[97]
that he feels
His secret murders sticking on his hands;[1]—
and that the poet finishes this terrific picture of self-condemnation and abhorrence, by adding:—
His pester'd senses do recoil, and start
When all that is within him doth condemn
Itself for being there:[2]—
But, the learned editor quite forgets that, in the same scene, good care is taken that the tyrant shall not so far forfeit all claim to our esteem, as to fall into contempt, and be entirely odious to our sight: His original valour remains undiminished, and
