sidered, that the compassion she moved to herself
and children, was destructive to that which I reserved for Antony and
Cleopatra; whose mutual love being founded upon vice, must lessen the
favour of the audience to them, when virtue and innocence were
oppressed by it. And, though I justified Antony in some measure, by
making Octavia's departure to proceed wholly from herself; yet the
force of the first machine still remained; and the dividing of pity,
like the cutting of a river into many channels, abated the strength of
the natural stream. But this is an objection which none of my critics
have urged against me; and therefore I might have let it pass, if I
could have resolved to have been partial to myself. The faults my
enemies have found, are rather cavils concerning little and not
essential decencies; which a master of the ceremonies may decide
betwixt us. The French poets, I confess, are strict observers of these
punctilios: They would not, for example, have suffered Cleopatra and
Octavia to have met; or, if they had met, there must have only passed
betwixt them some cold civilities, but no eagerness of repartee, for
fear of offending against the greatness of their characters, and the
modesty of their sex. This objection I foresaw, and at the same time
contemned; for I judged it both natural and probable, that Octavia,
proud of her new-gained conquest, would search out Cleopatra to
triumph over her; and that Cleopatra thus attacked, was not of a
spirit to shun the encounter: And it is not unlikely, that two
exasperated rivals should use such satire as I have put into their
mouths; for, after all, though the one were a Roman, and the other a
queen, they were both women. It is true, some actions, though natural,
are not fit to be represented; and broad obscenities in words, ought
in good manners to be avoided: expressions therefore are a modest
clothing of our thoughts, as breeches and petticoats are of our
bodies. If I have kept myself within the bounds of modesty, all beyond
it is but nicety and affectation; which is no more but modesty
depraved into a vice. They betray themselves, who are too quick of
apprehension in such cases, and leave all reasonable men to imagine
worse of them, than of the poet.

Honest Montaigne goes yet farther: _Nous ne sommes que ceremonie; la
ceremonie nous emporte, et laissons la substance des choses: Nous nous
tenons aux branches, et abandonnons le tronc et le corps. Nous avons
appris