near nature; that the unravelling of their plot is not strained; that the interest is not divided, nor the action overloaded with episodes. Transport yourself in idea to the isle of Alindala; examine every thing that passes there; attend to all that is said, from the moment that young Ibrahim and the crafty Forfanti landed thereon: approach the cave of the wretched Polipsile; lose not a word of her complaints; and then tell me, if any one circumstance draws you out of the illusion. Name me a modern piece that can bear the same examination, and pretend to the same degree of perfection; and I grant you the victory." "By Brama," cried the Sultan, yawning, "madam has made an academical dissertation." "I do not understand the rules," continued the favorite; "and much less the learned words, in which they are expressed: but I know that nothing but the _True_ can please and touch. I also know that the perfection of a dramatic piece consists in the exact imitation of an action, so that the spectator, continually deceived, imagines he is present at the very action. Now, pray, is there any thing like this in the tragedies which you extol to us?