Et que l’amour souvent de remors combattu
Paroisse une foiblesse, et non une vertu.
Boileau, L’art poet. chant. 3. l. 101.
O, they love least that let men know their love.
Two Gentlemen of Verona, act 1. sc. 3.
Hence a capital rule in the representation of strong passions, that their genuine sentiments ought to be hid or dissembled as much as possible. And this holds in an especial manner with respect to criminal passions. One never counsels the commission of a crime in plain terms. Guilt must not appear in its native colours, even in thought: the proposal must be made by hints, and by representing the action in some favourable light. Of the propriety of sentiment upon such an occasion, Shakespear, in the Tempest, has given us a beautiful example. The subject is a proposal made by the usurping Duke of Milan to Sebastian, to murder his brother the King of Naples.
Antonio.—————— What might
Worthy Sebastian—O, what might—no more.
And yet, methinks, I see it in thy face,
What thou should’st be: th’occasion speaks thee, and
My strong imagination sees a crown
Dropping upon thy head.
Act 2. sc. 1.
There cannot be a finer picture of this sort, than that of King John soliciting Hubert to murder the young Prince Arthur.
K. John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert,
We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh
There is a soul counts thee her creditor,
And with advantage means to pay thy love.
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished.
Give me thy hand, I had a thing to say——
But I will fit it with some better time.
By Heaven, Hubert, I’m almost asham’d
To say what good respect I have of thee.
Hubert. I am much bounden to your Majesty.
K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet——
But thou shalt have—and creep time ne’er so slow,
Yet it shall come for me to do thee good.
I had a thing to say—but, let it go:
The sun is in the heav’n, and the proud day,
Attended with the pleasures of the world,
Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds,
To give me audience. If the midnight-bell
Did with his iron tongue and brazen mouth
Sound one into the drowsy race of night;
If this same were a church-yard where we stand,
And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs;
Or if that surly spirit Melancholy
Had bak’d thy blood and made it heavy-thick,
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins,
Making that idiot Laughter keep men’s eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
(A passion hateful to my purposes);
Or if that thou could’st see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sounds of words;
Then, in despight of broad-ey’d watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts.
But ah, I will not—Yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov’st me well.
Hubert. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By Heav’n, I’d do’t.
K. John. Do not I know, thou would’st?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy. I’ll tell thee what, my friend;
He is a very serpent in my way.
And, wheresoe’er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me. Dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.
King John, act 3. sc. 5.