Continue from there.Īnon he finds him Striking too short at Greeks. Roasted by anger and fire-and covered with hardened gore-with eyes like rubies, the hellish Pyrrhus goes looking for grandfather Priam. The blood baked solid by fires in the streets-fires that lend a terrible, damned light to his murders. Head to foot, he’s now all red, decorated horribly with the blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons. If you remember it, begin at line-let me see, let me see- The rugged Pyrrhus, fierce as a tiger.No, that’s not it it begins like this: Rugged Pyrrhus-whose armor was as black as his desire, resembled the night when he crouched inside the Trojan Horse-has now smeared his terrible black armor with a more awful coat of arms. It was the story Aeneas told Dido, particularly the part about Priam’s murder. There was one speech in it that I loved the most. I remember one critic commented that the play lacked spicy jokes to liven it up, and did not display any fancy language, but that it was well-done, and beautiful rather than showy. But I, along with the better-informed critics, thought that it was excellent, with scenes that flowed one to the next and written in language that was clever and yet not overdone. It was like caviar for the masses-too sophisticated for them. Or, if it was, not more than once-because the play I remember didn’t please the masses. I heard you recite a speech for me once that was never acted on stage. Roasted in wrath and fire, And thus o’ersizèd with coagulate gore, With eyes like carbuncles, the hellish Pyrrhus Old grandsire Priam seeks. Head to foot Now is he total gules, horridly tricked With blood of fathers, mothers, daughters, sons, Baked and impasted with the parching streets, That lend a tyrannous and damnèd light To their lord’s murder. It begins with Pyrrhus- The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms, Black as his purpose, did the night resemble When he lay couchèd in the ominous horse, Hath now this dread and black complexion smeared With heraldry more dismal. If it live in your memory, begin at this line-Let me see, let me see- The rugged Pyrrhus, like th’ Hyrcanian beast- It is not so. ‘Twas Aeneas’ tale to Dido and thereabout of it, especially where he speaks of Priam’s slaughter. I remember, one said there were no sallets in the lines to make the matter savory, nor no matter in the phrase that might indict the author of affectation, but called it an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine. But it was-as I received it, and others, whose judgments in such matters cried in the top of mine-an excellent play, well digested in the scenes, set down with as much modesty as cunning. Or, if it was, not above once, for the play, I remember, pleased not the million. I heard thee speak me a speech once, but it was never acted.
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