“In the passions,” says our author, “we must have a very great regard to the quality of the persons, who are actually possessed with them.” The joy of a monarch for the news of a victory, must not be expressed like the ecstacy of a Harlequin on the receipt of a letter from his mistress:—this is so much the same in both the arts, that it is no longer a comparison. What he says of face-painting, or the portrait of any one particular person,—concerning the likeness,—is also as applicable to poetry. In the character of an hero, as well as in an inferior figure, there is a better or worse likeness to be taken: the better is a panegyric, if it be not false, and the worse is a libel. Sophocles, says Aristotle, always drew men as they ought to be, that is, better than they were; another, whose name I have forgotten,[137] drew them worse than naturally they were: Euripides altered nothing in the character, but made them such as they were represented by history, epic poetry, or tradition. Of the three, the draught of Sophocles is most commended by Aristotle. I have followed it in that part of “Œdipus” which I writ,[138] though perhaps I have made him too good a man. But my characters of Antony and Cleopatra, though they are favourable to them, have nothing of outrageous panegyric. Their passions were their own, and such as were given them by history; only the deformities of them were cast into shadows, that they might be objects of compassion: whereas if I had chosen a noon-day light for them, somewhat must have been discovered, which would rather have moved our hatred than our pity. The Gothic manner, and the barbarous ornaments, which are to be avoided in a picture, are just the same with those in an ill-ordered play. For example, our English tragi-comedy must be confessed to be wholly Gothic, notwithstanding the success which it has found upon our theatre, and in the “Pastor Fido” of Guarini; even though Corisca and the Satyr contribute somewhat to the main action. Neither can I defend my “Spanish Friar,” as fond as otherwise I am of it, from this imputation: for though the comical parts are diverting, and the serious moving, yet they are of an unnatural mingle: for mirth and gravity destroy each other, and are no more to be allowed for decent, than a gay widow laughing in a mourning habit. I had almost forgotten one considerable resemblance. Du Fresnoy tells us, “That the figures of the groups must not be all on a side, that is, with their face and bodies all turned the same way; but must contrast each other by their several positions.” Thus in a play, some characters must be raised, to oppose others, and to set them off the better; according to the old maxim, _contraria juxta se posita, magis elucescunt_. Thus, in “The Scornful Lady,” the usurer is set to confront the prodigal: thus, in my “Tyrannic Love,” the atheist Maximin is opposed to the character of St Catherine.