he rushing ocean,
'Tis in the quiet shell, shut up, conceal'd,
We find the pearl."

It is in another strain that the poet speaks when Leonora Sanvitale
attempts to persuade him that Antonio entertains in reality no hostility
towards him. In what follows, we see the anger and hatred of a
meditative man. It is a hatred which supports and exhausts itself in
reasoning; which we might predict would never go forth into any act of
enmity. It is a mere sentiment, or rather the mere conception of a
sentiment. For the poet rather thinks of hatred than positively hates.

"And if I err, I err resolvedly.
I think of him as of my bitter foe;
To think him less than this would now distract,
Discomfort me. It were a sort of folly
To be with all men reasonable; 'twere
The abandonment of all distinctive _self_.
Are all mankind to us so reasonable?
No, no! Man in his narrow being needs
Both feelings, love, and hate. Needs he not night
As well as day? and sleep as well as waking?
No! I will hold this man for evermore
As precious object of my deepest hate,
And nothing shall disturb the joy I have
In thinking of him daily worse and worse."

_Act. 4, Scene 2._

We conclude with a passage in which Tasso speaks of the irresistible
passion he feels for his own art. He has sought permission of the Duke
to retire to Rome, on the plea that he will there, by the assistance of
learned men, better complete his great work, which he regards as still
imperfect. Alphonso grants his request, but advises him rather to
suspend his labour for the present, and partake, for a season, of the
distractions of the world. He would be wise, he tells him, to seek the
restoration of his health.

"_Tasso._--It should seem so; yet have I health enow
If only I can labour, and this labour
Again bestows the only health I know.
It is not well with me, as thou hast seen,
In this luxuriant peace. In rest I find
Rest least of all. I was not framed,
My spirit was not destined to be borne
On the soft element of flowing days,
And so in Time's great ocean lose itself
Uncheck'd, unbroken.

"_Alphonso._--All feelings, and all impulses, my Tasso,
Drive thee for ever back into thyself.
There lies about us many an abyss
Which Fate has dug; the deepest yet of all
Is here, in our own heart, and very strong
Is the temptation to plunge headlong in.
I pray thee snatch thyself away