Biographical, curiosity is a just and generous tribute to the memory of persons who have eminently distinguished themselves in life; nor is this curiosity merely a compliment to the objects commemorated; the possessor, who properly gratifies it, will find himself profited in one of the most important points of human knowledge; that is, the knowledge of ourselves: a point seldom attended to, though of the utmost moral and social consequence.

Pedigree is a circumstance frequently ostentatiously and sillily set forth. Prior's excellent Epitaph, wherein he stiles himself a son of Adam and of Eve, most pointedly sets aside this chimerical importance: Mr. Foote, in his Author, gives a full and laughable idea of enthusiastic genealogists;

where he makes Cadwallader say to young Cape,—

Merit is by no means hereditary; and though it may be some credit to a man that his parents have made a respectable figure in life; yet if he essentially differs from them in conduct, of what consequence is it to society, that the root may be good, if the stem arising from it is of a useless and corrupt nature. From these short, but conclusive considerations, we are bold to say, the herald's office is the office of folly, over the gate of which, as a crest, or a coat of arms, should be placed a cap and bells, suitably adorned.

Having thus far endeavoured to set aside family importance, we familiarly introduce William Shakespeare, as the son of a woolstapler, born at Stratford upon Avon, Warwickshire, in the month of April, 1564. The father had a large family—for ten children may well be deemed such; William, though eldest, had little education, and was chiefly trained to his father's business. What knowledge of Latin he had was acquired at a free school* ^note. It may not be improper

here to observe, that though some respectable Authors appear to lament his narrow progress in the dead languages; yet we are hardy enough to contend, that if he had been more classical, he would have been less striking; if more correct, less animated; and if more uniform, less replete. To compare him to the buckram of some more modern authors, who have learning without genius; is exactly like bringing the noble, natural, variegated glow of a stately wood; (perhaps somewhat, incumbered with brush and brambles) in contrast with the sinical foppery of yew trees and box, cut into appearances which nature never designed, and such as true taste must shudder at.

By marriage, at so early a period as seventeen, with the daughter of one Hathaway, a respectable yeoman, our Author took on him the cares of the world; and seems to have designed an early settlement in life; but an accident, not of a very respectable nature in the opinion of narrow minded persons, removed him from Warwickshire; namely, deer-stealing in the park of Sir Thomas Lucy; which, however, we are induced to believe proceeded more from youthful frolic, than depravation of principle; and this we are the rather

confirmed in, by finding no subsequent accusation against his character.

* ^noteProsecution drove him to London, where, for the advantage of mankind, and the honour of his country, he formed and obtained a connection with the Theatre, both as Author and Actor; in the former view, his eminence stands undisputed; in the latter, we have very unsatisfactory accounts; such as, the Ghost in Hamlet having been his principal character; a reason why he was most distinguished in that part, has been advanced in the Dramatic Censor, and we think it conclusive; namely, that as a supernatural being, he pronounced the speeches pompously; but in other characters attending to nature, he deviated from the turgid mode of expression of his fellow comedians; and therefore was little esteemed† ^note.

Bring a sensible, moderate, logical preacher into a methodist chapel, and observe how the audience there will speak of him: The case is nearly parallel.

Though it is of very little importance to know what children he had, unless one like himself had sprung up; yet we shall not so far leave the beaten track of biography, as to omit that he had three daughters; two of whom lived to be married, yet though they had issue, they left no further continuation of the family.

As an Author, no man has been more complimented, no man more abused; in the latter respect, we mean by multiplied and unworthy editions of his works, most of which were mere jobs. We shall not point out at large the commentators, who, in our idea, come within this view; but we may safely assert that some of the most celebrated writers within the last fifty years, have been mutilators of Shakespeare; he has been almost as much traded upon, and as vilely interpreted as the Bible.

Theobald, in our opinion, is the only ingenious liberal Critic: He evidently wished to do the Author justice; and though he often went conjecturally too far, yet in the main, he illustrated Shakespeare better than any other commentator; neither the laborious Bishop of Gloster, nor the tremendous Dr. Johnson excepted; both of whom evidently served themselves much more than they did the subject of their prodigious productions.

The observations of Pope and Rowe are a disgrace to the great abilities of those able authors,

and place them in the contemptible light of booksellers tools, who march forth to pass an edition upon public curiosity or credulity, at any rate, through the sanction of great names.

It was the good fortune of Shakespeare, from a low station in the theatre to attract, by irresistable merit, the favourable notice of that discerning Princess, who then sat on the English throne* ^note; with so much glory to herself, and such peculiar advantage to her people; her approbation of Falstaff, in the first and second parts of Henry the Fourth, procured him the honour and advantage of his Sovereign's commands, or rather request, to produce the fat knight a third time. This was rather a heavy task to perform adequately; however, his Merry Wives of Windsor shew he was equal to the undertaking: From Justice Shallow, a caricature portrait of Sir Thomas Lucy, we find our Author had a permanent principle of resentment, so far as the use of his pen went.

It is a strong mark of Queen Elizabeth's masculine character, that she should fall in love with Falstaff, who since her time has scarce had a female admirer.

In the Midsummer Night's Dream he pays his royal patroness a great and elegant compliment, where he stiles her “a fair vestal throned in the West* ^note.” Mr. Rowe thinks, and we think with him, that Falstaff was an ill-chosen name for his facetious poltroon, as there was in the reigns of Henry the Fifth and Sixth a Sir John Falstaff, knight of the garter, and a military commander of merit.

The Earl of Southampton shewed several marks of favour to our Author, but one singular stroke of beneficence, no less than a thousand pounds† ^note at one donation: Had it been allowable for Shakespeare to have handled the Earl of Essex's unhappy catastrophe, there is no doubt Lord Southampton's liberality would have been elegantly remembered.

The time of his quitting the stage is as dubious as the time of his going on it; it is also a matter of great doubt which of his plays was written first, a point however not very material. However, one very agreeable circumstance, to a generous mind, we are authentically acquainted with,

namely, that the common calamitous attendant upon great genius, Poverty, did not hang heavy on his latter days.

From all we can trace, his life, from the commencement of manhood, was a calm, uniform scene of existence; not perturbed with violent passions, nor marked with uncommon events; not clouded with adversity, nor tempted by the delusive glare of dangerous prosperity; for prosperity may undoubtedly be termed dangerous when it shines on us with meridian beams.

As to his character, it must be fished out of his writings; from whence, though abundant outlines offer, it is very critical to ascertain a strict likeness* ^note. Some years before his death (which happened in the year 1616, and the 53d year of his age) he spent in comfortable retirement amidst respectable select acquaintance, who admired his talents, and acknowledged his amiable qualifications as a companion.

In Stratford church, where his remains lie, is a monument, on which is this Latin epitaph:

On the grave-stone appears the following inscription, which we deem a very strange one:

Public gratitude, upon representation of his own Julius Cæsar, complimented his valuable memory with means to erect an exceeding well-imagined monument in Westminster Abbey, upon which we find that celebrated inscription taken from the Tempest, “The cloud-capt towers, &c.” an inscription the most fanciful, philosophical, and comprehensive for the occasion that ever pen placed upon paper, or instrument graved in stone: it seems almost providentially suggested for the very purpose whereto it has been so solemnly and so judiciously applied.

One singular point of this great man's character we are clear in, that is, his unparalleled neglect of the correction and publication of his works; these matters seem to have been of no consequence in his judgment, which, however, has been a literary misfortune to his multitudinous admirers, even in the unparental state, the offspring of his brain were thrown into public view: however the same point evidently proves he was a most spontaneous author, and despised,

perhaps too much, all mechanism in literary composition.

Mr. Pope having given the most respectable general idea of our Author's talents, we shall, with occasional remarks, trace his account: he observes, “If ever any Author deserved the name of an original, it was Shakespeare: Homer himself drew not his art so immediately from the fountains of nature: it proceeded through Ægyptian strainers and channels; and came to him not without some tincture of the learning, or some cast of the models of those before him.” By the by, our British Homer has trespassed on the Grecian by positive assertion, without offering proof; we admire Shakespeare as much as he could do, but would not urge a partial and prejudicial comparison against the capital merits of antiquity. Shakespeare was not without some learning, all the subjects of his dramas are taken from history or romance, and his knowledge of character evidently arose from observation of mankind; therefore his merit, like Homer's, must come from some tincture of the learning, or some cast of the models before him.

That he has given strong marks of originality to his supernatural beings, is true: but this does not entitle him to the preference here contended against. It must indeed be admitted that his

poetry seems to convey a strong idea of inspiration, and that he is more an instrument than an imitator of nature. “It is not so just,” continues Mr. Pope, “to say that he speaks from her, as that she speaks through him. His characters are so much nature herself, that it is a sort of injury to call them by so distant a name as copies of her; the characters of other writers have a constant similarity, which is a strong presumptive proof they borrow from one another, and are but multipliers of the same images‡ ^note.”

The power of this incomparable dramatist over the passions has been, and is, both felt and acknowledged by all persons, of even common sensation, who have heard his pieces well performed, or even read them attentively; he never attempts rage, grief, love, jealousy, patriotism, terror, or pleasantry, but he works the master strings of sympathetic feeling in each degree. But did Shakespeare's power stop here? By no means; he is equally great in calm, philosophical, argumentative reflection; in allusions and descriptions; in choice of materials for his great purposes; and,

in general, working them up to the greatest advantage. Mr. Pope expresses great surprize at such talents in a man of no education, that is, of trifling instruction; but we must observe that learning, though it assists, never creates genius.

We have had of late years an author totally illiterate who conceived noble ideas; had a natural and very pleasing flow of versification, apt allusions, with bold imagery, &c. We mean Henry Jones, author of the Earl of Essex; who, without any advantage from books or company (for he did not much admire the best sort of either) amidst dissipation and drunkenness, with consequent poverty; was, to the last, when sober, capable of expressing himself both on paper and in conversation more nervously, more fancifully, and more correctly, than nine tenths of such as are termed learned men.

This instance proves that Shakespeare's share of learning was sufficient to unfold his genius and display his natural talents in the clearest and most splendid point of view.

From these considerations we must express our surprize that so many fruitless enquiries, so many inconclusive conjectures, about Shakespeare's extent of learning have been suggested; some of his commentators have undoubtedly possessed a much greater share of literary knowledge than he

did, yet not one of them has shewn even the shadow of his merit. Errors of negligence and the superfluities of a rapid luxuriant genius frequently occur; and we should not be so idolatrous as to worship; to censure them is by no means illiberal; but at the same time we should remember those frequent beauties, which should in criticism, as charity does in religion, cover a multitude of sins.

After dissenting a little from Mr. Pope's opinion as to our Author's erudition, we entirely agree, “that his thoughts seem to have come from a degree of intuition, as to his knowledge of the world; that he looked through human life at one glance, and appears to be the only Author who gives ground for a very new, yet very justifiable opinion, that the philosopher, and even the man of the world, may be born as well as the poet.” To be so violent in any author's praise as not to allow, if he is a man of free spirited genius, many errors, as well as abundant beauties, is prejudice, and not criticism.

Mr. Pope, whom we chiefly trace, says, “That as he has written better, so he has written worse than any other.” The latter point we contend against, for however he trifled to indulge a quibbling and pedantic taste, which prevailed in, and disgraced his time; yet we make no scruple to declare, that though he may be below

himself in those frivolous excursions of fancy, he is far above any other author even in that way: as to flattering such a despicable taste, he was doubly obliged to it both as author and actor. We judge him more blameable in another point than this, which has been rarely, if ever before, noticed; that is, indulging the redundancy of his own imagination so far, that frequently, when a favourite thought struck him, he spun it out and dwelt upon it, not only beyond the limits of dramatic dialogue, but beyond the much more extended bounds of epic poetry* ^note.

Even in scenes of levity, as well as those of passion, he seldom knew when to leave off; therefore frequently wore elegance and humour threadbare: this we by no means impute so much to a want of judgment, or negligence of thinking, as to a contempt of the auditors and readers of his day. He seems to have entirely made his genius pleasurable and profitable to himself, without much attention to future fame, else he would have sent the offsprings of his brain into the world in a more correct and authentic state.

It has been imputed to him as a merit, that he never blotted a line. That he was not fond of, or very attentive to corrections, we readily believe; a prompt genius seldom is: but we have undoubted proof, the Merry Wives of Windsor, the three

parts of Henry the Sixth, Henry the Fifth, and Hamlet, were not only improved, but almost rewritten.

Though Mr. Pope obliquely, may almost directly, appears to deny our Author any essential education in one place, yet afterwards he chuses to make this palliative distinction in favour of Shakespeare: “There is, says he, a great difference between learning and languages; how far he was ignorant of the latter, I cannot determine.” This is too short-sighted an opinion; 'tis evident he understood some Latin and some French, though his display of either is not very striking; however his classical allusions are many, various, and fancifully just. Mr. Pope proceeds: “It is plain he had much reading at least, if critics will not call it learning. Nor is it any great matter, if a man has knowledge, whether he has it from one language or from another: nothing is more evident than that he had a knowledge of natural philosophy, mechanics, ancient and modern history, poetical learning and mythology: we find him very knowing in the customs, rites, and manners of antiquity; in modern Italian novel writers, and in the ancients of his own country.”

It seems very probable, as Ben Johnson had admirers, as well as Shakespeare, that the friends of each depreciated the opposite party. Partizans are ever in extremes; and as it is universally allowed

that Ben had much more school learning, it was ridiculously asserted that Shakespeare had none; and vice versa, as Shakespeare had more brilliancy of wit, more ease and elegance of expression; it was said that Johnson was deficient in all: because the latter was slow in his productions, his care was interpreted into literary drudgery; while the former's negligent facility, which occasioned him to be too sparing of correction, was magnified into the utmost test of exalted genius. Because Shakespeare did not borrow from the classics, he was deemed all originality; while poor Ben, from translating several passages, rather pedantically we confess, was pronounced a plagiarist throughout. Contentions of this sort are generally partial and illiberal; in this view, we consider the assertion, that Ben was envious of Shakespeare, which point seems better supported by that trite opinion, that two of a trade can never agree, than by any other proof: it lays on Johnson the grievous charge of ingratitude, as Shakespeare introduced him and his talents on the stage, and fostered them there: in just remembrance of which cordial assistance (or else he must have been a most complete and contemptible hypocrite) he wrote a copy of verses to the memory of his beloved Mr. William Shakespeare.

Mr. Dryden has found, or seemed to find, a duplicity and languor in this compliment; but

we rather concur with Mr. Pope, that there is no sufficient foundation for such an idea, especially as Ben has been blameably lavish in praise, by preferring him to all antiquity; and has most judiciously maintained, that he possessed a degree of art, with a full possession of nature. Personal regard beams warmly through many parts of the praise he bestows in his Discoveries, where he professes affection for the man, admiration for the bard.

When he endeavoured to rescue our Author's fame from that pitiful, perishable foundation, subordinate theatrical applause, that is, of many actors who then scarce understood what they spoke, he was undoubtedly right. Mean, interested, paltry solicited applause, is a disgrace from which a man of any sensibility would rescue a friend.

It is too common an absurdity to suppose that friendship should cover all failings; but painting an author, or man, however excellent in either capacity, as perfect, is a contradiction to reason, and common experience. When Ben Johnson sneered at some passages written by his friend, he did no more than every person who takes up the pen of criticism should do: are friendly more strict then parental ties? The latter allow corrections, why should the former deny? A strong instance of this childish delicacy in friendly forbearance,

appears in several strictures upon the late Lord Orrery's letters on Swift, wherein his Lordship, though a very tender-minded man, thought it his duty to point out some of the Dean's failings‡ ^note, though when alive he called and esteemed him his friend. It is much better to avoid biographical painting, than to give unfaithful pictures: if instruction is not the point in view, we may as well read Robin Hood and Little John as Plutarch's Lives. The lights and shades should be impartially discriminated; with this reserve, that in dubious passages, the former should be preferred to the latter; where supposition comes in, it should always come in favourably. These positions, which we think very maintainable, certainly exculpate Johnson from either envy, cruelty, or ingratitude; tho' some occasional sarcastic strokes may have escaped his pen against the man he loved, the author he admired, he ingenuously praises the honesty of Shakespeare, the openness and frankness of his temper.

Mr. Pope was most illiberally severe upon players; perhaps from his antipathy to Colley Cibber, whom he hated for having a dramatic genius, which he himself could never attain. He has stigmatised all the players as blockheads, a charge not to be justly levelled at the whole of any body of people; folly and vice, wisdom and virtue are more or less to be found in every sphere of life: he charges them with all the errors which disgrace the former editions of Shakespeare; he might nearly as well have imputed those errors to the Author, who must have seen some of his plays, as some were printed during his lifetime: though negligent we allow him to be, yet it is a very great strain of credibility to suppose he did not see the printed copies; and if he did, it is still more extraordinary to imagine he would let such passages pass uncensured, uncorrected; but the truth is, we believe, that self-sufficient and self-interested commentators have supposed blunders to show their own dexterity in rectification, and furnished explanations which the Author never had an idea of.

Hemings and Condell, two contemporary performers, in 1633, seven years after our Author's decease, published a folio edition of his plays which they declared to be the only genuine one. Of this Mr. Pope says, it is freer from literal errors than preceding ones; but from the foisting in a

number of trifling and bombast passages, it rather falls below them. It is beyond all dispute, that no author has ever been so much mangled, so much burthened with additions, or so much wounded with abbreviations and erasements.

Judging from stile and sentiments, Mr. Pope observes, and we freely go into his opinion, that those dismal dramas, most strangely attributed to the Avonian Bard, Pericles Prince of Tyre, Locrine, Sir John Oldcastle, Yorkshire Tragedy, Lord Cromwell, The Puritan, and London Prodigal, cannot justly be admitted as his; and we readily admit Love's Labour's Lost, with Titus Andronicus among the number proscribed: but we differ from the English Homer, as to the Winter's Tale, for we think there are many and powerful marks of the master's hand in that piece; many of the extravagancies in it are fine. If Shakespeare, as is suggested, had the management of the theatre, and prostituted his name to recommend such pieces, he must have been mean to a degree, palpably avaricious, and unpardonably negligent of fame; to admit this, is a gross and unjust blemish on the bard's character.

Mr. Pope thinks, and not improbably, that in his acknowledged best pieces, “many faults have been unjustly charged to his account, from arbitrary additions, expunctions, transpositions of lines and scenes, confusions of characters and persons, wrong application of

speeches, corruptions of innumerable passages by the ignorance, and wrong corrections of them again by the impertinence of his first editors; from one or other of these considerations I am verily perswaded that the greatest and grossest part of what are thought errors would vanish, and leave his poetical character in a light very different from that disadvantageous one in which it now appears.” Nothing can possibly be more happily suited to Shakespeare's merit, or the commentator's refined way of thinking, than Mr. Pope's following conclusion to his preface. The architectural assimilation contained in it is grand and most happily adapted. “With all his faults, and with all the irregularities of the drama, one may look upon his works, in comparison of those that are more finished and regular, as upon an ancient majestic piece of Gothic architecture, compared with a neat modern building: the latter is more elegant and glaring, but the former is more strong and more solemn. It must be allowed, that in one of these there are materials enough to make many of the other. It has much the greater variety, and much the nobler apartments; though we are often conducted to them by dark, odd, and uncouth passages. Nor does the whole fail to strike us with greater reverence, though many of the parts are childish, ill-placed, and unequal to its grandeur.”

We mentioned a poem by Ben Johnson, which, to vindicate his character from the charge of envy and malevolence, we transcribe, with occasional remarks.