Bayes. Does not that, now, surprise you, to fall asleep in the nick? His spirits exhale with the heat of his passion, and all that, and, swop, he falls asleep, as you see. Now, here she must make a simile.
Smith. Where’s the necessity of that, Mr. Bayes?
Bayes. Because she’s surprised. That’s a general rule; you must ever make a simile when you’re surprised; ’tis the new way of writing.
Chloris. As some tall pine which we on Ætna find
T’ have stood the rage of many a boist’rous wind,
Feeling without that flames within do play,
Which would consume his root and sap away;
He spreads his worsted arms unto the skies:
Silently grieves, all pale, repines, and dies:
So, shrouded up, your bright eye disappears.
Break forth, bright scorching sun, and dry my tears.
(Exit.)
John. Mr. Bayes, methinks this simile wants a little application, too.
Bayes. No faith; for it alludes to passion, to consuming, to dying, and all that, which, you know, are the natural effects of an amour.
(Act II, sc. 3.)[66]
Why is it that the citation from Shakespeare in the left-hand column is less satisfactory than that in the right-hand?