TANS. It is then in a state of virtue when it keeps to the middle, declining from one to the other opposite; but when it leads towards the extremes, inclining to one or the other of those, it fails so entirely from being virtue, that it is a double vice, which consists in this, that the thing recedes from its nature, the perfection of which consists in unity, and there where the opposites meet, its composition and virtue exist. This, then, is how he is dead alive, or living dying; whence he says, "In a living death a dead life I live." He is not dead, because he lives in the object; not alive, because he is dead in himself; deprived of death, because he gives birth to thoughts; deprived of life, because he does not grow or feel in himself. He is now most dejected through meditating on the high intelligence, and the perceived feebleness of power; and most elated by the aspiration of heroic longing, which passes far beyond his limits, and is most exalted by the intellectual appetite; which has not for its fashion or aim to add number to number, is most dejected by the violence done to him by the sensual opposite which drags him down towards hell. So that, finding himself thus ascending and descending, he feels within his soul the greatest dissension that is possible to be felt, and he remains in a state of confusion through this rebellion of the senses, which urge him thither where reason restrains, and _vice versa_. This same is thoroughly demonstrated in the following sentences, where the Reason, under the name of "Filenio" asks, and the enthusiast replies under the name of "Shepherd," who labours in the care of the flocks and herds of his thoughts, which he nourishes in the submission to and service of his nymph, which is the affection of that object to which he is captive. 11. FILENIO. Shepherd! SHEPHERD. What wilt thou? F. What doest thou? S. I suffer. F. Wherefore? S. Because neither life has me for his own, nor death. F. Who's to blame? S. Love. F. That rascal? S. That rascal. F. Where is he? S. He holds me tight in my heart's core. F. What does he? S. Wounds me. F. Who? S. Me. F. Thee? S. Yes. F. With what? S. With the eyes, the gates of heaven and of hell. F. Dost hope? S. I hope. F. For pity? S. For pity. F. From whom? S. From him who racks me night and day. F. Has he any? S. I know not. F. Thou art a fool. S. How if such folly be pleasing to my soul? F. Does he promise? S. No. F. Does he deny? S. Not at all. F. Is he silent? S. Yes, for so much purity (_onesta_) robs me of my boldness. F. Thou ravest. S. How so? F. In vain efforts. S. His scorn more than my torments do I fear.