Mean while, Medea, seiz'd with fierce Desire, By Reason strives to quench the raging Fire; But strives in vain: Some God, she said, withstands, And Reason's baffled Counsel countermands. What unseen Pow'r does this Disorder move? 'Tis Love—at least 'tis like what Men call Love. Else wherefore should the King's Commands appear To me too hard? But so, indeed, they are. Why should I for a Stranger fear, lest he} Should perish, whom I did but lately see;} His Death, or Safety, what are they to me?} Wretch from thy Virgin Breast this Flame expel, And soon—Oh! cou'd I, all wou'd then be well! But Love, resistless Love, my Soul invades; Discretion this, Affection that persuades. I see the right, and I approve it, too; Condemn the wrong—and yet the wrong pursue. Tate and Stonestreet.
After this, the Poet wonderfully describes the dubious Strife between Love and Shame, Reason and Affection, as he does in many other Places. I know, very well, that Objections have been rais'd against this very Passage I have cited, and that Ovid is compar'd with Apollonius Rhodius and Virgil, even upon these Topics, much to his Disadvantage. I can't deny but that when he does best, he often falls short of that Sublimity in which he was naturally deficient; that when he shines most, he generally abounds with an unhappy Luxuriancy of Thought, disagreeable Repetitions, unseasonable and absurd Conceits; that his Style is loose and incorrect: However, let him have his due Praise, let him be allow'd to draw the Out-lines of Nature truly, tho' he does not keep accurately to every Feature of her.
But if you want Perfection upon this Head, consult Virgil, who, as he excels in all other Kinds of Writing, so, especially, in describing and moving the Passions, in the fourth Æneis especially; which may with Justice be styled an Epic Tragedy. And since no Age, Nation, or Language, has yet produced a Work that lays open so wonderfully the various Tumults of the Soul; I shall perform, perhaps, no disagreeable Office, if I lay before you an Epitome of this Part of it, so far as relates to the Passions.
In the Beginning, the unfortunate Queen, in Conversation with her Sister, thus discovers the Effects of Love:
[159] Anna soror, quæ me suspensam insomnia terrent? Quis novus hic nostris successit sedibus hospes? Quam sese ore ferens! quam forti pectore, & armis!
What Dreams, my dearest Anna, discompose My Rest? What wond'rous Stranger at our Court It here arriv'd! how God-like he appears! In Mien how graceful! and how brave in Arms!
And a few Lines after:
[160] Anna (fatebor enim) miseri post fata Sichæi Conjugis, & sparsos fraterna cæde penates; Solus hic inflexit sensus, animumque labantem Impulit; agnosco veteris vestigia flammæ.
My Sister, (for to thee I will disclose My inmost Thoughts) since poor Sichæus fell, And with his Blood, spilt by a Brother's Hand, Sprinkled our Household Gods; this only Man Has warp'd my Inclinations, and unfix'd My stagg'ring Resolution: I perceive The Signs and Tokens of my former Flame.
Now Shame, on the other Hand, exerts its Power, and claims to be heard, in Opposition to Love: