This Thought has a prodigious Eclat: There's a great deal of Wit in
it, and even an Air of Simplicity that imposes upon one. We all see,
that these Verses, pronounced with the Art and Enthusiasm of a good
Actor never fail of Applause; but I think we may also see, that the
Tragedy of the _Orphan_ wrote entirely in this Taste would never have
lived long.

In effect, why should _Chamont_ make such a long-winded Simile almost
in the Height of Rage for the Ruin of his Sister? Is that natural?
Does not the Poet here quite hide his Hero to shew himself?

This brings into my Mind the absurd Custom of finishing the Acts of
almost all our modern Tragedies with a Simile; surely in a great
Crisis of Affairs, in a Council, in a violent Passion of Love or
Wrath, in a pressing Danger, Princes, Ministers, Heroes or Lovers,
should not make Poetical Comparisons.--Even _Marcia_'s (or rather Mr.
_Addison_'s) beautiful Simile at the End of the first Act of _Cato_,
is scarcely to be forgiven.

What then would a Work be, that was filled with far-fetched and
Problematick Thoughts? How infinitely superior to all such dazling
Ideas, are these simple and natural Words of _Monimia_ to her angry
Brother?

_Look kindly on me then. I cannot bear
Severity; it daunts, and does amaze me:_
_My Heart's so tender, should you charge me rough,
I should but weep, and answer you with sobbing.
But use me gently, like a loving Brother,