But when o’recome, he could endure no more, He came and wept before the hated Dora; He wept and pin’d, he hung the sickly Head, The Threshold kist, and thus at last he said.

Many Thoughts In the Complaint are as fine as this.  As, of the following Lines, the 3d and 4th.

Unworthy of my Love, this Rope receive.  The last, most welcome Present I can give.  I’ll never vex thee more.  I’ll cease to woe.  And whether you condemned, freely go; Where dismal Shades and dark Oblivion dwell.

Of the same Nature also is what soon after follows.

Yet grant one Kindness and I ask no more; When you shall see me hanging at the Door.  Do not go proudly by, forbear to smile.  But stay, Sweet Fair, and gaze, and weep a while; Then take me down, and whilst some Tears are shed, Thine own soft Garment o’re my Body spread.  And grant One Kiss,—­One Kiss when I am dead.  Then dig a Grave, there let my Love be laid; And when you part, say thrice, My friend is Dead.

All these Thoughts contain Simplicity as an Addition to the Mournful.  And ’tis impossible for any Thoughts to be more Natural.

’Twere endless to enumerate all the several kinds of Beautiful Pastoral Thoughts, but from these any one may discover the rest; and the general Rule we gave at the beginning of the Chapter will be a Direction for his ranging them into distinct Classes.

Yet give me leave to mention one Kind, which I think we may term the finest.  ’Tis where the Agreeable Thought, and the Tender, meet together, and have besides, the Addition of Simplicity.  I would explain my Meaning by a Quotation out of some Pastoral Writer, but I am at a loss how to do it; give me leave therefore to bring a Passage out of the Orphan.  A Thought may contain the Tender, either with regard to some Person spoken of, or the Person speaking.  The first is common, this Play is full of it.  I will therefore Instance in the latter.  And first where ’tis chiefly occasion’d by the turn that is given to it in the Expression.  Chamont presses his Sister to tell him who has abused her.

  Mon.) But when I’ve told you, will you keep your Fury
          Within it’s bound?  Will you not do some rash
          And horrid Mischief? for indeed, Shamont,
          You would not think how hardly I’ve been used
          From a near Friend.

  Cham.) I will be calm; but has Castalio wrong’d thee?

  Mon.) Oh! could you think it! (Cham.) What?

Mon.) I fear he’ll kill me. (Cham.) Hah!

Mon.) Indeed I do; he’s strangely cruel too me. 
Which if it lasts, I’m sure must break my Heart.

Act. 4.

In the other passage the Tender lyes more in the Thought.

Mon.) Alas my Brother! 
What have I done?  And why do you abuse me? 
My Heart quakes in me; in your settled Face
And clouded Brow methink’s I see my Fate;
You will not kill me!