at are jails,
And head-winds right for royal sails.

VIII. HEROISM.

In the elder English dramatists, and mainly in the plays Of Beaumont and
Fletcher, there is a constant recognition of gentility, as if a noble
behavior were as easily marked in the society of their age as color is
in our American population. When any Rodrigo, Pedro or Valerio enters,
though he be a stranger, the duke or governor exclaims, 'This is a
gentleman,--and proffers civilities without end; but all the rest are
slag and refuse. In harmony with this delight in personal advantages
there is in their plays a certain heroic cast of character and
dialogue,--as in Bonduca, Sophocles, the Mad Lover, the Double
Marriage,--wherein the speaker is so earnest and cordial and on
such deep grounds of character, that the dialogue, on the slightest
additional incident in the plot, rises naturally into poetry. Among many
texts take the following. The Roman Martius has conquered Athens,--all
but the invincible spirits of Sophocles, the duke of Athens, and
Dorigen, his wife. The beauty of the latter inflames Martius, and he
seeks to save her husband; but Sophocles will not ask his life, although
assured that a word will save him, and the execution of both proceeds:--

Valerius. Bid thy wife farewell.

Soph. No, I will take no leave. My Dorigen,
Yonder, above, 'bout Ariadne's crown,
My spirit shall hover for thee. Prithee, haste.

Dor. Stay, Sophocles,--with this tie up my sight;
Let not soft nature so transformed be,
And lose her gentler sexed humanity,
To make me see my lord bleed. So, 'tis well;
Never one object underneath the sun
Will I behold before my Sophocles:
Farewell; now teach the Romans how to die.

Mar. Dost know what 't is to die?

Soph. Thou dost not, Martius,
And, therefore, not what 'tis to live; to die
Is to begin to live. It is to end
An old, stale, weary work, and to commence
A newer and a better. 'Tis to leave
Deceitful knaves for the society
Of gods and goodness. Thou thyself must part
At last from all thy garlands, pleasures, triumphs,
And prove thy fortitude what then 't will do.

Val. But art not grieved nor vexed to leave thy life thus?

Soph. Why should I grieve or vex for being sent
To them I ever loved best? Now I'll kneel,
But with my back toward thee; 'tis the last duty
This trunk