than Truth, when they can be more remarkable, and clapt by the Million, by continuing in their Error, than by quitting it- But that is a pitiful Ambition indeed, and unworthy a Master of any Art. Tully likens thefe Bellowers to Criples, that fly to Noise to cover their Igno rance, as the other to a Horfe to help their Lameness; and with this Noife they triumph with the Ignorant; but Homer never reckon'd Stentor among his fine Speakers. So that tho à ftrong and firm Voice be a very good Ingredient in a Speaker, yet he ought to have a peculiar Care not to offend a nice Ear, by putting it upon the stretch too much. For this Reafon when Carneades (not yet of fo great Authority among the Philofophers) was declaiming in the Schools, the Mafter fent him word to moderate his Voice a little; but on his requiring a Pitch from him, the Mafter reply'd, let his Voice be your Tone, with whom you talk. So that the Loudnefs or Lownefs of the Voice is to be modell'd according to the Place of Speaking, and the Audience; that it be not too low, or too loud. An equal Care ought to be taken of the Action, that it be not rude and defultory, nor beyond Measure active; Quintus Haterius had a Servant always behind him, when he fpoke in Public, who by touching his Garment, when the Ardour of Difcourfe had made him fly out, recall'd him to the just Medium of Action. The Ancients indeed (if my Authors mislead me not) were extremely against

G 3

that

that infolent toffing of the Body about, when there was no Occafion. Sextus Titius was a very sharp and loquacious Man, but was fo diffolute and enervate in his Action and Gestures, that a fort of Dance arofe out of his Gefticulation, which was call'd by his Name. Nor was Manlius Sura, whom when Domitius Afer had feen whilft he was Acting or Speaking, running up and down, dancing, toffing his Hands about, throwing down his Gown now, and then gathering it up again, he faid, this Man does not act or use Gestures, but miferably aims at fomething he does not understand. Some of the Ancients, not content with this Agitation of the Body, that they like the Antifophift of Virginius, travell❜d a many Miles in their Declamations; which made Caffius Severus require fome Goal, or Bound to be fet them, as in Races, beyond which their Excurfions fhould not reach. Some ftrike their Chins, fome their Thighs, and fome their Foreheads in Trifles, and others perpetually buffet the Pulpit, or Place of Action ; fome proceed fo far, as to pull off their Hair. Thefe Vices of Action are not fit for any one, much less for grave People, and on grave Occafions. For tho the Paffions are very beautiful in their proper Geftures, yet they ought never to be fo extravagantly immoderate, as to tranfport the Speaker out of himself. Tho this has a peculiar Regard to the Bar and the Pulpit, yet has it an equal Authority over the Stage, allowing only for the greater Latitude, which

is proper to that Place, which would be shocking in the other. But then Shakespear would not have his Player too tame neither, for that indeed is an Error in the other Extreme; it enervates the Discourse, and makes the whole Paffion languish, which ought to warm you with a juft and comfortable Heat, and enlivening Fire. Altho Action be of great Use and Force in Speaking, Sedatenefs being to be exprefs'd in fome things, in others Severity, and Vehemence, yet never Madness in any thing, which happens to thofe, who wanton in a fort of tragical and howling Voice upon every Trifle. Some, on the contrary, are viciously oppofite to these, who act so tamely and fo coldly, that when they ought to be angry, to thunder and lighten, as one may fay, they are no fuller of Heat, than a wet Hen, as the Saying is; and turn over a Thyeftean Scene in the calm Tone of a mere Reader; which made Cicero fay to Callidius, when he fedately told of his being like to be poifon'd, If you did not feign all this Story, could you deliver it in this manner? gathering from his Action, that he spoke not feelingly enough for a Reality. Such are fitter to comfort the Sick, than to fpeak in public. In this much is left to the Nature of the Subject, and for this Reafon Shakespear leaves it to his Difcretion. Yet notwithstanding he leaves his Difcretion to be his Guide, he foon directs that Guide, by bidding him fuit the Action to the WORDS, and the Words to the ACTION; and

not to overtop the Modefty of, that is, to go beyond Nature, which is to be the Rule of juft Acting. But then the fame Difficulty will arife here as in Writing, where all fides agree, that Nature is the fovereign Guide and Scope; but then they are not fo agreed in what Nature is: The Skilful lay down those Signs, Marks, and Lineaments of Nature, that you may know when she is truly drawn, when not; the Unfkilful, which is the greater and more noify part, leave it fo at large, that it amounts to no more, than every one's Fancy, which would make Contradictions Nature; for what pleases one, he calls Nature; what pleases another, that he calls Nature; and I heard once a Man of the Stage, in great Vogue for I know not what off the Stage, fay Nonfenfe was natural, when Nature has been urg'd as the Rule of good Writing; whether he meant it a Witticism or not, I never thought it worth while to examine, being fenfible, that NONSENSE is very natural to fome, ev'n tho they fet up for, and are ev'n admir'd by a Set of People for their Wit.

I inftance this, to fhow that there feems a Neceffity of fome Marks, or Rules to fix the Standard of what is Natural, and what not, elfe it is a loose vague Word of no manner of Ufe or Authority. But this is what Shakespear fuppofes our Actor to know, and therefore he proceeds to tell him what the End of a Player was and is, viz. to hold as it were the Mirrour up to Natura, to fhew Virtue her own Feature

Scort

foorn her own Image, and the very Age and Body of the Time, his Form and Preffure. To attain a juft Praife in which, befides the Knowledge of them, the Player muft neither over or under-act his Part. As I have already laid down fuch Obfervations, as may be of great Ufe to the Actor in his Acting and Gefture, fo I fhall now fet down fome, which will give an Infight into the Art of Speaking, or regulating and modelling the Voice in fuch a manner, as may render the Utterance pleafing to the Ear.

Before I come to the Directions for the Beauties of Speaking, I think it will not be amifs to infert here a Paper given me by a Friend, of the feveral natural Defects and Vices of a Voice, taken from the 26th Chapter of the Second Book of Julius Pollux's Onomaftics, which he makes about twenty in number.

The firft he calls Black, drawing the Metaphor from the Eyes to the Ears. For as Black ftrikes the Eyes more dully, fo does this fort of Voice penetrate the Ears with greater Difficulty, and carries with it lefs of the Pleasant, but fomething on the contrary of the difmal and horrid.

Next the dusky or brown, differs from the Black only, by being fomething lefs obfcure, but is yet very far from that Brightness of a pure Tone of Voice.

Rough or unpleasant, fuch as your very strong Voices generally are, with which the pleafing Sweetnefs is feldom mingled, and Seneca puts