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And dost thou now fall over to my foes?
FEAR AND TERROUR.
Fear is a mixture of aversion and sorrow, discomposing and debilitating the mind upon the approach or anticipation of evil. When this is attended with surprise and much discomposure, it grows into terrour and consternation
Fear, violent and sudden, opens wide the eyes and mouth, shortens the nose, gives the countenance an air of wildness, covers it with deadly paleness, draws back the elbows parallel with the sides, lifts up the open hands, with the fingers spread, to the height of the breast, at some distance before it, so as to shield it from the dreadful object. One foot is drawn back behind the other, so that the body seems shrinking from the danger, and putting itself in a posture for flight. The heart beats violently, the breath is quick and short, and the whole body is thrown into a general tremar. The voice is weak and trembling, the sentences are short, and the meaning confused and incoherent.
Terrour before dreadful Actions described.
Between the acting of a dreadful thing.
Terrour of Evening and Night described.
- Light thickens, and the crow
Thou marvell'st at my words: but hold thee still ;
Fear from a dreadful Object.
Angels and ministers of grace defend us
Horrour at a dreadful Apparition.
How ill this taper burns! ha! who comes here?
Ibid. Julius Cæsar.
Terrour from committing Murder.
Mac. I've done the deed - didst not thou hear a noise ?
Lady. I heard the owl scream, and the crickets cry.
Mac. When ?
Fear of being discovered in Murder.
SORROW. Sorrow is a painful depression of spirit, upon the deprivation of good, or arrival of evil; when it is silent and thoughtful, it is sadness ; when long in. dulged, so as to prey upon and possess the mind, it becomes habitual, and grows into melancholy; when tossed by hopes and fears, it is distraction ; when these are swallowed up by it, it settles into despair.
In moderate sorrow, the countenance is dejected, the eyes are cast downward, the arms hang loose, sometimes a little raised, suddenly to fall again ; the hands open, the fingers spread, and the voice plaintive, frequently interrupted with sighs. But when this passion is in excess, it distorts the countenance, as if in agonies of pain ; it raises the voice to the loudest complainings, and sometimes even to cries and shrieks; it wrings the hands, beats the head and breast, tears the hair, and throws itself on the ground; and, like other passions, in excess, seems to border on frenzy.
are cas raised, sund, andt
Anth. In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.
Gra. You look not well, signor Anthonio ;
Believe me, you are marvellously chang'd.
Anth. I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano ; A stage, where every one must play his part ; And mine's a sad one. Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice.
Deep Melancholy described.
She never told her love,
Ibid. Twelfth Night.
My mother had a maid call’d Barbara,
Seems, madam ! nay, it is : I know not seems,
Say that again.
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
Ibid. Rich. II.
Sorrow forgetful of its Intentions. Yet one word more ;-Grief boundeth where it falls, Not with the empty hollowness, but weight; I take my leave before I have begun, For sorrow ends not when it seemeth done. Commend me to my brother, Edmund York, Lo, this is all :-nay, yet depart not so ; Though this be ail, do not so quickly go, I shall remember more. Bid him-Oh, what? With all good speed at Flashy visit me. Alack, and what shall good old York there see, But empty lodgings, and unfurnish'd walls, Unpeopled offices, untrodden stones ? And what hear there for welcome but my groans ? Therefore commend me ; let him not come there To seek out sorrow that dwells every where ; Desolate, desolate, will I hence, and die ; The last leave of thee takes my weeping eye.
Ibid. Rich. II.
Grief deploring loss of Happiness.
Grief approaching to Madness.