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Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901]. To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.
This figure that thou here seest just, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; Wherein the graser had a strife With nature so out-doe the life: O, could he but have drawn his veil As well in brasse as he hath hit His face the print would then surpass All that was ever writ in brasse But since he cannot, reader looke Not on his picture, but his booke. Ben Jonson.
Antiquity, like every other quality that attracts
the notice of mankind, has undoubtedly votaries that
reverence it, not from reason, but from prejudice.
Some seem to admire indiscriminately whatever has
been long preserved, without considering that time
has sometimes co-operated with chance; all perhaps
are more willing to honour past than present excellence;
and the mind contemplates genius through
the shades of age, as the eye surveys the sun through
artificial opacity. The great contention of criticism
is to find the faults of the moderns, and the beauties
of the ancients. While an author is yet living, we
estimate his powers by his worst performance; and
when he is dead, we rate them by his best.
To works, however, of which the excellence is
not absolute and definite, but gradual and comparative;
to works not raised upon principles demonstrative
and scientifick, but appealing wholly to observation
and experience, no other test can be applied
than length of duration and continuance of esteem.
What mankind have long possessed they have often
examined and compared, and if they persist to value
the possession, it is because frequent comparisons have
confirmed opinion in its favour. As among the works
of nature no man can properly call a river deep, or
a mountain high, without the knowledge of many
mountains, and many rivers; so in the productions
of genius, nothing can be stiled excellent till it has
been compared with other works of the same kind.
Demonstration immediately displays its power, and
has nothing to hope or fear from the flux of years;
but works tentative and experimental must be estimated
by their proportion to the general and collective
ability of man, as it is discovered in a long succession
of endeavours. Of the first building that was raised,
it might be with certainty determined that it was
round or square; but whether it was spacious or lofty
must have been referred to time. The Pythagorean
scale of numbers was at once discovered to be perfect;
but the poems of Homer we yet know not to transcend
the common limits of human intelligence, but
by remarking, that nation after nation, and century
after century, has been able to do little more than
transpose his incidents, new name his characters, and
paraphrase his sentiments.
The reverence due to writings that have long subsisted
arises therefore not from any credulous confidence
in the superior wisdom of past ages, or gloomy
persuasion of the degeneracy of mankind, but is the
consequence of acknowledged and indubitable positions,
that what has been longest known has been
most considered, and what is most considered is best
understood. The poet, of whose works I have undertaken the
revision, may now begin to assume the dignity of an
ancient, and claim the privilege of established fame
and prescriptive veneration. He has long outlived
his century, the term commonly fixed as the test of
literary merit. Whatever advantages he might once
derive from personal allusions, local customs, or temporary
opinions, have for many years been lost; and
every topick of merriment, or motive of sorrow, which
the modes of artificial life afforded him, now only
obscure the scenes which they once illuminated. The
effects of favour and competition are at an end; the
tradition of his friendships and his enmities has perished;
his works support no opinion with arguments,
nor supply any faction with invectives; they can
neither indulge vanity, nor gratify malignity; but are
read without any other reason than the desire of pleasure,
and are therefore praised only as pleasure is
obtained; yet, thus unassisted by interest or passion,
they have past through variations of taste and changes
of manners, and, as they devolved from one generation
to another, have received new honours at every transmission.
But because human judgment, though it be gradually
gaining upon certainty, never becomes infallible;
and approbation, though long continued, may
yet be only the approbation of prejudice or fashion;
it is proper to inquire, by what peculiarities of excellence
Shakespeare has gained and kept the favour
of his countrymen. Nothing can please many, and please long, but
just representations of general nature. Particular
manners can be known to few, and therefore few only
can judge how nearly they are copied. The irregular
combinations of fanciful invention may delight awhile,
by that novelty of which the common satiety of life
sends us all in quest; but the pleasures of sudden
wonder are soon exhausted, and the mind can only
repose on the stability of truth. Shakespeare is above all writers, at least above all
modern writers, the poet of nature; the poet that
holds up to his readers a faithful mirror of manners
and of life. His characters are not modified by the
customs of particular places, unpractised by the rest
of the world; by the peculiarities of studies or professions,
which can operate but upon small numbers;
or by the accidents of transient fashions or temporary
opinions: they are the genuine progeny of common
humanity, such as the world will always supply, and
observation will always find. His persons act and
speak by the influence of those general passions and
principles by which all minds are agitated, and the
whole system of life is continued in motion. In the
writings of other poets a character is too often an
individual; in those of Shakespeare it is commonly
a species. It is from this wide extension of design that so
much instruction is derived. It is this which fills the
plays of Shakespeare with practical axioms and domestick
wisdom. It was said of Euripides, that every
verse was a precept; and it may be said of Shakespeare,
that from his works may be collected a system
of civil and oeconomical prudence. Yet his real
power is not shewn in the splendor of particular passages,
but by the progress of his fable, and the tenor
of his dialogue; and he that tries to recommend him
by select quotations, will succeed like the pedant in
Hierocles, who, when he offered his house to sale,
carried a brick in his pocket as a specimen. It will not easily be imagined how much Shakespeare
excels in accommodating his sentiments to real
life, but by comparing him with other authors. It
was observed of the ancient schools of declamation,
that the more diligently they were frequented, the
more was the student disqualified for the world, because
he found nothing there which he should ever
meet in any other place. The same remark may be
applied to every stage but that of Shakespeare. The
theatre, when it is under any other direction, is peopled
by such characters as were never seen, conversing
in a language which was never heard, upon topicks
which will never arise in the commerce of mankind.
But the dialogue of this author is often so evidently
determined by the incident which produces it, and is
pursued with so much ease and simplicity, that it
seems scarcely to claim the merit of fiction, but to
have been gleaned by diligent selection out of common
conversation, and common occurrences. Upon every other stage the universal agent is love,
by whose power all good and evil is distributed, and
every action quickened or retarded. To bring a lover,
a lady, and a rival into the fable; to entangle them
in contradictory obligations, perplex them with oppositions
of interest, and harrass them with violence
of desires inconsistent with each other; to make them
meet in rapture, and part in agony; to fill their
mouths with hyperbolical joy and outrageous sorrow;
to distress them as nothing human ever was distressed;
to deliver them as nothing human ever was delivered,
is the business of a modern dramatist. For this, probability
is violated, life is misrepresented, and language
is depraved. But love is only one of many
passions, and as it has no great influence upon the
sum of life, it has little operation in the dramas of a
poet, who caught his ideas from the living world,
and exhibited only what he saw before him. He
knew, that any other passion, as it was regular or
exorbitant, was a cause of happiness or calamity. Characters thus ample and general were not easily
discriminated and preserved, yet perhaps no poet ever
kept his personages more distinct from each other.
I will not say with Pope, that every speech may be
assigned to the proper speaker, because many speeches
there are which have nothing characteristical; but,
perhaps, though some may be equally adapted to
every person, it will be difficult to find any that can
be properly transferred from the present possessor to
another claimant. The choice is right, when there
is reason for choice. Other dramatists can only gain attention by hyperbolical
or aggravated characters, by fabulous and
unexampled excellence or depravity, as the writers
of barbarous romances invigorated the reader by a
giant and a dwarf; and he that should form his expectations
of human affairs from the play, or from
the tale, would be equally deceived. Shakespeare
has no heroes; his scenes are occupied only by men,
who act and speak as the reader thinks that he should
himself have spoken or acted on the same occasion:
even where the agency is supernatural, the dialogue
is level with life. Other writers disguise the most
natural passions and most frequent incidents; so that
he who contemplates them in the book will not know
them in the world: Shakespeare approximates the
remote, and familiarizes the wonderful; the event
which he represents will not happen, but if it were
possible, its effects would probably be such as he has
assigned; and it may be said, that he has not only
shewn human nature as it acts in real exigences, but
as it would be found in trials, to which it cannot be
exposed. This therefore is the praise of Shakespeare, that his
drama is the mirror of life; that he who has mazed
his imagination, in following the phantoms which
other writers raise up before him, may here be cured
of his delirious ecstasies, by reading human sentiments
in human language; by scenes from which a
hermit may estimate the transactions of the world,
and a confessor predict the progress of the passions. His adherence to general nature has exposed him
to the censure of criticks, who form their judgments
upon narrower principles. Dennis and Rhymer think
his Romans not sufficiently Roman; and Voltaire censures
his kings as not completely royal. Dennis is
offended, that Menenius, a senator of Rome, should
play the buffoon; and Voltaire perhaps thinks decency
violated when the Danish usurper is represented
as a drunkard. But Shakespeare always makes nature
predominate over accident; and if he preserves the
essential character, is not very careful of distinctions
superinduced and adventitious. His story requires
Romans or kings, but he thinks only on men. He
knew that Rome, like every other city, had men of
all dispositions; and wanting a buffoon, he went into
the senate-house for that which the senate-house would
certainly have afforded him. He was inclined to
shew an usurper and a murderer not only odious, but
despicable; he therefore added drunkenness to his
other qualities, knowing that kings love wine like
other men, and that wine exerts its natural power
upon kings. These are the petty cavils of petty
minds; a poet overlooks the casual distinction of
country and condition, as a painter, satisfied with the
figure, neglects the drapery. The censure which he has incurred by mixing comick
and tragick scenes, as it extends to all his
works, deserves more consideration. Let the fact be
first stated, and then examined.
Shakespeare's plays are not in the rigorous and critical
sense either tragedies or comedies, but compositions
of a distinct kind; exhibiting the real state of
sublunary nature, which partakes of good and evil,
joy and sorrow, mingled with endless variety of proportion
and innumerable modes of combination; and
expressing the course of the world, in which the loss
of one is the gain of another; in which, at the same
time, the reveller is hasting to his wine, and the
mourner burying his friend; in which the malignity
of one is sometimes defeated by the frolick of another;
and many mischiefs and many benefits are
done and hindered without design. Out of this chaos of mingled purposes and casualties
the ancient poets, according to the laws which
custom had prescribed, selected some the crimes of
men, and some their absurdities; some the momentous
vicissitudes of life, and some the lighter occurrences;
some the terrors of distress, and some the
gayeties of prosperity. Thus rose the two modes of
imitation, known by the names of tragedy and comedy,
compositions intended to promote different ends by
contrary means, and considered as so little allied,
that I do not recollect among the Greeks or Romans
a single writer who attempted both. Shakespeare has united the powers of exciting
laughter and sorrow not only in one mind, but in one
composition. Almost all his plays are divided between
serious and ludicrous characters, and, in the
successive evolutions of the design, sometimes produce
seriousness and sorrow, and sometimes levity
and laughter. That this is a practice contrary to the rules of criticism
will be readily allowed; but there is always
an appeal open from criticism to nature. The end
of writing is to instruct; the end of poetry is to instruct
by pleasing. That the mingled drama may
convey all the instruction of tragedy or comedy cannot
be denied, because it includes both in its alterations
of exhibition It is objected, that by this change of scenes the
passions are interrupted in their progression, and that
the principal event, being not advanced by a due
gradation of preparatory incidents, wants at last the
power to move, which constitutes the perfection of
dramatick poetry. This reasoning is so specious, that
it is received as true even by those who in daily experience
feel it to be false. The interchanges of mingled
scenes seldom fail to produce the intended vicissitudes
of passion. Fiction cannot move so much, but
that the attention may be easily transferred; and
though it must be allowed that pleasing melancholy
be sometimes interrupted by unwelcome levity, yet
let it be considered likewise, that melancholy is often
not pleasing, and that the disturbance of one man
may be the relief of another; that different auditors
have different habitudes; and that, upon the whole,
all pleasure consists in variety. The players, who in their edition divided our author's
works into comedies, histories, and tragedies,
seem not to have distinguished the three kinds, by
any very exact or definite ideas. An action which ended happily to the principal
persons, however serious or distressful through its intermediate
incidents, in their opinion constituted a
comedy. This idea of a comedy continued long
amongst us, and plays were written, which, by changing
the catastrophe, were tragedies to-day, and comedies
to-morrow. Tragedy was not in those times a poem of more
general dignity or elevation than comedy; it required
only a calamitous conclusion, with which the common
criticism of that age was satisfied, whatever
lighter pleasure it afforded in its progress. History was a series of actions, with no other than
chronological succession, independent on each other,
and without any tendency to introduce or regulate
the conclusion. It is not always very nicely distinguished
from tragedy. There is not much nearer
approach to unity of action in the tragedy of Antony
and Cleopatra, than in the history of Richard the Second.
But a history might be continued through many
plays; as it had no plan, it had no limits.
Through all these denominations of the drama,
Shakespeare's mode of composition is the same; an
interchange of seriousness and merriment, by which
the mind is softened at one time, and exhilarated at
another. But whatever be his purpose, whether to
gladden or depress, or to conduct the story, without
vehemence or emotion, through tracts of easy and
familiar dialogue, he never fails to attain his purpose;
as he commands us, we laugh or mourn, or sit silent
with quiet expectation, in tranquility without indifference. When Shakespeare's plan is understood, most of the
criticisms of Rhymer and Voltaire vanish away. The
play of Hamlet is opened, without impropriety, by
two centinels; Iago bellows at Brabantio's window,
without injury to the scheme of the play, though in
terms which a modern audience would not easily endure;
the character of Polonius is seasonable and useful;
and the Grave-diggers themselves may be heard
with applause. Shakespeare engaged in dramatick poetry with the
world open before him; the rules of the ancients
were yet known to few; the publick judgment was
unformed; he had no example of such fame as might
force him upon imitation, nor criticks of such authority
as might restrain his extravagance: he therefore
indulged his natural disposition, and his disposition,
as Rhymer has remarked, led him to comedy. In
tragedy he often writes with great appearance of toil
and study, what is written at last with little felicity;
but in his comick scenes, he seems to produce without
labour, what no labour can improve. In tragedy he
is always struggling after some occasion to be comick,
but in comedy he seems to repose, or to luxuriate,
as in a mode of thinking congenial to his nature. In
his tragick scenes there is always something wanting,
but his comedy often surpasses expectation or desire.
His comedy pleases by the thoughts and the language,
and his tragedy for the greater part by incident and
action. His tragedy seems to be skill, his comedy to
be instinct. The force of his comick scenes has suffered little
diminution from the changes made by a century and
a half, in manners or in words. As his personages
act upon principles arising from genuine passion, very
little modified by particular forms, their pleasures
and vexations are communicable to all times and to
all places; they are natural, and therefore durable;
the adventitious peculiarities of personal habits, are
only superficial dies, bright and pleasing for a little
while, yet soon fading to a dim tinct, without any
remains of former lustre; but the discriminations of
true passion are the colours of nature; they pervade
the whole mass, and can only perish with the body
that exhibits them. The accidental compositions of
heterogeneous modes are dissolved by the chance
which combined them; but the uniform simplicity
of primitive qualities neither admits increase, nor
suffers decay. The sand heaped by one flood is scattered
by another, but the rock always continues in
its place. The stream of time, which is continually
washing the dissoluble fabricks of other poets, passes
without injury by the adamant of Shakespeare.
If there be, what I believe there is, in every nation,
a stile which never becomes obsolete, a certain
mode of phraseology so consonant and congenial to
the analogy and principles of its respective language,
as to remain settled and unaltered; this style is probably
to be sought in the common intercourse of life,
among those who speak only to be understood, without
ambition of elegance. The polite are always
catching modish innovations, and the learned depart
from established forms of speech, in hope of finding
or making better; those who wish for distinction forsake
the vulgar, when the vulgar is right; but there
is a conversation above grossness and below refinement,
where propriety resides, and where this poet
seems to have gathered his comick dialogue. He is
therefore more agreeable to the ears of the present
age than any other author equally remote, and among
his other excellencies deserves to be studied as one of
the original masters of our language. These observations are to be considered not as unexceptionably
constant, but as containing general and
predominant truth. Shakespeare's familiar dialogue
is affirmed to be smooth and clear, yet not wholly
without ruggedness or difficulty; as a country may
be eminently fruitful, though it has spots unfit for
cultivation: his characters are praised as natural,
though their sentiments are sometimes forced, and
their actions improbable; as the earth upon the whole
is spherical, though its surface is varied with protuberances
and cavities.
Shakespeare with his excellencies has likewise faults,
and faults sufficient to obscure and overwhelm any
other merit. I shall shew them in the proportion in
which they appear to me, without envious malignity
or superstitious veneration. No question can be more
innocently discussed than a dead poet's pretensions to
renown; and little regard is due to that bigotry which
sets candour higher than truth. His first defect is that to which may be imputed
most of the evil in books or in men. He sacrifices
virtue to convenience, and is so much more careful
to please than to instruct, that he seems to write
without any moral purpose. From his writings indeed
a system of social duty may be selected, for he
that thinks reasonably must think morally; but his
precepts and axioms drop casually from him; he
makes no just distribution of good or evil, nor is always
careful to shew in the virtuous a disapprobation
of the wicked; he carries his persons indifferently
through right and wrong, and at the close dismisses
them without further care, and leaves their examples
to operate by chance. This fault the barbarity of his
age cannot extenuate; for it is always a writer's duty
to make the world better, and justice is a virtue independent
on time or place. The plots are often so loosely formed, that a very
slight consideration may improve them, and so carelessly
pursued, that he seems not always fully to
comprehend his own design. He omits opportunities
of instructing or delighting, which the train of his
story seems to force upon him, and apparently rejects
those exhibitions which would be more affecting, for
the sake of those which are more easy. It may be observed, that in many of his plays the
latter part is evidently neglected. When he found
himself near the end of his work, and in view of his
reward, he shortened the labour to snatch the profit.
He therefore remits his efforts where he should most
vigorously exert them, and his catastrophe is improbably
produced or imperfectly represented. He had no regard to distinction of time or place,
but gives to one age or nation, without scruple, the
customs, institutions, and opinions of another, at
the expence not only of likelihood, but of possibility.
These faults Pope has endeavoured, with more
zeal than judgment, to transfer to his imagined interpolators.
We need not wonder to find Hector
quoting Aristotle, when we see the loves of Theseus
and Hippolyta combined with the Gothick mythology
of fairies. Shakespeare, indeed, was not the
only violator of chronology, for in the same age
Sidney, who wanted not the advantages of learning,
has, in his Arcadia, confounded the pastoral with
the feudal times, the days of innocence, quiet, and
security, with those of turbulence, violence, and adventure. In his comick scenes he is seldom very successful,
when he engages his characters in reciprocations of
smartness and contests of sarcasm; their jests are commonly
gross, and their pleasantry licentious; neither
his gentlemen nor his ladies have much delicacy, nor
are sufficiently distinguished from his clowns by any
appearance of refined manners. Whether he represented
the real conversation of his time is not easy to
determine; the reign of Elizabeth is commonly supposed
to have been a time of stateliness, formality,
and reserve, yet perhaps the relaxations of that severity
were not very elegant. There must, however,
have been always some modes of gaiety preferable to
others, and a writer ought to chuse the best. In tragedy his performance seems constantly to be
worse, as his labour is more. The effusions of passion,
which exigence forces out, are for the most part
striking and energetick; but whenever he solicits his
invention, or strains his faculties, the offspring of his
throes is tumour, meanness, tediousness, and obscurity. In narration he affects a disproportionate pomp of
diction, and a wearisome train of circumlocution,
and tells the incident imperfectly in many words,
which might have been more plainly delivered in
few. Narration in dramatick poetry is naturally tedious,
as it is unanimated and inactive, and obstructs
the progress of the action; it should therefore always
be rapid, and enlivened by frequent interruption.
Shakespeare found it an encumbrance, and instead of
lightening it by brevity, endeavoured to recommend
it by dignity and splendor. His declamations or set speeches are commonly
cold and weak, for his power was the power of
nature; when he endeavoured, like other tragick
writers, to catch opportunities of amplification, and
instead of inquiring what the occasion demanded, to
shew how much his stores of knowledge could supply,
he seldom escapes without the pity or resentment
of his reader. It is incident to him to be now and then entangled
with an unwieldy sentiment, which he cannot well
express, and will not reject; he struggles with it a
while, and if it continues stubborn, comprises it in
words such as occur, and leaves it to be disentangled
and evolved by those who have more leisure to bestow
upon it. Not that always where the language is intricate the
thought is subtle, or the image always great where
the line is bulky; the equality of words to things is
very often neglected, and trivial sentiments and vulgar
ideas disappoint the attention, to which they are
recommended by sonorous epithets and swelling
figures. But the admirers of this great poet have most reason
to complain when he approaches nearest to his
highest excellence, and seems fully resolved to sink
them in dejection, and mollify them with tender emotions
by the fall of greatness, the danger of innocence,
or the crosses of love. What he does best, he soon
ceases to do. He is not long soft and pathetick without
some idle conceit, or contemptible equivocation.
He no sooner begins to move, than he counteracts
himself; and terror and pity, as they are rising in the
mind, are checked and blasted by sudden frigidity.
A quibble is to Shakespeare, what luminous vapours
are to the traveller: he follows it at all adventures;
it is sure to lead him out of his way, and sure
to engulf him in the mire. It has some malignant
power over his mind, and its fascinations are irresistible.
Whatever be the dignity or profundity of his
disquisition, whether he be enlarging knowledge or
exalting affection, whether he be amusing attention
with incidents, or enchaining it in suspense, let but a
quibble spring up before him, and he leaves his work
unfinished. A quibble is the golden apple for which
he will always turn aside from his career, or stoop
from his elevation. A quibble, poor and barren as
it is, gave him such delight, that he was content to
purchase it, by the sacrifice of reason, propriety, and
truth. A quibble was to him the fatal Cleopatra for
which he lost the world, and was content to lose it. It will be thought strange, that, in enumerating
the defects of this writer, I have not yet mentioned
his neglect of the unities; his violation of those laws
which have been instituted and established by the
joint authority of poets and of criticks. For his other deviations from the art of writing,
I resign him to critical justice, without making any
other demand in his favour, than that which must be
indulged to all human excellence; that his virtues be
rated with his failings: but, from the censure which
this irregularity may bring upon him, I shall, with
due reverence to that learning which I must oppose,
adventure to try how I can defend him.
His histories, being neither tragedies nor comedies,
are not subject to any of their laws; nothing
more is necessary to all the praise which they expect,
than that the changes of action be so prepared as to
be understood, that the incidents be various and affecting,
and the characters consistent, natural, and
distinct. No other unity is intended, and therefore
none is to be sought. In his other works he has well enough preserved
the unity of action. He has not, indeed, an intrigue
regularly perplexed and regularly unravelled; he does
not endeavour to hide his design only to discover it,
for this is seldom the order of real events, and Shakespeare
is the poet of nature: but his plan has commonly
what Aristotle requires, a beginning, a middle,
and an end; one event is concatenated with another,
and the conclusion follows by easy consequence.
There are perhaps some incidents that might be
spared, as in other poets there is much talk that only
fills up time upon the stage; but the general system
makes gradual advances, and the end of the play is
the end of expectation. To the unities of time and place he has shewn no
regard; and perhaps a nearer view of the principles
on which they stand will diminish their value, and
withdraw from them the veneration which, from the
time of Corneille, they have very generally received,
by discovering that they have given more trouble to
the poet, than pleasure to the auditor.
The necessity of observing the unities of time and
place arises from the supposed necessity of making the
drama credible. The criticks hold it impossible, that
an action of months or years can be possibly believed
to pass in three hours; or that the spectator can suppose
himself to sit in the theatre, while ambassadors
go and return between distant kings, while armies are
levied and towns besieged, while an exile wanders
and returns, or till he whom they saw courting his
mistress, shall lament the untimely fall of his son.
The mind revolts from evident falsehood, and fiction
loses its force when it departs from the resemblance
of reality. From the narrow limitation of time necessarily
arises the contraction of place. The spectator, who
knows that he saw the first act at Alexandria, cannot
suppose that he sees the next at Rome, at a distance
to which not the dragons of Medea could, in so short
a time, have transported him; he knows with certainty
that he has not changed his place; and he
knows that place cannot change itself; that what was
a house cannot become a plain; that what was Thebes
can never be Persepolis. Such is the triumphant language with which a critick
exults over the misery of an irregular poet, and
exults commonly without resistance or reply. It is
time therefore to tell him, by the authority of Shakespeare,
that he assumes, as an unquestionable principle,
a position, which, while his breath is forming
it into words, his understanding pronounces to be
false. It is false, that any representation is mistaken
for reality; that any dramatick fable in its materiality
was ever credible, or, for a single moment, was ever
credited. The objection arising from the impossibility of
passing the first hour at Alexandria, and the next at
Rome, supposes, that when the play opens the spectator
really imagines himself at Alexandria, and believes
that his walk to the theatre has been a voyage
to Egypt, and that he lives in the days of Antony
and Cleopatra. Surely he that imagines this may
imagine more. He that can take the stage at one
time for the palace of the Ptolemies, may take it in
half an hour for the promontory of Actium. Delusion,
if delusion be admitted, has no certain limitation;
if the spectator can be once persuaded, that his
old acquaintance are Alexander and Cæsar, that a
room illuminated with candles is the plain of Pharsalia,
or the bank of Granicus, he is in a state of
elevation above the reach of reason, or of truth, and
from the heights of empyrean poetry, may despise
the circumscriptions of terrestrial nature. There is
no reason why a mind thus wandering in ecstasy should
count the clock, or why an hour should not be a
century in that calenture of the brains that can make
the stage a field. The truth is, that the spectators are always in their
senses, and know, from the first act to the last, that
the stage is only a stage, and that the players are only
players. They come to hear a certain number of lines
recited with just gesture and elegant modulation.
The lines relate to some action, and an action must
be in some place; but the different actions that complete
a story may be in places very remote from each
other; and where is the absurdity of allowing that
space to represent first Athens, and then Sicily, which
was always known to be neither Sicily nor Athens,
but a modern theatre. By supposition, as place is introduced, time may
be extended; the time required by the fable elapses
for the most part between the acts; for, of so much
of the action as is represented, the real and poetical
duration is the same. If, in the first act, preparations
for war against Mithridates are represented to be
made in Rome, the event of the war may, without
absurdity, be represented, in the catastrophe, as happening
in Pontus; we know that there is neither war,
nor preparation for war; we know that we are neither
in Rome nor Pontus; that neither Mithridates nor
Lucullus are before us. The drama exhibits successive
imitations of successive actions, and why may
not the second imitation represent an action that happened
years after the first; if it be so connected with
it, that nothing but time can be supposed to intervene.
Time is, of all modes of existence, most obsequious
to the imagination; a lapse of years is as
easily conceived as a passage of hours. In contemplation
we easily contract the time of real actions,
and therefore willingly permit it to be contracted
when we only see their imitation. It will be asked, how the drama moves, if it is not
credited. It is credited with all the credit due to a
drama. It is credited, whenever it moves, as a just
picture of a real original; as representing to the auditor
what he would himself feel, if he were to do or
suffer what is there feigned to be suffered or to be
done. The reflection that strikes the heart is not,
that the evils before us are real evils, but that they
are evils to which we ourselves may be exposed. If
there be any fallacy, it is not that we fancy the players,
but that we fancy ourselves unhappy for a moment;
but we rather lament the possibility than suppose
the presence of misery, as a mother weeps over
her babe, when she remembers that death may take
it from her. The delight of tragedy proceeds from
our consciousness of fiction; if we thought murders
and treasons real, they would please no more. Imitations produce pain or pleasure, not because
they are mistaken for realities, but because they bring
realities to mind. When the imagination is recreated
by a painted landscape, the trees are not supposed
capable to give us shade, or the fountains coolness;
but we consider, how we should be pleased with such
fountains playing beside us, and such woods waving
over us. We are agitated in reading the history of
Henry the Fifth, yet no man takes his book for the
field of Agincourt. A dramatick exhibition is a
book recited with concomitants that increase or diminish
its effect. Familiar comedy is often more
powerful on the theatre, than in the page; imperial
tragedy is always less. The humour of Petruchio
may be heightened by grimace; but what voice or
what gesture can hope to add dignity or force to the
soliloquy of Cato?
A play read, affects the mind like a play acted.
It is therefore evident, that the action is not supposed
to be real; and it follows, that between the acts
a longer or shorter time may be allowed to pass, and
that no more account of space or duration is to be
taken by the auditor of a drama, than by the reader
of a narrative, before whom may pass in an hour the
life of a hero, or the revolutions of an empire. Whether Shakespeare knew the unities, and rejected
them by design, or deviated from them by
happy ignorance, it is, I think, impossible to decide,
and useless to enquire. We may reasonably suppose,
that, when he rose to notice, he did not want the
counsels and admonitions of scholars and criticks,
and that he at last deliberately persisted in a practice,
which he might have begun by chance. As nothing
is essential to the fable, but unity of action, and as
the unities of time and place arise evidently from false
assumptions, and, by circumscribing the extent of
the drama, lessen its variety, I cannot think it much
to be lamented, that they were not known by him,
or not observed: nor, if such another poet could
arise, should I very vehemently reproach him, that
his first act passed at Venice, and his next in Cyprus.
Such violations of rules merely positive, become the
comprehensive genius of Shakespeare, and such censures
are suitable to the minute and slender criticism
of Voltaire:
Yet when I speak thus slightly of dramatick rules,
I cannot but recollect how much wit and learning
may be produced against me; before such authorities
I am afraid to stand, not that I think the present
question one of those that are to be decided by mere
authority, but because it is to be suspected, that these
precepts have not been so easily received, but for
better reasons than I have yet been able to find. The
result of my enquiries, in which it would be ludicrous
to boast of impartiality, is, that the unities of
time and place are not essential to a just drama, that
though they may sometimes conduce to pleasure, they
are always to be sacrificed to the nobler beauties of
variety and instruction; and that a play, written with
nice observation of critical rules, is to be contemplated
as an elaborate curiosity, as the product of
superfluous and ostentatious art, by which is shewn,
rather what is possible, than what is necessary. He that, without diminution of any other excellence,
shall preserve all the unities unbroken, deserves
the like applause with the architect, who shall display
all the orders of architecture in a citadel, without
any deduction from its strength; but the principal
beauty of a citadel is to exclude the enemy; and the
greatest graces of a play are to copy nature, and instruct
life. Perhaps, what I have here not dogmatically but
deliberately written, may recal the principles of the
drama to a new examination. I am almost frighted
at my own temerity; and when I estimate the fame
and the strength of those that maintain the contrary
opinion, am ready to sink down in reverential silence;
as Æneas withdrew from the defence of Troy, when
he saw Neptune shaking the wall, and Juno heading
the besiegers. Those whom my arguments cannot persuade to
give their approbation to the judgment of Shakespeare,
will easily, if they consider the condition of his life,
make some allowance for his ignorance. Every man's performances, to be rightly estimated,
must be compared with the state of the age in which
he lived, and with his own particular opportunities;
and though to a reader a book be not worse or better
for the circumstances of the author, yet as there is
always a silent reference of human works to human
abilities, and as the enquiry, how far man may extend
his designs, or how high he may rate his native force,
is of far greater dignity than in what rank we shall
place any particular performance, curiosity is always
busy to discover the instruments, as well as to survey
the workmanship, to know how much is to be ascribed
to original powers, and how much to casual and adventitious
help. The palaces of Peru or Mexico
were certainly mean and incommodious habitations,
if compared to the houses of European monarchs;
yet who could forbear to view them with astonishment,
who remembered that they were built without
the use of iron? The English nation, in the time of Shakespeare,
was yet struggling to emerge from barbarity. The
philology of Italy had been transplanted hither in the
reign of Henry the Eighth; and the learned languages
had been successfully cultivated by Lilly,
Linacre, and More; by Pole, Cheke, and Gardiner;
and afterwards by Smith, Clerk, Haddon, and Ascham.
Greek was now taught to boys in the principal
schools; and those who united elegance with
learning, read, with great diligence, the Italian and
Spanish poets. But literature was yet confined to
professed scholars, or to men and women of high
rank. The publick was gross and dark; and to be
able to read and write, was an accomplishment still
valued for its rarity. Nations, like individuals, have their infancy. A
people newly awakened to literary curiosity, being
yet unacquainted with the true state of things, knows
not how to judge of that which is proposed as its
resemblance. Whatever is remote from common
appearances is always welcome to vulgar, as to childish
credulity; and of a country unenlightened by
learning, the whole people is the vulgar. The study
of those who then aspired to plebeian learning was
laid out upon adventures, giants, dragons, and enchantments.
The Death of Arthur was the favourite
volume. The mind, which has feasted on the luxurious
wonders of fiction, has no taste of the insipidity of
truth. A play, which imitated only the common
occurrences of the world, would, upon the admirers
of Palmerin and Guy of Warwick, have made little
impression; he that wrote for such an audience was
under the necessity of looking round for strange
events and fabulous transactions, and that incredibility,
by which maturer knowledge is offended, was
the chief recommendation of writings, to unskilful
curiosity. Our author's plots are generally borrowed from
novels; and it is reasonable to suppose, that he chose
the most popular, such as were read by many, and
related by more; for his audience could not have
followed him through the intricacies of the drama,
had they not held the thread of the story in their
hands. The stories, which we now find only in remoter
authors, were in his time accessible and familiar.
The fable of As you like it, which is supposed to be
copied from Chaucer's Gamelyn, was a little pamphlet
of those times; and old Mr. Cibber remembered the
tale of Hamlet in plain English prose, which the
criticks have now to seek in Saxo Grammaticus. His English histories he took from English chronicles
and English ballads; and as the ancient writers
were made known to his countrymen by versions,
they supplied him with new subjects; he dilated some
of Plutarch's lives into plays, when they had been
translated by North. His plots, whether historical or fabulous, are always
crouded with incidents, by which the attention
of a rude people was more easily caught than by sentiment
or argumentation; and such is the power of
the marvellous, even over those who despise it, that
every man finds his mind more strongly seized by the
tragedies of Shakespeare than of any other writer;
others please us by particular speeches, but he always
makes us anxious for the event, and has perhaps
excelled all but Homer in securing the first purpose
of a writer, by exciting restless and unquenchable
curiosity, and compelling him that reads his work to
read it through. The shows and bustle with which his plays abound
have the same original. As knowledge advances,
pleasure passes from the eye to the ear, but returns,
as it declines, from the ear to the eye. Those to
whom our author's labours were exhibited had more
skill in pomps or processions than in poetical language,
and perhaps wanted some visible and discriminated
events, as comments on the dialogue. He knew how
he should most please; and whether his practice is
more agreeable to nature, or whether his example has
prejudiced the nation, we still find that on our stage
something must be done as well as said, and inactive
declamation is very coldly heard, however musical or
elegant, passionate or sublime. Voltaire expresses his wonder, that our author's
extravagancies are endured by a nation, which has
seen the tragedy of Cato. Let him be answered, that
Addison speaks the language of poets, and Shakespeare,
of men. We find in Cato innumerable beauties
which enamour us of its author, but we see nothing
that acquaints us with human sentiments or
human actions; we place it with the fairest and the
noblest progeny which judgment propagates by conjunction
with learning; but Othello is the vigorous
and vivacious offspring of observation impregnated
by genius. Cato affords a splendid exhibition of artificial
and fictitious manners, and delivers just and
noble sentiments, in diction easy, elevated, and harmonious,
but its hopes and fears communicate no
vibration to the heart; the composition refers us only
to the writer; we pronounce the name of Cato, but
we think on Addison. The work of a correct and regular writer is a garden
accurately formed and diligently planted, varied
with shades, and scented with flowers; the composition
of Shakespeare is a forest, in which oaks extend
their branches, and pines tower in the air, interspersed
sometimes with weeds and brambles, and
sometimes giving shelter to myrtles and to roses; filling
the eye with awful pomp, and gratifying the mind
with endless diversity. Other poets display cabinets
of precious rarities, minutely finished, wrought into
shape, and polished into brightness. Shakespeare
opens a mine which contains gold and diamonds in
unexhaustible plenty, though clouded by incrustations,
debased by impurities, and mingled with a
mass of meaner minerals. It has been much disputed, whether Shakespeare
owed his excellence to his own native force, or whether
he had the common helps of scholastick education,
the precepts of critical science, and the examples
of ancient authors.
There has always prevailed a tradition, that Shakespeare
wanted learning, that he had no regular education,
nor much skill in the dead languages. Jonson,
his friend, affirms, that he had small Latin, and
less Greek; who, besides that he had no imaginable
temptation to falsehood, wrote at a time when the
character and acquisitions of Shakespeare were known
to multitudes. His evidence ought therefore to decide
the controversy, unless some testimony of equal
force could be opposed. Some have imagined, that they have discovered
deep learning in many imitations of old writers; but
the examples which I have known urged, were drawn
from books translated in his time; or were such easy
coincidences of thought, as will happen to all who
consider the same subjects; or such remarks on life
or axioms of morality as float in conversation, and
are transmitted through the world in proverbial sentences. I have found it remarked, that, in this important
sentence, Go before, I'll follow, we read a translation
of, I prae, sequar. I have been told, that when Caliban,
after a pleasing dream, says, I cry'd to sleep
again, the author imitates Anacreon, who had, like
every other man, the same wish on the same occasion. There are a few passages which may pass for imitations,
but so few, that the exception only confirms
the rule; he obtained them from accidental quotations,
or by oral communication, and as he used what
he had, would have used more if he had obtained it.
The Comedy of Errors is confessedly taken from the
Menæchmi of Plautus; from the only play of Plautus
which was then in English. What can be more probable,
than that he who copied that, would have
copied more; but that those which were not translated
were inaccessible? Whether he knew the modern languages is uncertain.
That his plays have some French scenes
proves but little; he might easily procure them to be
written, and probably, even though he had known
the language in the common degree, he could not
have written it without assistance. In the story of
Romeo and Juliet he is observed to have followed the
English translation, where it deviates from the Italian;
but this on the other part proves nothing against
his knowledge of the original. He was to copy, not
what he knew himself, but what was known to his
audience. It is most likely that he had learned Latin sufficiently
to make him acquainted with construction,
but that he never advanced to an easy perusal of the
Roman authors. Concerning his skill in modern
languages, I can find no sufficient ground of determination;
but as no imitations of French or Italian
authors have been discovered, though the Italian
poetry was then high in esteem, I am inclined to believe,
that he read little more than English, and chose
for his fables only such tales as he found translated. That much knowledge is scattered over his works
is very justly observed by Pope, but it is often such
knowledge as books did not supply. He that will
understand Shakespeare, must not be content to study
him in the closet, he must look for his meaning sometimes
among the sports of the field, and sometimes
among the manufactures of the shop. There is however proof enough that he was a very
diligent reader, nor was our language then so indigent
of books, but that he might very liberally indulge
his curiosity without excursion into foreign literature.
Many of the Roman authors were translated, and
some of the Greek; the Reformation had filled the
kingdom with theological learning; most of the topicks
of human disquisition had found English writers;
and poetry had been cultivated, not only with
diligence, but success. This was a stock of knowledge
sufficient for a mind so capable of appropriating
and improving it. But the greater part of his excellence was the product
of his own genius. He found the English stage
in a state of the utmost rudeness; no essays either in
tragedy or comedy had appeared, from which it could
be discovered to what degree of delight either one or
other might be carried. Neither character nor dialogue
were yet understood. Shakespeare may be
truly said to have introduced them both amongst us,
and in some of his happier scenes to have carried
them both to the utmost height. By what gradations of improvement he proceeded,
is not easily known; for the chronology of his works
is yet unsettled. Rowe is of opinion, that perhaps
we are not to look for his beginning, like those of other
writers, in his least perfect works; art had so little, and
nature so large a share in what he did, that for ought I
know There is a vigilance of observation and accuracy
of distinction which books and precepts cannot confer;
from this almost all original and native excellence
proceeds. Shakespeare must have looked upon
mankind with perspicacity, in the highest degree
curious and attentive. Other writers borrow their
characters from preceding writers, and diversify them
only by the accidental appendages of present manners;
the dress is a little varied, but the body is the
same. Our author had both matter and form to
provide; for, except the characters of Chaucer, to
whom I think he is not much indebted, there were
no writers in English, and perhaps not many in other
modern languages, which shewed life in its native
colours.
The contest about the original benevolence or malignity
of man had not yet commenced. Speculation
had not yet attempted to analyse the mind, to trace
the passions to their sources, to unfold the seminal
principles of vice and virtue, or sound the depths of
the heart for the motives of action. All those enquiries,
which from that time that human nature
became the fashionable study, have been made sometimes
with nice discernment, but often with idle subtilty,
were yet unattempted. The tales, with which
the infancy of learning was satisfied, exhibited only
the superficial appearances of action, related the events,
but omitted the causes, and were formed for such as
delighted in wonders rather than in truth. Mankind
was not then to be studied in the closet; he that would
know the world, was under the necessity of gleaning
his own remarks, by mingling as he could in its business
and amusements. Boyle congratulated himself upon his high birth,
because it favoured his curiosity, by facilitating his
access. Shakespeare had no such advantage; he came
to London a needy adventurer, and lived for a time
by very mean employments. Many works of genius
and learning have been performed in states of life
that appear very little favourable to thought or to
enquiry; so many, that he who considers them is
inclined to think that he sees enterprize and perseverance
predominating over all external agency, and
bidding help and hindrance vanish before them. The
genius of Shakespeare was not to be depressed by the
weight of poverty, nor limited by the narrow conversation
to which men in want are inevitably condemned;
the incumbrances of his fortune were
shaken from his mind, as dew-drops from a lion's
mane. Though he had so many difficulties to encounter,
and so little assistance to surmount them, he has been
able to obtain an exact knowledge of many modes of
life, and many casts of native dispositions; to vary
them with great multiplicity; to mark them by nice
distinctions; and to shew them in full view by proper
combinations. In this part of his performances he
had none to imitate, but has been himself imitated
by all succeeding writers; and it may be doubted,
whether from all his successors more maxims of theoretical
knowledge, or more rules of practical prudence,
can be collected, than he alone has given to
his country. Nor was his attention confined to the actions of
men; he was an exact surveyor of the inanimate
world; his descriptions have always some peculiarities,
gathered by contemplating things as they
really exist. It may be observed, that the oldest
poets of many nations preserve their reputation, and
that the following generations of wit, after a short
celebrity, sink into oblivion. The first, whoever
they be, must take their sentiments and descriptions
immediately from knowledge; the resemblance is
therefore just, their descriptions are verified by every
eye, and their sentiments acknowledged by every
breast. Those whom their same invites to the same
studies, copy partly them, and partly nature, till the
books of one age gain such authority, as to stand in
the place of nature to another, and imitation, always
deviating a little, becomes at last capricious and
casual. Shakespeare, whether life or nature be his
subject, shews plainly, that he has seen with his own
eyes; he gives the image which he receives, not
weakened or distorted by the intervention of any
other mind; the ignorant feel his representations to
be just, and the learned see that they are complete. Perhaps it would not be easy to find any author,
except Homer, who invented so much as Shakespeare,
who so much advanced the studies which he cultivated,
or effused so much novelty upon his age or
country. The form, the characters, the language,
and the shows of the English drama are his. He
seems, says Dennis, to have been the very original of our
English tragical harmony, that is, the harmony of blank
verse, diversified often by dissyllable and trissyllable terminations.
For the diversity distinguishes it from heroick
harmony, and by bringing it nearer to common use makes
it more proper to gain attention, and more fit for action
and dialogue. Such verse we make when we are writing
prose; we make such verse in common conversation. I know not whether this praise is rigorously just.
The dissyllable termination, which the critick rightly
appropriates to the drama, is to be found, though,
I think, not in Gorboduc, which is confessedly before
our author; yet in Hieronymo* note, of which the date
is not certain, but which there is reason to believe at
least as old as his earliest plays. This however is certain,
that he is the first who taught either tragedy or
comedy to please, there being no theatrical piece of
any older writer, of which the name is known, except
to antiquaries and collectors of books, which
are sought because they are scarce, and would not
have been scarce, had they been much esteemed. To him we must ascribe the praise, unless Spenser
may divide it with him, of having first discovered to
how much smoothness and harmony the English language
could be softened. He has speeches, perhaps
sometimes scenes, which have all the delicacy of
Rowe, without his effeminacy. He endeavours indeed
commonly to strike by the force and vigour of
his dialogue, but he never executes his purpose better,
than when he tries to sooth by softness. Yet it must be at last confessed, that as we owe
every thing to him, he owes something to us; that,
if much of his praise is paid by perception and judgment,
much is likewise given by custom and veneration.
We fix our eyes upon his graces, and turn
them from his deformities, and endure in him what
we should in another loath or despise. If we endured
without praising, respect for the father of our drama
might excuse us; but I have seen, in the book of
some modern critick, a collection of anomalies, which
shew that he has corrupted language by every mode
of depravation, but which his admirer has accumulated
as a monument of honour. He has scenes of undoubted and perpetual excellence,
but perhaps not one play, which, if it were
now exhibited as the work of a contemporary writer,
would be heard to the conclusion. I am indeed far
from thinking, that his works were wrought to his
own ideas of perfection; when they were such as
would satisfy the audience, they satisfied the writer.
It is seldom that authors, though more studious of
fame than Shakespeare, rise much above the standard
of their own age; to add a little to what is best will
always be sufficient for present praise, and those who
find themselves exalted into fame, are willing to credit
their encomiasts, and to spare the labour of contending
with themselves. It does not appear, that Shakespeare thought his
works worthy of posterity, that he levied any ideal
tribute upon future times, or had any further prospect,
than of present popularity and present profit.
When his plays had been acted, his hope was at an
end; he solicited no addition of honour from the
reader. He therefore made no scruple to repeat the
same jests in many dialogues, or to entangle different
plots by the same knot of perplexity, which may be
at least forgiven him, by those who recollect, that
of Congreve's four comedies, two are concluded by
a marriage in a mask, by a deception, which perhaps
never happened, and which, whether likely or not,
he did not invent. So careless was this great poet of future fame, that,
though he retired to ease and plenty, while he was
yet little declined into the vale of years, before he could
be disgusted with fatigue, or disabled by infirmity,
he made no collection of his works, nor desired to
rescue those that had been already published from the
depravations that obscured them, or secure to the rest
a better destiny, by giving them to the world in their
genuine state. Of the plays which bear the name of Shakespeare
in the late editions, the greater part were not published
till about seven years after his death, and the
few which appeared in his life are apparently thrust
into the world without the care of the author, and
therefore probably without his knowledge. Of all the publishers, clandestine or professed,
their negligence The faults are more than could have happened
without the concurrence of many causes. The style
of Shakespeare was in itself ungrammatical, perplexed,
and obscure; his works were transcribed for the
players by those who may be supposed to have seldom
understood them; they were transmitted by copiers
equally unskilful, who still multiplied errors; they
were perhaps sometimes mutilated by the actors, for
the sake of shortening the speeches; and were at last
printed without correction of the press. In this state they remained, not as Dr. Warburton
supposes, because they were unregarded, but because
the editor's art was not yet applied to modern languages,
and our ancestors were accustomed to so
much negligence of English printers, that they could
very patiently endure it. At last an edition was undertaken
by Rowe; not because a poet was to be
published by a poet, for Rowe seems to have thought
very little on correction or explanation, but that our
author's works might appear like those of his fraternity,
with the appendages of a life and recommendatory
preface. Rowe has been clamorously blamed
for not performing what he did not undertake, and
it is time that justice be done him, by confessing,
that though he seems to have had no thought of corruption
beyond the printer's errors, yet he has made
many emendations, if they were not made before,
which his successors have received without acknowledgment,
and which, if they had produced them,
would have filled pages and pages with censures of
the stupidity by which the faults were committed,
with displays of the absurdities which they involved,
with ostentatious expositions of the new reading, and
self-congratulations on the happiness of discovering
it.
As of the other editors, I have preserved the prefaces,
I have likewise borrowed the author's life from
Rowe, though not written with much elegance or
spirit; it relates however what is now to be known,
and therefore deserves to pass through all succeeding
publications. The nation had been for many years content enough
with Mr. Rowe's performance, when Mr. Pope made
them acquainted with the true state of Shakespeare's
text, shewed that it was extremely corrupt, and gave
reason to hope that there were means of reforming
it. He collated the old copies, which none had
thought to examine before, and restored many lines
to their integrity; but, by a very compendious criticism,
he rejected whatever he disliked, and thought
more of amputation than of cure. I know not why he is commended by Dr. Warbuton
for distinguishing the genuine from the spurious
plays. In this choice he exerted no judgment
of his own: the plays which he received, were given
by Hemings and Condel, the first editors; and those
which he rejected, though, according to the licentiousness
of the press in those times, they were printed
during Shakespeare's life, with his name, had been
omitted by his friends, and were never added to his
works before the edition of 1664, from which they
were copied by the later printers. This is a work which Pope seems to have thought
unworthy of his abilities, being not able to suppress
his contempt of the dull duty of an editor. He understood
but half his undertaking. The duty of a collator
is indeed dull, yet, like other tedious tasks, is
very necessary; but an emendatory critick would ill
discharge his duty, without qualities very different
from dulness. In perusing a corrupted piece, he must
have before him all possibilities of meaning, with all
possibilities of expression. Such must be his comprehension
of thought, and such his copiousness of
language. Out of many readings possible, he must
be able to select that which best suits with the state,
opinions, and modes of language prevailing in every
age, and with his author's particular cast of thought,
and turn of expression. Such must be his knowledge,
and such his taste. Conjectural criticism demands
more than humanity possesses, and he that exercises it
with most praise, has very frequent need of indulgence.
Let us now be told no more of the dull duty
of an editor. Confidence is the common consequence of success.
They whose excellence of any kind has been loudly
celebrated, are ready to conclude, that their powers
are universal. Pope's edition fell below his own expectations,
and he was so much offended, when he
was found to have left any thing for others to do,
that he passed the latter part of his life in a state of
hostility with verbal criticism. I have retained all his notes, that no fragment of
so great a writer may be lost; his preface, valuable
alike for elegance of composition and justness of remark,
and containing a general criticism on his author,
so extensive that little can be added, and so
exact, that little can be disputed, every editor has an
interest to suppress, but that every reader would demand
its insertion. Pope was succeeded by Theobald, a man of narrow
comprehension, and small acquisitions, with no native
and intrinsic splendor of genius, with little of the
artificial light of learning, but zealous for minute
accuracy, and not negligent in pursuing it. He collated
the ancient copies, and rectified many errors.
A man so anxiously scrupulous might have been expected
to do more, but what little he did was commonly
right. In his reports of copies and editions he is not to
be trusted without examination. He speaks sometimes
indefinitely of copies, when he has only one.
In his enumeration of editions, he mentions the two
first folios as of high, and the third folio as of middle
authority; but the truth is, that the first is equivalent
to all others, and that the rest only deviate from it
by the printer's negligence. Whoever has any of
the folios has all, excepting those diversities which
mere reiteration of editions will produce. I collated
them all at the beginning, but afterwards used only
the first. Of his notes I have generally retained those which
he retained himself in his second edition, except when
they were confuted by subsequent annotators, or were
too minute to merit preservation. I have sometimes
adopted his restoration of a comma, without inserting
the panegyrick in which he celebrated himself for his
atchievement. The exuberant excrescence of his
diction I have often lopped, his triumphant exultations
over Pope and Rowe I have sometimes suppressed,
and his contemptible ostentation I have frequently
concealed; but I have in some places shewn
him, as he would have shewn himself, for the reader's
diversion, that the inflated emptiness of some notes
may justify or excuse the contraction of the rest. Theobald, thus weak and ignorant, thus mean and
faithless, thus petulant and ostentatious, by the good
luck of having Pope for his enemy, has escaped, and
escaped alone, with reputation, from this undertaking.
So willingly does the world support those who solicit
favour, against those who command reverence; and
so easily is he praised, whom no man can envy. Our author fell then into the hands of Sir Thomas
Hanmer, the Oxford editor, a man, in my opinion,
eminently qualified by nature for such studies. He
had, what is the first requisite to emendatory criticism,
that intuition by which the poet's intention is immediately
discovered, and that dexterity of intellect
which dispatches its work by the easiest means. He
had undoubtedly read much; his acquaintance with
customs, opinions, and traditions, seems to have been
large; and he is often learned without shew. He
seldom passes what he does not understand, without
an attempt to find or to make a meaning, and sometimes
hastily makes what a little more attention would
have found. He is solicitous to reduce to grammar,
what he could not be sure that his author intended
to be grammatical. Shakespeare regarded more the
series of ideas, than of words; and his language,
not being designed for the reader's desk, was all that
he desired it to be, if it conveyed his meaning to the
audience. Hanmer's care of the metre has been too violently
censured. He found the measure reformed in so
many passages, by the silent labours of some editors,
with the silent acquiescence of the rest, that he thought
himself allowed to extend a little further the licence,
which had already been carried so far without reprehension;
and of his corrections in general, it must
be confessed, that they are often just, and made
commonly with the least possible violation of the
text. But, by inserting his emendations, whether invented
or borrowed, into the page, without any notice
of varying copies, he has appropriated the labour
of his predecessors, and made his own edition of
little authority. His confidence indeed, both in himself
and others, was too great; he supposes all to be
right that was done by Pope and Theobald; he seems
not to suspect a critick of fallibility, and it was but
reasonable that he should claim what he so liberally
granted. As he never writes without careful enquiry and
diligent consideration, I have received all his notes,
and believe that every reader will wish for more.
Of the last editor it is more difficult to speak.
Respect is due to high place, tenderness to living
reputation, and veneration to genius and learning;
but he cannot be justly offended at that liberty of
which he has himself so frequently given an example,
nor very solicitous what is thought of notes, which
he ought never to have considered as part of his
serious employments, and which, I suppose, since the
ardor of composition is remitted, he no longer numbers
among his happy effusions. The original and predominant error of his commentary,
is acquiescence in his first thoughts; that
precipitation which is produced by consciousness of
quick discernment; and that confidence which presumes
to do, by surveying the surface, what labour
only can perform, by penetrating the bottom. His
notes exhibit sometimes perverse interpretations, and
sometimes improbable conjectures; he at one time
gives the author more profundity of meaning than the
sentence admits, and at another discovers absurdities,
where the sense is plain to every other reader.
But his emendations are likewise often happy and
just; and his interpretation of obscure passages learned
and sagacious. Of his notes, I have commonly rejected those,
against which the general voice of the publick has
exclaimed, or which their own incongruity immediately
condemns, and which, I suppose the author
himself would desire to be forgotten. Of the rest,
to part I have given the highest approbation, by inserting
the offered reading in the text; part I have
left to the judgment of the reader, as doubtful,
though specious; and part I have censured without
reserve, but I am sure without bitterness of malice,
and, I hope, without wantonness of insult. It is no pleasure to me, in revising my volumes,
to observe how much paper is wasted in confutation.
Whoever considers the revolutions of learning, and
the various questions of greater or less importance,
upon which wit and reason have exercised their powers,
must lament the unsuccessfulness of enquiry, and the
slow advances of truth, when he reflects, that great
part of the labour of every writer is only the destruction
of those that went before him. The first care
of the builder of a new system, is to demolish the
fabricks which are standing. The chief desire of him
that comments an author, is to shew how much other
commentators have corrupted and obscured him.
The opinions prevalent in one age, as truths above
the reach of controversy, are confuted and rejected
in another, and rise again to reception in remoter
times. Thus the human mind is kept in motion
without progress. Thus sometimes truth and error,
and sometimes contrarieties of error, take each other's
place by reciprocal invasion. The tide of seeming
knowledge which is poured over one generation, retires
and leaves another naked and barren; the sudden
meteors of intelligence, which for a while appear to
shoot their beams into the regions of obscurity, on a
sudden withdraw their lustre, and leave mortals again
to grope their way.
These elevations and depressions of renown, and
the contradictions to which all improvers of knowledge
must for ever be exposed, since they are not
escaped by the highest and brightest of mankind,
may surely be endured with patience by criticks and
annotators, who can rank themselves but as the satellites
of their authors. How canst thou beg for life,
says Homer's hero to his captive, when thou knowest
that thou art now to suffer only what must another
day be suffered by Achilles? Dr. Warburton had a name sufficient to confer
celebrity on those who could exalt themselves into
antagonists, and his notes have raised a clamour too
loud to be distinct. His chief assailants are the authors
of The canons of criticism, and of The revisal of
Shakespeare's text; of whom one ridicules his errors
with airy petulance, suitable enough to the levity of
the controversy; the other attacks them with gloomy
malignity, as if he were dragging to justice an assassin
or incendiary. The one stings like a fly, sucks a
little blood, takes a gay flutter, and returns for more;
the other bites like a viper, and would be glad to
leave inflammations and gangrene behind him. When
I think on one, with his confederates, I remember
the danger of Coriolanus, who was afraid that girls
with spits, and boys with stones, should slay him in puny
battle; when the other crosses my imagination, I remember
the prodigy in Macbeth:
Let me however do them justice. One is a wit,
and one a scholar* note. They have both shewn acuteness
sufficient in the discovery of faults, and have
both advanced some probable interpretations of obscure
passages; but when they aspire to conjecture
and emendation, it appears how falsely we all estimate
our own abilities, and the little which they have been
able to perform might have taught them more candour
to the endeavours of others. Before Dr. Warburton's edition, Critical observations
on Shakespeare had been published by Mr. Upton† note,
a man skilled in languages, and acquainted with books,
but who seems to have had no great vigour of genius
or nicety of taste. Many of his explanations are
curious and useful, but he likewise, though he professed
to oppose the licentious confidence of editors,
and adhere to the old copies, is unable to restrain the
rage of emendation, though his ardour is ill seconded
by his skill. Every cold empirick, when his heart
is expanded by a successful experiment, swells into
a theorist, and the laborious collator at some unlucky
moment frolicks in conjecture. Critical, historical, and explanatory notes have been
likewise published upon Shakespeare by Dr. Grey,
whose diligent perusal of the old English writers has
enabled him to make some useful observations. What
he undertook he has well enough performed, but as
he neither attempts judicial nor emendatory criticism,
he employs rather his memory than his sagacity. It
were to be wished that all would endeavour to imitate
his modesty, who have not been able to surpass his
knowledge. I can say with great sincerity of all my predecessors,
what I hope will hereafter be said of me, that not
one has left Shakespeare without improvement, nor
is there one to whom I have not been indebted for
assistance and information. Whatever I have taken
from them, it was my intention to refer to its original
author, and it is certain, that what I have not given
to another, I believed when I wrote it to be my own.
In some perhaps I have been anticipated; but if I
am ever found to encroach upon the remarks of any
other commentator, I am willing that the honour, be
it more or less, should be transferred to the first
claimant, for his right, and his alone, stands above
dispute; the second can prove his pretensions only to
himself, nor can himself always distinguish invention,
with sufficient certainty, from recollection. They have all been treated by me with candour,
which they have not been careful of observing to one
another. It is not easy to discover from what cause
the acrimony of a scholiast can naturally proceed.
The subjects to be discussed by him are of very small
importance; they involve neither property nor liberty;
nor favour the interest of sect or party. The
various readings of copies, and different interpretations
of a passage, seem to be questions that might
exercise the wit, without engaging the passions. But
whether it be, that small things make mean men proud,
and vanity catches small occasions; or that all contrariety
of opinion, even in those that can defend it
no longer, makes proud men angry; there is often
found in commentaries a spontaneous strain of invective
and contempt, more eager and venomous than
is vented by the most furious controvertist in politicks
against those whom he is hired to defame. Perhaps the lightness of the matter may conduce
to the vehemence of the agency; when the truth to
be investigated is so near to inexistence, as to escape
attention, its bulk is to be enlarged by rage and
exclamation: that to which all would be indifferent
in its original state, may attract notice when the fate
of a name is appended to it. A commentator has
indeed great temptations to supply by turbulence
what he wants of dignity, to beat his little gold to a
spacious surface, to work that to foam which no art
or diligence can exalt to spirit. The notes which I have borrowed or written are
either illustrative, by which difficulties are explained;
or judicial, by which faults and beauties are remarked;
or emendatory, by which depravations are
corrected. The explanations transcribed from others, if I do
not subjoin any other interpretation, I suppose commonly
to be right, at least I intend by acquiescence
to confess, that I have nothing better to propose. After the labours of all the editors, I found many
passages which appeared to me likely to obstruct the
greater number of readers, and thought it my duty to
facilitate their passage. It is impossible for an expositor
not to write too little for some, and too much
for others. He can only judge what is necessary by
his own experience; and how long soever he may
deliberate, will at last explain many lines which the
learned will think impossible to be mistaken, and
omit many for which the ignorant will want his help.
These are censures merely relative, and must be
quietly endured. I have endeavoured to be neither
superfluously copious, nor scrupulously reserved, and
hope that I have made my author's meaning accessible
to many, who before were frighted from perusing him,
and contributed something to the publick, by diffusing
innocent and rational pleasure. The complete explanation of an author not systematick
and consequential, but desultory and vagrant,
abounding in casual allusions and light hints, is not
to be expected from any single scholiast. All personal
reflections, when names are suppressed, must be in a
few years irrecoverably obliterated; and customs, too
minute to attract the notice of law, such as modes of
dress, formalities of conversation, rules of visits, disposition
of furniture, and practices of ceremony,
which naturally find places in familiar dialogue, are
so fugitive and unsubstantial, that they are not easily
retained or recovered. What can be known will be
collected by chance, from the recesses of obscure and
obsolete papers, perused commonly with some other
view. Of this knowledge every man has some, and
none has much; but when an author has engaged the
publick attention, those who can add any thing to
his illustration, communicate their discoveries, and
time produces what had eluded diligence. To time I have been obliged to resign many passages,
which, though I did not understand them,
will perhaps hereafter be explained, having, I hope,
illustrated some, which others have neglected or mistaken,
sometimes by short remarks, or marginal directions,
such as every editor has added at his will,
and often by comments more laborious than the
matter will seem to deserve; but that which is most
difficult is not always most important, and to an
editor nothing is a trifle by which his author is obscured. The poetical beauties or defects I have not been
very diligent to observe. Some plays have more, and
some fewer judicial observations, not in proportion to
their difference of merit, but because I gave this part
of my design to chance and to caprice. The reader,
I believe, is seldom pleased to find his opinion anticipated;
it is natural to delight more in what we find
or make, than in what we receive. Judgment, like
other faculties, is improved by practice, and its advancement
is hindered by submission to dictatorial
decisions, as the memory grows torpid by the use of
a table-book. Some initiation is however necessary;
of all skill, part is infused by precept, and part is
obtained by habit; I have therefore shewn so much
as may enable the candidate of criticism to discover
the rest. To the end of most plays I have added short
strictures, containing a general censure of faults, or
praise of excellence; in which I know not how much
I have concurred with the current opinion; but I
have not, by any affectation of singularity, deviated
from it. Nothing is minutely and particularly examined,
and therefore it is to be supposed, that in
the plays which are condemned there is much to be
praised, and in these which are praised much to be
condemned. The part of criticism in which the whole succession
of editors has laboured with the greatest diligence,
which has occasioned the most arrogant ostentation,
and excited the keenest acrimony, is the emendation
of corrupted passages, to which the publick attention
having been first drawn by the violence of the contention
between Pope and Theobald, has been continued
by the persecution, which, with a kind of
conspiracy, has been since raised against all the publishers
of Shakespeare. That many passages have passed in a state of depravation
through all the editions is indubitably certain;
of these the restoration is only to be attempted
by collation of copies, or sagacity of conjecture.
The collator's province is safe and easy, the conjecturer's
perilous and difficult. Yet as the greater part
of the plays are extant only in one copy, the peril
must not be avoided, nor the difficulty refused.
Of the readings which this emulation of amendment
has hitherto produced, some from the labours
of every publisher I have advanced into the text;
those are to be considered as in my opinion sufficiently
supported; some I have rejected without mention, as
evidently erroneous; some I have left in the notes
without censure or approbation, as resting in equipoise
between objection and defence; and some, which
seemed specious but not right, I have inserted with
a subsequent animadversion. Having classed the observations of others, I was at
last to try what I could substitute for their mistakes,
and how I could supply their omissions. I collated
such copies as I could procure, and wished for more,
but have not found the collectors of these rarities very
communicative. Of the editions which chance or
kindness put into my hands I have given an enumeration,
that I may not be blamed for neglecting what
I had not the power to do. By examining the old copies, I soon found that the
later publishers, with all their boasts of diligence,
suffered many passages to stand unauthorized, and
contented themselves with Rowe's regulation of the
text, even where they knew it to be arbitrary, and
with a little consideration might have found it to be
wrong. Some of these alterations are only the ejection
of a word for one that appeared to him more elegant
or more intelligible. These corruptions I have often
silently rectified; for the history of our language,
and the true force of our words, can only be
preserved, by keeping the text of authors free
from adulteration. Others, and those very frequent,
smoothed the cadence, or regulated the measure; on
these I have not exercised the same rigour; if only a
word was transposed, or a particle inserted or omitted,
I have sometimes suffered the line to stand; for the
inconstancy of the copies is such, as that some liberties
may be easily permitted. But this practice I have
not suffered to proceed far, having restored the primitive
diction wherever it could for any reason be
preferred. The emendations, which comparison of copies
supplied, I have inserted in the text; sometimes,
where the improvement was slight, without notice,
and sometimes with an account of the reasons of the
change. Conjecture, though it be sometimes unavoidable,
I have not wantonly nor licentiously indulged. It
has been my settled principle, that the reading of
the ancient books is probably true, and therefore is
not to be disturbed for the sake of elegance, perspicuity,
or mere improvement of the sense. For
though much credit is not due to the fidelity, nor
any to the judgment of the first publishers, yet they
who had the copy before their eyes were more likely
to read it right, than we who read it only by imagination.
But it is evident that they have often made
strange mistakes by ignorance or negligence, and that
therefore something may be properly attempted by
criticism, keeping the middle way between presumption
and timidity.
Such criticism I have attempted to practise, and,
where any passage appeared inextricably perplexed,
have endeavoured to discover how it may be recalled
to sense, with least violence. But my first labour is,
always to turn the old text on every side, and try if
there be any interstice, through which light can find
its way; nor would Huetius himself condemn me,
as refusing the trouble of research, for the ambition
of alteration. In this modest industry I have not
been unsuccessful. I have rescued many lines from
the violations of temerity, and secured many scenes
from the inroads of correction. I have adopted the
Roman sentiment, that it is more honourable to save
a citizen, than to kill an enemy, and have been more
careful to protect than to attack. I have preserved the common distribution of the
plays into acts, though I believe it to be in almost all
the plays void of authority. Some of those which
are divided in the later editions have no division in
the first folio, and some that are divided in the folio
have no division in the preceding copies. The settled
mode of the theatre requires four intervals in the
play, but few, if any, of our author's compositions
can be properly distributed in that manner. An act
is so much of the drama as passes without intervention
of time, or change of place. A pause makes
a new act. In every real, and therefore in every
imitative action, the intervals may be more or fewer,
the restriction of five acts being accidental and arbitrary.
This Shakespeare knew, and this he practised;
his plays were written, and at first printed in one
unbroken continuity, and ought now to be exhibited
with short pauses, interposed as often as the scene is
changed, or any considerable time is required to pass.
This method would at once quell a thousand absurdities. In restoring the author's works to their integrity,
I have considered the punctuation as wholly in my
power; for what could be their care of colons and
commas, who corrupted words and sentences. Whatever
could be done by adjusting points, is therefore
silently performed, in some plays, with much diligence,
in others with less; it is hard to keep a busy
eye steadily fixed upon evanescent atoms, or a discursive
mind upon evanescent truth. The same liberty has been taken with a few particles,
or other words of slight effect. I have sometimes
inserted or omitted them without notice. I have
done that sometimes, which the other editors have
done always, and which indeed the state of the text
may sufficiently justify. The greater part of readers, instead of blaming
us for passing trifles, will wonder that on mere trifles
so much labour is expended, with such importance
of debate, and such solemnity of diction. To these
I answer with confidence, that they are judging of
an art which they do not understand; yet cannot
much reproach them with their ignorance, nor promise
that they would become in general, by learning
criticism, more useful, happier, or wiser.
As I practised conjecture more, I learned to trust
it less; and after I had printed a few plays, resolved
to insert none of my own readings in the text. Upon
this caution I now congratulate myself, for every day
encreases my doubt of my emendations. Since I have confined my imagination to the margin,
it must not be considered as very reprehensible,
if I have suffered it to play some freaks in its own
dominion. There is no danger in conjecture, if it
be proposed as conjecture; and while the text remains
uninjured, those changes may be safely offered, which
are not considered even by him that offers them as
necessary or safe. If my readings are of little value, they have not
been ostentatiously displayed or importunately obtruded.
I could have written longer notes, for the
art of writing notes is not of difficult attainment.
The work is performed, first by railing at the stupidity,
negligence, ignorance, and asinine tastelessness of the
former editors and shewing, from all that goes before
and all that follows, the inelegance and absurdity of
the old reading; then by proposing something, which
to superficial readers would seem specious, but which
the editor rejects with indignation; then by producing
the true reading, with a long paraphrase, and concluding
with loud acclamations on the discovery, and
a sober wish for the advancement and prosperity of
genuine criticism. All this may be done, and perhaps done sometimes
without impropriety. But I have always suspected
that the reading is right, which requires many words
to prove it wrong; and the emendation wrong, that
cannot without so much labour appear to be right.
The justness of a happy restoration strikes at once,
and the moral precept may be well applied to criticism,
quod dubitas ne feceris. To dread the shore which he sees spread with
wrecks, is natural to the sailor. I had before my
eye, so many critical adventures ended in miscarriage,
that caution was forced upon me. I encountered in
every page wit struggling with its own sophistry, and
learning confused by the multiplicity of its views.
I was forced to censure those whom I admired, and
could not but reflect, while I was dispossessing their
emendations, how soon the same fate might happen
to my own, and how many of the readings which I
have corrected may be by some other editor defended
and established. That a conjectural critick should often be mistaken,
cannot be wonderful, either to others or himself, if
it be considered, that in his art there is no system,
no principal and axiomatical truth that regulates
subordinate positions. His chance of error is renewed
at every attempt; an oblique view of the passage,
a slight misapprehension of a phrase, a casual inattention
to the parts connected, is sufficient to make
him not only fail, but fail ridiculously; and when
he succeeds best, he produces perhaps but one reading
of many probable, and he that suggests another will
always be able to dispute his claims. It is an unhappy state, in which danger is hid
under pleasure. The allurements of emendation are
scarcely resistible. Conjecture has all the joy and all
the pride of invention, and he that has once started
a happy change, is too much delighted to consider
what objections may rise against it. Yet conjectural criticism has been of great use in
the learned world; nor is it my intention to depreciate
a study, that has exercised so many mighty
minds, from the revival of learning to our own age,
from the bishop of Aleria to English Bentley. The
criticks on ancient authors have, in the exercise of
their sagacity, many assistances, which the editor of
Shakespeare is condemned to want. They are employed
upon grammatical and settled languages,
whose construction contributes so much to perspicuity,
that Homer has fewer passages unintelligible than
Chaucer. The words have not only a known regimen,
but invariable quantities, which direct and confine
the choice. There are commonly more manuscripts
than one; and they do not often conspire in the
same mistakes. Yet Scaliger could confess to Salmasius
how little satisfaction his emendations gave him.
Illudunt nobis conjecturæ nostræ, quarum nos pudet, posteaquam
in meliores codices incidimus. And Lipsius
could complain, that criticks were making faults,
by trying to remove them, Ut olim vitiis, ita nunc
remedies laboratur Perhaps I may not be more censured for doing
wrong, than for doing little; for raising in the publick
expectations, which at last I have not answered.
The expectation of ignorance is indefinite, and that
of knowledge is often tyrannical. It is hard to satisfy
those who know not what to demand, or those who
demand by design what they think impossible to be
done. I have indeed disappointed no opinion more
than my own; yet I have endeavoured to perform
my task with no slight solicitude. Not a single passage
in the whole work has appeared to me corrupt,
which I have not attempted to restore: or obscure,
which I have not endeavoured to illustrate. In
many I have failed like others; and from many,
after all my efforts, I have retreated, and confessed
the repulse. I have not passed over, with affected
superiority, what is equally difficult to the reader
and to myself, but where I could not instruct him,
have owned my ignorance. I might easily have accumulated
a mass of seeming learning upon easy
scenes; but it ought not to be imputed to negligence,
that, where nothing was necessary, nothing has been
done, or that, where others have said enough, I have
said no more. Notes are often necessary, but they are necessary
evils. Let him, that is yet unacquainted with the
powers of Shakespeare, and who desires to feel the
highest pleasure that the drama can give, read every
play, from the first scene to the last, with utter negligence
of all his commentators. When his fancy is
once on the wing, let it not stoop at correction or
explanation. When his attention is strongly engaged,
let it disdain alike to turn aside to the name of Theobald
and of Pope. Let him read on through brightness
and obscurity, through integrity and corruption;
let him preserve his comprehension of the dialogue
and his interest in the fable. And when the pleasures
of novelty have ceased, let him attempt exactness,
and read the commentators. Particular passages are cleared by notes, but the
general effect of the work is weakened. The mind
is refrigerated by interruption; the thoughts are diverted
from the principal subject; the reader is weary,
he suspects not why; and at last throws away the
book which he has too diligently studied. Parts are not to be examined till the whole has
been surveyed; there is a kind of intellectual remoteness
necessary for the comprehension of any
great work in its full design and in its true proportions;
a close approach shews the smaller niceties, but the
beauty of the whole is discerned no longer. It is not very grateful to consider how little the
succession of editors has added to this author's power
of pleasing. He was read, admired, studied, and
imitated, while he was yet deformed with all the
improprieties which ignorance and neglect could accumulate
upon him; while the reading was yet not
rectified, nor his allusions understood; yet then did
Dryden pronounce, “that Shakespeare was the man,
who, of all modern and perhaps ancient poets,
had the largest and most comprehensive soul. All
the images of nature were still present to him, and
he drew them not laboriously, but luckily: when
he describes any thing, you more than see it, you
feel it too. Those, who accuse him to have wanted
learning, give him the greater commendation: he
was naturally learned: he needed not the spectacles
of books to read nature; he looked inwards, and
found her there. I cannot say he is every where
alike; were he so, I should do him injury to compare
him with the greatest of mankind. He is
many times flat and insipid; his comick wit degenerating
into clenches, his serious swelling into
bombast. But he is always great, when some great
occasion is presented to him: no man can say, he
ever had a fit subject for his wit, and did not then
raise himself as high above the rest of poets, It is to be lamented, that such a writer should
want a commentary; that his language should become
obsolete, or his sentiments obscure. But it is
vain to carry wishes beyond the condition of human
things; that which must happen to all, has happened
to Shakespeare, by accident and time; and more
than has been suffered by any other writer since the
use of types, has been suffered by him through his
own negligence of fame, or perhaps by that superiority
of mind, which despised its own performances,
when it compared them with its powers, and judged
those works unworthy to be preserved, which the
criticks of following ages were to contend for the
fame of restoring and explaining. Among these candidates of inferior fame, I am
now to stand the judgment of the publick; and wish
that I could confidently produce my commentary as
equal to the encouragement which I have had the
honour of receiving. Every work of this kind is by
its nature deficient, and I should feel little solicitude
about the sentence, were it to be pronounced only
by the skilful and the learned. Of what has been performed in this revisal, an account
is given in the following pages by Mr. Steevens,
who might have spoken both of his own diligence
and sagacity, in terms of greater self-approbation,
without deviating from modesty or truth.
To the other evils of our civil war must be added
the interruption of polite learning, and the suppression
of many dramatic and poetical names, which
were plunged in obscurity by tumults and revolutions,
and have never since attracted curiosity. The utter
neglect of ancient English literature continued so
long, that many books may be supposed to be lost;
and that curiosity, which has been now for some years
increasing among us, wants materials for its operations.
Books and pamphlets, printed originally in
small numbers, being thus neglected, were soon destroyed;
and though the capital authors were preserved,
they were preserved to languish without regard.
How little Shakespeare himself was once read,
of that celebrated drama, in which almost every
original beauty is either aukwardly disguised, or arbitrarily
omitted. So little were the defects or peculiarities
of the old writers known, even at the beginning
of our century, that though the custom of alliteration
had prevailed to that degree in the time of
Shakespeare, that it became contemptible and ridiculous,
yet it is made one of Waller's praises by a
writer of his life, that he first introduced this practice
into English versification. It will be expected that some notice should be taken
of the last editor Shakespeare, and that his merits
should be estimated with those of his predecessors.
Little, however, can be said of a work, to the completion
of which, both a large proportion of the commentary
and various readings is as yet wanting. The
Second Part of King Henry VI. is the only play from
that edition, which has been consulted in the course
of this work; for as several passages there are arbitrarily
omitted, and as no notice is given when other
deviations are made from the old copies, it was of
little consequence to examine any further. This
circumstance is mentioned, left such accidental coincidences
of opinion, as may be discovered hereafter,
should be interpreted into plagiarism. It may occasionally happen, that some of the
remarks long ago produced by others, are offered
again as recent discoveries. It is likewise absolutely
impossible to pronounce with any degree of
certainty, whence all the hints, which furnish matter
for a commentary, have been collected, as they lay
scattered in many books and papers, which were probably
never read but once, or the particulars which
they contain received only in the course of common
conversation; nay, what is called plagiarism, is often
no more than the result of having thought alike with
others on the same subject. The dispute about the learning of Shakespeare
being now finally settled, a catalogue is added of
those translated authors, whom Mr. Pope has thought
proper to call The reader may not be displeased to have the Greek
and Roman poets, orators, &c. who had been rendered
accessible to our author, exposed at one view;
especially as the list has received the advantage of
being corrected and amplified by the Reverend
Dr. Farmer, the substance of whose very decisive
pamphlet is interspersed through the notes which
are added in this revisal of Dr. Johnson's Shakespeare. To those who have advanced the reputation of our
Poet, it has been endeavoured, by Dr. Johnson, in the
foregoing preface, impartially to allot their dividend
of fame; and it is with great regret that we now add
to the catalogue, another, the consequence of whose
death will perhaps affect not only the works of Shakespeare,
but of many other writers. Soon after the first
appearance of this edition, a disease, rapid in its progress,
deprived the world of Mr.
HOMER.
MUSÆUS.
Marloe's Hero and Leander, with the first Book of Lucan, 4to. 1600
There must have been a former Edition* note
EURIPIDES.
Jocasta, a Tragedy, from the Phœnissa of Euripides, by
Geo. Gascoigne, and Mr. Francis Kinwelmershe, 4to.
Lond. 1556
PLATO.
Axiochus, a Dialogue, attributed to Plato, by Edm. Spenser,
4to† note. 1592
DEMOSTHENES.
The Three Orations of Demosthenes, chiefe Orator among
the Grecians, in Favour of the Olynthians, with those
his fower against Philip of Macedon, &c. by Tho. Wylson,
Doctor of the Civill Lawes. 4to. ISOCRATES.
Isocrates's sage Admonition to Demonicus, by R. Nutthall, 8vo. Lond. 1557, 12mo. and 1585
Isocrates's Doctrinal of Princes, by Syr Tho. Elliot, Lond. 8vo. 1534
Isocrates's Orat. intitled Evagoras, by Jer. Wolfe, 8vo. 1581
Three Orations of moral Instructions, one to Demonicus,
and two to Nicocles, King of Salamis, translated from
Isocrates, by Tho. Forrest, 4to. 1580
LUCIAN.
Necromantia, a Dialog of the Poete Lucyen between Menippus
and Philonides, for his Fantesye faynyd for a
mery Pastyme, in English Verse and Latin Prose.
Toxaris, or the Friendship of Lucian, by A.O. Lond. 8vo. 1565
HERODOTUS.
The famous Hystory of Herodotus* note
N. B. This Piece contains only the two first Books, viz. the
Clio and Euterpe. The Translator says in his Preface,
“As these speeds, so the rest will follow.” 4to.
THUCYDIDES.
The Hystory writtone by Thucydides, &c. translated out of
the Frenche of Claude de Seyssel, Bishop of Marseilles,
into the Englishe language, by Tho. Nicolls, Citizeine
and Goldsmyth of London, fol. 1550† note
POLYBIUS.
Hystories of the most famous and worthy Cronographer,
Polybius, by Christopher Watson, 8vo. DIODORUS SICULUS* note.
The History of the Successors of Alexander, &c. out of Diodorus
Siculus and Plutarch, by Tho. Stocker. Lond.
4to. 1569
APPIAN.
An aunciente Historie, &c. by Appian† note
JOSEPHUS.
Josephus's History, &c. translated into English, by Tho. Lodge, fol. Lond. 1602–1609, &c.
ÆLIAN.
Ælian's Registre of Hystories, by Abraham Fleming, 4to. 1576
HERODIAN.
The Historie of Herodian, &c. transl. oute of Greeke into
Latin, by Angelus Politianus, and out of Latin into
Englyshe, by Nich. Smyth. Imprinted at London, by
William Coplande, 4to‡ note.
PLUTARCH.
Plutarch's Lives§ note
ARISTOTLE.
The Ethiques of Aristotle, &c. by John Wylkinson. Printed
by Grafton, Printer to K. Edw. VI. 8vo. B. L. 1547† note
The Secrete of Secretes of Aristotle, &c. translated out of
the Frenche, &c. Lond. 8vo. 1528
Aristotle's Politiques, &c.‡ note
XENOPHON.
The eight Bookes of Xenophon, containing the Institution,
Schole, and Education of Cyrus, the noble King of
Persye, &c. transl. out of Gr. into Engl. by Mr. William
Bercher. Lond. 12mo. 1567 and 1569
Do. by Dr. Philemon Holland.
Xenophon's Treatise of House-hold right, connyngly transl.
out of the Greke tongue, &c. by Gentian Hervet, &c. 8vo. Lond. 1532. 8vo. 1534. 1544. 8vo. 1573
The Arte of Riding from Xenophon, &c. Lond. 4to. 1584
EPICTETUS§ note.
The Manuell of Epictetus, transl. out of Greeke into French,
and now into English, &c. Also the Apothegmes,
&c. by James Sandford. Lond. 12mo. EUNAPIUS SARDIANUS* note.
The Lyves of Philosophers and Orators, from the Greek of Eunapius, 4to. 1579
ACHILLES TATIUS.
The most delectable and pleasant Hist. of Clitophon and
Leucippe, from the Greek of Achilles Statius, &c. by
W. B. 4to 1597† note
M. ANTONINUS‡ note.
The Golden Boke of Marcus Aurelius, Emperour and eloquent
Orator, 12mo. Lond. 1553
Translated out of Fr. into Eng. by Sir John Bourchier, Kt.
&c. &c.
DIONYSIUS.
Dionysius's Description of the Worlde. Englyshed by Tho.
Twine, 8vo. Lond. 1572
EUCLID.
Euclid's Elements of Geometry, transl. into Eng. by Rich.
Candish, who flourished, A. D. 1556
HIPPOCRATES.
The Aphorismes of Hippocrates, redacted into a certaine
Order, and translated by Humfrie Llhyd, 8vo. 1585
GALEN.
Galen's Two Books of Elements, translated into Engl. by J. Jones, 4to. Lond. 1574
Certaine Workes of Galen, englyshed by Tho. Gale, 4to. 1586
HELIODORUS.
The Beginning of Æthiopical History in Engl. Hexameters,
by Abrah. Fraunce, 8vo. Lond. 1591* note
Heliodorus's Æthiopic Hist. transl. by Tho. Underdown,
B. L. 4to. Lond. 1577 and 1587
VIRGIL.
The Boke of Eneydos, &c. by Caxton, fol. Lond. prose 1490
The thirteen Bukes of Eneados in Scottish Metir, by Gawain
Douglas, 4to. Lond. 1553
Certain Bookes of Virgile's Æneis† note turned into English Metir,
by the right honourable Lorde, Henry Earle of
Surrey, 4to. Lond. 1557
The first seven Bookes of the Eneidos, by Phaer. Lond.
4to. B. L. 1558
Engl. heroic Verse, by Richard Stanyhurst* note, &c. 12mo. Lond. HORACE.
Two Bookes of Horace his Satyres Englyshed, accordyng to
the Prescription of Saint Hierome, 4to. B. L. Lond. 1566
Horace his Arte of Poetrie, Pistles† note and Satyrs Englished,
by Tho. Drant, 4to. Lond. 1567
OVID.
The fifteene Bookes of Metamorphoseos. In which been
contaynid the Fables of Ovid, by William Caxton,
Westm. fol. 1480
The four first Books of Ovid, transl. from the Latin into
English Meetre, by Arthur Golding, Gent. 4to. B. L.
Lond. 1565
The fifteene Bookes of P. Ovidius Naso, &c. by Arthur
Golding, 4to. Bl. L. Lond. 1576
PLAUTUS.
Menæchmi, by W. W. Lond.¶ note 1595
MARTIAL.
Flowers of Epigrams (from Martial particularly) by Tim.
Kendall, 8vo** note. 1577
TERENCE.
Terens in Englysh, or the translacyon out of Latin into
Englysh of the first comedy of Tyrens callyd Andria.
Supposed to be printed by J. Rastell* note
SENECA.
Seneca his Tenne Tragedies† note, translated into Englysh by
different Translators, 4to. Lond. 1581
Seneca's Forme and Rule of Honest Living, by Rob. Whyttington,
8vo. 1546
Seven Bookes of Benefyting‡ note, by Arthur Golding, 4to. 1577
LIVY.
Livius (Titus§ note) and other Authores Historie of Annibal
and Scipio, translated into English, by Anthony Cope,
Esquier, B. L. 4to. Lond. 1545
TACITUS.
The End of Nero and Beginning of Galba. Fower Bookes
of the Histories of Cornelius Tacitus. The Life of Agricola,
by Sir Hen. Saville, 4to. Lond. 1591
Annales of Tacitus, by Richard Grenaway, fol. 1598
SALLUST* note.
The Famous Cronycle of the Warre, which the Romyns had
against Jugurth, &c. compyled in Lat. by the renowned
Romayn Sallust, &c. translated into Englishe, by
Sir Alex. Barclay Preest, &c. Printed by Pynson, fol.
Do.
Lond. pr. by Joh. Waley, 4to. 1557
The Conspiracie of Lucius Cataline, translated into Eng. by
Tho. Paynell, 4to. Lond. 1541 and 1557
The two most Worthy and Notable Histories, &c. Both written by C. C. Sallustius, and translated by Tho.
Heywood, Lond. sm. fol. 1608
SUETONIUS.
Suetonius, translated by Dr. Phil. Holland, fol. Lond. 1606† note
CÆSAR‡ note
JUSTIN.
The Hist. of Justine, &c. by A. G. [Arthur Golding] Lond. 4to. 1564 and 1578
Do. by Dr. Phil. Holland 1606
Do. by G. W. with an Epitomie of the Lives, &c. of the
Romaine Emperors, from Aurelius Victor, fol. 1606
Q. CURTIUS.
The Historie of Quintus Curtius, &c. translated, &c. by
John Brende, 4to. Lond. 1553
Other Editions were in 1561, 1584, 1570, 1592* note
EUTROPIUS.
Eutropius englished, by Nic. Haward, 8vo. 1564
A. MARCELLINUS.
Ammianus Marcellinus, translated by Dr. P. Holland. Lond. fol. 1609
CICERO.
Cicero's Familiar Epistles, by J. Webbe, sm. 8vo. no date
Certain select Epistles into English, by Abra. Flemming, 4to. Lond. 1576
Those Fyve Questions which Marke Tullye Cicero disputed
in his Manor of Tusculanum, &c. &c. Englyshed by
John Dolman, sm. 8vo. Lond. 1561
† noteMarcus Tullius Cicero, three Bookes of Duties, tourned
out of Latin into English, by Nic. Grimalde BOETHIUS.
Boethius, by Chaucer. Printed by Caxton, fol.
Boethius in English Verse, by Tho. Rychard. Imprinted in
the exempt Monastery of Tavistock, 4to. 1525
Eng. and Lat. by Geo. Colville, 4to. 1556† note
APULEIUS.
Apuleius's Golden Asse, translated into Eng. by Wm. Adlington,
4to. Lond. FRONTINUS.
Stratagemes, Sleightes, and Policies of Warre, gathered by
S. Julius Frontinus. Translated by Richard Morisine,
8vo. Printed by Tho. Berthelet 1539
PLINY JUNr.
Some select Epistles of Pliny the Younger into Eng. by Abr.
Flemming, 4to. Lond. 1576
POMPONIUS MELA.
Pomponius Mela, by A. Golding, 4to. 1590
PLINY.
Pliny's Nat. Hist. by Dr. Phil. Holland, fol† note. 1601
SOLINUS.
Julius Solinus Polyhistor, by A. Golding, 4to. 1587
VEGETIUS.
The four Bookes of Flavius Vegetius, concerning martial
Policye, by John Sadler, 4to. 1572
RUTILIUS RUFUS.
A View of Valiaunce, translated from Rutilius Rufus, by
Tho. Newton, 8vo. 1580
DARES Phryg. and DICTYS Cret.
Dares and Dictys's Trojan War, in Verse 1555
CATO and P. SYRUS.
Caton‡ note, translated into Englyshe by Mayster Benet Burgh,
&c. mentioned by Caxton.
It is most true, as Mr. Farmer takes for granted, that I
had never met with the old comedy called The Supposes, nor
has it ever yet fallen into my hands; yet I am willing to
grant, on Mr. Farmer's authority, that Shakespeare borrowed
part of the plot of the Taming of the Shrew, from
that old translation of Ariosto's play, by George Gascoign,
and had no obligations to Plautus. I will accede also to the
truth of Dr. Johnson's and Mr. Farmer's observation, that
the line from Terence, exactly as it stands in Shakespeare,
is extant in Lilly and Udall's Floures for Latin Speaking. Still,
however, Shakespeare's total ignorance of the learned languages
remains to be proved; for it must be granted, that
such books are put into the hands of those who are learning
those languages, in which class we must necessarily rank
Shakespeare, or he could not even have quoted Terence
from Udall or Lilly; nor is it likely, that so rapid a genius
should not have made some further progress. “Our author,
(says Dr. Johnson, as quoted by Mr. Farmer) had this line
from Lilly; which I mention, that it may not be brought
as an argument of his learning.” It is, however, an argument
that he read Lilly; and a few pages further it
seems pretty certain, that the author of The Taming of the
Shrew, had at least read Ovid; from whose Epistles we find
these lines: And what does Dr. Johnson say on this occasion? Nothing.
And what does Mr. Farmer say on this occasion? Nothing. In Love's Labour Lost, which, bad as it is, is ascribed by
Dr. Johnson himself to Shakespeare, there occurs the word
thrasonical; another argument which seems to shew that he
was not unacquainted with the comedies of Terence; not
to mention, that the character of the schoolmaster in the
same play could not possibly be written by a man who had
travelled no further in Latin than hic, hæc, hoc. In Henry the Sixth we meet with a quotation from Virgil, But this, it seems, proves nothing, any more than the lines
from Terence and Ovid, in the Taming of the Shrew; for
Mr. Farmer looks on Shakespeare's property in the comedy
to be extremely disputable; and he has no doubt but Henry
the Sixth had the same author with Edward the Third, which
hath been recovered to the world in Mr. Capell's Prolusions. If any play in the collection bears internal evidence of
Shakespeare's hand, we may fairly give him Timon of Athens.
In this play we have a familiar quotation from Horace, I will not maintain but this hemistich may be found in
Lilly or Udall; or that it is not in the Palace of Pleasure, or
the English Plutarch; or that it was not originally foisted in
by the players: It stands, however, in the play of Timon of
Athens. The world in general, and those who purpose to comment
on Shakespeare in particular, will owe much to Mr. Farmer,
whose researches into our old authors throw a lustre on many
passages, the obscurity of which must else have been impenetrable.
No future Upton or Gildon will go further than
North's translation for Shakespeare's acquaintance with Plutarch,
or balance between Dares Phrygius, and the Troye
booke of Lydgate. The Hystorie of Hamblet “That his studies were most demonstratively confined to
nature, and his own language,” I readily allow: but does it
hence follow that he was so deplorably ignorant of every
other tongue, living or dead, that he only “remembered,
perhaps, enough of his schoolboy learning to put the hig,
hag, hog, into the mouth of Sir H. Evans; and might pick
up in the writers of the time, or the course of his conversation,
a familiar phrase or two of French or Italian?” In
Shakespeare's plays both these last languages are plentifully
scattered; but then, we are told, they might be impertinent
additions of the players. Undoubtedly they might: but
there they are, and, perhaps, few of the players had much
more learning than Shakespeare. Mr. Farmer himself will allow that Shakespeare began to
learn Latin: I will allow that his studies lay in English: but
why insist that he neither made any progress at school; nor
improved his acquisitions there? The general encomiums of
Suckling, Denham, Milton, &c. on his native genius* note, prove
nothing; and Ben Jonson's celebrated charge of Shakespeare's
small Latin, and less Greek† note, seems absolutely to decide that he
had some knowledge of both; and if we may judge by our own
time, a man, who has any Greek, is seldom without a very
competent share of Latin; and yet such a man is very likely
to study Plutarch in English, and to read translations of
Ovid. See Dr. Farmer's reply to these remarks by Mr. Colman, in a
note on
It had bene a thing, we confesse, worthie to have been
wished, that the author himselfe had liv'd to have set forth,
and overseen his owne writings; but since it hath been ordain'd
otherwise, and he by death departed from that right,
we pray you doe not envie his friends, the office of their care
and paine, to have collected and publish'd them; and so to
have publish'd them, as where (before) you were abus'd with
divers stolne and surreptitious copies, maimed and deformed
by the frauds and stealthes of injurious impostors, that expos'd
them: even those are now offer'd to your view cur'd,
and perfect of their limbes; and all the rest, absolute
in their numbers as he conceived them. Who, as he was a
happy imitator of nature, was a most gentle expresser of it.
His mind and hand went together: and what he thought,
he uttered with that easinesse, that wee have scarce received
from him a blot in his papers. But it is not our province,
who onely gather his workes, and give them you, to praise
him. It is yours that reade him. And there we hope, to
your divers capacities, you will finde enough, both to draw,
and hold you: for his wit can no more lie hid, then it could
be lost. Reade him, therefore; and againe, and againe:
and if then you doe not like him, surely you are in some
manifest danger, not to understand him. And so we leave
you to other of his friends, who, if you need, can bee your
guides: if you neede them not, you can leade yourselves,
and others. And such readers we wish him.
I cannot however but mention some of his principal and
characteristick excellencies, for which (notwithstanding his
defects) he is justly and universally elevated above all other
dramatick writers. Not that this is the proper place of
praising him, but because I would not omit any occasion of
doing it. 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. The poetry of Shakespeare was
inspiration indeed: he is not so much an imitator, as an instrument,
of nature; and it is not so just to say that he speaks
from her, as that she speaks through him.
His characters are so much nature itself, that it is a sort of
injury to call them by so distant a name as copies of her.
Those of other poets have a constant resemblance, which
shews that they received them from one another, and were
but multipliers of the same image: each picture, like a
mock-rainbow, is but the reflexion of a reflexion. But every
single character in Shakespeare is as much an individual, as
those in life itself; it is as impossible to find any two alike;
and such as from their relation or affinity in any respect appear
most to be twins, will, upon comparison, be found remarkably
distinct. To this life and variety of character, we
must add the wonderful preservation of it; which is such
throughout his plays, that had all the speeches been printed
without the very names of the persons, I believe one might
have applied them with certainty to every speaker. The power over our passions was never possessed in a more
eminent degree, or displayed in so different instances. Yet
all along, there is seen no labour, no pains to raise them;
no preparation to guide our guess to the effect, or be perceived
to lead toward it: but the heart swells, and the tears
burst out, just at the proper places: we are surprised the
moment we weep; and yet upon reflexion find the passion
so just, that we should be surprised if we had not wept, and
wept at that very moment. How astonishing is it again, that the passions directly opposite
to these, laughter and spleen, are no less at his command!
that he is not more a master of the great than of the
ridiculous in human nature; of our noblest tendernesses, than
of our vainest foibles; of our strongest emotions, than of
our idlest sensations! Nor does he only excel in the passions: in the coolness of
reflexion and reasoning he is full as admirable. His sentiments
are not only in general the most pertinent and judicious
upon every subject; but by a talent very peculiar,
something between penetration and felicity, he hits upon
that particular point on which the bent of each argument
turns, or the force of each motive depends. This is perfectly
amazing, from a man of no education or experience in
those great and publick scenes of life which are usually the
subject of his thoughts: so that he seems to have known the
world by intuition, to have looked through human nature at
one glance, and to be the only author that gives ground for
a very new opinion, that the philosopher, and even the man
of the world, may be born, as well as the poet.
It must be owned, that with all these great excellencies,
he has almost as great defects; and that as he has certainly
written better, so he has perhaps written worse than any
other. But I think I can in some measure account for these
defects, from several causes and accidents; without which
it is hard to imagine that so large and so enlightened a mind
could ever have been susceptible of them. That all these contingencies
should unite to his disadvantage seems to me almost
as singularly unlucky, as that so many various (nay contrary)
talents should meet in one man, was happy and extraordinary. It must be allowed that stage-poetry, of all other, is more
particularly levelled to please the populace, and its success
more immediately depending upon the common suffrage. One
cannot therefore wonder, if Shakespeare, having at his first
appearance no other aim in his writings than to procure a
subsistence, directed his endeavours solely to hit the taste
and humour that then prevailed. The audience was generally
composed of the meaner sort of people; and therefore
the images of life were to be drawn from those of their own
rank: accordingly we find, that not our author's only, but
almost all the old comedies have their scene among tradesmen
and mechanicks: and even their historical plays strictly follow
the common old stories or vulgar traditions of that kind of
people. In tragedy, nothing was so sure to surprize and
cause admiration, as the most strange, unexpected, and consequently
most unnatural, events and incidents; the most
exaggerated thoughts; the most verbose and bombast expression;
the most pompous rhymes, and thundering versification.
In comedy, nothing was so sure to please, as mean
buffoonry, vile ribaldry, and unmannerly jests of fools and
clowns. Yet even in these our author's wit buoys up, and
is borne above his subject: his genius in those low parts is
like some prince of a romance in the disguise of a shepherd or
peasant; a certain greatness and spirit now and then break
out, which manifest his higher extraction and qualities. It may be added, that not only the common audience had
no notion of the rules of writing, but few even of the better
sort piqued themselves upon any great degree of knowledge
or nicety that way; till Ben Jonson getting possession of the
stage, brought critical learning into vogue: and that this
was not done without difficulty, may appear from those
frequent lessons (and indeed almost declamations) which he
was forced to prefix to his first plays, and put into the mouth
of his actors, the grex, chorus, &c. to remove the prejudices,
and inform the judgment of his hearers. 'Till then,
our authors had no thoughts of writing on the model of the
ancients: their tragedies were only histories in dialogue;
and their comedies followed the thread of any novel as they
found it, no less implicitly than if it had been true history. To judge therefore of Shakespeare by Aristotle's rules, is
like trying a man by the laws of one country, who acted
under those of another. He writ to the people; and writ at
first without patronage from the better sort, and therefore
without aims of pleasing them: without assistance or advice
from the learned, as without the advantage of education or
acquaintance among them: without that knowledge of the
best models, the ancients, to inspire him with an emulation of
them; in a word, without any views of reputation, and of
what poets are pleased to call immortality: some or all of
which have encouraged the vanity, or animated the ambition,
of other writers. Yet it must be observed, that when his performances had
merited the protection of his prince, and when the encouragement
of the court had succeeded to that of the town;
the works of his riper years are manifestly raised above those
of his former. The dates of his plays sufficiently evidence
that his productions improved, in proportion to the respect
he had for his auditors. And I make no doubt this observation
would be found true in every instance, were but editions
extant from which we might learn the exact time
when every piece was composed, and whether writ for the
town, or the court. Another cause (and no less strong than the former) may
be deduced from our author's being a player, and forming
himself first upon the judgments of that body of men whereof
he was a member. They have ever had a standard to
themselves, upon other principles than those of Aristotle.
As they live by the majority, they know no rule but that
of pleasing the present humour, and complying with the
wit in fashion; a consideration which brings all their judgment
to a short point. Players are just such judges of what
is right, as taylors are of what is graceful. And in this
view it will be but fair to allow, that most of our author's
faults are less to be ascribed to his wrong judgment as a
poet, than to his right judgment as a player. By these men it was thought a praise to Shakespeare, that
he scarce ever blotted a line. This they industriously propagated,
as appears from what we are told by Ben Jonson in
his Discoveries, and from the preface of Heminges and Condell
to the first folio edition. But in reality (however it has
prevailed) there never was a more groundless report, or to
the contrary of which there are more undeniable evidences.
As, the comedy of The Merry Wives of Windsor, which he
entirely new writ; The History of Henry the Sixth, which was
first published under the title of The Contention of York and Lancaster;
and that of Henry the Fifth, extremely improved; that
of Hamlet enlarged to almost as much again as at first, and
many others. I believe the common opinion of his want of
learning proceeded from no better ground. This too might
be thought a praise by some, and to this his errors have as
injudiciously been ascribed by others. For it is certain, were
it true, it could concern but a small part of them; the most
are such as are not properly defects, but superfœtations: and
arise not from want of learning of reading, but from want
of thinking or judging: or rather (to be more just to our author)
from a compliance to those wants in others. As to a
wrong choice of the subject, a wrong conduct of the incidents,
false thoughts, forced expressions, &c. if these are
not to be ascribed to the foresaid accidental reasons, they
must be charged upon the poet himself, and there is no help
for it. But I think the two disadvantages which I have mentioned
(to be obliged to please the lowest of the people, and
to keep the worst of company) if the consideration be extended
as far as it reasonably may, will appear sufficient to
mislead and depress the greatest genius upon earth. Nay,
the more modesty with which such a one is endued, the
more he is in danger of submitting and conforming to others,
against his own better judgment. But as to his want of learning, it may be necessary to say
something more: there is certainly a vast difference between
learning and languages. How far he was ignorant of the latter,
I cannot determine; but it is plain he had much reading
at least, if they 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 taste of natural philosophy, mechanicks,
ancient and modern history, poetical learning,
and mythology: we find him very knowing in the customs,
rites, and manners of antiquity. In Coriolanus and Julius
Cæsar, not only the spirit, but manners, of the Romans are
exactly drawn; and still a nicer distinction is shewn between
the manners of the Romans in the time of the former, and
of the latter. His reading in the ancient historians is no
less conspicuous, in many references to particular passages:
and the speeches copied from Plutarch in Coriolanus may,
I think, as well be made an instance of his learning, as
those copied from Cicero in Catiline, of Ben Jonson's. The
manners of other nations in general, the Egyptians, Venetians,
French, &c. are drawn with equal propriety. Whatever
object of nature, or branch of science, he either speaks
of or describes; it is always with competent, if not extensive
knowledge: his descriptions are still exact; all his metaphors
appropriated, and remarkably drawn from the true
nature and inherent qualities of each subject. When he
treats of ethick or politick, we may constantly observe a
wonderful justness of distinction, as well as extent of comprehension.
No one is more a master of the poetical story,
or has more frequent allusions to the various parts of it:
Mr. Waller (who has been celebrated for this last particular)
has not shewn more learning this way than Shakespeare.
We have translations from Ovid published in his name, among
those poems which pass for his, and for some of which
we have undoubted authority (being published by himself,
and dedicated to his noble patron the earl of Southampton):
he appears also to have been conversant in Plautus, from whom
he has taken the plot of one of his plays: he follows the Greek
authors, and particularly Dares Phrygius, in another: (although
I will not pretend to say in what language he read
them). The modern Italian writers of novels he was manifestly
acquainted with; and we may conclude him to be
no less conversant with the ancients of his own country,
from the use he has made of Chaucer in Troilus and Cressida,
and in The Two Noble Kinsmen, if that play be his, as there
goes a tradition it was (and indeed it has little resemblance
of Fletcher, and more of our author than some of those
which have been received as genuine). I am inclined to think this opinion proceeded originally
from the zeal of the partizans of our author and Ben Jonson;
as they endeavoured to exalt the one at the expence of
the other. It is ever the nature of parties to be in extremes;
and nothing is so probable, as that because Ben
Jonson had much the more learning, it was said on the one
hand that Shakespeare had none at all; and because Shakespeare
had much the most wit and fancy, it was retorted on
the other, that Jonson wanted both. Because Shakespeare
borrowed nothing, it was said that Ben Jonson borrowed
every thing. Because Jonson did not write extempore, he
was reproached with being a year about every piece; and
because Shakespeare wrote with ease and rapidity, they
cried, he never once made a blot. Nay, the spirit of opposition
ran so high, that whatever those of the one side objected
to the other, was taken at the rebound, and turned
into praises; as injudiciously, as their antagonists before
had made them objections. Poets are always afraid of envy; but sure they have as
much reason to be afraid of admiration. They are the Scylla
and Charybdis of authors; those who escape one, often
fall by the other. Pessimum genus inimicorum laudantes, says
Tacitus: and Virgil desires to wear a charm against those
who praise a poet without rule or reason. But however this contention might be carried on by the
the partizans on either side, I cannot help thinking these
two great poets were good friends, and lived on amicable
terms and in offices of society with each other. It is an acknowledged
fact, that Ben Jonson was introduced upon the
stage, and his first works encouraged, by Shakespeare. And
after his death, that author writes, To the memory of his beloved
Mr. William Shakespeare, which shews as if the friendship
had continued through life. I cannot for my own part
find any thing invidious or sparing in those verses, but wonder
Mr. Dryden was of that opinion. He exalts him not only
above all his contemporaries, but above Chaucer and Spenser,
whom he will not allow to be great enough to be ranked
with him; and challenges the names of Sophocles, Euripides,
and Æschylus, nay, all Greece and Rome at once, to
equal him; and (which is very particular) expressly vindicates
him from the imputation of wanting art, not enduring that
all his excellencies should be attributed to nature. It is remarkable
too, that the praise he gives him in his Discoveries
seems to proceed from a personal kindness; he tells us, that
he loved the man, as well as honoured his memory; celebrates
the honesty, openness, and frankness of his temper;
and only distinguishes, as he reasonably ought, between the
real merit of the author, and the silly and derogatory applauses
of the players. Ben Jonson might indeed be sparing
in his commendations (though certainly he is not so in this
instance) partly from his own nature, and partly from judgment.
For men of judgment think they do any man more
service in praising him justly, than lavishly. I say, I would
fain believe they were friends, though the violence and ill-breeding
of their followers and flatterers were enough to
give rise to the contrary report. I hope that it may be with
parties, both in wit and state, as with those monsters described
by the poets; and that their heads at least may have
something human, though their bodies and tails are wild
beasts and serpents. As I believe that what I have mentioned gave rise to the
opinion of Shakespeare's want of learning; so what has continued
it down to us may have been the many blunders and
illiteracies of the first publishers of his works. In these editions
their ignorance shines in almost every page; nothing
is more common than Actus tertia. Exit omnes. Enter three
Witches solus* note. Their French is as bad as their Latin, both
in construction and spelling: their very Welsh is false. Nothing
is more likely than that those palpable blunders of Hector's
quoting Aristotle, with others of that gross kind, sprung
from the same root: it not being at all credible that these
could be the errors of any man who had the least tincture
of a school, or the least conversation with such as had. Ben
Jonson (whom they will not think partial to him) allows
him at least to have had some Latin; which is utterly inconsistent
with mistakes like these. Nay, the constant blunders
in proper names of persons and places, are such as must
have proceeded from a man, who had not so much as read
any history in any language: so could not be Shakespeare's. I shall now lay before the reader some of those almost innumerable
errors, which have risen from one source, the
ignorance of the players, both as his actors, and as his editors.
When the nature and kinds of these are enumerated
and considered, I dare to say that not Shakespeare only, but
Aristotle or Cicero, had their works undergone the same
fate, might have appeared to want sense as well as learning.
It is not certain that any one of his plays was published
by himself. During the time of his employment in the
theatre, several of his pieces were printed separately in quarto.
What makes me think that most of these were not published
by him, is the excessive carelessness of the press:
every page is so scandalously false spelled, and almost all the
learned or unusual words so intolerably mangled, that it is plain
there either was no corrector to the press at all, or one totally
illiterate. If any were supervised by himself, I should fancy
The Two Parts of Henry the Fourth, and Midsummer-Night's
Dream might have been so: because I find no other printed
with any exactness; and (contrary to the rest) there is very
little variation in all the subsequent editions of them. There
are extant two prefaces to the first quarto edition of Troilus
and Cressida in 1609, and to that of Othello; by which it
appears, that the first was published without his knowledge
or consent, or even before it was acted, so late as seven or
eight years before he died: and that the latter was not printed
till after his death. The whole number of genuine plays,
which we have been able to find printed in his life-time,
amounts but to eleven. And of some of these, we meet
with two or more editions by different printers, each of
which has whole heaps of trash different from the other:
which I should fancy was occasioned by their being taken
from different copies belonging to different play-houses. The folio edition (in which all the plays we now receive
as his were first collected) was published by two players,
Heminges and Condell, in 1623, seven years after his decease.
They declare, that all the other editions were stolen
and surreptitious, and affirm theirs to be purged from the
errors of the former. This is true as to the literal errors,
and no other; for in all respects else it is far worse than the
quartos. First, because the additions of trifling and bombast passages
are in this edition far more numerous. For whatever
had been added, since those quartos, by the actors, or had
stolen from their mouths into the written parts, were from
thence conveyed into the printed text, and all stand charged
upon the author. He himself complained of this usage
in Hamlet, where he wishes that those who play the clowns
would speak no more than is set down for them. (Act. iii. Sc. 4.)
But as a proof that he could not escape it, in the old editions
of Romeo and Juliet there is no hint of a great number
of the mean conceits and ribaldries now to be found there.
In others, the low scenes of mobs, plebeians, and clowns,
are vastly shorter than at present: and I have seen one in
particular (which seems to have belonged to the play-house,
by having the parts divided with lines, and the actors names
in the margin) where several of those very passages were
added in a written hand, which are since to be found in the
folio. In the next place, a number of beautiful passages, which
are extant in the first single editions, are omitted in this:
as it seems, without any other reason, than their willingness
to shorten some scenes: these men (as it was said of Procrustes)
either lopping, or stretching an author, to make
him just fit for their stage. This edition is said to be printed from the original copies;
I believe they meant those which had lain ever since the author's
days in the play-house, and had from time to time
been cut, or added to, arbitrarily. It appears that this edition,
as well as the quartos, was printed (at least partly)
from no better copies than the prompter's book, or piece-meal
parts written out for the use of the actors: for in some places
their very* note names are through carelessness set down instead
of the Personæ Dramatis; and in others the notes of direction
to the property-men for their moveables, and to the players for
their entries, are inserted into the text through the ignorance
of the transcribers. The plays not having been before so much as distinguished
by Acts and Scenes, they are in this edition divided according
as they played them; often when there is no pause in the
action, or where they thought fit to make a breach in it, for
the sake of musick, masques, or monsters. Sometimes the scenes are transposed and shuffled backward
and forward; a thing which could no otherwise happen,
but by their being taken from separate and piece-meal written
parts. Many verses are omitted entirely, and others transposed;
from whence invincible obscurities have arisen, past the guess
of any commentator to clear up, but just where the accidental
glimpse of an old edition enlightens us.
Some characters were confounded and mixed, or two put
into one, for want of a competent number of actors. Thus
in the quarto edition of Midsummer-Night's Dream, Act v.
Shakespeare introduces a kind of master of the revels called
Philostrate; all whose part is given to another character (that
of Egeus) in the subsequent editions: so also in Hamlet and
King Lear. This too makes it probable that the prompter's
books were what they called the original copies. From liberties of this kind, many speeches also were put
into the mouths of wrong persons, where the author now
seems chargeable with making them speak out of character:
or sometimes perhaps for no better reason, than that a governing
player, to have the mouthing of some favourite
speech himself, would snatch it from the unworthy lips of
an underling. Prose from verse they did not know, and they accordingly
printed one for the other throughout the volume. Having been forced to say so much of the players, I think
I ought in justice to remark, that the judgment, as well as
condition of that class of people was then far inferior to
what it is in our days. As then the best play-houses were
inns and taverns (the Globe, the Hope, the Red Bull, the
Fortune, &c.) so the top of the profession were then mere
players, not gentlemen of the stage: they were led into the
buttery by the steward, not placed at the lord's table, or
lady's toilette: and consequently were entirely deprived of
those advantages they now enjoy in the familiar conversation
of our nobility, and an intimacy (not to say dearness) with
people of the first condition. From what has been said, there can be no question but
had Shakespeare published his works himself (especially in
his latter time, and after his retreat from the stage) we should
not only be certain which are genuine, but should find in
those that are, the errors lessened by some thousands. If I may
judge from all the distinguishing marks of his stile, and his
manner of thinking and writing, I make no doubt to declare
that those wretched plays Pericles, Locrine, Sir John Oldcastle,
Yorkshire Tragedy, Lord Cromwell, The Puritan, and London
Prodigal, cannot be admitted as his. And I should conjecture
of some of the others (particularly Love's Labour's Lost,
The Winter's Tale, and Titus Andronicus) that only some characters,
single scenes, or perhaps a few particular passages,
were of his hand. It is very probable what occasioned some
plays to be supposed Shakespeare's was only this; that they
were pieces produced by unknown authors, or fitted up for
the theatre while it was under his administration; and no
owner claiming them, they were adjudged to him, as they
give strays to the lord of the manor: a mistake which (one
may also observe) it was not for the interest of the house to
remove. Yet the players themselves, Heminges and Condell,
afterwards did Shakespeare the justice to reject those
eight plays in their edition; though they were then printed
in his name, in every body's hands, and acted with some
applause (as we learn from what Ben Jonson says of Pericles
in his ode on the New Inn). That Titus Andronicus is one
of this class I am the rather induced to believe, by finding
the same author openly express his contempt of it in the
induction to Bartholomew-Fair, in the year 1614, when Shakspeare
was yet living. And there is no better authority for
these latter sort, than for the former, which were equally
published in his life-time. If we give into this opinion, how many low and vicious
parts and passages might no longer reflect upon this great
genius, but appear unworthily charged upon him? And
even in those which are really his, how many faults may
have been unjustly laid to his account from arbitrary additions,
expunctions, transpositions of scenes and lines, confusion
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 persuaded, that the greatest and the
grossest part of what are thought his errors would vanish, and
leave his character in a light very different from that disadvantageous
one, in which it now appears to us. This is the state in which Shakespeare's writings lie at
present; for since the above-mentioned folio edition, all the
rest have implicitly followed it, without having recourse to
any of the former, or ever making the comparison between
them. It is impossible to repair the injuries already done
him; too much time has elapsed, and the materials are too
few. In what I have done I have rather given a proof of
my willingness and desire, than of my ability, to do him
justice. I have discharged the dull duty of an editor, to my
best judgment, with more labour than I expect thanks,
with a religious abhorrence of all innovation, and without
any indulgence to my private sense or conjecture. The
method taken in this edition will shew itself. The various
readings are fairly put in the margin, so that every one
may compare them; and those I have preferred into the
text are constantly ex fide codicum, upon authority. The
alterations or additions, which Shakespeare himself made,
are taken notice of as they occur. Some suspected passages,
which are excessively bad (and which seem interpolations
by being so inserted, that one can entirely omit them without
any chasm, or deficience in the context) are degraded
to the bottom of the page; with an asterisk referring to the
places of their insertion. The scenes are marked so distinctly,
that every removal of place is specified; which is
more necessary in this author than any other, since he shifts
them more frequently; and sometimes, without attending
to this particular, the reader would have met with obscurities.
The more obsolete or unusual words are explained.
Some of the most shining passages are distinguished by commas
in the margin; and where the beauty lay not in particulars,
but in the whole, a star is prefixed to the scene.
This seems to me a shorter and less ostentatious method of
performing the better half of criticism (namely, the pointing
out an author's excellencies) than to fill a whole paper
with citations of fine passages, with general applauses, or
empty exclamations at the tail of them. There is also subjoined
a catalogue of those first editions, by which the greater
part of the various readings and of the corrected passages
are authorized (most of which are such as carry their
own evidence along with them). These editions now hold
the place of originals, and are the only materials left to repair
the deficiencies or restore the corrupted sense of the
author: I can only wish that a greater number of them (if
a greater were ever published) may yet be found, by a
search more successful than mine, for the better accomplishment
of this end. I will conclude by saying of Shakespeare, that with all
his faults, and with all the irregularity of his drama, one
may look upon his works, in comparison of those that
are more finished and regular, as upon an ancient majestick
piece of Gothick 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.
And as in great piles of building, some parts are often finished
up to hit the taste of the connoisseur; others more negligently
put together, to strike the fancy of a common and
unlearned beholder: some parts are made stupendously magnificent
and grand, to surprise with the vast design and execution
of the architect; others are contracted, to amuse you
with his neatness and elegance in little. So, in Shakespeare,
we may find traits that will stand the test of the severest judgment;
and strokes as carelesly hit off, to the level of the
more ordinary capacities: some descriptions raised to that
pitch of grandeur, as to astonish you with the compass and
elevation of his thought: and others copying nature within
so narrow, so confined a circle, as if the author's talent lay
only at drawing in miniature. In how many points of light must we be obliged to gaze
at this great poet! In how many branches of excellence to
consider and admire him! Whether we view him on the side
of art or nature, he ought equally to engage our attention:
whether we respect the force and greatness of his genius,
the extent of his knowledge and reading, the power and address
with which he throws out and applies either nature or
learning, there is ample scope both for our wonder and pleasure.
If his diction, and the cloathing of his thoughts attract
us, how much more must we be charmed with the
richness and variety of his images and ideas! If his images
and ideas steal into our souls, and strike upon our fancy,
how much are they improved in price, when we come to reflect
with what propriety and justness they are applied to
character! If we look into his characters, and how they are
furnished and proportioned to the employment he cuts out
for them, how ere we taken up with the mastery of his portraits!
What draughts of nature! What variety of originals,
and how differing each from the other! How are they dressed
from the stores of his own luxurious imagination; without
being the apes of mode, or borrowing from any foreign
wardrobe! Each of them are the standards of fashion for
themselves: like gentlemen that are above the direction of
their taylors, and can adorn themselves without the aid of
imitation. If other poets draw more than one fool or coxcomb,
there is the same resemblance in them, as in that
painter's draughts, who was happy only at forming a rose:
you find them all younger brothers of the same family, and
all of them have a pretence to give the same crest: but
Shakespeare's clowns and fops come all of a different house:
they are no farther allied to one another than as man to man,
members of the same species; but as different in features
and lineaments of character, as we are from one another
in face or complexion. But I am unawares lanching into
his character as a writer, before I have said what I intended
of him as a private member of the republick. Mr. Rowe has very justly observed, that people are fond
of discovering any little personal story of the great men of
antiquity; and that the common accidents of their lives naturally
become the subject of our critical enquiries: that
however trifling such a curiosity at the first view may appear,
yet, as for what relates to men of letters, the knowledge
of an author may, perhaps, sometimes conduce to the
better understanding his works; and, indeed, this author's
works, from the bad treatment he has met with from copyists
and editors, have so long wanted a comment, that
one would zealously embrace every method of information
that could contribute to recover them from the injuries with
which they have so long lain overwhelmed. It is certain, that if we have first admired the man in his
writings, his case is so circumstanced, that we must naturally
admire the writings in the man: that if we go back to
take a view of his education, and the employment in life
which fortune had cut out for him, we shall retain the stronger
ideas of his extensive genius. His father, we are told, was a considerable dealer in
wool; but having no fewer than ten children, of whom our
Shakespeare was the eldest, the best education he could afford
him was no better than to qualify him for his own business
and employment. I cannot affirm with any certainty
how long his father lived; but I take him to be the same
Mr. John Shakespeare who was living in the year 1599,
and who then, in honour of his son, took out an extract of
his family-arms from the herald's office; by which it appears,
that he had been officer and bailiff of Stratford
upon Avon in Warwickshire; and that he enjoyed some
hereditary lands and tenements, the reward of his great
grandfather's faithful and approved service to king Henry
VII. Be this as it will, our Shakespeare, it seems, was bred
for some time at a free-school; the very free-school, I presume,
founded at Stratford: where, we are told, he acquired
what Latin he was master of: but that his father being
obliged, through narrowness of circumstance, to withdraw
him too soon from thence, he was thereby unhappily
prevented from making any proficiency in the dead languages:
a point that will deserve some little discussion in the
sequel of this dissertation. How long he continued in his father's way of business,
either as an assistant to him, or on his own proper account,
no notices are left to inform us: nor have I been able to
learn precisely at what period of life he quitted his native
Stratford, and began his acquaintance with London and the
stage. In order to settle in the world after a family-manner, he
thought fit, Mr. Rowe acquaints us, to marry while he was
yet very young. It is certain, he did so: for by the monument
in Stratford church, erected to the memory of his
daughter Susanna, the wife of John Hall, gentleman, it
appears, that she died on the 2d of July, in the year 1649,
aged 66. So that she was born in 1583, when her father
could not be full 19 years old; who was himself born in
the year 1564. Nor was she his eldest child, for he had
another daughter, Judith, who was born before her* note, and
who was married to one Mr. Thomas Quiney. So that
Shakespeare must have entered into wedlock by that time he
was turned of seventeen years. Whether the force of inclination merely, or some concurring
circumstances of convenience in the match, prompted
him to marry so early, is not easy to be determined at
this distance: but it is probable, a view of interest might
partly sway his conduct in this point: for he married the
daughter of one Hathaway, a substantial yeoman in his
neighbourhood, and she had the start of him in age no less
than eight years. She survived him notwithstanding, seven
seasons, and died that very year the players published the
first edition of his works in folio, anno Dom. 1623, at the
age of 67 years, as we likewise learn from her monument in
Stratford church. How long he continued in this kind of settlement, upon
his own native spot, is not more easily to be determined.
But if the tradition be true, of that extravagance which
forced him both to quit his country and way of living; to
wit, his being engaged, with a knot of young deer-stealers,
to rob the park of Sir Thomas Lucy of Cherlecot near Stratford:
the enterprize favours so much of youth and levity,
we may reasonably suppose it was before he could write full
man. Besides, considering he has left us six and thirty
plays at least, avowed to be genuine; and considering too,
that he had retired from the stage, to spend the latter part
of his days at his own native Stratford: the interval of time
necessarily required for the finishing so many dramatick
pieces, obliges us to suppose he threw himself very early upon
the play-house. And as he could, probably, contract
no acquaintance with the drama, while he was driving on
the affair of wool at home; some time must be lost, even
after he had commenced player, before he could attain
knowledge enough in the science to qualify himself for
turning author. It has been observed by Mr. Rowe, that, amongst other
extravagancies, which our author has given to his Sir John
Falstaff in The Merry Wives of Windsor, he has made him a
deer-stealer; and that he might at the same time remember
his Warwickshire prosecutor, under the name of Justice
Shallow, he has given him very near the same coat of arms,
which Dugdale, in his Antiquities of that county, describes
for a family there. There are two coats, I observe, in
Dugdale, where three silver fishes are borne in the name of
Lucy; and another coat, to the monument of Thomas Lucy,
son of Sir William Lucy, in which are quartered in four several
divisions, twelve little fishes, three in each division,
probably Luces. This very coat, indeed, seems alluded to
in Shallow's giving the dozen white Luces, and in Slender
saying he may quarter. When I consider the exceeding candour
and good nature of our author (which inclined all the
gentler part of the world to love him; as the power of his
wit obliged the men of the most delicate knowledge and polite
learning to admire him); and that he should throw this
humourous piece of satire at his prosecutor, at least twenty
years after the provocation given; I am confidently persuaded
it must be owing to an unforgiving rancour on the prosecutor's
side: and if this was the case, it were pity but the
disgrace of such an inveteracy should remain as a lasting reproach,
and Shallow stand as a mark of ridicule to stigmatize
his malice. It is said, our author spent some years before his death,
in ease, retirement, and the conversation of his friends, at
his native Stratford. I could never pick up any certain intelligence,
when he relinquished the stage. I know, it has
been mistakenly thought by some, that Spenser's Thalia, in
his Tears of his Muses, where she laments the loss of her
Willy in the comick scene, has been applied to our author's
quitting the stage. But Spenser himself, it is well known,
quitted the stage of life in the year 1598; and, five years
after this, we find Shakespeare's name among the actors in
Ben Jonson's Sejanus, which first made its appearance in
the year 1603. Nor, surely, could he then have any
thoughts of retiring, since, that very year, a licence under
the privy-seal was granted by K. James I. to him and Fletcher,
Burbage, Phillippes, Hemings, Condel, &c. authorizing
them to exercise the art of playing comedies, tragedies, &c.
as well at their usual house called The Globe on the other side
of the water, as in any other parts of the kingdom, during
his majesty's pleasure (a copy of which license is preserved)
in Rymer's Fædera). Again, it is certain, that Shakespeare
did not exhibit his Macbeth, till after the union was brought
about, and till after K. James I. had begun to touch for
the evil: for it is plain, he has inserted compliments, on
both those accounts, upon his royal master in that tragedy.
Nor, indeed, could the number of the dramatick pieces, he
produced, admit of his retiring near so early as that period.
So that what Spenser there says, if it relate at all to Shakespeare,
must hint at some occasional recess he made for a
time upon a disgust taken: or the Willy, there mentioned,
must relate to some other favourite poet. I believe, we may
safely determine, that he had not quitted in the year 1610.
For in his Tempest, our author makes mention of the Bermuda
islands, which were unknown to the English, till, in
1609, Sir John Summers made a voyage to North-America,
and discovered them: and afterwards invited some of his
countrymen to settle a plantation there. That he became
the private gentleman, at least three years before his decease,
is pretty obvious from another circumstance: I mean, from
that remarkable and well-known story, which Mr. Rowe
has given us of our author's intimacy with Mr. John Combe,
an old gentleman noted thereabouts for his wealth and
usury: and upon whom Shakespeare made the following facetious
epitaph. This sarcastical piece of wit was, at the gentleman's own
request, thrown out extemporally in his company. And this
Mr. John Combe I take to be the same, who, by Dugdale
in his Antiquities of Warwickshire, is said to have died in the
year 1614, and for whom, at the upper end of the quire of
the Guild of the Holy Cross at Stratford, a fair monument
is erected, having a statue thereon cut in alabaster, and in a
gown, with this epitaph. “Here lieth interred the body
of John Combe, esq; who died the 10th of July, 1614,
who bequeathed several annual charities to the parish of
Stratford, and 100 l. to be lent to fifteen poor tradesmen
from three years to three years, changing the parties every
third year, at the rate of fifty shillings per annum, the increase
to be distributed to the almes-poor there.”—The
donation has all the air of a rich and sagacious usurer. Shakespeare himself did not survive Mr. Combe long, for
he died in the year 1616, the 53d of his age. He lies buried
on the north side of the chancel in the great church at
Stratford; where a monument, decent enough for the time,
is erected to him, and placed against the wall. He is represented
under an arch in a sitting posture, a cushion spread
before him, with a pen in his right hand, and his left rested
on a scrowl of paper. The Latin distich, which is placed
under the cushion, has been given us by Mr. Pope, or his
graver, in this manner. I confess, I do not conceive the difference betwixt ingenio
and genio in the first verse. They seem to me intirely synonymous
terms; nor was the Pylian sage Nestor celebrated
for his ingenuity, but for an experience and judgment owing
to his long age. Dugdale, in his Antiquities of Warwickshire,
has copied this distich with a distinction which Mr. Rowe
has followed, and which certainly restores us the true meaning
of the epitaph.
In 1614, the greater part of the town of Stratford was consumed
by fire; but our Shakespeare's house, among some others,
escaped the flames. This house was first built by Sir Hugh
Clopton, a younger brother of an ancient family in that neighbourhood,
who took their name from the manor of Clopton.
Sir Hugh was Sheriff of London, in the reign of Richard III.
and lord-mayor in the reign of king Henry VII. To this gentleman
the town of Stratford is indebted for the fine stonebridge,
consisting of fourteen arches, which, at an extraordinary
expence, he built over the Avon, together with a causeway
running at the west-end thereof; as also for rebuilding
the chapel adjoining to his house, and the cross-isle in the church
there. It is remarkable of him, that, though he lived and died
a batchelor, among the other extensive charities which he left
both to the city of London and town of Stratford, he bequeathed
considerable legacies for the marriage of poor maidens of
good name and fame both in London and at Stratford. Notwithstanding
which large donations in his life, and bequests
at his death, as he had purchased the manor of Clopton, and
all the estate of the family, so he left the same again to his
elder brother's son with a very great addition (a proof how well
beneficence and œconomy may walk hand in had in wise families):
good part of which estate is yet in the possession of
Edward Clopton, esq; and Sir Hugh Clopton, knt. lineally
descended from the elder brother of the first Sir Hugh: who
particularly bequeathed to his nephew, by his will, his house,
by the name of his Great House in Stratford. The estate had now been sold out of the Clopton family
for above a century, at the time when Shakespeare became
the purchaser: who, having repaired and modelled it to his
own mind, changed the name to New-place; which the
mansion-house, since erected upon the same spot, at this
day retains. The house and lands, which attended it, continued
in Shakespeare's descendants to the time of the Restoration:
when they were repurchased by the Clopton family,
and the mansion now belongs to Sir Hugh Clopton, knt.
To the favour of this worthy gentleman I owe the knowledge
of one particular, in honour of our poet's once dwelling-house,
of which, I presume, Mr. Rowe never was apprized.
When the civil war raged in England, and king Charles the
First's queen was driven by the necessity of affairs to make a
recess in Warwickshire, she kept her court for three weeks
in New-place. We may reasonably suppose it then the best
private house in the town; and her majesty preferred it to
the college, which was in the possession of the Combe family,
who did not so strongly favour the king's party. How much our author employed himself in poetry, after
his retirement from the stage, does not so evidently appear:
very few posthumous sketches of his pen have been recovered
to ascertain that point. We have been told, indeed, in
print, but not till very lately, that two large chests full of
this great man's loose papers and manuscripts, in the hands
of an ignorant baker of Warwick (who married one of the
descendants from our Shakespeare) were carelessly scattered
and thrown about as garret-lumber and litter, to the particular
knowledge of the late Sir William Bishop, till they
were all consumed in the general fire and destruction of that
town. I cannot help being a little apt to distrust the authority
of this tradition: because his wife survived him seven
years, and as his favourite daughter Susanna survived her
twenty-six years, it is very improbable they should suffer
such a treasure to be removed, and translated into a remoter
branch of the family, without a scrutiny first made into the
value of it. This, I say, inclines me to distrust the authority
of the relation: but, notwithstanding such an apparent
improbability, if we really lost such a treasure, by whatever
fatality or caprice of fortune they came into such ignorant
and neglectful hands, I agree with the relater, the misfortune
is wholly irreparable. To these particulars, which regard his person and private
life, some few more are to be gleaned from Mr. Rowe's
Account of his Life and Writings: let us now take a short view
of him in his publick capacity as a writer: and, from thence,
the transition will be easy to the state in which his writings
have been handed down to us. No age, perhaps, can produce an author more various
from himself, than Shakespeare has been universally acknowledged
to be. The diversity in stile, and other parts of composition,
so obvious in him, is as variously to be accounted
for. His education, we find, was at best but begun: and
he started early into a science from the force of genius, unequally
assisted by acquired improvements. His fire, spirit,
and exuberance of imagination gave an impetuosity to his
pen: his ideas flowed from him in a stream rapid, but not
turbulent; copious, but not ever overbearing its shores. The
ease and sweetness of his temper might not a little contribute
to his facility in writing: as his employment, as a
player, gave him an advantage and habit of fancying himself
the very character he meant to delineate. He used the helps
of his function in forming himself to create and express that
sublime, which other actors can only copy, and throw out,
in action and graceful attitude. But, Nullum sine veniâ placuit
ingenium, says Seneca. The genius, that gives us the
greatest pleasure, sometimes stands in need of our indulgence.
Whenever this happens with regard to Shakespeare,
I would willingly impute it to a vice of his times. We see
complaisance enough, in our days, paid to a bad taste. So
that his clinches, false wit, and descending beneath himself,
may have proceeded from a deference paid to the then reigning
barbarism. I have not thought it out of my province, whenever occasion
offered, to take notice of some of our poet's grand
touches of nature: some, that do not appear sufficiently
such; but in which he seems the most deeply instructed;
and to which, no doubt, he has so much owed that happy
preservation of his characters, for which he is justly celebrated.
Great genius's, like his, naturally unambitious,
are satisfied to conceal their art in these points. It is the
foible of your worser poets to make a parade and ostentation
of that little science they have; and to throw it out in
the most ambitious colours. And whenever a writer of this
class shall attempt to copy these artful concealments of our
author, and shall either think them easy, or practised by a
writer for his ease, he will soon be convinced of his mistake
by the difficulty of reaching the imitation of them. Indeed, to point out and exclaim upon all the beauties
of Shakespeare, as they come singly in review, would be as
insipid, as endless; as tedious, as unnecessary: but the explanation
of those beauties that are less obvious to common
readers, and whose illustration depends on the rules of just
criticism, and an exact knowledge of human life, should
deservedly have a share in a general critick upon the author.
But to pass over at once to another subject:— It has been allowed on all hands, how far our author
was indebted to nature; it is not so well agreed, how much
he owed to languages and acquired learning. The decisions
on this subject were certainly set on foot by the hint from
Ben Jonson, that he had small Latin and less Greek: and
from this tradition, as it were, Mr. Rowe has thought fit
peremptorily to declare, that, “It is without controversy,
he had no knowledge of the writings of the ancient poets,
for that in his works we find no traces of any thing which
looks like an imitation of the ancients. For the delicacy
of his taste (continues he) and the natural bent of his own
great genius (equal, if not superior, to some of the best
of theirs) would certainly have led him to read and study
them with so much pleasure, that some of their fine
images would naturally have insinuated themselves into,
and been mixed with his own writings: and so his not
copying, at least, something from them, may be an argument
of his never having read them.” I shall leave it
to the determination of my learned readers, from the numerous
passages which I have occasionally quoted in my
notes, in which our poet seems closely to have imitated the
classicks, whether Mr. Rowe's assertion be so absolutely to
be depended on. The result of the controversy must certainly,
either way, terminate to our author's honour: how
happily he could imitate them, if that point be allowed; or
how gloriously he could think like them, without owing any
thing to imitation. Though I should be very unwilling to allow Shakespeare
so poor a scholar, as many have laboured to represent him,
yet I shall be very cautious of declaring too positively on the
other side of the question; that is, with regard to my
opinion of his knowledge in the dead languages. And
therefore the passages, that I occasionally quote from the
classicks, shall not be urged as proofs that he knowingly
imitated those originals; but brought to shew how happily
he has expressed himself upon the same topicks. A very
learned critick of our own nation has declared, that a sameness
of thought and sameness of expression too, in two writers
of a different age, can hardly happen, without a violent
suspicion of the latter copying from his predecessor. I shall
not therefore run any great risque of a censure, though I
should venture to hint, that the resemblances in thought and
expression of our author an ancient (which we should
allow to be imitation in the one, whose learning was not
questioned) may sometimes take its rise from strength of
memory, and those impressions which he owed to the school.
And if we may allow a possibility of this, considering that,
when he quitted the school, he gave into his father's profession
and way of living, and had, it is likely, but a slender
library of classical learning; and considering what a number
of translations, romances, and legends started about his
time, and a little before (most of which, it is very evident,
he read) I think it may easily be reconciled, why he rather
schemed his plots and characters from these more latter informations,
than went back to those fountains, for which he
might entertain a sincere veneration, but to which he could
not have so ready a recourse. In touching on another part of his learning, as it related
to the knowledge of history and books, I shall advance something,
that, at first sight, will very much wear the appearance
of a paradox. For I shall find it no hard matter to
prove, that, from the grossest blunders in history, we are
not to infer his real ignorance of it: nor from a greater use
of Latin words, than ever any other English author used,
must we infer his intimate acquaintance with that language. A reader of taste may easily observe, that though Shakespeare,
almost in every scene of his historical plays, commits
the grossest offences against chronology, history, and ancient
politicks; yet this was not through ignorance, as is generally
supposed, but through the too powerful blaze of his imagination; which, when once raised, made all acquired
knowledge vanish and disappear before it. But this licence
in him, as I have said, must not be imputed to ignorance:
since as often we may find him, when occasion serves, reasoning
up to the truth of history; and throwing out sentiments
as justly adapted to the circumstances of his subject,
as to the dignity of his characters, or dictates of nature in
general. Then to come to his knowledge of the Latin tongue, it is
certain, there is a surprising effusion of Latin words made
English, far more than in any one English author I have
seen; but we must be cautious to imagine, this was of his
own doing. For the English tongue, in his age, began extremely
to suffer by an inundation of Latin: and this, to be
sure, was occasioned by the pedantry of those two monarchs,
Elizabeth and James, both great Latinists. For it is not to
be wondered at, if both the court and schools, equal flatterers
of power, should adapt themselves to the royal taste. But now I am touching on the question (which has been
so frequently agitated, yet so entirely undecided) of his
learning and acquaintance with the languages; an additional
word or two naturally falls in here upon the genius of our
author, as compared with that of Jonson his contemporary.
They are confessedly the greatest writers our nation could
ever boast of in the drama. The first, we say, owed all to
his prodigous natural genius; and the other a great deal to
his art and learning. This, if attended to, will explain a
very remarkable appearance in their writings. Besides those
wonderful master-pieces of art and genius, which each has
given us; they are the authors of other works very unworthy
of them: but with this difference; that in Jonson's bad
pieces we do not discover one single trace of the author of
The Fox and Alchymist: but in the wild extravagant notes of
Shakespeare you every now and then encounter strains that
recognize the divine composer. This difference may be thus
accounted for. Jonson, as we said before, owing all his excellence
to his art, by which he sometimes strained himself
to an uncommon pitch, when at other times he unbent and
played with his subject, having nothing then to support him,
it is no wonder that he wrote so far beneath himself. But
Shakespeare, indebted more largely to nature, than the
other to acquired talents, in his most negligent hours could
never so totally divest himself of his genius, but that it
would frequently break out with astonishing force and splendor. As I have never proposed to dilate farther on the character
of my author, than was necessary to explain the nature
and use of this edition, I shall proceed to consider him
as a genius in possession of an everlasting name. And how
great that merit must be, which could gain it against all the
disadvantages of the horrid condition in which he has hitherto
appeared! Had Homer, or any other admired author,
first started into publick so maimed and deformed, we
cannot determine whether they had not sunk for ever under
the ignominy of such an ill appearance. The mangled condition
of Shakespeare has been acknowledged by Mr. Rowe,
who published him indeed, but neither corrected his text,
nor collated the old copies. This gentleman had abilities, and
sufficient knowledge of his author, had but his industry been
equal to his talents. The same mangled condition has been
acknowledged too by Mr. Pope, who published him likewise,
pretended to have collated the old copies, and yet seldom
has corrected the text but to its injury. I congratulate
with the manes of our poet, that this gentleman has been
sparing in indulging his private sense, as he phrases it; for he,
who tampers with an author, whom he does not understand,
must do it at the expence of his subject. I have
made it evident throughout my remarks, that he has frequently
inflicted a wound where he intended a cure. He
has acted with regard to our author, as an editor, whom
When this is found to be the fact, how absurd must appear
the praises of such an editor? It seems a moot point,
whether Mr. Pope has done most injury to Shakespeare, as
his editor and encomiast; or Mr. Rymer done him service,
as his rival and censurer. They have both shewn themselves
in an equal impuissance of suspecting or amending the corrupted
passages: and though it be neither prudence to censure,
or commend what one does not understand; yet if a
man must do one when he plays the critick, the latter is the
more ridiculous office; and by that Shakespeare suffers most.
For the natural veneration which we have for him, makes us
apt to swallow whatever is given us as his, and set off with
encomiums; and hence we quit all suspicions of depravity:
on the contrary, the censure of so divine an author sets us
upon his defence; and this produces an exact scrutiny and
examination, which ends in finding out and discriminating
the true from the spurious. It is not with any secret pleasure, that I so frequently animadvert
on Mr. Pope as a critick; but there are provocations,
which a man can never quite forget. His libels have been
thrown out with so much inveteracy, that, not to dispute
whether they should come from a christian, they leave it a
question whether they could come from a man. I should be
loth to doubt, as Quintus Serenus did in a like case:
The indignation, perhaps, for being represented a blockhead,
may be as strong in us, as it is in the ladies for a reflexion on
their beauties. It is certain, I am indebted to him for some
flagrant civilities; and I shall willingly devote a part of my
life to the honest endeavour of quitting scores: with this
exception however, that I will not return those civilities in
his peculiar strain, but confine myself, at least, to the limits
of common decency. I shall ever think it better to want wit,
than to want humanity: and impartial posterity may, perhaps,
be of my opinion. But to return to my subject, which now calls upon me
to enquire into those causes, to which the depravations of
my author originally may be assigned. We are to consider
him as a writer, of whom no authentick manuscript was
left extant; as a writer, whose pieces were dispersedly performed
on the several stages then in being. And it was the
custom of those days for the poets to take a price of the players
for the pieces they from time to time furnished; and
thereupon it was supposed they had no farther right to print
them without the consent of the players. As it was the interest
of the companies to keep their plays unpublished, when
any one succeeded, there was a contest betwixt the curiosity
of the town, who demanded to see it in print, and the policy
of the stagers, who wished to secrete it within their own
walls. Hence, many pieces were taken down in short-hand,
and imperfectly copied by ear from a representation: others
were printed from piece-meal parts surreptitiously obtained
from the theatres, uncorrect, and without the poet's knowledge.
To some of these causes we owe the train of blemishes,
that deform those pieces which stole singly into the
world in our author's life-time. There are still other reasons, which may be supposed to
have affected the whole set. When the players took upon
them to publish his works entire, every theatre was ransacked
to supply the copy; and parts collected, which had gone
through as many changes as performers, either from mutilations
or additions made to them. Hence we derive many
chasms and incoherences in the sense and matter. Scenes
were frequently transposed, and shuffled out of their true
place, to humour the caprice, or supposed convenience of
some particular actor. Hence much confusion and impropriety
has attended, and embarrassed the business and fable.
To these obvious causes of corruption it must be added, that
our author has lain under the disadvantage of having his errors
propagated and multiplied by time: because, for near
a century, his works were published from the faulty copies,
without the assistance of any intelligent editor: which has
been the case likewise of many a classick writer. The nature of any distemper once found has generally
been the immediate step to a cure. Shakespeare's case has
in a great measure resembled that of a corrupt classick; and,
consequently, the method of cure was likewise to bear a
resemblance. By what means, and with what success, this
cure has been effected on ancient writers, is too well known,
and needs no formal illustration. The reputation, consequent
on talks of that nature, invited me to attempt the method
here; with this view, the hopes of restoring to the
publick their greatest poet in his original purity: after having
so long lain in a condition that was a disgrace to common
sense. To this end I have ventured on a labour, that
is the first assay of the kind on any modern author whatsoever.
For the late edition of Milton by the learned Dr.
Bentley is, in the main, a performance of another species.
It is plain, it was the intention of that great man rather to
correct and pare off the excrescencies of the Paradise Lost,
in the manner that Tucca and Varius were employed to
criticise the Æneis of Virgil, than to restore corrupted passages.
Hence, therefore, may be seen either the iniquity
or ignorance of his censurers, who, from some expressions,
would make us believe, the doctor every where gives us his
corrections as the original text of the author; whereas the
chief turn of his criticism is plainly to shew the world, that
if Milton did not write as he would have him, he ought to
have wrote so. I thought proper to premise this observation to the readers,
as it will shew that the critick on Shakespeare is of a quite
different kind. His genuine text is for the most part religiously
adhered to, and the numerous faults and blemishes,
purely his own, are left as they were found. Nothing is
altered, but what by the clearest reasoning can be proved
a corruption of the true text; and the alteration, a real
restoration of the genuine reading. Nay, so strictly have
I strove to give the true reading, though sometimes not to
the advantage of my author, that I have been ridiculously
ridiculed for it by those, who either were iniquitously for
turning every thing to my disadvantage; or else were totally
ignorant of the true duty of an editor.
The science of criticism, as far as it affects an editor,
seems to be reduced to these three classes; the emendation
of corrupt passages; the explanation of obscure and difficult
ones; and an enquiry into the beauties and defects of composition.
This work is principally confined to the two
former parts: though there are some specimens interspersed
of the latter kind, as several of the emendations were best
supported, and several of the difficulties best explained, by
taking notice of the beauties and defects of the composition
peculiar to this immortal poet. But this was but occasional,
and for the sake only of perfecting the two other parts,
which were the proper objects of the editor's labour. The
third lies open for every willing undertaker: and I shall be
pleased to see it the employment of a masterly pen. It must necessarily happen, as I have formerly observed,
that where the assistance of manuscripts is wanting to set
an author's meaning right, and rescue him from those
errors which have been transmitted down through a series
of incorrect editions, and a long intervention of time,
many passages must be desperate, and past a cure; and their
true sense irretrievable either to care or the sagacity of
conjecture. But is there any reason therefore to say, that
because all cannot be retrieved, all ought to be left desperate?
We should shew very little honesty, or wisdom, to
play the tyrants with an author's text; to raze, alter, innovate,
and overturn, at all adventures, and to the utter
detriment of his sense and meaning: but to be so very reserved
and cautious, as to interpose no relief or conjecture,
where it manifestly labours and cries out for assistance,
seems, on the other hand, an indolent absurdity. As there are very few pages in Shakespeare, upon which
some suspicions of depravity do not reasonably arise; I have
thought it my duty in the first place, by a diligent and
laborious collation, to take in the assistances of all the older
copies. In his historical plays, whenever our English chronicles,
and in his tragedies, when Greek or Roman story could
give any light, no pains have been omitted to set passages
right, by comparing my author with his originals; for, as
I have frequently observed, he was a close and accurate
copier where-ever his fable was founded on history. Where-ever the author's sense is clear and discoverable
(though, perchance, low and trivial) I have not by any innovation
tampered with his text, out of an ostentation of
endeavouring to make him speak better than the old copies
have done. Where, through all the former editions, a passage has
laboured under flat nonsense and invincible darkness, if,
by the addition or alteration of a letter or two, or a transposition
in the pointing, I have restored to him both sense
and sentiment; such corrections, I am persuaded, will need
no indulgence. And whenever I have taken a greater latitude and liberty
in amending, I have constantly endeavoured to support my
corrections and conjectures by parallel passages and authorities
from himself, the surest means of expounding any
author whatsoever. Cette voïe d'interpreter un autheur par
lui-même est plus sure que tous les commentaires, says a very
learned French critick. As to my notes (from which the common and learned
readers of our author, I hope, will derive some satisfaction)
I have endeavoured to give them a variety in some proportion
to their number. Wherever I have ventured at an
emendation, a note is constantly subjoined to justify and
assert the reason of it. Where I only offer a conjecture,
and do not disturb the text, I fairly set forth my grounds
for such conjecture, and submit it to judgment. Some
remarks are spent in explaining passages, where the wit or
satire depends on an obscure point of history: others, where
allusions are to divinity, philosophy, or other branches of
science. Some are added to shew, where there is a suspicion
of our author having borrowed from the ancients:
others, to shew where he is rallying his contemporaries; or
where he himself is rallied by them. And some are necessarily
thrown in, to explain an obscure and obsolete
term, phrase, or idea. I once intended to have added a complete
and copious glossary; but as I have been importuned,
and am prepared to give a correct edition of our author's
In reforming an infinite number of passages in the pointing,
where the sense was before quite lost, I have frequently
subjoined notes to shew the depraved, and to prove the
reformed, pointing: a part of labour in this work which I
could very willingly have spared myself. May it not be
objected, why then have you burdened us with these notes?
The answer is obvious, and, if I mistake not, very material.
Without such notes, these passages in subsequent
editions would be liable, through the ignorance of printers
and correctors, to fall into the old confusion: whereas, a
note on every one hinders all possible return to depravity;
and for ever secures them in a state of purity and integrity
not to be lost or forfeited. Again, as some notes have been necessary to point out
the detection of the corrupted text, and establish the restoration
of the genuine readings; some others have been as
necessary for the explanation of passages obscure and difficult.
To understand the necessity and use of this part of
my task, some particulars of my author's character are previously
to be explained. There are obscurities in him, which
are common to him with all poets of the same species;
there are others, the issue of the times he lived in; and
there are others, again, peculiar to himself. The nature
of comick poetry being entirely satirical, it busies itself
more in exposing what we call caprice and humour, than
vices cognizable to the laws. The English, from the happiness
of a free constitution, and a turn of mind peculiarly
speculative and inquisitive, are observed to produce more
humourists, and a greater variety of original characters,
than any other people whatsoever: and these owing their
immediate birth to the peculiar genius of each age, an infinite
number of things alluded to, glanced at, and exposed,
must needs become obscure, as the characters themselves
are antiquated and disused. An editor therefore should be
well versed in the history and manners of his author's age,
if he aims at doing him a service in this respect. Besides, wit lying mostly in the assemblage of ideas, and
in putting those together with quickness and variety,
wherein can be found any resemblance, or congruity, to
make up pleasant pictures, and agreeable visions in the
fancy; the writer, who aims at wit, must of course range
far and wide for materials. Now the age in which Shakespeare
lived, having, above all others, a wonderful affection
to appear learned, they declined vulgar images, such as are
immediately fetched from nature, and ranged through the
circle of the sciences to fetch their ideas from thence. But
as the resemblances of such ideas to the subject must necessarily
lie very much out of the common way, and every
piece of wit appear a riddle to the vulgar; this, that should
have taught them the forced, quaint, unnatural tract they
were in (and induce them to follow a more natural one)
was the very thing that kept them attached to it. The ostentatious
affectation of abstruse learning, peculiar to that time,
the love that men naturally have to every thing that looks
like mystery, fixed them down to the habit of obscurity.
Thus became the poetry of The third species of obscurities which deform our author,
as the effects of his own genius and character, are those
that proceed from his peculiar manner of thinking, and as
peculiar a manner of cloathing those thoughts. With regard
to his thinking, it is certain, that he had a general knowledge
of all the sciences: but his acquaintance was rather
that of a traveller than a native. Nothing in philosophy
was unknown to him; but every thing in it had the grace
and force of novelty. And as novelty is one main source
of admiration, we are not to wonder that he has perpetual
allusions to the most recondite parts of the sciences: and
this was done not so much out of affectation, as the effect
of admiration begot by novelty. Then, as to his stile and
diction, we may much more justly apply to Upon every distinct species of these obscurities, I have
thought it my province to employ a note for the service
of my author, and the entertainment of my readers. A
few transient remarks too I have not scrupled to intermix,
upon the poet's negligences and omissions in point of art; but
I have done it always in such a manner, as will testify my
deference and veneration for the immortal author. Some
censurers of Shakespeare, and particularly Mr. Rymer, have
taught me to distinguish betwixt the railer and critick. The
outrage of his quotations is so remarkably violent, so pushed
beyond all bounds of decency and sober reasoning, that it
quite carries over the mark at which it was levelled. Extravagant
abuse throws off the edge of the intended disparagement,
and turns the madman's weapon into his
own bosom. In short, as to Rymer, this is my opinion
of him, from his criticisms on the tragedies of the last age.
He writes with great vivacity, and appears to have been a
scholar: but as for his knowledge of the art of poetry,
I cannot perceive it was any deeper than his acquaintance
with Bossu and Dacier, from whom he has transcribed
many of his best reflexions. The late Mr. Gildon was one
attached to Rymer by a similar way of thinking and studies.
They were both of that species of critics who are desirous
of displaying their powers rather in finding faults, than in
consulting the improvement of the world: the hyper-critical
part of the science of criticism. I had not mentioned the modest liberty I have here and
there taken of animadverting on my author, but that I
was willing to obviate in time the splenetick exaggerations
of my adversaries on this head. From past experiments I
have reason to be conscious, in what light this attempt may
be placed: and that what I call a modest liberty, will, by a
little of their dexterity, be inverted into downright impudence.
From a hundred mean and dishonest artifices employed
to discredit this edition, and to cry down its editor,
I have all the grounds in nature to beware of attacks. But
though the malice of wit, joined to the smoothness of versification,
may furnish some ridicule; fact, I hope, will
be able to stand its ground against banter and gaiety. It has been my fate, it seems, as I thought it my duty,
to discover some anachronisms in our author; which might
have slept in obscurity but for this Restorer, as Mr. Pope is
pleased affectionately to stile me; as for instance, where
Aristotle is mentioned by Hector in Troilus and Cressida:
and Galen, Cato, and Alexander the Great, in Coriolanus.
These, in Mr. Pope's opinion, are blunders, which the
illiteracy of the first publishers of his works has fathered
upon the poet's memory: it not being at all credible, that
these could be the errors of any man who had the least tincture of
a school, or the least conversation with such as had. But I have
sufficiently proved, in the course of my notes, that such
anachronisms were the effect of poetick licence, rather than
of ignorance in our poet. And if I may be permitted to
ask a modest question by the way, why may not I restore
an anachronism really made by our author, as well as Mr.
Pope take the privilege to fix others upon him, which he
never had it in his head to make: as I may venture to
affirm he had not, in the instance of Sir Francis Drake, to
which I have spoke in the proper place?
But who shall dare make any words about this freedom of
Mr. Pope's towards Shakespeare, if it can be proved, that,
in his fits of criticism, he makes no more ceremony with
good Homer himself? To try, then, a criticism of his own
advancing; in the 8th book of the Odyssey, where Demodocus
sings the episode of the loves of Mars and Venus; and
that, upon their being taken in the net by Vulcan, Mr. Pope is so kind gravely to inform us, “That Homer
in this, as in many other places, seems to allude to the
laws of Athens, where death was the punishment of
adultery.” But how is this significant observation made
out? Why, who can possibly object any thing to the contrary?
—Does not Pausanias relate, that Draco, the lawgiver
to the Athenians, granted impunity to any person that took revenge
upon an adulterer? And was it not also the institution of Solon,
that if any one took an adulterer in the fact, he might use him as he
pleased? These things are very true: and to see what a good
memory, and sound judgment in conjunction can atchieve!
Though Homer's date is not determined down to a single
year, yet it is pretty generally agreed that he lived above 300
years before Draco and Solon: and that, it seems, has
made him seem to allude to the very laws, which these two
legislators propounded above 300 years after. If this inference
be not something like an anachronism or prolepsis, I will
look once more into my lexicons for the true meaning of
the words. It appears to me, that somebody besides Mars
and Venus has been caught in a net by this episode: and I
could call in other instances to confirm what treacherous
tackle this net-work is, if not cautiously handled. How just, notwithstanding, I have been in detecting the
anachronisms of my author, and in defending him for the use
of them, our late editor seems to think, they should rather
have slept in obscurity: and the having discovered them is
sneered at, as a sort of wrong-headed sagacity. The numerous corrections which I have made of the poet's
text in my
From what causes it proceeded that the works of this author,
in the first publication of them, were more injured
and abused than perhaps any that ever passed the press, hath
been sufficiently explained in the preface to Mr. Pope's edition,
which is here subjoined, and there needs no more to
be said upon that subject. This only the reader is desired
to bear in mind, that as the corruptions are more numerous,
and of a grosser kind than can well be conceived, but by
those who have looked nearly into them; so in the correcting
them this rule hath been most strictly observed, not to
give a loose to fancy, or indulge a licentious spirit of criticism,
as if it were fit for any one to presume to judge what
Shakespeare ought to have written, instead of endeavouring
to discover truly and retrieve what he did write: and so great
caution hath been used in this respect, that no alterations
have been made, but what the sense necessarily required,
what the measure of the verse often helped to point out,
and what the similitude of words in the false reading and in
the true, generally speaking, appeared very well to justify. Most of those passages are here thrown to the bottom of
the page, and rejected as spurious, which were stigmatized
as such in Mr. Pope's edition; and it were to be wished that
more had then undergone the same sentence. The promoter
of the present edition hath ventured to discard but few
more upon his own judgment, the most considerable of which
is that wretched piece of ribaldry in King Henry the Fifth,
put into the mouths of the French princess and an old gentlewoman,
improper enough as it is all in French, and not
intelligible to an English audience, and yet that perhaps is
the best thing that can be said of it. There can be no doubt
but a great deal more of that low stuff, which disgraces the
works of this great author, was foisted in by the players after
his death, to please the vulgar audiences by which they
subsisted: and though some of the poor witticisms and conceits
must be supposed to have fallen from his pen, yet as he
hath put them generally into the mouths of low and ignorant
people, so it is to be remembered that he wrote for the
stage, rude and unpolished as it then was; and the vicious
taste of the age must stand condemned for them, since he
hath left upon record a signal proof how much he despised
them. In his play of The Merchant of
such trash is frequently interspersed in his writings, it would
be unjust to cast it as an imputation upon his taste and judgment
and character as a writer. There being many words in Shakespeare which are grown
out of use and obsolete, and many borrowed from other
languages which are not enough naturalized or known
among us, a glossary is added at the end of the work, for
the explanation of all those terms which have hitherto been
so many stumbling-blocks to the generality of readers; and
where there is any obscurity in the text, not arising from
the words, but from a reference to some antiquated customs
now forgotten, or other causes of that kind, a note is put at
the bottom of the page to clear up the difficulty. With these several helps, if that rich vein of sense which
runs through the works of this author can be retrieved in
every part, and brought to appear in its true light, and if it
may be hoped, without presumption, that this is here effected;
they who love and admire him will receive a new
pleasure, and all probably will be more ready to join in doing
him justice, who does great honour to his country as a
rare and perhaps a singular genius: one who hath attained
an high degree of perfection in those two great branches of
poetry, tragedy and comedy, different as they are in their
natures from each other; and who may be said without partiality
to have equalled, if not excelled, in both kinds, the
best writers of any age or country, who have thought it glory
enough to distinguish themselves in either. Since therefore other nations have taken care to dignify
the works of their most celebrated poets with the fairest impressions
beautified with the ornaments of sculpture, well
may our Shakespeare be thought to deserve no less consideration:
and as a fresh acknowledgment hath lately been paid
to his merit, and a high regard to his name and memory, by
erecting his statue at a publick expence; so it is desired that
this new edition of his works, which hath cost some attention
and care, may be looked upon as another small monument
designed and dedicated to his honour.
Shakespeare's works, when they escaped the players, did
not fall into much better hands when they came amongst
printers and booksellers; who, to say the truth, had at first
but small encouragement for putting him into a better condition.
The stubborn nonsense, with which he was incrusted,
occasioned his lying long neglected amongst the common
lumber of the stage. And when that resistless splendor,
which now shoots all around him, had, by degrees,
broke through the shell of those impurities, his dazzled admirers
became as suddenly insensible to the extraneous scurf
that still stuck upon him, as they had been before to the native
beauties that lay under it. So that, as then he was
thought not to deserve a cure, he was now supposed not to
need any. His growing eminence, however, required that he should
be used with ceremony; and he soon had his appointment
of an editor in form. But the bookseller, whose dealing
was with wits, having learnt of them, I know not what silly
maxim, that none but a poet should presume to meddle with a poet,
engaged the ingenious Mr. Rowe to undertake this employment.
A wit indeed he was; but so utterly unacquainted
with the whole business of criticism, that he did not even
collate or consult the first editions of the work he undertook
to publish; but contented himself with giving us a meagre
account of the author's life, interlarded with some commonplace
scraps from his writings. The truth is, Shakespeare's
condition was yet but ill understood. The nonsense, now,
by consent, received for his own, was held in a kind of reverence
for its age and author; and thus it continued, till
another great poet broke the charm, by shewing us, that the
higher we went, the less of it was still to be found. For the proprietors, not discouraged by their first unsuccessful
effort, in due time, made a second; and, though
they still stuck to their poets, with infinitely more success
in their choice of Mr. Pope, who, by the mere force of an
uncommon genius, without any particular study or profession
of this art, discharged the great parts of it so well, as
to make his edition the best foundation for all further improvements.
He separated the genuine from the spurious
plays; and, with equal judgment, though not always with
the same success, attempted to clear the genuine plays from
the interpolated scenes: he then consulted the old editions;
and, by a careful collation of them, rectified the faulty, and
supplied the imperfect reading in a great number of places:
and lastly, in an admirable preface, hath drawn a general,
but very lively sketch of Shakespeare's poetick character: and,
in the corrected text, marked out those peculiar strokes of
genius which were most proper to support and illustrate that
character. Thus far Mr. Pope. And although much more
was to be done before Shakespeare could be restored to himself
(such as amending the corrupted text where the printed
books afford no assistance; explaining his licentious phraseology
and obscure allusions; and illustrating the beauties of
his poetry) yet, with great modesty and prudence, our illustrious
editor left this to the critick by profession.
But nothing will give the common reader a better idea of
the value of Mr. Pope's edition, than the two attempts which
have been since made by Mr. Theobald and Sir Thomas
Hanmer in opposition to it; who, although they concerned
themselves only in the first of these three parts of criticism,
the restoring the text (without any conception of the second, or
venturing even to touch upon the third) yet succeeded so
very ill in it, that they left their author in ten times a worse
condition than they found him. But, as it was my ill fortune
to have some accidental connexions with these two
gentlemen, it will be incumbent on me to be a little more
particular concerning them. The one was recommended to me as a poor man; the
other as a poor critick: and to each of them, at different
times, I communicated a great number of observations,
which they managed, as they saw fit, to the relief of their
several distresses. As to Mr. Theobald, who wanted money,
I allowed him to print what I gave him for his own advantage;
and he allowed himself in the liberty of taking one
part for his own, and sequestering another for the benefit, as
I supposed, of some future edition. But, as to the Oxford
editor, who wanted nothing, but what he might very well
be without, the reputation of a critick, I could not so easily
forgive him for trafficking with my papers without my
knowledge; and, when that project failed, for employing a
number of my conjectures in his edition against my express
desire not to have that honour done unto me. Mr. Theobald was naturally turned to industry and labour.
What he read he could transcribe: but, as what he
thought, if ever he did think, he could but ill express, so
he read on; and by that means got a character of learning,
without risquing, to every observer, the imputation of wanting
a better talent. By a punctilious collation of the old
books, he corrected what was manifestly wrong in the latter
editions, by what was manifestly right in the earlier. And
this is his real merit; and the whole of it. For where the
phrase was very obsolete or licentious in the common books,
or only slightly corrupted in the other, he wanted sufficient
knowledge of the progress and various stages of the English
tongue, as well as acquaintance with the peculiarity of
Shakespeare's language, to understand what was right; nor
had he either common judgment to see, or critical sagacity
to amend, what was manifestly faulty. Hence he generally
exerts his conjectural talent in the wrong place: he
tampers with what is found in the common books; and, in
the old ones, omits all notice of variations, the sense of which
he did not understand. How the Oxford editor came to think himself qualified for
this office, from which his whole course of life had been so
remote, is still more difficult to conceive. For whatever
parts he might have either of genius or erudition, he was
absolutely ignorant of the art of criticism, as well as of the
poetry of that time, and the language of his author. And
so far from a thought of examining the first editions, that he
even neglected to compare Mr. Pope's, from which he printed
his own, with Mr. Theobald's; whereby he lost the advantage
of many fine lines, which the other had recovered
from the old quartos. Where he trusts to his own sagacity,
in what affects the sense, his conjectures are generally absurd
and extravagant, and violating every rule of criticism.
Though, in this rage of correcting, he was not absolutely
destitute of all art. For, having a number of my conjectures
before him, he took as many of them as he saw fit, to
work upon; and by changing them to something, he thought,
synonymous or similar, he made them his own; and so became
a critick at a cheap expence. But how well he hath
succeeded in this, as likewise in his conjectures, which are
properly his own, will be seen in the course of my remarks:
though, as he hath declined to give the reasons for his interpolations,
he hath not afforded me so fair a hold of him as
Mr. Theobald hath done, who was less cautious. But his
principal object was to reform his author's numbers; and
this, which he hath done, on every occasion, by the insertion
or omission of a set of harmless unconcerning expletives,
makes up the gross body of his innocent corrections. And
so, in spite of that extreme negligence in numbers, which
distinguishes the first dramatick writers, he hath tricked up
the old bard, from head to foot, in all the sinical exactness
of a modern measurer of syllables. For the rest, all the corrections, which these two editors
have made on any reasonable foundation, are here admitted
into the text; and carefully assigned to their respective authors.
A piece of justice which the Oxford editor never
did; and which the other was not always scrupulous in observing
towards me. To conclude with them in a word,
they separately possessed those two qualities which, more
than any other, have contributed to bring the art of criticism
into disrepute, dulness of apprehension, and extravagance
of conjecture. I am now to give some account of the present undertaking.
For as to all those things which have been published
under the titles of Essays, Remarks, Observations, &c. on Shakspeare
(if you except some critical notes on Macbeth, given
as a specimen of a projected edition, and written, as appears,
by a man of parts and genius) the rest are absolutely below a
serious notice. The whole a critick can do for an author, who deserves
his service, is to correct the faulty text; to remark the peculiarities
of language; to illustrate the obscure allusions;
and to explain the beauties and defects of sentiment or composition.
And surely, if ever author had a claim to this service,
it was our Shakespeare; who, widely excelling in the
knowledge of human nature, hath given to his infinitely varied
pictures of it, such truth of design, such force of drawing,
such beauty of colouring, as was hardly ever equalled
by any writer, whether his aim was the use, or only the entertainment
of mankind. The notes in this edition, therefore,
take in the whole compass of criticism. I. The first sort is employed in restoring the poet's genuine
text; but in those places only where it labours with
inextricable nonsense. In which, how much soever I may
have given scope to critical conjecture, where the old copies
failed me, I have indulged nothing to fancy or imagination;
but have religiously observed the severe canons of
literal criticism, as may be seen from the reasons accompanying
every alteration of the common text. Nor would a different
conduct have become a critick, whose greatest attention,
in this part, was to vindicate the established reading
from interpolations occasioned by the fanciful extravagancies
of others. I once intended to have given the reader
a body of canons, for literal criticism, drawn out in form; as
well such as concern the art in general, as those that arise
from the nature and circumstances of our author's works in
particular. And this for two reasons. First, to give the
unlearned reader a just idea, and consequently a better opinion
of the art of criticism, now sunk very low in the popular
esteem, by the attempts of some who would needs exercise
it without either natural or acquired talents; and by the ill
success of others, who seemed to have lost both, when they
came to try them upon English authors. Secondly, To deter
the unlearned writer from wantonly trifling with an art he
is a stranger to, at the expence of his own reputation, and
the integrity of the text of established authors. But these
uses may be well supplied by what is occasionally said upon
the subject, in the course of the following remarks. II. The second sort of notes consists in an explanation of
the author's meaning, when, by one or more of these causes,
it becomes obscure; either from a licentious use of terms, or
a hard or ungrammatical construction; or lastly, from far-fetched
or quaint allusions. I. This licentious use of words is almost peculiar to the
language of Shakespeare. To common terms he hath affixed
meanings of his own, unauthorized by use, and not to be
justified by analogy. And this liberty he hath taken with
the noblest parts of speech, such as mixed modes; which, as
they are most susceptible of abuse, so their abuse most hurts
the clearness of the discourse. The criticks (to whom
Shakespeare's licence was still as much a secret as his meaning,
which that licence had obscured) fell into two contrary
mistakes; but equally injurious to his reputation and his
writings. For some of them, observing a darkness that
pervaded his whole expression, have censured him for confusion
of ideas and inaccuracy of reasoning. In the neighing
of a horse (says Rymer) or in the growling of a mastiff, there is
a meaning, there is a lively expression, and, may I say, more humanity
than many times in the tragical flights of Shakespeare. The
ignorance of which censure is of a piece with its brutality.
The truth is, no one thought clearer, or argued more closely
than this immortal bard. But his superiority of genius less
needing the intervention of words in the act of thinking,
when he came to draw out his contemplations into discourse,
he took up (as he was hurried on by the torrent of his matter)
with the first words that lay in his way; and if, amongst
these, there were two mixed modes that had but a principal
idea in common, it was enough for him; he regarded them
as synonymous, and would use the one for the other without
fear or scruple.—Again, there have been others, such
as the two last editors, who have fallen into a contrary extreme;
and regarded Shakespeare's anomalies (as we may
call them) amongst the corruptions of his text; which, therefore,
they have cashiered in great numbers, to make room
for a jargon of their own. This hath put me to additional
trouble; for I had not only their interpolations to throw out
again, but the genuine text to replace, and establish in its
stead; which, in many cases, could not be done without
shewing the peculiar sense of the terms, and explaining the
causes which led the poet to so perverse an use of them. I
had it once, indeed, in my design, to give a general alphabetick
glossary of those terms; but as each of them is explained
in its proper place, there seemed the less occasion for
such an index. 2. The poet's hard and unnatural construction had a different
original. This was the effect of mistaken art and design.
The publick taste was in its infancy; and delighted
(as it always does during that state) in the high and turgid;
which leads the writer to disguise a vulgar expression with
hard and forced construction, whereby the sentence frequently
becomes cloudy and dark. Here his criticks shew
their modesty, and leave him to himself. For the arbitrary
change of a word doth little towards dispelling an obscurity
that ariseth, not from the licentious use of a single term, but
from the unnatural arrangement of a whole sentence. And
they risqued nothing by their silence. For Shakespeare was
too clear in fame to be suspected of a want of meaning; and
too high in fashion for any one to own he needed a critick
to find it out. Not but, in his best works, we must allow,
he is often so natural and flowing, so pure and correct, that
he is even a model for stile and language. 3. As to his far-fetched and quaint allusions, these are
often a cover to common thoughts; just as his hard construction
is to common expression. When they are not so,
the explanation of them has this further advantage, that,
in clearing the obscurity, you frequently discover some latent
conceit not unworthy of his genius. III. The third and last sort of notes is concerned in a critical
explanation of the author's beauties and defects; but
chiefly of his beauties, whether in stile, thought, sentiment,
character, or composition. An odd humour of finding fault
hath long prevailed amongst the criticks; as if nothing were
worth remarking, that did not, at the same time, deserve to
be reproved. Whereas the publick judgment hath less need
to be assisted in what it shall reject, than in what it ought
to prize; men being generally more ready at spying faults
than in discovering beauties. Nor is the value they set upon
a work, a certain proof that they understand it. For it is
ever seen, that half a dozen voices of credit give the lead:
and if the public chance to be in good humour, or the author
much in their favour, the people are sure to follow.
Hence it is that the true critick hath so frequently attached
himself to works of established reputation; not to teach the
world to admire, which, in those circumstances, to say the
truth, they are apt enough to do of themselves; but to teach
them how, with reason to admire: no easy matter, I will assure
you, on the subject in question: for though it be very
true, as Mr. Pope hath observed, that Shakespeare is the fairest
and fullest subject for criticism, yet it is not such a sort of
criticism as may be raised mechanically on the rules which
Dacier, Rapin, and Bossu have collected from antiquity;
and of which, such kind of writers as Rymer, Gildon,
Dennis, and Oldmixon, have only gathered and chewed
the husks: nor on the other hand is it to be formed on the
plan of those crude and superficial judgments, on books and
things, with which a certain celebrated paper so much abounds;
too good indeed to be named with the writers last
mentioned, but being unluckily mistaken for a model, because
it was an original, it hath given rise to a deluge of the
worst sort of critical jargon; I mean that which looks most
like sense. But the kind of criticism here required, is such
as judgeth our author by those only laws and principles on
which he wrote, Our observations, therefore, being thus extensive, will,
I presume, enable the reader to form a right judgment of
this favourite poet, without drawing out his character, as
was once intended, in a continue discourse. These, such, as they are, were among my younger amusements,
when many years ago, I used to turn over these sort
of writers to unbend myself from more serious applications:
and what, certainly, the publick, at this time of day, had
never been troubled with, but for the conduct of the two
last editors, and the persuasions of dear Mr. Pope; whose
memory and name, He was desirous I should give a new edition of this poet, as
he thought it might contribute to put a stop to a prevailing
folly of altering the text of celebrated authors without talents
or judgment. And he was willing that his edition
should be melted down into mine, as it would, he said, afford
him (so great is the modesty of an ingenuous temper) a
fit opportunity of confessing his mistakes* note. In memory of
our friendship, I have, therefore, made it our joint edition.
His admirable preface is here added; all his notes are given,
with his name annexed; the scenes are divided according to
his regulation; and the most beautiful passages distinguished,
as in his book, with inverted commas. In imitation of
him, I have done the same by as many others as I thought
most deserving of the reader's attention, and have marked
them with double commas. If, from all this, Shakespeare or good letters have received
any advantage, and the publick any benefit, or entertainment,
the thanks are due to the proprietors, who have
been at the expence of procuring this edition. And I should
be unjust to several deserving men of a reputable and useful
profession, if I did not, on this occasion, acknowledge the
fair dealing I have always found amongst them; and profess
my sense of the unjust prejudice which lies against them;
whereby they have been, hitherto, unable to procure that
security for their property, which they see the rest of their
fellow-citizens enjoy. A prejudice in part arising from the
frequent piracies (as they are called) committed by members
of their own body. But such kind of members no body is
without. And it would be hard that this should be turned
to the discredit of the honest part of the profession, who suffer
more from such injuries than any other men. It hath,
in part too, arisen from the clamours of profligate scribblers,
ever ready, for a piece of money, to prostitute their bad
sense for or against any cause prophane or sacred; or in any
scandal publick or private: these meeting with little encouragement
from men of account in the trade (who, even in
this enlightened age, are not the very worst judges or rewarders
of merit) apply themselves to people of condition;
and support their importunities by false complaints against
booksellers. But I should now, perhaps, rather think of my own apology,
than busy myself in the defence of others. I shall
have some Tartuffe ready, on the first appearance of this
edition, to call out again, and tell me, that I suffer myself to
be wholly diverted from my purpose by these matters less suitable to
my clerical profession. “Well, but (says a friend) why not
take so candid an intimation in good part? Withdraw
yourself again, as you are bid, into the clerical pale:
examine the records of sacred and prophane antiquity;
and, on them, erect a work to the confusion of infidelity.”
Why, I have done all this, and more: and hear
now what the same men have said to it. They tell me, I
have wrote to the wrong and injury of religion, and furnished out
more handles for unbelievers. “Oh! now the secret is out;
and you may have your pardon, I find, upon easier terms.
It is only to write no more.”—Good gentlemen! and
shall I not oblige them? They would gladly obstruct my way
to those things which every man, who endeavours well in his
profession, must needs think he has some claim to, when he
sees them given to those who never did endeavour; at the same
time that they would deter me from taking those advantages
which letters enable me to procure for myself. If then I am
to write no more (though as much out of my profession as
they may please to represent this work, I suspect their modesty
would not insist on a scrutiny of our several applications
of this prophane profit and their purer gains) if, I say, I am
to write no more, let me at least give the publick, who have
a better pretence to demand it of me, some reason for my presenting
them with these amusements; which, if I am not
much mistaken, may be excused by the best and fairest examples;
and, what is more, may be justified on the surer
reason of things. The great Saint I fly then to a higher example, much nearer home, and
still more in point, the famous university of
He was the son of Mr. John Shakespeare, and was born
at Stratford upon Avon, in Warwickshire, in April 1564.
His family, as appears by the register and publick writings
relating to that town, were of good figure and fashion there,
and are mentioned as gentlemen. His father, who was a
considerable dealer in wool, had so large a family, ten children
in all, that though he was his eldest son, he could give
him no better education than his own employment. He had
bred him, it is true, for some time at a free-school, where,
it is probable, he acquired what Latin he was master of: but
the narrowness of his circumstances, and the want of his
assistance at home, forced his father to withdraw him from
thence, and unhappily prevented his further proficiency in
that language. It is without controversy, that in his works
we scarce find any traces of any thing that looks like an imitation
of the ancients. The delicacy of his taste, and the
natural bent of his own great genius (equal, if not superior,
to some of the best of theirs) would certainly have led him
to read and study them with so much pleasure, that some of
their fine images would naturally have insinuated themselves
into, and been mixed with his own writings; so that his not
copying at least something from them, may be an argument
of his never having read them. Whether his ignorance of
the ancients were a disadvantage to him or no, may admit of
a dispute: for though the knowledge of them might have
made him more correct, yet it is not improbable but that the
regularity and deference for them, which would have attended
that correctness, might have restrained some of that fire,
impetuosity, and even beautiful extravagance which we admire
in Shakespeare: and I believe we are better pleased with
those thoughts, altogether new and uncommon, which his
own imagination supplied him so abundantly with, than if
he had given us the most beautiful passages out of the Greek
and Latin poets, and that in the most agreeable manner that
it was possible for a master of the English language to deliver
them. Upon his leaving school, he seems to have given entirely
into that way of living which his father proposed to him;
and in order to settle in the world after a family manner, he
thought fit to marry while he was yet very young. His wife
was the daughter of one Hathaway, said to have been a substantial
yeoman in the neighbourhood of Stratford. In this
kind of settlement he continued for some time, till an extravagance
that he was guilty of forced him both out of his
country, and that way of living which he had taken up; and
though it seemed at first to be a blemish upon his good manners,
and a misfortune to him, yet it afterwards happily
proved the occasion of exerting one of the greatest geniuses
that ever was known in dramatick poetry. He had by a misfortune
common enough to young fellows, fallen into ill
company; and amongst them, some that made a frequent
practice of deer-stealing, engaged him more than once in
robbing a park that belonged to Sir Thomas Lucy, of Cherlecot,
near Stratford. For this he was prosecuted by that
gentleman, as he thought, somewhat too severely; and in
order to revenge that ill usage, he made a ballad upon him.
And though this, probably the first essay of his poetry, be
lost, yet it is said to have been so very bitter, that it redoubled
the prosecution against him to that degree, that he was
obliged to leave his business and family in Warwickshire, for
some time, and shelter himself in London. It is at this time, and upon this accident, that he is said to
have made his first acquaintance in the playhouse. He was
received into the company then in being, at first in a very
mean rank
in some few of them which seem to fix their dates. So the
Chorus at the end of the fourth act of Henry the Fifth, by a
compliment very handsomely turned to the earl of Essex,
shews the play to have been written when that lord was general
for the queen in Ireland: and his elogy upon queen
Elizabeth, and her successor king James, in the latter end
of his Henry the Eighth, is a proof of that play's being written
after the accession of the latter of those two princes to
the crown of England. Whatever the particular times of
his writing were, the people of his age, who began to grow
wonderfully fond of diversions of this kind, could not but
be highly pleased to see a genius arise from amongst them of
so pleasurable, so rich a vein, and so plentifully capable of
furnishing their favourite entertainments. Besides the advantages
of his wit, he was in himself a good-natured man,
of great sweetness in his manners, and a most agreeable companion;
so that it is no wonder, if, with so many good
qualities, he made himself acquainted with the best conversations
of those times. Queen Elizabeth had several of his
plays acted before her, and without doubt gave him many
gracious marks of her favour: it is that maiden princess plainly,
whom he intends by And that whole passage is a compliment very properly
brought in, and very handsomely applied to her. She was
so well pleased with that admirable character of Falstaff, in
The Two Parts of Henry the Fourth, that she commanded him
to continue it for one play more, and to shew him in love.
This is said to be the occasion of his writing The Merry Wives
of Windsor. How well she was obeyed, the play itself is an
admirable proof. Upon this occasion it may not be improper
to observe, that this part of Falstaff is said to have been
written originally under the name of * noteOldcastle; some of
that family being then remaining, the queen was pleased to
command him to alter it; upon which he made use of Falstaff.
The present offence was indeed avoided; but I do not
know whether the author may not have been somewhat to
blame in his second choice, since it is certain that Sir John
Falstaff, who was a knight of the garter, and a lieutenant-general
was a name of distinguished merit in the wars in
France in Henry the Fifth's and Henry the Sixth's times.
What grace soever the queen conferred upon him, it was
not to her only he owed the fortune which the reputation of
his wit made. He had the honour to meet with many great
and uncommon marks of favour and friendship from the earl
of Southampton, famous in the histories of that time for his
friendship to the unfortunate earl of Essex. It was to that
noble lord that he dedicated his poem of Venus and Adonis.
There is one instance so singular in the magnificence of this
patron of Shakespeare's, that if I had not been assured that
the story was handed down by Sir William D'Avenant, who
was probably very well acquainted with his affairs, I should
not have ventured to have inserted, that my lord Southampton
at one time gave him a thousand pounds, to enable
him to go through with a purchase which he heard he had a
mind to. A bounty very great, and very rare at any time,
and almost equal to that profuse generosity the present age
has shewn to French dancers and Italian singers. What particular habitude or friendships he contracted
with private men, I have not been able to learn, more than
that every one, who had a true taste of merit, and could distinguish
men, had generally a just value and esteem for him.
His exceeding candour and good-nature must certainly have
inclined all the gentler part of the world to love him, as the
power of his wit obliged the men of the most delicate knowledge
and polite learning to admire him. His acquaintance with Ben Jonson began with a remarkable
piece of humanity and good-nature; Mr. Jonson, who
was at that time altogether unknown to the world, had offered
one of his plays to the players, in order to have it acted;
and the persons into whose hands it was put, after having
turned it carelesly and superciliously over, were just upon
returning it to him with an ill-natured answer, that it
would be of no service to their company; when Shakespeare
luckily cast his eye upon it, and found something so well in
it, as to engage him first to read it through, and afterwards
to recommend Mr. Jonson and his writings to the publick.
Jonson was certainly a very good scholar, and in that had
the advantage of Shakespeare; though at the same time I believe
it must be allowed, that what nature gave the latter,
was more than a balance for what books had given the former;
and the judgment of a great man upon this occasion
was, I think, very just and proper. In a conversation between
Sir John Suckling, Sir William D'Avenant, Endymion
Porter, Mr. Hales of Eton, and Ben Jonson; Sir John
Suckling, who was a professed admirer of Shakespeare, had
undertaken his defence against Ben Jonson with some
warmth; Mr. Hales, who had sat still for some time, told
them, That if Mr. Shakespeare had not read the ancients, he had
likewise not stolen any thing from them; and that if he would produce
any one topick finely treated by any one of them, he would undertake
to shew something upon the same subject at least as well written
by Shakespeare. The latter part of his life was spent, as all men of good
sense will wish theirs may be, in ease, retirement, and the
conversation of his friends. He had the good fortune to gather
an estate equal to his occasion, and, in that, to his
wish; and is said to have spent some years before his death at
his native Stratford. His pleasurable wit and good nature
engaged him in the acquaintance, and entitled him to the
friendship of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood. Amongst
them, it is a story almost still remembered in that country,
that he had a particular intimacy with Mr. Combe, an old
gentleman noted thereabouts for his wealth and usury: it
happened, that in a pleasant conversation amongst their common
friends, Mr. Combe told Shakespeare in a laughing
manner, that he fancied he intended to write his epitaph,
if he happened to out-live him; and since he could not know
what might be said of him when he was dead, he desired it
might be done immediately: upon which Shakespeare gave
him these four verses.
But the sharpness of the satire is said to have stung the man
so severely, that he never forgave it. He died in the 53d year of his age* note, and was buried on
the north side of the chancel, in the great church at Stratford,
where a monument, as engraved in the plate, is placed
in the wall. On his grave-stone underneath is, He had three daughters, of which two lived to be married;
Judith, the elder, to one Mr. Thomas Quiney, by whom
she had three sons, who all died without children; and Susannah,
who was his favourite, to Dr. John Hall, a physician
of good reputation in that country. She left one child
only, a daughter, who was married first to Thomas Nash,
esq. and afterwards to Sir John Bernard of Abbington, but
died likewise without issue. This is what I could learn of any note, either relating to
himself or family: the character of the man is best seen in
his writings. But since Ben Jonson has made a sort of an
essay towards it in his Discoveries, I will give it in his
words: “I remember the players have often mentioned it as an
honour to Shakespeare, that in writing (whatsoever he
penned) he never blotted out a line. My answer hath
been, Would he had blotted a thousand! which they thought
a malevolent speech. I had not told posterity this, but
for their ignorance, who chose that circumstance to commend
their friend by, wherein he most faulted: and to
justify mine own candour, for I loved the man, and do
honour his memory, on this side idolatry, as much as
any. He was, indeed, honest, and of an open and free
nature, had an excellent fancy, brave notions, and gentle
expressions; wherein he flowed with that facility, that
sometimes it was necessary he should be stopped: Sufflaminandus
erat, as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was
in his own power, would the rule of it had been so too.
Many times he fell into those things which could not escape
laughter; as when he said in the person of Cæsar,
one speaking to him, “He replied: And such like, which were ridiculous. But he redeemed
his vices with his virtues: there was ever more in him to
be praised than to be pardoned.” As for the passage which he mentions out of Shakespeare,
there is somewhat like it in Julius Cæsar, but without the
absurdity; nor did I ever meet with it in any edition that I
have seen, as quoted by Mr. Jonson. Besides his plays in
this edition, there are two or three ascribed to him by Mr.
Langbain, which I have never seen, and know nothing of.
He writ likewise Venus and Adonis, and Tarquin and Lucrece,
in stanzas, which have been printed in a late collection of
poems. As to the character given of him by Ben Jonson,
there is a good deal in it: but I believe it may be as well
expressed by what Horace says of the first Romans, who
wrote tragedy upon the Greek models (or indeed translated
them) in his epistle to Augustus. As I have not proposed to myself to enter into a large and
complete collection upon Shakespeare's works, so I will only
take the liberty, with all due submission to the judgment
of others, to observe some of those things I have been pleased
with in looking him over. His plays are properly to be distinguished only into comedies
and tragedies. Those which are called histories, and
even some of his comedies, are really tragedies, with a run
or mixture of comedy amongst them. That way of tragi-comedy
was the common mistake of that age, and is indeed
become so agreeable to the English taste, that though the
severer criticks among us cannot bear it, yet the generality
of our audiences seem to be better pleased with it than with
an exact tragedy. The Merry Wives of Windsor, The Comedy
of Errors, and The Taming of the Shrew, are all pure comedy;
the rest, however they are called, have something of
both kinds. It is not very easy to determine which way of
writing he was most excellent in. There is certainly a great
deal of entertainment in his comical humours; and though
they did not then strike at all ranks of people, as the satire
of the present age has taken the liberty to do, yet there is a
pleasing and a well-distinguished variety in those characters
which he thought fit to meddle with. Falstaff is allowed by
every body to be a master-piece; the character is always
well sustained, though drawn out into the length of three
plays; and even the account of his death, given by his old
landlady Mrs. Quickly, in the first act of Henry the Fifth,
though it be extremely natural, is yet as diverting as any
part of his life. If there be any fault in the draught he has
made of this lewd old fellow, it is, that though he has made
him a thief, lying, cowardly, vain-glorious, and in short
every way vicious, yet he has given him so much wit as to
make him almost too agreeable; and I do not know whether
some people have not, in remembrance of the diversion he
had formerly afforded them, been sorry to see his friend Hal
use him so scurvily, when he comes to the crown in the end
of The Second Part of Henry the Fourth. Amongst other extravagancies,
in The Merry Wives of Windsor he has made
him a deer-stealer, that he might at the same time remember
his Warwickshire prosecutor, under the name of Justice
Shallow; he has given him very near the same coat of arms
which Dugdale, in his Antiquities of that county, describes
for a family there, and makes the Welsh parson descant very
pleasantly upon them. That whole play is admirable; the
humours are various and well opposed; the main design,
which is to cure Ford of his unreasonable jealousy, is extremely
well conducted. In Twelfth-Night there is something
singularly ridiculous and pleasant in the fantastical
steward Malvolio. The parasite and the vain-glorious in
Parolles, in All's Well that Ends Well, is as good as any thing
of that kind in Plautus or Terence. Petruchio, in The Taming
of the Shrew, is an uncommon piece of humour. The
conversation of Benedict and Beatrice, in Much Ado about
Nothing, and of Rosalind in As you like it, have much wit
and sprightliness all along. His clowns, without which
character there was hardly any play writ in that time, are
all very entertaining: and, I believe, Thersites in Troilus
and Cressida, and Apemantus in Timon, will be allowed to be
master-pieces of ill-nature, and satirical snarling. To these
I might add, that incomparable character of Shylock the
Jew, in The Merchant of Venice; but though we have seen
that play received and acted as a comedy, and the part of the
Jew performed by an excellent comedian, yet I cannot but
think it was designed tragically by the author. There appears
in it a deadly spirit of revenge, such a savage fierceness
and fellness, and such a bloody designation of cruelty
and mischief, as cannot agree either with the stile or characters
of comedy. The play itself, take it altogether,
seems to me to be one of the most finished of any of Shakespeare's.
The tale indeed, in that part relating to the caskets,
and the extravagant and unusual kind of bond given by
Antonio, is too much removed from the rules of probability;
but taking the fact for granted, we must allow it to be very
beautifully written. There is something in the friendship
of Antonio to Bassanio very great, generous, and tender.
The whole fourth act (supposing, as I said, the fact to be
probable) is extremely fine. But there are two passages that
deserve a particular notice. The first is, what Portia says
in praise of mercy, and the other on the power of musick.
The melancholy of Jaques, in As you like it, is as singular
and odd as it is diverting. And if, what Horace says, it will be a hard task for any one to go beyond him in the
description of the several degrees and ages of man's life,
though the thought be old, and common enough.
His images are indeed every where so lively, that the
thing he would represent stands full before you, and you
possess every part of it. I will venture to point out one more,
which is, I think, as strong and as uncommon as any thing
I ever saw; it is an image of patience. Speaking of a maid
in love, he says, What an image is here given! and what a task would it
have been for the greatest masters of Greece and Rome to
have expressed the passions designed by this sketch of statuary!
The stile of his comedy is, in general, natural to the
characters, and easy in itself; and the wit most commonly
sprightly and pleasing, except in those places where he runs
into doggerel rhimes, as in The Comedy of Errors, and some
other plays. As for his jingling sometimes, and playing
upon words, it was the common vice of the age he lived in:
and if we find it in the pulpit, made use of as an ornament
to the sermons of some of the gravest divines of those times;
perhaps it may not be thought too light for the stage. But certainly the greatness of this author's genius does no
where so much appear, as where he gives his imagination
an entire loose, and raises his fancy to a flight above mankind,
and the limits of the visible world. Such are his attempts
in The Tempest, Midsummer Night's Dream, Macbeth,
and Hamlet. Of these, The Tempest, however it comes to
be placed the first by the publishers of his works, can never
have been the first written by him: it seems to me as perfect
in its kind, as almost any thing we have of his. One may
observe, that the unities are kept here, with an exactness
uncommon to the liberties of his writing; though that was
what, I suppose, he valued himself least upon, since his excellencies
were all of another kind. I am very sensible that
he does, in this play, depart too much from that likeness
to truth which ought to be observed in these sort of writings;
yet he does it so very finely, that one is easily drawn
in to have more faith for his sake, than reason does well allow
of. His magick has something in it very solemn and
very poetical: and that extravagant character of Caliban is
mighty well sustained, shews a wonderful invention in the
author, who could strike out such a particular wild image,
and is certainly one of the finest and most uncommon grotesques
that ever was seen. The observation, which I have
been informed * note three very great men concurred in making
upon this part, was extremely just; That Shakespeare had not
only found out a new character in his Caliban, but had also devised
and adapted a new manner of language for that character. It is the same magick that raises the Fairies in Midsummer
Night's Dream, the Witches in Macbeth, and the Ghost in
Hamlet, with thoughts and language so proper to the parts
they sustain, and so peculiar to the talent of this writer.
But of the two last of these plays I shall have occasion to
take notice, among the tragedies of Mr. Shakespeare. If
one undertook to examine the greatest part of these by those
rules which are established by Aristotle, and taken from the
model of a Grecian stage, it would be no very hard task to find
a great many faults; but as Shakespeare lived under a kind of
mere light of nature, and had never been made acquainted
with the regularity of those written precepts, so it would be
hard to judge him by a law he knew nothing of. We are
to consider him as a man that lived in a state of almost universal
licence and ignorance: there was no established judge,
but every one took the liberty to write according to the
dictates of his own fancy. When one considers, that there
is not one play before him of a reputation good enough to
entitle it to an appearance on the present stage, it cannot
but be a matter of great wonder that he should advance dramatick
poetry so far as he did. The fable is what is generally
placed the first, among those that are reckoned the constituent
parts of a tragick or heroick poem; not, perhaps,
as it is the most difficult or beautiful, but as it is the first
properly to be thought of in the contrivance and course of
the whole; and with the fable ought to be considered the
fit disposition, order, and conduct of its several parts. As
it is not in this province of the drama that the strength and
mastery of Shakespeare lay, so I shall not undertake the tedious
and ill-natured trouble to point out the several faults
he was guilty of in it. His tales were seldom invented, but
rather taken either from true history, or novels and romances:
and he commonly made use of them in that order,
with those incidents, and that extent of time in which he
found them in the authors from whence he borrowed them.
Almost all his historical plays comprehend a great length of
time, and very different and distinct places: and in his Antony
and Cleopatra, the scene travels over the greatest part of
the Roman empire. But in recompence for his carelessness
in this point, when he comes to another part of the drama,
The manners of his characters, in acting or speaking what is proper
for them, and fit to be shewn by the poet, he may be generally
justified, and in very many places greatly commended.
For those plays which he has taken from the English or Roman
history, let any man compare them, and he will find
the character as exact in the poet as the historian. He seems
indeed so far from proposing to himself any one action for
a subject, that the title very often tells you, it is The Life of
King John, King Richard, &c. What can be more agreeable
to the idea our historians give of Henry the Sixth, than
the picture Shakespeare has drawn of him! His manners are
every where exactly the same with the story; one finds him
still described with simplicity, passive sanctity, want of courage,
weakness of mind, and easy submission to the governance
of an imperious wife, or prevailing faction: though
at the same time the poet does justice to his good qualities,
and moves the pity of his audience for him, by shewing him
pious, disinterested, a contemner of the things of this world,
and wholly resigned to the severest dispensations of God's
providence. There is a short scene in the Second Part of
Henry the Sixth, which I cannot but think admirable in its
kind. Cardinal Beaufort, who had murdered the Duke of
Gloucester, is shewn in the last agonies on his death-bed,
with the good king praying over him. There is so much
terror in one, so much tenderness and moving piety in the
other, as must touch any one who is capable either of fear
or pity. In his Henry the Eighth, that prince is drawn with
that greatness of mind, and all those good qualities which
are attributed to him in any account of his reign. If his
faults are not shewn in an equal degree, and the shades in
this picture do not bear a just proportion to the lights, it
is not that the artist wanted either colours or skill in the
disposition of them; but the truth, I believe, might be, that
he forbore doing it out of regard to queen Elizabeth, since
it could have been no very great respect to the memory of
his mistress, to have exposed some certain parts of her father's
life upon the stage. He has dealt much more freely
with the minister of that great king, and certainly nothing
was ever more justly written, than the character of Cardinal
Wolsey. He has shewn him insolent in his prosperity;
and yet, by a wonderful address, he makes his fall and ruin
the subject of general compassion. The whole man, with
his vices and virtues, is finely and exactly described in the
second scene of the fourth act. The distresses likewise of
Queen Catharine, in this play, are very movingly touched;
and though the art of the poet has screened King Henry
from any gross imputation of injustice, yet one is inclined
to wish, the Queen had met with a fortune more worthy of
her birth and virtue. Nor are the manners, proper to the
persons represented, less justly observed, in those characters
taken from the Roman history; and of this, the fierceness
and impatience of Coriolanus, his courage and disdain of
the common people, the virtue and philosophical temper of
Brutus, and the irregular greatness of mind in M. Antony,
are beautiful proofs. For the two last especially, you find
them exactly as they are described by Plutarch, from whom
certainly Shakespeare copied them. He has indeed followed
his original pretty close, and taken in several little incidents
that might have been spared in a play. But, as I hinted
before, his design seems most commonly rather to describe
those great men in the several fortunes and accidents
of their lives, than to take any single great action, and form
his work simply upon that. However, there are some of
his pieces, where the fable is founded upon one action only.
Such are more especially, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet,
and Othello. The design in Romeo and Juliet is plainly the
punishment of their two families, for the unreasonable feuds
and animosities that had been so long kept up between them,
and occasioned the effusion of so much blood. In the management
of this story, he has shewn something wonderfully
tender and passionate in the love-part, and very pitiful
in the distress. Hamlet is founded on much the same tale
with the Electra of Sophocles. In each of them a young
prince is engaged to revenge the death of his father, their
mothers are equally guilty, are both concerned in the murder
of their husbands, and are afterwards married to the
murderers. There is in the first part of the Greek tragedy
something very moving in the grief of Electra; but, as Mr.
Dacier has observed, there is something very unnatural and
shocking in the manners he has given that Princess and Orestes
in the latter part. Orestes imbrues his hands in the
blood of his own mother; and that barbarous action is performed,
though not immediately upon the stage, yet so
near, that the audience hear Clytemnestra crying out to
Ægysthus for help, and to her son for mercy: while Electra
her daughter, and a Princess (both of them characters that
ought to have appeared with more decency) stands upon the
stage, and encourages her brother in the parricide. What
horror does this not raise! Clytemnestra was a wicked woman,
and had deserved to die; nay, in the truth of the story,
she was killed by her own son; but to represent an action
of this kind on the stage, is certainly an offence against
those rules of manners proper to the persons, that ought to
be observed there. On the contrary, let us only look a little
on the conduct of Shakespeare. Hamlet is represented
with the same piety towards his father, and resolution to revenge
his death, as Orestes; he has the same abhorrence
for his mother's guilt, which, to provoke him the more, is
heightened by incest: but it is with wonderful art and justness
of judgment, that the poet restrains him from doing
violence to his mother. To prevent any thing of that kind,
he makes his father's Ghost forbid that part of his vengeance:
This is to distinguish rightly between horror and terror. The
latter is a proper passion of tragedy, but the former ought
always to be carefully avoided. And certainly no dramatick
writer ever succeeded better in raising terror in the minds of
an audience than Shakespeare has done. The whole tragedy
of Macbeth, but more especially the scene where the King
is murdered, in the second act, as well as this play, is a
noble proof of that manly spirit with which he writ; and
both shew how powerful he was, in giving the strongest motions
to our souls that they are capable of. I cannot leave
Hamlet, without taking notice of the advantage with which
we have seen this master-piece of Shakespeare distinguish itself
upon the stage, by Mr. Betterton's fine performance of
that part. A man, who, though he had no other good qualities,
as he has a great many, must have made his way into
the esteem of all men of letters, by this only excellency.
No man is better acquainted with Shakespeare's manner of
expression, and indeed he has studied him so well, and is so
much a master of him, that whatever part of his he performs,
he does it as if it had been written on purpose for him, and
that the author had exactly conceived it as he plays it. I
must own a particular obligation to him, for the most considerable
part of the passages relating to this life, which I have
here transmitted to the publick; his veneration for the memory
of Shakespeare having engaged him to make a journey
into Warwickshire, on purpose to gather up what remains
he could, of a name for which he had so great a veneration* note.
Pro A. D. 1603. Pat.* note
1. Jac. P. 2. m 4. James by the grace of God, &c. to
all justices, maiors, sheriffs, constables, headboroughs, and
other our officers and loving subjects, greeting. Know you
that wee, of our special grace, certaine knowledge and meer
motion, have licensed and authorized, and by these presentes
doe licence and authorize theise our servaunts Laurence
Fletcher, William Shakespeare, Richard Burbage, Augustine
Philippes, John Hemings, Henrie Condel, William Sly,
Robert Armin, Richard Cowly, and the rest of their associates,
freely to use and exercise the arte and faculty of
playing comedies, tragedies, histories, interludes, morals,
pastorals, stage-plaies, and such like others as theie have
alreadie studied or hereafter shall use or studie, as well for
the recreation of our lovinge subjects, as well as for our solace
and pleasure when we shall thincke good to see them,
during our pleasure: and the said comedies, tragedies, histories,
enterludes, morals, pastorals, stage-plaies, and such
like, to shew and exercise publiquely to their best commoditie,
when the infection of the plague shall decrease, as
well within theire nowe usuall house called the Globe,
within our county of Surrey, as also within anie toune
halls or moute halls, or other convenient places within the
liberties and freedom of any other citie, universitie, toun,
or boroughe whatsoever within our said realmes and dominions.
Willing and commanding you and everie of you,
as you tender our pleasure, not onlie to permit and suffer
them herein, without anie your letts, hindrances, or molestations,
during our said pleasure, but also to be aiding or
assistinge to them if any wrong be to them offered, and to
allow them such former curtesies as hathe bene given to
men of their place and quallitie; and also what further favour
you shall shew to theise our servaunts for our sake, we
shall take kindlie at your handes. In witness whereof, &c. Witness our selfe at Westminster, the nynteenth daye of
Maye. Per Breve de Privato Sigillo.
First, I commend my soul into the hands of God my creator,
hoping, and assuredly believing, through the only merits
of Jesus Christ my Saviour, to be made partaker of life
everlasting; and my body to the earth whereof that is made. Item, I give and bequeath unto my daughter Judith one
hundred and fifty pounds of lawful English money, to be
paid unto her in manner and form following; that is to say,
one hundred pounds in discharge of her marriage portion
within one year after my decease, with considerations after
the rate of two shillings in the pound for so long time as the
same shall be unpaid unto her after my decease; and the
fifty pounds residue thereof, upon her surrendering of or
giving of such sufficient security as the overseers of this my
will shall like of, to surrender or grant all her estate and
right that shall descend or come unto her after my decease,
or that she now hath of, in, or to, one copyhold tenement,
with the appurtenances, lying and being in Stratford upon
Avon aforesaid, in the said county of Warwick, being parcel
or holden of the manor of Rowington, unto my daughter
Susannah Hall, and her heirs for ever. Item, I give and bequeath unto my said daughter Judith
one hundred and fifty pounds more, if she, or any issue of
her body, be living at the end of three years next ensuing
the day of the date of this my will, during which time my
executors to pay her consideration from my decease according
to the rate aforesaid: and if she die within the said term
without issue of her body, then my will is, and I do give
and bequeath one hundred pounds thereof to my niece Elizabeth
Hall, and the fifty pounds to be set forth by my executors
during the life of my sister Joan Harte, and the use
and profit thereof coming, shall be paid to my said sister
Joan, and after her decease the said fifty pounds shall remain
amongst the children of my said sister, equally to be divided
amongst them; but if my said daughter Judith be living at
the end of the said three years, or any issue of her body, then
my will is, and so I devise and bequeath the said hundred
and fifty pounds to be set out by my executors and overseers
for the best benefit of her and her issue, and the stock not
to be paid unto her so long as she shall be married and covert
baron; but my will is, that she shall have the consideration
yearly paid unto her during her life, and after her decease
the said stock and consideration to be paid to her children,
if she have any, and if not, to her executors and assigns,
she living the said term after my decease; provided
that if such husband as she shall at the end of the said three
years be married unto, or at and after, do sufficiently assure
unto her, and the issue of her body, land answerable to the
portion by this my will given unto her, and to be adjudged
so by my executors and overseers, then my will is, that the
said hundred and fifty pounds shall be paid to such husband
as shall make such assurance, to his own use. Item, I give and bequeath unto my said sister Joan twenty
pounds, and all my wearing apparel, to be paid and delivered
within one year after my decease; and I do will and devise
unto her the house, with the appurtenances, in Stratford,
wherein she dwelleth, for her natural life, under the
yearly value of twelve pence. Item, I give and bequeath unto her three sons, William
Hart, &lblank; Hart, and Michael Hart, five pounds apiece,
to be paid within one year after my decease. Item, I give and bequeath unto the said Elizabeth Hall all
my plate that I now have, except my broad silver and gilt
boxes, at the date of this my will. Item, I give and bequeath unto the poor of Stratford aforesaid
ten pounds; to Mr. Thomas Combe my sword; to
Thomas Russel, esq. five pounds; and to Francis Collins
of the borough of Warwick, in the county of Warwick,
gent. thirteen pounds six shillings and eight pence, to be
paid within one year after my decease. Item, I give and bequeath to Hamlet Sadler twenty-six
shillings eight pence to buy him a ring; to William Reynolds,
gent. twenty-six shillings eight pence to buy him a
ring; to my godson William Walker twenty shillings in
gold; to Anthony Nash, gent. twenty-six shillings eight
pence; and to Mr. John Nash twenty-six shillings eight
pence; and to my fellows John Hemynge, Richard Burbage* note,
and Henry Cundell twenty-six shillings eight pence
apiece to buy them rings. Item, I give, will, bequeath, and devise unto my daughter
Susannah Hall, for the better enabling of her to perform
this my will, and towards the performance thereof, all that
capital messuage or tenement, with the appurtenances, in
Stratford aforesaid, called The New Place, wherein! now
dwell, and two messuages or tenements, with the appurtenances,
situate, lying, and being in Henley-street, within
the borough of Stratford aforesaid; and all my barns, stables,
orchards, gardens, lands, tenements, and hereditaments
whatsoever, situate, lying, and being, or to be had, reserved,
preserved, or taken within the towns, hamlets, villages,
fields, and grounds of Stratford upon Avon, Old Stratford,
Bushaxton, and Welcombe, or in any of them, in the said
county of Warwick; and also all that messuage or tenement,
with the appurtenances, wherein one John Robinson dwelleth,
situate, lying, and being in the Black-Friers in London
near the Wardrobe; and all other my lands, tenements, and
hereditaments whatsoever; to have and to hold all and singular
the said premises, with their appurtenances, unto the
said Susannah Hall, for and during the term of her natural
life; and after her decease to the first son of her body lawfully
issuing, and to the heirs males of the body of the said
first son lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue, to
the second son of her body lawfully issuing, and to the heirs
males of the body of the said second son lawfully issuing;
and for default of such heirs to the third son of the body of
the said Susannah lawfully issuing, and of the heirs males of
the body of the said third son lawfully issuing; and for default
of such issue, the same to be and remain to the fourth,
fifth, sixth, and seventh sons of her body, lawfully issuing
one after another, and to the heires males of the bodies of
the said fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons lawfully issuing,
in such manner as it is before limited to be, and remain
to the first, second, and third sons of her body, and to their
heirs males; and for default of such issue, the said premises
to be and remain to my said niece Hall, and the heirs males
of her body lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue,
to my daughter Judith, and the heirs males of her body lawfully
issuing; and for default of such issue, to the right heirs
of me the said William Shakespeare for ever. Item, I give unto my wife my brown best bed with the
furniture* note
Item, I give and bequeath to my said daughter Judith my
broad silver gilt bole. All the rest of my goods, chattels,
leases, plate, jewels, and houshold-stuff whatsoever, after
my debts and legacies paid, and my funeral expences discharged,
I give, devise, and bequeath to my son-in-law,
John Hall, gent. and my daughter Susannah his wife, who
I ordain and make executors of this my last will and testament.
And I do intreat and appoint the said Thomas Russel,
esq. and Francis Collins, gent. to be overseers hereof.
And do revoke all former wills, and publish this to be
my last will and testament. In witness whereof I have
hereunto put my hand, the day and year first above-written,
by me William Shakspeare. Witness to the publishing hereof, Probatum coram Magistro William Byrde, Legum Doctore
Commissario, &c. vicesimo secundo dic mensis Junii, Anno
Domini 1616. Juramento Johannis Hall unius ex. et
cui, &c. de bene et Jurat Reservata potestate et Susannæ
Hall alt. ex. &c. cui vendit, &c. petitur.
Mr. Rowe has told us that he derived the principal
anecdotes in his account of Shakespeare, from Betterton
the player, whose zeal had induced him to visit Stratford
for the sake of procuring all possible intelligence concerning
a poet to whose works he might justly think
himself under the strongest obligations. Notwithstanding
this assertion, in the manuscript papers of the late Mr. Oldys
it is said, that one Bowman (according to Chetwood,
p. 144, “an actor more than half an age on the London
theatres”) was unwilling to allow that his associate and contemporary
Betterton had ever undertaken such a journey. Be
this matter as it will, the following particulars, which I shall
give in the words of Oldys, are, for ought we know to the
contrary, as well authenticated as any of the anecdotes delivered
down to us by Rowe. Mr. Oldys had covered several quires of paper with laborious
collections for a regular life of our author. From
these I have made the following extracts, which (however
trivial) contain the only circumstances that wear the least appearance
of novelty or information; the song excepted,
which the reader will find in a note on the first scene of the
Merry Wives of Windsor. “If tradition may be trusted, Shakespeare often baited at
the Crown Inn or Tavern in Oxford, in his journey to and
from London. The landlady was a woman of great beauty
and sprightly wit; and her husband, Mr. John Davenant,
(afterwards mayor of that city) a grave melancholy man,
who as well as his wife used much to delight in Shakespeare's
pleasant company. Their son young Will Davenant
(afterwards Sir William) was then a little school-boy in
the town, of about seven or eight years old, and so fond also
of Shakespeare, that whenever he heard of his arrival, he
would fly from school to see him. One day an old townsman
observing the boy running homeward almost out of
breath, asked him whither he was posting in that heat and
hurry. He answered, to see his god-father Shakespeare.
There's a good boy, said the other, but have a care that you
don't take God's name in vain. This story Mr. Pope told
me at the Earl of Oxford's table, upon occasion of some discourse
which arose about Shakespeare's monument then
newly erected in Westminster Abbey; and he quoted Mr.
Betterton the player for his authority. I answered that I
thought such a story might have enriched the variety of those
choice fruits of observation he has presented us in his preface
to the edition he had published of our poet's works.
He replied—“There might be in the garden of mankind
such plants as would seem to pride themselves more in a
regular production of their own native fruits, than in having
the repute of bearing a richer kind by grafting; and this
was the reason he omitted it.” The same story, without the names of the persons, is
printed among the jests of John Taylor the Water poet,
in his works, folio, 1630, page 184, No 39: and, with
some variations, may be found in one of Hearne's pocket
books. “One of Shakespeare's younger brothers, who lived to a
good old age, even some years, as I compute, after the restoration
of K. Charles II. would in his younger days come
to London to visit his brother Will, as he called him, and
be a spectator of him as an actor in some of his own plays.
This custom, as his brother's fame enlarged, and his dramatic
entertainments grew the greatest support of our principal,
if not of all our theatres, he continued it seems so
long after his brother's death, as even to the latter end of
his own life. The curiosity at this time of the most noted
actors to learn something from him of his brother, &c. they
justly held him in the highest veneration. And it may be
well believed, as there was besides a kinsman and descendant
of the family, who was then a celebrated actor among
them, [Charles Harte. See Shakespeare's Will] this opportunity
made them greedily inquisitive into every little circumstance,
more especially in his dramatick character, which
his brother could relate of him. But he, it seems, was so
stricken in years, and possibly his memory so weakened with
infirmities (which might make him the easier pass for a man
of weak intellects) that he could give them but little light
into their enquiries; and all that could be recollected from
him of his brother Will, in that station was, the faint, general,
and almost lost ideas he had of having once seen him
act a part in one of his own comedies, wherein being to
personate a decrepit old man, he wore a long beard, and appeared
so weak and drooping and unable to walk, that he
was forced to be supported and carried by another person to
a table, at which he was seated among some company, who
were eating, and one of them sung a song.” See the character
of Adam in As you like it. Act. II. Sc. ult. “Verses by Ben Jonson and Shakespeare, occasioned by
the motto to the Globe Theatre.—Totus mundus agit histrionem.
Jonson.
Poetical Characteristicks, 8vo. MS. vol. I. some time in the
Harleian Library; which volume was returned to its owner.” “Old Mr. Bowman the player reported from Sir William
Bishop, that some part of Sir John Falstaff's character was
drawn from a townsman of Stratford, who either faithlessly
broke a contract, or spitefully refused to part with some
land, for a valuable consideration, adjoining to Shakespeare's,
in or near that town.” To these anecdotes I can only add the following. At the conclusion of the advertisement prefixed to Lintot's
edition of Shakespeare's poems, it is said, “That
most learned prince and great patron of learning, King James
the First was pleased with his own hand to write an amicable
letter to Mr. Shakespeare; which letter, though now
lost, remained long in the hands of Sir William Davenant,
as a credible person now living can testify.” Mr. Oldys, in a MS. note to his copy of Fuller's Worthies,
observes, that “the story came from the duke of
Buckingham, who had it from Sir William D'Avenant.” It appears from Roscius Anglicanus, (commonly called
Downes the prompter's book) 1708, that Shakespeare took
the pains to instruct Joseph Taylor in the character of Hamlet,
and John Lowine in that of K. Henry VIII. In 1751, was reprinted “A compendious or briefe examination
of certayne ordinary complaints of diuers of our
Countrymen in these our days: which although they are in
some parte unjust and friuolous, yet are they all by way of
dialogue thoroughly debated and discussed by William Shakespeare,
Gentleman.” 8vo. This extraordinary piece was originally published in 4to,
1581, and dedicated by the author, “To the most vertuous
and learned Lady, his most deare and soveraigne Princesse,
Elizabeth; being inforced by her majesties late and
singular clemency in pardoning certayne his unduetifull misdemeanour.”
And by the modern editors, to the late king;
as “a treatise composed by the most extensive and fertile
genius, that ever any age or nation produced.” Here we join issue with the writers of that excellent,
though very unequal work, the Biographia Britannica: if,
say they, this piece could be written by our poet, it would
be absolutely decisive in the dispute about his learning; for
many quotations appear in it from the Greek and Latin
classicks. The concurring circumstances of the name, and the misdemeanor,
which is supposed to be the old story of deer-stealing,
seem fairly to challenge our poet for the author: but
they hesitate.—His claim may appear to be confuted by the
date 1581, when Shakespeare was only seventeen, and the long
experience, which the writer talks of.—But I will not keep
the reader in suspense: the book was not written by Shakespeare. Strype, in his Annals, calls the author I hope by this time, that any one open to conviction may
be nearly satisfied; and I will promise to give on this head
very little more trouble. The justly celebrated Mr. Warton hath favoured us, in
his Life of Dr. Bathurst, with some hearsay particulars concerning
Shakespeare from the papers of Aubrey, which had
been in the hands of Wood; and I ought not to suppress
them as the last seems to make against my doctrine. They
came originally, I find, on consulting the MS. from one
Mr. Beeston: and I am sure Mr. Warton, whom I have the
honour to call my friend, and an associate in the question,
will be in no pain about their credit. “William Shakespeare's father was a butcher,—while he
was a boy he exercised his father's trade, but when he killed
a calf, he would do it in a high style, and make a speech.
This William being inclined naturally to poetry and acting,
came to London, I guess, about eighteen, and was an actor
in one of the playhouses, and did act exceedingly well. He
began early to make essays in dramatique poetry.—The humour
of the Constable in the Midsummer Night's Dream he
happen'd to take at Crendon* note in Bucks.—I think, I have
been told, that he left near three hundred pounds to a sister.
He understood Latin pretty well, I will be short in my animadversions; and take them in
their order. The account of the trade of the family is not only contrary
to all other tradition, but, as it may seem, to the instrument
from the Herald's office, so frequently reprinted.—
Shakespeare most certainly went to London, and commenced
actor through necessity, not natural inclination.—Nor
have we any reason to suppose, that he did act, exceedingly
well. Rowe tells us from the information of Betterton,
who was inquisitive into this point, and had very early opportunities
of enquiry from Sir W. Davenant, that he was
no extraordinary actor; and that the top of his performance
was the Ghost in his own Hamlet. Yet this chef d' oeuvre
did not please: I will give you an original stroke at it. Dr.
Lodge, who was for ever pestering the town with pamphlets,
published in the year 1596, Wits Miserie, and the Worlds
Madnesse, discovering the Devils incarnat of this Age, 4to. One
of these devils is Hate-virtue, or Sorrow for another man's good
successe, who, says the doctor, is “a foule lubber, and looks
as pale as the visard of the Ghost, which cried so miserably
at the theatre, like an oister-wife, Hamlet revenge* note
Nor does it appear, that Shakespeare did begin early to
make essays in dramatique poetry: the Arraignment of Paris,
1584, which hath so often been ascribed to him on the credit
of Kirkman and Winstanley† note, was written by George
Peele; and Shakespeare is not met with, even as an assistant,
'till at least seven years afterward‡ note.—Nash in his epistle to
the gentlemen students of both universities, prefixed to
Greene's Arcadia, 4to. black letter, recommends his friend,
Peele, “as the chiefe supporter of pleasance now living,
the Atlas of poetrie, and primus verborum artifex: whose first
increase, the Arraignment of Paris, might plead to their
opinions his pregnant dexteritie of wit and manifold varietie
of inuention* note
In the next place, unfortunately, there is neither such a
character as a Constable in the Midsummer Night's Dream:
nor was the three hundred pounds legacy to a sister, but a
daughter. And to close the whole, it is not possible, according to
Aubrey himself, that Shakespeare could have been some
years a schoolmaster in the country: on which circumstance only
the supposition of his learning is professedly founded. He
was not surely very young, when he was employed to kill
calves, and he commenced player about eighteen!—The
truth is, that he left his father, for a wife, a year sooner;
and had at least two children born at Stratford before he
retired from thence to London. It is therefore sufficiently
clear, that poor Anthony had too much reason for his character
of Aubrey: we find it in his own account of his
life, published by Hearne, which I would earnestly recommend
to any hypochondriack: “A pretender to antiquities, roving, magotie-headed,
and sometimes little better than crased: and being exceedingly
credulous, would stuff his many letters sent to A. W.
with folliries and misinformations.” p. 577.
Farmer. The late Mr. Thomas Osborne, bookseller, (whose exploits
are celebrated by the author of the Dunciad) being
ignorant in what form or language our Paradise Lost was
written, employed one of his garreteers to render it from a
French translation into English prose. Left, hereafter, the
compositions of Shakespeare should be brought back into
their tongue from the version of Monsieur le Comte
de Catuelan, le Tourneur, &c. it may be necessary to observe,
that all the following particulars, extracted from the
preface of these gentlemen, are as little founded in truth as
their description of the Jubilee at Stratford, which they have
been taught to represent as an affair of general approbation
and national concern. They say, that Shakespeare came to London without a
plan, and finding himself at the door of a theatre, instinctively
stopped there, and offered himself to be a holder of
horses:—that he was remarkable for his excellent performance
of the Ghost in Hamlet:—that he borrowed nothing
from preceding writers:—that all on a sudden he left the
stage, and returned without eclat into his native county:—
that his monument at Stratford is of copper:—that the courtiers
of James I. paid several compliments to him which are
still preserved:—that he relieved a widow, who, together
with her numerous family, was involved in a ruinous lawsuit:
—that his editors have restored many passages in his
plays, by the assistance of the manuscripts he left behind
him, &c. &c. Let me not however forget the justice due to these ingenious
Frenchmen, whose skill and fidelity in the execution of
their very difficult undertaking, is only exceeded by such a
display of candour as would serve to cover the imperfections
of much less elegant and judicious writers.
Steevens.
* noteBaptisms, Marriages, and Burials of the Shakespeare
family; transcribed from the Register-book
of the Parish of Stratford upon Avon, Warwickshire.
† note Margaret, daughter of John Shakspere, was buried April 30, 1563. ‡ noteWILLIAM, son of John Shakspere, was baptized April 26, 1564. Gilbert, son of John Shakspere, was baptized Oct. 13, 1566. § noteJone, daughter of John Shakspere, was baptized April 15, 1569. Anne, daughter of Mr. John Shakspere, was baptized Sept. 28, 1571. Richard, son of Mr. John Shakspere, was baptized March 11, 1573. Anne, daughter of Mr. John Shakspere, was buried April 4, 1579. Edmund, son of Mr. John Shakspere, was baptized May 3, 1580. Elizabeth, daughter of Anthony Shakspere, of Hampton, was baptized Feb. 10, 1583. Susanna, daughter of WILLIAM SHAKSPERE, was baptized May 26, 1583. &sign; noteSamuel and Judith, son and daughter of WILLIAM
SHAKSPERE, were baptized Feb. 2, 1584. John Shakspere and Margery Roberts were married Nov. 25, 1584. Margery, wife of John Shakspere, was buried Oct. 29, 1587. Ursula, daughter of John Shakspere, was baptized March 11, 1588. Thomas Greene, alias Shakspere, was buried March 6, 1589. Humphrey, son of John Shakspere, was baptized May 24, 1590.
Philip, son of John Shakspere, was baptized Sept. 21, 1591. Samuel, son of WILLIAM SHAKSPERE, was buried Aug. 11, 1596. Mr. John Shakspere was buried Sept. 8, 1601. * note Mary Shakspere, widow, was buried Sept. 9, 1608. Gilbert Shakspere, adolescens, was buried Feb. 3, 1611. Richard Shakspere was buried Feb. 4, 1612. † noteThomas Queeny and ‡ note Judith Shakspere were married Feb. 10, 1616. WILLIAM SHAKSPERE&sign; note, gentleman, was buried April 25, 1616§ note. ¶ noteMrs. Shakspere was buried Aug. 6, 1623.
Extracts from the Rev. Mr. Granger's Biographical History of England.
The PORTRAITS of SHAKESPEARE.
Vol. I. p. 259. 8vo. Edition.
“ “ “ “ “This was painted in the reign of Charles II.”
“ “ “ “ “ “
The friendly Admirer of his Endowments,
It may appear singular that the name of the celebrated
Alleyn (founder of Dulwich College) should not occur in this
list of performers. But Alleyn was master of the Fortune
playhouse, which he is said either to have built or re-built;
and therefore might have no connection with other theatres
where the plays of Shakespeare were exhibited. We learn
however from Langbaine, that he had been “an ornament
to Black Friers.” John Wilson, who appears to have acted
in our author's Much Ado about Nothing, is likewise excluded
from this catalogue; though Meres, in the Second Part
of his Wits' Common-wealth, 1598, praising several who were
“famous for extemporall verse,” says, “Of our Tarlton, doctor
Case that learned physitian thus speaketh in the seventh
book and seventeenth chapter of his Politikes; Aristoteles suum
Theodoretum laudavit, quendam peritum tragædiarum actorem;
Cicero suum Roscium; nos Angli Tarletonum, in cujus voce
& vultu omnes jocosi affectus, in cujus cerebroso capite lepidæ
facetiæ habitant. And so is our wittie
Those marked with Asterisks are in no former Tables; and
those which are printed in the Italic character I have
never seen. I.
1. Midsummer Night's Dream, William Shakespeare,
1600, Thomas Fisher. 2. Do. William Shakespeare, 1600, James Roberts. II.
1. Merry Wives of Windsor, William Shakespeare,
1602. T. C. for Arthur Johnson. 2. Do. William Shakespeare, 1619, for Do. 3. Do. William Shakespeare, 1630, T. H. for R. Meighen. III.
Much Ado about Nothing, William Shakespeare,
1600, V. S. For Andrew Wise and William
Aspley. IV.
1. Merchant of Venice, William Shakespeare, 1600.
J. R. for Thomas Heyes. 2. W. Shakespeare, 1600, J. Roberts. 3. Do. William Shakespeare, 1637, M. P. for Laurence Hayes. 4. Do. William Shakespeare, 1652, for William
Leake. V.
1. Love's Labour Lost, William Shakespeare, 1598,
W. W. for Cuthbert Burbey. 2. Do. William Shakespeare, 1631, W. S. for John Smethwicke.
VI.
1. Taming of the Shrew, 1607, V. S. for Nich. Ling. 2. Do. Will. Shakespeare, 1631, W. S. for John Smethwicke. VII.
*1. King Lear, William Shakespeare, 1608, for Nathaniel Butter. 2. Do. William Shakespeare, 1608, for Do. 3. Do. William Shakespeare, 1655, Jane Bell. VIII.
† note1. King John, 2 Parts, 1591, for Sampson Clarke. 2. Do. W. Sh. 1611, Valentine Simmes, for John Helme. 3. Do. W. Shakespeare, 1622, Aug. Matthewes, for Thomas Dewe. IX.
1. Richard II. 1597, Valentine Simmes for Andrew Wise. 2. Richard II. William Shakespeare, 1598, Valentine
Simmes, for Andrew Wise. 3. Do. W. Shakespeare, 1608, W. W. for Matthew Law. 4. Do. William Shakespeare, 1615, for Matthew Law. 5. Do. William Shakespeare, 1634, John Norton. X.
*1. Henry IV. First Part, 1598, P. S. for Andrew Wise. 2. Do. W. Shakespeare, 1599, S. S. for Do. 3. Do. 1604. *4. Do. 1608, for Matthew Law. 5. Do. W. Shakespeare, 1613, W. W. for Do. 6. Do. William Shakespeare, 1622, T. P. sold by Do. *7. Do. William Shakespeare, 1632, John Norton,
sold by William Sheares. 8. Do. William Shakespeare, 1639, John Norton,
sold by Hugh Perry. XI.
1. Henry IV. Second Part, William Shakespeare,
1600, V. S. for Andrew Wise and William Aspley. 2. Do. 1600. Do.
XII.
1. Henry V. 1600. Tho. Creede, for T. Millington, and John Busby. *2. Do. 1602, Thomas Creede, for Thomas Pavier. 3. Do. 1608, for T. P. XIII. XIV.
1. Henry VI. William Shakespeare, 1600,
Val. Simmes, for Tho. Millington. 2. Do. William Shakespeare, W. W. for T. Millington, 1600. 3. Do. William Shakespeare, T. P. XV.
1. Richard III. 1597, Valentine Simmes, for Andrew Wise. 2. Do. William Shakespeare, 1598, Thomas Creede, for Do. 3. Do. William Shakespeare, 1602, Thomas Creede, for Do. 4. Do. William Shakespeare, 1612, Thomas Creede, sold by Matthew Lawe. 5. Do. William Shakespeare, 1622, Thomas Purfoot, sold by Do. 6. Do. William Shakespeare, 1629, John Norton, sold by Do. 7. Do. William Shakespeare, 1634, John Norton. XVI.
Titus Andronicus, 1611, for Edward White. XVII.
1. Troilus and Cressida, William Shakespeare,
1609, G. Eld, for R. Bonian
and H. Whalley, with a Preface. 2. Do. 1609, for Do. *3. Do. no Date, Do. XVIII.
1. Romeo and Juliet, 1597, John Danter. 2. Do. 1599, Tho. Creede, for Cuthbert Burby. 3. Do. 1609, for John Smethwicke. *4. Do. William Shakespeare, no Date, John Smethwicke. 5. Do. William Shakespeare, 1637, R. Young for Do.
XIX.
1. Hamlet, William Shakespeare, J. R. for N.
L. 1604. 2. Hamlet, William Shakespeare, 1605, I. R. for N. L *3. Do. William Shakespeare, 1611, for John Smethwicke. 4. Do. William Shakespeare, no Date, W. S. for Do. 5. Do. William Shakespeare, 1637, R. Young, for Do. 6. Do. R. Bentley, 1695. XX.
1. Othello, William Shakespeare, no Date, Thomas Watkely. 2. Do. William Shakespeare, 1622, N. O. for Thomas Walkely. 3. Do. William Shakespeare, 1630, A. M. for Richard Hawkins. 4. Do. William Shakespeare, 1655, for William Leake. &hand1;Of all the remaining plays the most authentic edition
is the folio 1623; yet that of 1632 is not without value;
for though it be in some places more incorrectly printed
than the preceding one, it has likewise the advantage of various
readings, which are not merely such as reiteration of
copies will naturally produce. The curious examiner of
Shakespeare's text, who possesses the first of these, ought
not to be unfurnished with the second. As to the third and
fourth impressions, (which include the seven rejected plays)
they are little better than waste paper, for they differ only
from the preceding ones by a larger accumulation of errors.
I had inadvertently given a similar character of the folio
1632; but take this opportunity of confessing a mistake into
which I was led by too implicit a reliance on the assertions
of others. I. Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedies, Histories, and
Tragedies. Published according to the true original Copies.
1623. Fol. Isaac Jaggard and Ed. Blount. II. Do. 1632. Fol. Tho. Cotes, for Rob. Allot. III. Do. 1664. Fol. for P. C.
IV. Do. 1685. Fol. for H. Herringman, E. Brewster, and R. Bentley. Octavo, Rowe's, London, 1709. 7 Vols. Quarto, Pope's, Ditto, 1723. 6 Do. Duodecimo, Pope's, Ditto, 1728. 10 Do. Octavo, Theobald's, Ditto, 1733. 7 Do. Duodecimo, Theobald's Ditto, 1740, 8 Do. Quarto, Hanmer's, Oxford, 1744, 6 Do. Octavo, Warburton's, London, 1747, 8 Do. Ditto, Johnson's, ditto, 1765, 8 Do. Ditto, Steevens's, ditto, 1766, 4 Do. Crown 8vo. Capel's, 1768, 10 Do. Quarto, Hanmer's, Oxford, 1771, 6 Do. Octavo, Johnson and Steevens, London, 1773, 10 Do. Do. second Edition, ditto, 1778, 10 Do. The reader may not be displeased to know the exact sums
paid to the different Editors of Shakespeare. The following
account is taken from the books of the late Mr. Tonson. Of these editions some have passed several times
through the press; but only such as vary from each other
are here enumerated. To this list might be added several spurious and mutilated
impressions; but as they appear to have been executed without
the smallest degree of skill either in the manners or language
of the time of Shakespeare; and as the names of their respective
editors are prudently concealed, it were useless to
commemorate the number of their volumes, or the distinct
date of each publication. Some of our legitimate editions will afford a sufficient specimen of the fluctuation of price in books.—An ancient quarto
was sold for six pence; and the folios 1623 and 1632,
when first printed, could not have been rated higher than at
ten shillings each.—Very lately, one, and two guineas, have
been paid for a quarto; the first folio is usually valued at
seven or eight: but what price may be expected for it hereafter,
is not very easy to be determined, the conscience of Mr.
Fox, bookseller in Holborn, having lately permitted him to
ask no less than two guineas for two leaves out of a mutilated
copy of that impression, though he had several, almost equally
defective, in his shop. The second folio is commonly rated
at two or three guineas. At the late Mr. Jacob Tonson's sale, in the year 1767,
one hundred and forty copies of Mr. Pope's edition of
Shakespeare, in six volumes quarto (for which the subscribers
paid six guineas) were disposed of among the booksellers
at sixteen shillings per set. Seven hundred and fifty
of this edition were printed. At the same sale, the remainder of Dr. Warburton's edition,
in eight volumes 8vo. printed in 1747 (of which the
original price was two pounds eight shillings, and the number
printed 1000) was sold off: viz. 178 copies, at eighteen
shillings each. On the contrary, Sir Thomas Hanmer's edition, printed
at Oxford in 1744, which was first sold for three guineas,
had arisen to nine or ten, before it was reprinted. It appears however from the foregoing catalogue (when
all reiterations of legitimate editions are taken into the account,
together with five spurious ones printed in Ireland,
one in Scotland, one at Birmingham, and four in London,
making in the whole thirty-five impressions) that not less than
35,000 copies of our author's works have been dispersed,
exclusive of the quartos, single plays, and such as have been
altered for the stage. Of the latter, as exact a list as I have
been able to form, with the assistance of Mr. Reed of Staple
Inn, (than whom no man is more conversant with English
publications both ancient and modern, or more willing
to assist the literary undertakings of others) will be found in
the course of the following pages.
I. Shakespeare's Poems, 1609, 4to. II. Do. 1640. 8vo. Tho. Cotes, sold by John Benson. III. Passionate Pilgrim, Poems by Do. 1599, 8vo. small,
for W. Jaggard, sold by W. Leake. IV. Rape of Lucrece, a Poem, 1594, 4to, Richard Field,
for John Harrison. V. Do 1598, 8vo. P. S. for Do. VI. Do. 1607, 8vo. N. O. for Do. VII. Do. 12mo. (Newly revised) T. S. for Roger Jackson, 1616. VIII. Venus and Adonis, a Poem, 1620, 8vo. for J. P.* note IX. Do. 12mo. by J. H. sold by Francis Coules, 1636. X. The Rape of Lucrece, whereunto is annexed the Banishment
of Tarquin, by John Quarles, 12mo, 1665. Shakespeare's Poems, 8vo. for Bernard Lintot, no date. &lblank; 8vo. by Gildon, 1710. &lblank; 4to. and 12mo. by Sewell, 1728. PLAYS ascribed to
6. London Prodigal, 1605. 7. Merry Devil of Edmonton* note, 1608, Henry Ballard, for
Arthur Johnson. 2. 1617. G. Eld, for Do. 3. 1626, A. M.
for Francis Falkner. 4. 1631. T. P. for Do. 5. 1655, for
W. Gilbertson. 8. Mucedorus† note. 1598, for William Jones. 2. 1610, for
Do. 3. 1615. N. O. for Do. 4. 1639, for John Wright. 5.
No Date, for Francis Coles. 6. 1668, E. O. for Do. 9. Pericles‡ note 10. Puritan, 1600§ note, and 1607. G. Eld. 11. Sir John Oldcastle, 1600, for T. P. 12. Thomas Lord Cromwell, 1613. Tho. Snodham. 13. Two Noble Kinsmen, 1634, Tho. Cotes, for John Waterson. 14. Yorkshire Tragedy, 1608&sign; note. R. B. for T. Pavyer.
Do. 1619. for T. P.
The Tempest, or the Enchanted Island. A Comedy,
acted in Dorset Garden. By Sir W. Davenant and Dryden
—4to.—1669. The Tempest, an Opera taken from Shakespeare. As
it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. By
Mr. Garrick.—8vo.—1756. The Two Gentlemen of Verona. A Comedy written by
Shakespeare, with alterations and additions, as it is performed
at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. By Mr. Victor.
—8vo.—1763. The Comical Gallant, or the Amours of Sir John Falstaffe.
A Comedy, as it is acted at the Theatre Royal in
Drury Lane, by his Majesties Servants. By Mr. Dennis.
4to.—1702. The Law against Lovers, by Sir William Davenant.—
Fol.—1673. Measure for Measure, or Beauty the best Advocate. As
it is acted at the Theatre in Lincolns Inn Fields; written
originally by Mr. Shakespeare, and now very much altered:
with additions of several Entertainments of Musick. By Mr.
Gildon.—4to.—1700. The Law against Lovers. By Sir W. Davenant.—Fol.—1673. The Universal Passion. A Comedy as it is acted at the
Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, by his Majesties Servants.
By James Miller.—8vo.—1737.
The Students, a Comedy altered from Shakespeare's
Love's Labour's Lost, and adapted to the stage.—8vo.—1762. The Humours of Bottom the Weaver, by Robert Cox. 4to. The Fairy Queen, an Opera, represented at the Queen's
Theatre by their Majesties Servants.—4to.—1692. Pyramus and Thisbe, a Mock Opera, written by Shakespeare.
Set to musick by Mr. Lampe. Performed at the
Theatre Royal in Covent Garden.—8vo.—1745. The Fairies, an Opera, taken from a Midsummer Night's
Dream written by Shakespeare, as it is performed at the
Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. By Mr. Garrick.—8vo.—1755. A Midsummer Night's Dream, written by Shakespeare,
with Alterations and Additions, and several new Songs. As
it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. By
Mr. Colman.—8vo.—1763. A Fairy Tale, in two acts, taken from Shakespeare. As
it is performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. By
Mr. Colman.—8vo.—1763. The Jew of Venice, a Comedy. As it is acted at the
Theatre in Little Lincoln's Inn Fields, by his Majesty's
Servants. By George Granville, Esq. afterwards Lord
Lansdowne.—4to.—1701. Love in a Forest, a Comedy. As it is acted at the Theatre
Royal in Drury Lane, by his Majesty's Servants. By
C. Johnson.—8vo.—1723. The Modern Receipt, or a Cure for Love. A Comedy
altered from Shakespeare. The Dedication is signed J. C.
12mo.—1739. Sawny the Scott, or the Taming of the Shrew; a Comedy,
as it is now acted at the Theatre Royal, and never before
printed. By John Lacy.—4to.—1698.
The Cobler of Preston, a Farce, as it is acted at the New
Theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields. By Christopher Bullock.
12mo.—1716. The Cobler of Preston, as it is acted at the Theatre Royal
in Drury Lane by his Majesty's Servants. By C. Johnson.
—8vo.—1716. Catherine and Petruchio. By Mr. Garrick.—8vo.—1756. The Winter's Tale, a Play altered from Shakespeare.
By Charles Marsh.—8vo.—1756. Florizel and Perdita, by Mr. Garrick.—8vo.—1758. Sheepshearing, or Florizel and Perdita, by—Dublin.
12mo.—1767. The Sheep-shearing: a Dramatic Pastoral. In three acts.
Taken from Shakespeare. As it is performed at the Theatre
Royal in the Haymarket.—8vo.—1777. Macbeth, a Tragedy, with all the Alterations, Amendments,
Additions, and new Songs, as it is now acted at the
Duke's Theatre. By Sir William Davenant.—4to.—1674. The Historical Tragedy of Macbeth (written originally
by Shakespear) newly adapted to the stage, with Alterations,
as performed at the Theatre in Edinburgh.—8vo.—1753. Papal Tyranny in the Reign of King John, a Tragedy;
as it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden, by
his Majesty's Servants. By Colley Cibber.—8vo.—1744. The History of King Richard the Second. Acted at the
Theatre Royal under the title of the Sicilian Usurper: with
a prefatory Epistle in vindication of the Author, occasioned
by the Prohibition of his Play on the Stage. By N. Tate.
4to. 1681. The Tragedy of King Richard II, altered from Shakespeare.
By Lewis Theobald. 8vo. 1720. King Richard II. a Tragedy, altered from Shakespeare,
and the stile imitated. By James Goodhall. Printed at
Manchester. 8vo. 1772.
King Henry IV. with the Humours of Sir John Falstaff,
a Tragi-comedy, as it is acted at the Theatre in Little Lincoln's
Inn Fields, by his Majesty's Servants. Revived with
Alterations. By Mr. Betterton. 4to. 1700. The Sequel of Henry IV. with the Humours of Sir John
Falstaff and Justice Shallow; as it is acted by his Majesty's
Company of Comedians at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane.
Altered from Shakespeare by the late Mr. Betterton. 8vo.
No Date. Henry the Sixth, the First Part, with the Murder of Humphrey
Duke of Glocester. As it was acted at the Duke's
Theatre. By John Crowne. 4to. 1681. Henry the Sixth, the Second Part, or the Misery of Civil
War. As it was acted at the Duke's Theatre. By John
Crowne. 4to. 1681. Humfrey Duke of Gloucester, a Tragedy, as it is acted
at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane by his Majesty's Servants.
[A few speeches and lines only borrowed from Shakespeare.]
By Ambrose Philips. An Historical Tragedy of the Civil Wars in the Reign
of King Henry VI. (being a Sequel to the Tragedy of Humfrey
Duke of Gloucester, and an Introduction to the Tragical
History of King Richard III.) Altered from Shakespeare
in the year 1720. By Theo. Cibber. 8vo. No date. The Tragical History of King Richard III. Altered from
Shakespeare. By Colley Cibber. The Ingratitude of a Commonwealth, or the Fall of
Caius Martius Coriolanus. As it is acted at the Theatre
Royal. By Nahum Tate. 4to. 1682. The Invader of his Country, or the Fatal Resentment.
As it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane, by his
Majesty's Servants. By John Dennis. 8vo. 1720.
Coriolanus, or the Roman Matron, a Tragedy, taken
from Shakespeare and Thomson. As it is acted at the Theatre
Royal in Covent Garden: to which is added the Order
of the Ovation. By Thomas Sheridan. 8vo. 1755. The Tragedy of Julius Cæsar, with the Death of Brutus
and Cassius: written originally by Shakespeare, and since
altered by Sir William D'Avenant and John Dryden Poets
Laureat; as it is now acted by his Majesty's Company of
Comedians at the Theatre Royal. To which is prefixed
the Life of Julius Cæsar, abstracted from Plutarch and Suetonius. 12mo. 1719. The Tragedy of Julius Cæsar, altered, with a Prologue
and Chorus. 4to. 1722. The Tragedy of Marcus Brutus, with the Prologue and
the two last Chorusses. 4to. 1722. Both by John Sheffield
Duke of Buckingham. Antony and Cleopatra, an Historical Play, written by
William Shakespeare, fitted for the stage by abridging only;
and now acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane by
his Majesty's Servants. By Edward Capell. 12mo. 1758. The History of Timon of Athens, the Man-hater. As it
is acted at the Duke's Theatre, made into a Play, by Tho.
Shadwell. 4to. 1678. Timon of Athens. As it is acted at the Theatre Royal
on Richmond Green. Altered from Shakespeare and Shadwell.
By James Love. 8vo. 1768. Timon of Athens, altered from Shakespeare, a Tragedy,
as it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. By
Mr. Cumberland. 8vo. 1771. Titus Andronicus, or the Rape of Lavinia. Acted at
the Theatre Royal. A Tragedy, altered from Mr. Shakespeare's
Works. By Edward Ravenscroft. 4to. 1687.
Troilus and Cressida, or Truth found too late. A Tragedy,
as it is acted at the Duke's Theatre. By John Dryden.
4to. 1679. The Injured Princess, or thee Fatal Wager. As it was
acted at the Theatre Royal, by his Majesty's Servants. By
Tho. Durfey. 4to. 1682. Cymbeline, King of Great Britain, a Tragedy written
by Shakespeare, with some alterations. By Charles Marsh.
8vo. 1755. Cymbeline, a Tragedy, altered from Shakespeare, As it
is performed at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden, by
W. Hawkins. 8vo. 1759. Cymbeline, altered by Mr. Garrick in the same year. The History of King Lear, acted at the Duke's Theatre.
Revived with Alterations. By Nahum Tate. 4to. 1681. The History of King Lear, as it is performed at the Theatre
Royal in Covent Garden. By George Colman. 8vo.
1768. Romeo and Juliet, altered into a Tragi-comedy, by James
Howard, Esq. See Downes, p. 22. Caius Marius, by Tho. Otway. Romeo and Juliet, a Tragedy, revised and altered from
Shakespeare. By Theo. Cibber. 8vo. No date. Romeo and Juliet, altered by Mr. Garrick. 12mo. From the Preface to the Republication of Marsh's Cymbeline
in 1762, it appears that he had likewise made an alteration
of Romeo and Juliet. Hamlet, altered by Mr. Garrick.
A short View of Tragedy. Its original Excellency and
Corruption. With some Reflections on Shakespear and
other Practitioners for the Stage. By Mr. Rymer, Servant
to their Majesties. 8vo. 1693. Remarks on the Plays of Shakespeare. By C. Gildon,
8vo. Printed at the end of the seventh volume of Rowe's
edition. 1710. An Essay on the Genius and Writings of Shakespear, with
some Letters of Criticism to the Spectator. By Mr. Dennis.
8vo. 1712. Shakespeare restored: or a Specimen of the many Errors
as well committed as unamended, by Mr. Pope in his late
Edition of this Poet. Designed not only to correct the said
Edition, but to restore the true Reading of Shakespeare in
all the Editions ever yet published. By Mr. Theobald. 4to.
1726. An Answer to Mr Pope's Preface to Shakespear in a letter
to a friend, being a Vindication of the old Actors who
were the publishers and performers of that Author's Plays.
Whereby the Errors of their Edition are further accounted
for, and some Memoirs of Shakespeare and the Stage History
of his Time are inserted, which were never before collected
and published. By a strolling Player [John Roberts]
8vo. 1729. Some Remarks on the Tragedy of Hamlet Prince of Denmark,
written by William Shakespeare. Printed for W.
Wilkins in Lombard Street. 8vo. 1736. Explanatory and Critical Notes on divers Passages of
Shakespeare's Plays, by Francis Peck. Printed with his
“New Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Mr. John
Milton.” 4to. 1740. An Essay towards fixing the true Standards of Wit and
Humour, Raillery, Satire, and Ridicule: to which is added
an Analysis of the Characters of an Humourist, Sir John
Falstaff, Sir Roger de Coverley, and Don Quixote. [By
Corbyn Morris.] 8vo. 1744. Miscellaneous Observations on the Tragedy of Macbeth:
with Remarks on Sir Thomas Hanmer's Edition of Shakespeare.
To which is affixed—Proposals for a new Edition
of Shakespeare, with a Specimen. [By Dr. Samuel Johnson.]
12mo. 1745. Critical Observations on Shakespeare: by John Upton,
Prebendary of Rochester. First Edition, 8vo. 1746. Second
Edition, 1748. An Enquiry into the Learning of Shakespeare, with Remarks
on several Passages of his Plays. In a Conversation
between Eugenius and Neander. By Peter Whalley, A. B.
Fellow of St. John's College Oxford. 8vo. 1748. An Answer to certain Passages in Mr. W&wblank;'s Preface
to his Edition of Shakespeare, together with some Remarks
on the many Errors and false Criticisms in the Work itself.
8vo. 1748. Essay on English Tragedy, with Remarks on the Abbè Le
Blanc's Observations on the English Stage. By William
Guthrie, Esq. 8vo. no date, but printed about the year
1748. Remarks upon a late Edition of Shakespear: with a long
string of Emendations borrowed by the celebrated Editor
from the Oxford Edition without acknowledgment. To
which is prefixed a Defence of the late Sir Thomas Hanmer,
Bart. Addressed to the Rev. Mr. Warburton, Preacher
of Lincoln's Inn, &c. 8vo. No date. An Attempte to rescue that aunciente English Poet and
Play-wrighte Maister Williame Shakespeare from the many
errours faulsely charged on him by certaine new-fangled
Wittes; and to let him speak for himself, as right well he
wotteth, when freede from the many careless mistakings of
the heedless first Imprinters of his Workes. By a Gentleman
formerly of Grey's Inn. [Mr. Holt] 8vo. 1749. Miscellaneous Observations on the Tragedy of Hamlet
Prince of Denmark: with a Preface containing some
general Remarks on the Writings of Shakespeare. 8vo.
1752. The Beauties of Shakespeare: regularly selected from
each Play: with a general Index digesting them under proper
Heads. Illustrated with explanatory Notes, and similar
Passages from ancient and modern Authors. By William
Dodd, B. A. late of Clare Hall, Cambridge. 2 Vols. 12mo.
first Edition, 1752. Second Edition, 1757. Shakespeare Illustrated: or the Novels and Histories on
which the Plays of Shakespeare are founded, collected and
translated from the original Authors, with critical Remarks.
In two Volumes. [By Mrs. Lenox.] 12mo. 1753. A third Volume with the same Title, 1754. The Novel from which the Play of the Merchant of Venice
written by Shakespeare, is taken, translated from the
Italian. To which is added, a Translation of a Novel from
the Decamerone of Bocaccio. 8vo. 1755. Critical, Historical, and Explanatory Notes on Shakespeare,
with Emendations of the Text and Metre: by Zachary Grey,
LL.D. 2 Vols. 1755. The Canons of Criticism and Glossary, being a Supplement
to Mr. Warburton's Edition of Shakespeare. Collected
from the Notes in that celebrated Work, and proper to
be bound up with it. By the other Gentleman of Lincoln's
Inn. (Mr. Edwards.) First Edition, 8vo. 1748. Seventh
Edition with Additions. 8vo. 1765. Remarks on Shakespeare by Mr. Roderick, are printed at
the end of this Edition. A Revisal of Shakespeare's Text, wherein the Alterations
introduced into it by the more Modern Editors and Criticks
are particularly considered. (By Mr. Heath.) 8vo. 1765. A Review of Dr. Johnson's New Edition of Shakespeare;
in which the Ignorance or Inattention of that Editor is exposed,
and the Poet defended from the Persecution of his
Commentators. By W. Kenrick. 8vo. 1765. An Examination of Mr. Kenrick's Review of Mr. Johnson's
Edition of Shakespeare. 8vo. 1766. A Defence of Mr. Kenrick's Review of Dr. Johnson's
Shakespeare, containing a number of curious and ludicrous
Anecdotes of Literary Biography. By a Friend. 8vo. 1766. Observations and Conjectures on some Passages of Shakespeare.
(by Tho. Tyrwhitt, Esq.) 8vo. 1766. An Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare, addressed to
Joseph Cradock, Esq. (By the Rev. Dr. Richard Farmer.)
8vo. 1767. Second Edition 12mo. 1767. A Letter to David Garrick, Esq. concerning a Glossary to
the Plays of Shakespeare, on a more extensive Plan than has
hitherto appeared. To which is added a Specimen. By
Richard Warner, Esq. 8vo. 1768. An Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakespeare,
compared with the Greek and French Dramatic Poets, with
some Remarks upon the Misrepresentations of Monsieur de
Voltaire. By Mrs. Montague. 8vo. 1770. Second Edition,
1776. The Tragedy of King Lear as lately published, vindicated
from the Abuse of the Critical Reviewers; and the wonderful
Genius and Abilities of those Gentlemen for Criticism,
set forth, celebrated and extolled. By the Editor of King
Lear. (Charles Jennens, Esq.) 8vo. 1772. Introduction to the School of Shakespeare, held on Wednesday
Evenings in the Apollo, at the Devil Tavern, Temple
Bar. To which is added, A Retort Courteous on the Criticks,
as delivered at the Second and Third Lectures. 8vo.
No Price or Date, but printed in 1774. Cursory Remarks on Tragedy, on Shakespeare, and on
certain French and Italian Poets, &c. Crown 8vo. 1774. A Philosophical Analysis and Illustration of some of Shakespeare's
remarkable Characters. By William Richardson,
Esq. Professor of Humanity in the University of Glasgow.
First Edition. 12mo. 1773. Second, 1774. The Morality of Shakespeare's Drama illustrated. By
Mrs. Griffith. 8vo. 1775. A Letter to George Hardinge, Esq. on the Subject of a
Passage in Mr. Steven's Preface to his Impression of Shakespeare.
(By the Rev. Mr. Collins.) 4to. 1777.
Discours sur Shakespeare et sur Monsieur de Voltaire,
par Joseph Baretti, Secretaire pour la Correspondence
etrangere de l'Academie Royale Britannique. 8vo. 1777. An Essay on the Dramatic Character of Sir John Falstaff.
8vo. 1777. A Letter from Monsieur de Voltaire to the French Academy.
Translated from the original Edition just published
at Paris. 8vo. 1777.
The first volume of these Entries has been either lost or
destroyed, as the earliest now to be found is lettered B. The
hall was burnt in the Fire of London. The entries begin
July 17, 1576. Feb. 18, 1582.
Vol. B.
M. Tottell.] Romeo and Juletta* note. p. 193
April 3, 1592.
Edw. White.] The tragedie of Arden of Feversham and Black Will† note
April 18, 1593.
Rich. Field.] A booke entitled Venus and Adonis* note Oct. 19, 1593.
Symon Waterson.] A booke entitled the Tragedie of Cleopatra† note. 301 b.
Feb. 6, 1593.
John Danter.] A booke entitled a noble Roman History
of Titus Andronicus. 304 b.
Entered also unto him by warrant from
Mr. Woodcock, the ballad thereof.
March 12, 1593.
Tho. Millington.] A booke entituled the First Part of the Contention of the twoo famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, with the Deathe of the good Duke Humphrie, and the Banishment
and Deathe of the Duke of Yorke,
and the tragical Ende of the proude Cardinall
of Winchester, with the notable Rebellion
of Jacke Cade, and the Duke of
Yorke's first Claime unto the Crown. 305 b.
May 2, 1594.
Peter Shorte.] A pleasaunt conceyted hystorie called
the Tayminge of a Shrowe* note. May 12, 1594.
Tho. Strode.] A booke entituled the famous Victories
of Henry the First, containing the honorable
Battell of Agincourt† note. 306 b.
May 14, 1594.
Edw. White.] A booke entituled the famous Chronicle
Historye of Leire King of England
and his three Daughters‡ note. 307
May 22, 1594.
Edw. White.] A booke intituled a Winter Nyghts
Pastime§ note. 307 b.
June 19, 1594.
Tho. Creede.] An enterlude entitled the Tragedie
of Richard the Third, wherein is shown
the Death of Edward the Fourthe, with
the Smotheringe of the twoo Princes in the
Tower, with the lamentable End of Shore's
Wife, and the Contention of the two
Houses of Lancaster and York&sign; note. 309 b.
July 20, 1594.
Tho. Creede.] The lamentable Tragedie of Locrine,
the eldest Son of K. Brutus, discoursinge
the Warres of the Britains, &c. 310 b.
Before the beginning of this volume are placed
two leaves containing irregular entries, prohibitions,
notes, &c. Among these are the following.
Aug. 4th.
As You like it, a book. to be staied.
Henry the Fift, a book* note. to be staied.
Comedy of Much Ado about Nothing. to be staied.
The dates scattered over these pages are from 1596
to 1615.
Dec. 1, 1595.
Cuthbert Burby] A booke entituled Edward the Third and the Black Prince, their warres
with King John of France† note 6
Aug. 5, 1596.
Edw. White.] A new ballad of Romeo and Juliet‡ note. 12 b.
Aug. 15, 1597.
Rich. Jones.] Two ballads, being the first and second
parts of the Widowe of Watling-street§ note. 22 b.
Aug. 29, 1597.
Andrew Wise.] The tragedye of Richard the Seconde. 23
Oct. 20, 1597.
Andrew Wise.] The tragedie of King Richard the
Third, with the Deathe of the Duke of
Clarence. 25
Feb. 25, 1597.
Andrew Wise.] A booke entitled the Historie of
Henry the Fourth, with his Battle at Shrewsbury
against Henry Hottspurre of the
North, with the conceipted Mirth of Sir
John Falstoff. 31
July 22, 1598.
James Roberts.] A booke of the Merchaunt of Venyse,
otherwise called the Jewe of Venyse.
Provided that it be not prynted by the said
James Roberts or any other whatsoever,
without leave first had from the ryght honourable
the Lord Chamberlen. Jan. 9, 1598.
Mr. Woolff.] A booke called the Firste Parte of the
Life and Reign of King Henry the Fourthe,
extending to the End of the first Year of
his Reign. 45 b.
Aug. 4, 1600.
Tho. Pavyer.] First Part of the History of the Life
of Sir John Oldcastle Lord Cobham.
Item, The Second Part of the History
of Sir John Oldcastle Lord Cobham, with
his Martyrdom. 63
Aug. 14, 1600.
Tho. Pavyer.] The Historye of Henry the Fifth,
with the Battel of Agincourt, &c. 63
Aug. 23, 1600.
And. Wise, and Wm. Aspley.] Much Ado about Nothing. 63 b.
Second Part of the History of King Henry
the Fourth, with the Humors of Sir John
Falstaff, written by Mr. Oct. 8, 1600.
Tho. Fisher.] A booke called a Midsomer Nyghte Dreame. 65 b.
Oct. 28, 1600.
Tho. Heyes.] A booke called the Book of the Merchaunt
of Venyce. 66
Jan. 18, 1601.
John Busby.] An excellent and pleasaunt conceited
comedie of Sir John Faulstoff and the Merry
Wyves of Windsore. 78
Art. Johnston.] The preceding entered as assigned
to him from John Busby. ibid.
April 19, 1602.
Tho. Pavyer.] A booke called Titus Andronicus. 80 b.
July 26, 1602.
James Roberts.] A booke called the Revenge of Hamlett
Prince of Denmarke, as it was lately
acted by the Lord Chamberlain his servants. 84 b.
Aug. 11, 1602.
Wm. Cotton.] A booke called the Lyfe and Death
of the Lord Cromwell, as yt was lately acted
by the Lord Chamberleyn his servantes. 85 b.
Feb. 7, 1602.
Mr. Roberts.] The booke of Troilus and Cressida, as
it is acted by my Lo. Chamberlen's men. 91 b.
June 25, 1603.
Matt. Law.] Richard 3. a king. Feb. 12, 1604.
Nath. Butter.] That he get good allowance for the
Enterlude of Henry 8, before he begin to
print it; and then procure the warden's
hand to it for the entrance of yt, he is to
have the same for his copy* note
May 8, 1605.
Simon Stafford.] A booke called the tragicall Historie
of King Leir and his three Daughters,
as it was lately acted. 123
John Wright.] By assignment from Simon Stafford
and consent of Mr. Leake, the tragical History
of King Lear, &c. provided that Simon
Stafford shall have the printing of this
book* note. July 3, 1605.
Tho. Pavyer.] A ballad of a lamentable Murder done
in Yorkshire, by a Gent. upon two of his
owne Children, sore wounding his Wife
and Nurse, &c† note. 126
Jan. 22, 1606.
Nich. Ling.] Romeo and Juliett. Aug. 6, 1607.
Geo. Elde.] A booke called the Comedie of the Puritan Wydowe. 157 b.
Aug. 6, 1607.
Tho. Thorpe.] A comedy called What you Will‡ note. ibid.
Oct. 22, 1607.
Arth. Johnson.] The Merry Devil of Edmonton§ note. 159 b.
Nov. 19, 1607.
John Smythwick.] A booke called Hamlett. Nov. 26, 1607.
Nath. Butter and John Busby.] Mr. William Shakespeare,
his Hystorie of King Lear, as it was
played before the King's Majestie at Whitehall,
upon St. Stephen's night at Christmas
last, by his Majesties servants playing usually
at the Globe on the Bank-side. 161 b.
April 5, 1608.
Joseph Hunt and Tho. Archer.] A book called the
Life and Death of the Merry Devil of Edmonton,
with the pleasant Pranks of Smugg
the Smith, Sir John, and mine Hoste of
the George, about their stealing of Venison.
By T. B* note. May 2, 1608.
Mr. Pavyer.] A booke called a Yorkshire Tragedy, written by Wylliam Shakespeare. 167
May 2, 1608.
Edw. Blount.] The book of Pericles Prince of Tyre. 167 b.
A book called Anthony and Cleopatra. ibid.
Jan. 28, 1608.
Rich. Bonian and Hen. Whalley.] A booke called
the History of Troylus and Cressida. 178 b.
May 20, 1609.
Tho. Thorpe.] A booke called Shakespeare's Sonnets. 183 b.
Oct. 16, 1609.
Mr. Welby.] Edward the Third. 189
Dec. 16, 1611.
John Browne.] A booke called the Lyfe and Death
of the Lo. Cromwell, by W. S. 214 b.
Nov. 29, 1614.
John Beale.] A booke called the Hystorie of Lord Faulconbridge, bastard Son to Richard Cordelion† note. 256 b.
Feb. 16, 1616.
Mr. Barrett.] Life and Death of Lord Cromwell. 279
March 20, 1617.
Mr. Snodham.] Edward the Third, the play. 288
Sept. 17, 1618.
John Wright.] The comedy called Mucedorus‡ note. 293 b.
July 8, 1619.
Nich. Okes.] A play called the Merchaunt of Venice. 303
Oct. 6, 1621.
Tho. Walkely.] The tragedie of Othello the Moore of Venice. 21
Nov. 8, 1623.
Mr. Blount and Isaak Jaggard.] Mr. William Shakespeare's Comedyes and Tragedyes, soe many
of the said Copies as are not formerly
entered to other men.
Viz.
Comedy. The Tempest.
Comedy. Two Gentlemen of Verona.
Comedy. Measure for Measure.
Comedy. The Comedy of Errors.
Comedy. As You Like it.
Comedy. Alls Well that Ends Well.
Comedy. Twelfe Night.
Comedy. The Winter's Tale.
Historie. The Third Part of Henry the Sixt.
Historie. Henry the Eight.
Tragedie. Coriolanus.
Tragedie. Timon of Athens.
Tragedie. Julius Cæsar.
Tragedie. Mackbeth.
Tragedie. Anthonie and Cleopatra.
Tragedie. Cymbeline. 69
Dec. 14, 1624.
Mr. Pavyer.] Titus Andronicus. Feb. 23, 1625.
Mr. Stansby.] Edward the Third, the play. 115
April 3, 1626.
Mr. Parker.] Life and Death of Lord Cromwell. 120
Aug. 4, 1626.
Edw. Brewster, Rob. Birde.] Mr. Pavyer's right in Shakespeare's plays, or any of them.
Jan. 29, 1629.
Mr. Meighen.] Merry Wives of Windsor. 193
Nov. 8, 1630.
Ric. Cotes.] Henrye the Fift. Edward Allott was one of the publishers of the second
Folio, 1632.
It is worth remark, that on these books of the Stationers'
Company, Titus Andronicus, Venus and Adonis, two parts of
King Henry VI. Locrine, Widow of Watling Street, King Richard
II. King Richard III. King Henry IV. &c. are the first
performances attributed to Shakespeare. Thus might the
progress of his dramatic art be ascertained, were we absolutely
sure that his productions were set down in chronological
arrangement on these records of ancient publication.
It may be added, that although the private interests of play-houses
had power to suspend the printing of his theatrical
pieces, they could not have retarded the appearance of his
poems; and we may therefore justly date the commencement
of his authorship from the time when the first of them
came out, viz. his Venus and Adonis, when he was in the
twenty-ninth year of his age. In the dedication of this
poem to the Earl of Southampton, Shakespeare calls it
“The first heir of his invention.” Of all his undisputed plays, the only one omitted on the
books of the Stationers' Company, is King John. The same attention
to secure a lasting property in the works of Ben Jonson
and Beaumont and Fletcher, does not appear to have been exerted;
as of the former I have met with no more than seven
or eight entries, and of the latter a still less considerable
number. Beaumont died in 1615, Fletcher in 1625, and
Jonson in 1637. My researches, however, were not continued
below the year 1632, the date of the second folio
edition of Shakespeare. Let it likewise be added to the praises of our author, that
if he did not begin to write till 1593, nor ceased till within
three years of his death, which happened in 1616, in the
course of twenty years he had produced no less than thirty-five
plays, admitting that eight others (among which is to
be reckoned Titus Andronicus* note) were spurious. I seize this
opportunity, however, to express my doubts concerning all
but the last mentioned piece, and Locrine. Locrine has only
the letters W. S. prefixed to it, and exhibits internal
proofs that it was not only the composition of a scholar but
of a pedant. See a note to the List of Plays ascribed to Shakespeare
by the Editors of the two later folios, or the Compilers of
Ancient Catalogues, where the same assertion is more fully
supported. See also another note at the beginning of Troilus
and Cressida. Neither has it ever yet been sufficiently
proved that it was once customary to set the names of celebrated
living authors at full length in the title pages to the
works of others, or to enter them under these false colours
in the books at Stationers' Hall. Such frauds indeed
have been attempted at a later period, but with little success.
The most inconsiderable of all the pieces rejected by
the editors of Shakespeare, is the Yorkshire Tragedy; and
yet in 1608 it was both registered and published with his
name. At this time too, he was probably in London, presiding
at the Globe theatre, in consequence of the licence
granted by K. James I. to him and his fellow-comedians in
1603. The Yorkshire Tragedy is only one out of four short
dramas which were exhibited for the entertainment of a
single evening, as the title page informs us; and perhaps
would have been forgotten with the other three, but that
it was known to have been the work of our celebrated author.
Such miscellaneous representations were not uncommon,
and the reader will find a specimen of them in the
tenth volume of Mr. Seyward's edition of Beaumont and
Fletcher. Shakespeare, who has expressed such a solicitude
that his clowns should speak no more than was set down for them,
would naturally have taken some opportunity to shew his
impatience at being rendered answerable, in a still more
decisive manner, for entire compositions which were not
his own. It is possible likewise, that the copies of the plays
omitted in the first folio, had been already disposed of to
proprietors, out of whose hands they could not be redeemed;
or if Heminge and Condell were discerning friends to
the reputation of their associate, conscious as they might
have been that such pieces were his, they would have omitted
them by design, as inferior to his other productions.
From this inferiority, and from a cast of style occasionally
different, nothing relative to their authenticity can with exactness
be inferred; for as Dr. Johnson very justly observes
on a similar occasion, “There is little resemblance between
the first works of Raphael and the last.” But could it even
be proved that these rejected pieces were not among the
earliest effusions of Shakespeare, such proof would by no
means affect their authenticity, as both Dryden and Rowe,
after having written their best plays, are known to have produced
others, which reflect a very inconsiderable degree of
honour on their memory. It has hitherto been usual to represent the ancient quartos
of our author as by far more incorrect than those of his contemporaries;
but I fear that this representation has been
continued by many of us, with a design to magnify our own
services rather than to exhibit a true state of the question.
The reason why we have discovered a greater proportion of
errors in the former than in the latter, is because we have
sought after them with a greater degree of diligence; for
let it be remembered, that it was no more the practice of
other writers than of Shakespeare, to correct the press for
themselves. Ben Jonson only (who, being versed in the
learned languages, had been taught the value of accuracy)
appears to have superintended the publication of his own
dramatic pieces; but were those of Lilly, Chapman, Marlow,
or the Heywoods, to be revised with equal industry,
an editor would meet with as frequent opportunities for
the exertion of his critical abilities, as in these quartos
which have been so repeatedly censured by those who never
took the pains to collate them, or justify the many valuable
readings they contain; for when the character of them
which we have handed down, was originally given, among
typographical blunders, &c. were enumerated all terms
and expressions which were not strictly grammatical, or not
easily understood. As yet we had employed in our attempts
at explanation only such materials as casual reading had supplied;
but how much more is requisite for the complete explanation
of an early writer, the last edition of the Canterbury
Tales of Chaucer may prove a sufficient witness; a work
which in respect of accuracy and learning is without a rival,
at least in any commentary on an English poet. The reader
will forgive me if I desert my subject for a moment,
while I express an ardent wish that the same editor may
find leisure and inclination to afford us the means of reading
the other works of the father of our poetry, with advantages
which we cannot derive from the efforts of those
who have less deeply and successfully penetrated into the
recesses of ancient Italian, French, and English literature.
—An author has received the highest mark of distinction,
when he has engaged the services of such a commentator. The reader may perhaps be desirous to know by whom
these quartos of Shakespeare are supposed to have been sent
into the world. To such a curiosity no very adequate gratification
can be afforded; but yet it may be observed, that
as these elder copies possess many advantages over those in
the subsequent folio, we should decide perversely were we
to pronounce them spurious. They were in all probability
issued out by some performer, who deriving no benefit from
the theatre except his salary, was uninterested in that retention
of copies, which was the chief concern of our ancient
managers. We may suppose too that there was nothing
criminal in his proceeding; as some of the persons
whose names appear before these publications, are known
to have filled the highest offices in the company of Stationers
with reputation, bequeathing legacies of considerable value
to it at their decease. Neither do I discover why the
first manuscripts delivered by so careless a writer to the actors,
should prove less correct than those which he happened
to leave behind him, unprepared for the press, in the possession
of the same fraternity. On the contrary, after his
plays had past for twenty years through the hands of a succession
of ignorant transcribers, they were more likely to
become maimed and corrupted, than when they were printed
from papers less remote from the originals. It is true
that Heminge and Condell have called these copies surreptitious,
but this was probably said with a view to enhance the value
of their own impression, as well as to revenge themselves
as far as possible on those who had in part anticipated the
publication of works from which they expected considerable
gleanings of advantage, after their first harvest on the stage
was over.—I mean to except from this general character
of the quartos, the author's rough draughts of the Merry
Wives of Windsor and Romeo and Juliet; together with the
play of King Henry V. and the two parts of King Henry VI;
for these latter carry all the marks of having been imperfectly
taken down by the ear, without any assistance from the
originals belonging to the playhouses in which they were
first represented. A preceding table of those ancient copies of the plays of
Shakespeare which his commentators have really met with
and consulted, if compared with the earliest of these entries
on the books already mentioned, may tempt the reader to
suppose that some quartos have not yet been found, from
which future assistance may be derived. But I fear that no
such resources remain; as it seems to have been the practice
of the numerous theatres in the time of Shakespeare, to
cause some bookseller to make immediate entries of their
new pieces, as a security against the encroachments of their
rivals, who always considered themselves as justified in the
exhibition of such dramas as had been enfranchised by the
press. Imperfect copies, but for these precautions, might
have been more frequently obtained from the repetition of
hungry actors invited for that purpose to a tavern; or something
like a play might have been collected by attentive auditors,
who made it their business to attend succeeding representations
with a like design* note. By these means, without
any intent of hasty publication, one company of players
was studious to prevent the trespasses of another† note. Nor
did their policy conclude here; for I have not unfrequently
met with registers of both tragedies and comedies, of which
the titles were at some other time to be declared. Thus,
July 26, 1576, John Hunter enters “A new and pleasant
comedie or plaie, after the manner of common condycyons;”
and one Fielder, in Sept. 1581, prefers his right
to four others, “Whereof he will bring the titles.” “The
famous Tragedy of the Rich Jewe of Malta,” by Christopher
Marlow, is ascertained to be the property of Nich.
Ling and Tho. Millington, in May 1594, though it was
not printed by Nich. Vavasour till 1633, as Tho. Heywood,
who wrote the preface to it, informs us. In this manner
the contending theatres (seventeen in number* note
I may add, that the difficulty of procuring licences was
another reason why some theatrical publications were retarded
and others entirely suppressed. As we cannot now
discover the motives which influenced the conduct of former
Lord Chamberlains and Bishops, who stopped the sale
of several works, which nevertheless have escaped into the
world, and appear to be of the most innocent nature, we
may be tempted to regard their severity as rather dictated by
jealousy and caprice, than by judgment and impartiality.
See a note to my Advertisement which follows Dr. Johnson's Preface. The public is now in possession of as accurate an account
of the dates, &c. of Shakespeare's works as perhaps will
ever be compiled. This was by far the most irksome part of
my undertaking, though facilitated as much as possible by
the kindness of Mr. Longman of Pater-noster Row, who
readily furnished me with the three earliest volumes of the
records of the Stationers' Company, together with accommodations
which rendered the perusal of them convenient to
me though troublesome to himself. Mr. Malone has attempted in the following pages to ascertain
the chronological order in which the plays of Shakespeare
were written. By the aid of the registers at Stationers'
Hall, and such internal evidence as the pieces themselves
supply, he has so happily accomplished his undertaking, that
he only leaves me the power to thank him for an arrangement
which I profess my inability either to dispute or to
improve.
Shakspeare above all writers, since the days of Homer,
has excited this curiosity in the highest degree; as perhaps
no poet of any nation was ever more idolized by his countrymen.
An ardent desire to understand and explain his
works, has, to the honour of the present age, so much encreased
within these last thirty years, that more has been
done towars their elucidation, during that perioda note, than
perhaps in a century before. All the ancient copies of his
plays, hitherto discovered, have been collated with the most
scrupulous accuracy. The meanest books have been carefully
examined, only because they were of the age in which
he lived, and might happily throw a light on some forgotten
custom, or obsolete phraseology: and, this object being
still kept in view, the toil of wading through all such reading
as was never read, has been chearfully endured, because no
labour was thought too great, that might enable us to add
one new laurel to the father of our drama. Almost every
circumstance that tradition or history has preserved relative
to him or his works, has been investigated, and laid before
the publick; and the avidity with which all communications
of this kind have been received, sufficiently proves that the
time expended in the pursuit has not been wholly misemployed. However, after the most diligent enquiries, very few particulars
have been recovered, respecting his private life, or
literary history: and while it has been the endeavour of all
his editors and commentators, to illustrate his obscurities,
and to regulate and correct his text, no attempt has been
made to trace the progress and order of his plays. Yet
surely it is no incurious speculation, to mark the gradationsb note
by which he rose from mediocrity to the summit of excellence;
from artless and uninteresting dialogues, to those
unparalleled compositions, which have rendered him the delight
and wonder of successive ages. The materials for ascertaining the order in which his
plays were written, are indeed so few, that, it is to be
feared, nothing very decisive can be produced on this subject.
In the following attempt to trace the progress of his dramatick
art, probability alone is pretended to. The silence
and inaccuracy of those persons, who, after his death, had
the revisal of his papers, will perhaps for ever prevent our
attaining to any thing like proof on this head. Little then
remains, but to collect into one view, from his several dramas,
and from the ancient tracts in which they are mentioned,
or alluded to, all the circumstances that can throw
any light on this new and curious enquiry. From these
circumstances, and from the entries in the books of the Stationers'
company, extracted and now first published by Mr.
Steevens, (to whom every admirer of Shakespeare has the
highest obligations), it is probable, that the plays attributed
to our author were written nearly in the following succession;
which, though it cannot at this day be ascertained to
be their true order, may yet be considered as approaching
nearer to it, than any which has been observed in the various
editions of his works. The rejected pieces are here enumerated
with the rest; but no opinion is thereby meant to be
given concerning their authenticity. Of the nineteen genuine plays which were not printed in
our author's life-timec note, the majority were, I believe, late
compositionsd note. The following arrangement is in some measure
formed on this idea. Two reasons may be assigned,
why Shakespeare's late performances were not published till
after his death. I. If we suppose him to have written for
the stage during a period of twenty years, those pieces
which were produced in the latter part of that period, were
less likely to pass through the press in his life-time, as the
curiosity of the publick had not been so long engaged by
them, as by his early compositions. 2. From the time that
Shakspeare had the superintendance of a playhouse, that is,
from the year 1603e note, when he and several others obtained
a licence from King James to exhibit comedies, tragedies,
histories, &c. at the Globe Theatre, and elsewhere, it became
strongly his interest to preserve those pieces unpublished,
which were composed between that year and the time
of his retiring to the country; manuscript plays being then
the great support of every theatre. Nor were the plays
which he wrote after he became a manager, so likely to get
abroad, being consined to his own theatre, as his former
productions, which probably had been acted on many different
stages, and of consequence afforded the players at the
several houses where they were exhibited, an easy opportunity
of making out copies from the separate parts transcribed
for their use, and of selling such copies to printers; by
which means, there is great reason to believe, that they
were submitted to the press, without the consent of the
author. In what year our author began to write for the stage, or
which was his first performance, has not been hitherto ascertained. And indeed we have so few lights to direct our
enquiries, that any speculation on this subject may appear
an idle expence of time. But the method which has been
already marked out, requires that such facts should be mentioned,
as may serve in any manner to elucidate these
points. Shakspeare was born on the 23d of April, 1564, and was
probably married in, or before, September 1582, his eldest
daughter, Susanna, having been baptized on the 26th of
May, 1583. At what time he left Warwickshire, or was
first employed in the playhouse, tradition does not inform
us. However, as his son Samuel and his daughter Judith
were baptized at Stratford Feb. 2, 1584–5, we may presume
that he had not left the country at that time. He could not have wanted an easy introduction to the
theatre; for Thomas Greenf note
note. He might have been the actor's father.
his townsman, perhaps his relation, and Michael Drayton
was likewise born in Warwickshire; the latter was nearly
of his own age, and both were in some degree of reputation
soon after the year 1590. If I were to indulge a conjecture,
I should name the middle of the year 1591, as the
era when our author commenced a writer for the stage; at
which time he was somewhat more than twenty-seven years
old. The reasons that induce me to fix on that period are
these. In Webbe's Discourse of English Poetry, published in
1586, we meet with the names of most of the celebrated
poets of that time; particularly those of George Whetstoneg note
and Antony Mundayh note
find no trace of our author, or of any of his works. Three
years afterwards, Puttenham printed his Art of English Poesy;
and in that work also we look in vain for the name of Shakespearei note
That Shakspeare had commenced a writer for the stage,
and had even excited the jealousy of his contemporaries, before
September 1592, is now decisively proved by a passagek note
extracted by Mr. Tyrwhitt from Robert Greene's Groatsworth
of Witte bought with a Million of Repentancel note, in which
there is an evident allusion to our author's name, as well as
to one of his plays. At what time soever he became acquainted with the theatre,
we may presume that he had not composed his first
play long before it was acted; for being early incumbered with
a young family, and not in very affluent circumstances, it is
improbable that he should have suffered it to lie in his closet,
without endeavouring to derive some profit from it;
and in the miserable state of the drama in those days, the
meanest of his genuine plays must have been a valuable acquisition,
and would hardly have been refused by any of the
managers of our ancient theatres. Titus Andronicus appears to have been acted before any
other play attributed to Shakspeare; and therefore, as it has
been admitted into all the editions of his works, whoever
might have been the writer of it, it is entitled to the first
place in this general list of his dramas. From Ben Jonson's
induction to Bartholomew Fair, 1614, we learn that Andronicus
had been exhibited twenty-five or thirty years before,
that is, at the lowest computation, in 1589 note; or, taking a
middle period, (which is perhaps more just) in 1587. In
our author's dedication of his Venus and Adonis to lord Southampton,
in 1593, he tells us, as Mr. Steevens has observed,
that that poem was “the first heir of his invention:” and
if we were sure that it was published immediately, or soon,
after it was written, it would at once prove Titus Andronicus
not to be the production of Shakspeare, and nearly ascertain
the time when he commenced a dramatick writer. But we
do not know what interval might have elapsed between the
composition and the publication of that poem. There is
indeed a passage in the dedication already mentioned, which,
if there were not such decisive evidence on the other side,
might induce us to think that he had not written, in 1593,
any piece of more dignity than a love-poem, or at least any
on which he himself set a value. “If (says he to his noble
patron) your honour seem but pleased, I account myself
highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours,
till I have honoured you with some graver labour.” “A booke, entitled a Noble Roman History of Titus Andronicus,”
(without any author's name) was entered at Stationers'
hall, Feb. 6, 1593–4. This I suppose to have been
the play, as it was printed in that year, and acted (according
to Langbaine, who alone appears to have seen the first
edition) by the servants of the earls of Pembroke, Derby,
and Essex. Mr. Pope thought, that Titus Andronicus was not written
by Shakspeare, because Ben Jonson spoke slightingly of it,
while Shakspeare was yet living. This argument will not,
perhaps, bear a very strict examination. If it were allowed
to have any validity, many of our author's genuine productions
must be excluded from his works; for Ben Jonson has
ridiculed several of his dramas, in the same piece in which
he has mentioned Andronicus with contempt. It has been said that Francis Meres, who in 1598 enumerated
this among our author's plays, might have been misled
by a title-page; but we may presume that he was informed or
deceived by some other means; for Shakspeare's name is not
in the title-page of the edition printed in 1611, and therefore,
we may conclude, was not in the title page of that in
1594, of which the other was probably a re-impression. However, (notwithstanding the authority of Meres) the
high antiquity of the piece, its entry on the Stationers'
books without the name of the writer, the regularity of the
versification, the dissimilitude of the style from that of those
plays which are undoubtedly composed by our author, and
the traditionm note mentioned by Ravenscroft, at a period when
some of his contemporaries had not been long deadn note, render
it highly improbable that this play should have been the
composition of Shakspeare. Shakspeare's natural disposition leading him, as Dr. Johnson
has observed, to comedy, it is highly probable that his
first dramatick production was of the comick kind: and of
his comedies none appears to me to bear stronger marks of
a first essay than Love's Labour Lost. The frequent rhymes
with which it aboundso note, of which, in his early performances
he seems to have been extremely fond, its imperfect
versification, its artless and desultory dialogue, and the irregularity
of the composition, may be all urged in support of
this conjecture. Love's Labour Lost was not entered at Stationers' hall till
the 23d of January 1606, but is mentioned by Francis
Meresp note
Mr. Gildon, in his observations on Love's Labour Lost, says, “he cannot see why the author gave it this name.”—The
following lines exhibit the train of thoughts, which probably
suggested to Shakspeare this title, as well as that
which anciently was affixed to another of his comedies—
Love's Labour Won.
The regular First Part of K. Henry VI. was not published
till 1623, at which time it was entered at Stationers' hall
by the printers of the earliest folio, under the name of the
Third Part of K. Henry VI. In one sense it might be called
so; for two parts had appeared before. But considering the
history of that reign, and the period of time it comprehends,
it ought to have been called, what in fact it is, the I once thought differently from the learned commentator;
imagining that the First Part of King Henry VI. was not
written till after the two other parts. But on an attentive
examination of these three plays, I have found sufficient
reason to subscribe to Dr. Johnson's opinion. This piece is supposed to have been produced in the year
1591, on the authority of Thomas Nashe, who in a tract
entitled Pierce Pennyless his Supplication to the Devil, which
was published in 1592r note, expressly mentions one of the characters
in it, who does not appear in the second or third Part
of K. Henry VI. nor, I believe, in any other play of that
time. “How (says he) would it have joyed brave Talbot,
the terror of the Frenchs note
stage, and have his bones new embalmed with the tears of
ten thousand spectators at least (at several times), who, in
the tragedian that represents his person, imagine they behold
him fresh bleeding.” In a tract already mentioned, entitled Greene's Groatsworth
of Witte, &c. which was written before the end of
the year 1592, there is, as Mr. Tyrwhitt has observedt note,
a parody on a line in the Third Part of K. Henry VI. and an
allusion to the name of Shakspeare. These two historical dramas were entered on the books
of the Stationers' company, March 12, 1593–4, but were
not printed till the year 1600. In their second titles they
are called— In the last chorus of King Henry V. Shakspeare alludes to
the Second Part, perhaps to all the parts of K. Henry VI. as
popular performances, that had frequently been exhibited
on the stage; and expresses a hope, that K. Henry V. may,
for their sake, meet with a favourable reception: a plea,
which he scarcely would have urged, if he had not been
their author. There is reason to believe that Pericles, whoever was the
writer of it, was composed about this time. The poet introduces
John Gower by way of chorus to it, as Middleton
introduces Rainulph, the monk of Chester, in his Mayor of
Quinborough, and as Thomas Heywood does Skelton and
Fryar Tuck, in his Robert of Huntingdon: performances nearly
of this date. Ben Johnson, in his ode on the ill reception
of his New Inn, speaks of Pericles as a play of great antiquity,
calling it a mouldy tale. It was not entered on the
books of the Stationers' company till May 2, 1608, nor
printed till 1609; but the following stanza, in a metrical
pamphlet, entitled Pymlico or Run away Redcap, published
in 1596, ascertains it to have been written and exhibited on
the stage, prior to that year: In this piece are introduced many dumb shews, which
were much admired at this time; and they afford one argument
against its being the production of Shakspeare; he
having never admitted a serious dumb shew in any play unquestionably
his: and having in Hamlet, four years after the
date here assigned to Pericles, expressly marked his disapprobation
of them, by calling them inexplicable. Dryden,
however, seems to have thought Pericles genuine, and our
author's first composition: Entered on the Stationers' books July 20, 1594. Printed
in 1595, without any author's name. In the title-page
this piece is said to be newly set foorth, overseene and corrected
by W. S.
This comedy was not entered on the books of the Stationers'
company till 1623, at which time it was first printed;
but it is mentioned by Meres in 1598, and bears strong
internal marks of an early composition. The Winter's Tale was, perhaps, entered on the Stationers'
books, May 22, 1594, under the name of A Wynter Nyght's
Pastime; which might have been the same play. It is observable
that Shakspeare has two other similar titles;—
Twelfth Night, and A Midsummer Night's Dream: and it
appears that the titles of his plays were sometimes changed;
thus, All's Well that Ends Well, we have reason to think,
was called Love's Labour Won; and Hamlet was sometimes
called Hamlet's Greene's Dorastus and Fawnia, from which the plot of
this play is borrowed, was published in 1588. The Winter's Tale was acted at court in the beginning of
the year 1613y note. It was not printed till 1623. Mr. Walpole thinks, that this play was intended by
Shakspeare as an indirect apology for Anne Boleyn; and
considers it as a Second Part to K. Henry VIIIz note. My respect
for that very judicious and ingenious writer, the silence
of Meres, and the circumstance of there not being one
rhyming couplet throughout this piece, except in the chorus,
make me doubt whether it ought not to be ascribed to
the year 1601, or 1602, rather than that in which it is
here placed. The poetry of this piece, glowing with all the warmth
of a youthful and lively imagination, the many scenes that
it contains of almost continual rhymea note It seems to have been written, while the ridiculous competitions,
prevalent among the histrionick tribe, were strongly
impressed by novelty on his mind. He would naturally copy
those manners first, with which he was first acquainted. The
ambition of a theatrical candidate for applause he has happily
ridiculed in Bottom the weaver. But among the more dignified
persons of the drama we look in vain for any traits of
character. The manners of Hippolita, the Amazon, are undistinguished
from those of other females. Theseus, the
associate of Hercules, is not engaged in any adventure, worthy
of his rank or reputation, nor is he in reality an agent
throughout the play. Like K. Henry VIII. he goes out a
Maying. He meets the lovers in perplexity, and makes no
effort to promote their happiness; but when supernatural
accidents have reconciled them, he joins their company,
and concludes his day's entertainment by uttering some miserable
puns at an interlude represented by a troop of clowns.
Over the fairy part of the drama he cannot be supposed to
have any influence. This part of the fable, indeed, (at
least as much of it as relates to the quarrels of Oberon and
Titania) was not of our author's inventionb note
whole piece, the more exalted characters are subservient to
the interests of those beneath them. We laugh with Bottom
and his fellows, but is a single passion agitated by the faint
and childish sollicitudes of Hermia and Demetrius, of Helena
and Lysander, those shadows of each other?—That a
drama, of which the principal personages are thus insignificant,
and the fable thus meagre and uninteresting, was one
of our author's earliest compositions, does not, therefore,
seem a very improbable conjecture; nor are the beauties with
which it is embellished, inconsistent with this supposition;
for the genius of Shakspeare, even in its minority, could
embroider the coarsest materials with the brightest and most
lasting colours. A Midsummer Night's Dream was not entered at Stationers'
hall till Oct. 8, 1600, in which year it was printed;
but is mentioned by Meres in 1598. From the comedy of Dr. Dodipoll Mr. Steevens has quoted
a line, which the author seems to have borrowed from Shakspeare: So, in A Midsummer Night's Dream, Again, There is no earlier edition of the anonymous play in which
the foregoing lines are found, than that in 1600; but Dr.
Dodipowle is mentioned by Nashe, in his preface to Gabriel
Harvey's Hunt is up, printed in 1596. This, therefore, is
another circumstance, that in some measure authorises the
date here assigned to A Midsummer Night's Dream. The passage in the fifth act, which, with some probability,
has been thought to allude to the death of Spenser* note It has been already observed, that our author, in his early
plays appears to have been much addicted to rhyming; a
practice from which he gradually departed, though he never
wholly deserted it. In this piece more rhymes, I believe, are
found, than in any other of his plays, Love's Labour Lost
and A Midsummer Night's Dream only excepted. This circumstance,
the story on which it is founded, so likely to
captivate a young poet, the imperfect form in which it originally
appeared, and its very early publicationd note, all incline
me to believe that this was Shakspeare's first tragedy; for
the three parts of K. Henry VI. do not pretend to that title. “A new ballad of Romeo and Juliet,” (perhaps our author's
play) was entered on the Stationers' books August 5,
1596e note
Few of his plays appear to have been entered at Stationers'
hall, till they had been some time in possession of the stage;
on which account it may be conjectured that this tragedy
was written in 1595. If the following passage in an old comedy already mentioned,
entitled Dr. Dodipoll, which had appeared before
1596, be considered as an imitation, it may add some weight
to the supposition that Romeo and Juliet had been exhibited
before that year:
Mr. Steevens in his observations on Romeo and Juliet has
quoted these lines from Daniel's Complaint of Rosamond: So in Romeo and Juliet, Act V. Sc. iii. That Shakespeare imitated Daniel, or was imitated by him,
there can, I think, be little doubt. The early appearance
of The Complaint of Rosamondf note, (which is commended by
Nashe, in a tract entitled Pierce Pennilesse his Supplication,
&c. 1592,) seems to authorize the former opinion. From a speech of the Nurse in this play, which contains
these words—“It is now since the earthquake eleven years, &c.”
Mr. Tyrwhitt conjectures, that Romeo and Juliet, or at least
part of it, was written in 1591; the novels from which Shakspeare
may be supposed to have drawn his story, not mentioning
any such circumstance; while, on the other hand,
there actually was an earthquake in England on the 6th of
April, 1580, which he might here have had in viewg note.—It
is not without great distrust of my own opinion that I express
my dissent from a gentleman, to whose judgment the
highest respect is due; but, I own, this argument does not
appear to me conclusive. It seems extremely improbable,
that Shakspeare, when he was writing this tragedy, should
have adverted, with such precision, to the date of an earthquake
that had been felt in his youth; unless we suppose
him to have entertained so strange and incongruous a thought,
as to wish to persuade his audience, that the events which
are the subject of his play, happened at Verona in 1591,
at the very moment that a dramatick representation of them
was exhibiting in London: (for if Romeo and Juliet was written
in 1591, it probably was then also represented.) The
passage quoted strikes me, as only displaying one of those
characteristical traits, which distinguish old people of the
lower class; who delight in enumerating a multitude of minute
circumstances that have no relation to the business immediately
under their considerationh note, and are particularly
fond of computing time from extraordinary events, such as
battles, comets, plagues, and earthquakes. This feature
of their character our author has in various places, strongly
marked. Thus (to mention one of many instances) the
Grave-digger in Hamlet says, that he came to his employment,
“of all the days i'th'year, that day that the last
king o'ercame Fortinbras—that very day that young Hamlet
was born.”—Shakspeare probably remembered the earthquake
in 1580, and thought he might introduce one, for
the nonce, at Mantua. Why he has placed this earthquake
at the distance of eleven years, it is not very easy to determine.
However, it may be observed, that having supposed
it to have happened on the day on which Juliet was weaned,
he could not well have made it more distant than thirteen
years; which, indeed, from the context, should seem to be
the true reading. Supposing the author to have used figures,
the mistake might easily have happened.—At present there
is a manifest contradiction in the Nurse's account; for she expressly
says that Juliet was within a fortnight and odd days
of completing her fourteenth year; and yet, according to the
computation here made, she could not well be much more
than twelve years old. Perhaps Shakspeare was more careful
to mark the garrulity, than the precision, of the old woman
—or perhaps, he meant this very incorrectness as a trait
of her character:—or, without having recourse to either of
these suppositions, shall we say, that our author was here,
as in some other places, hasty and inattentive? It is certain
that there is nothing in which he is less accurate, than the
computation of time. Of his negligence in this respect,
As you Like It, The Merry Wives of Windsor, Measure for
Measure, and Othello, furnish remarkable instances.i note In a tract, written by Thomas Decker, entitled Newes
from Hell brought by the Devil's Carrier, 1606, there seems
to be an allusion to this comedy: “&lblank; his ignorance (arising from his blindness) is the
only cause of this Comedie of Errors.” This play was neither entered on the Stationers' books,
nor printed, till 1623, but is mentioned by Meres in 1598;
and exhibits internal proofs of having been an early production.
It could not, however, have been written before
1596; for the translation of the Menæchmi of Plautus, from
which the plot was taken, was not published till 1595. The tragedy of Hamlet was not registered in the books of
the Stationers' company till the 26th of July 1602, nor printed
till 1604. This circumstance, and indeed the general
air of the play itself, which has not, it must be owned, the
appearance of an early composition, might induce us to class
it five or six years later than 1596, were we not overpowered
by the proof adduced by Dr. Farmer, and by other circumstances,
from which it appears to have been acted in,
or before, that yeark note. The piece, however, which was
then exhibited, was probably but a rude sketch of that which
we now possess; for from the title page of the first edition,
in 1604, we learn, that (like Romeo and Juliet, and the
Merry Wives of Windsor) it had been enlarged to almost
twice its original size. The Case is altered, a comedy, attributed to Ben Jonson,
and written before the end of the year 1599l note, contains a
passage, which seems to me to have a reference to this play: In the second act of Hamlet, a contest between the children
of the queen's chapeln note, and the actors of the established
theatres, is alluded to. At what time that contest began, is
uncertain. But, should it appear not to have commenced
till some years after the date here assigned, it would not, I
apprehend, be a sufficient reason for ascribing this play to a
later period; for, as we are certain that considerable additions
were made to it after its first production, and have some authority
for attributing the first sketch of it to 1596, till that
authority is shaken, we may presume, that any passage
which is inconsistent with that date, was not in the play originally,
but a subsequent insertion. With respect to the allusion in question, it probably was
an addition; for it is not found in the quarto of 1604, (which
has not the appearance of a mutilated or imperfect copy,)
nor did it appear in print till the publication of the folio in
1623. The same observation may be made on the passage produced
by Mr. Holt, to prove that this play was not written
till after 1597. “Their inhibition comes by means of the late
innovation.” This, indeed, does appear in the quarto of
1604, but, we may presume, was added in the interval between
1597, (when the statute alluded to,—39 Eliz. ch.
4—was enacted) and that year. Hamleto note Sadler was one of the witnesses to Shakspeare's
Will. He was probably born soon after the first exhibition
of this play; and, according to this date, was twenty years
old at the time of his attestation. If this tragedy had not appeared till some years after the
date here assigned, he would not have been at the time of
Shakspeare's death above sixteen or seventeen years old; at
which age he scarcely would have been chosen as a witness
to so solemn an act. The following passage, in An Epistle to the Gentlemen Students
of the Two Universities by Thomas Nashe, prefixed to
Greene's Arcadia, (which has no date) has been thought to
allude to this play.—“I will turn back to my first text of
studies of delight, and talk a little in friendship with a few
of our trivial translators. This passage does not, in my apprehension, decisively
prove that our author's Hamlet was written so early as 1591;
(in which yearp note Dr. Farmer, on good grounds, conjectures
that Greene's Arcadia was published:) for supposing this to
have been a sneer at Shakspeare, it might have been inserted
in some new edition of this tract after 1596; it being a frequent
practice of Nashe and Greene, to make additions to
their pamphlets at every re-impression. But it is by no means clear, that Shakspeare was the person
whom Nashe had here in contemplation. He seems to
point at some dramatick writer of that time, who had been
originally a scrivener or attorney: who, instead of transcribing deeds and pleadings, chose to
imitate Seneca's plays, of which a translation had been published
not many years before.—“The trade of Noverint” is the
trade of an attorney or notaryq note Of all the writers of the age of queen Elizabeth, Nashe
is the most licentious in his language; perpetually distorting
words from their primitive signification, in a manner
often puerile and ridiculous, but more frequently incomprehensible
and absurd. His prose works, if they were collected
together, would perhaps exhibit a greater farrago of
unintelligible jargon, than is to be found in the productions
of any author ancient or modern. An argument that rests
on a term used by such a writer, has but a weak foundation. The phrase—“whole hamlets of tragical speeches”—is certainly
intelligible, without supposing an allusion to the play;
and might have only meant a large quantity.—We meet a
similar expression in our author's Cymbeline.
It should also be observed, that “hamlets,” in the foregoing
passage, is not printed in Italicks, though the word
Seneca, in the same sentence, is; and all the quotations, authors'
names, and books mentioned in this epistle, are distinguished
by that character. This is the only one of the uncontested plays of Shakspeare,
that is not entered in the books of the Stationers'
company. It was not printed till 1623, but is mentioned
by Meres in 1598, unless he mistook the old play in two
parts, printed in 1591, for the composition of Shakspearer note. In the first act of King John, an ancient tragedy, entitled
Solyman and Perseda, is alluded to. The earliest edition of
that play, now extant, is that of 1599, but it was written,
and probably acted, many years before; for it was entered
on the Stationers' books, by Edward Whyte, Nov. 20, 1592. Marston's Insatiate Countess, printed in 1603, contains a
passage, which, if it should be considered as an imitation of
a similar one in King John, will ascertain this historical drama
to have been written at least before that year: So in King John: King Richard II. was entered on the Stationers' books,
August, 29, 1597, and printed in that year. Dr. Farmer supposes that there was a former play on this
subject, because when Sir Gilly Merricke, one of the followers
of the Earl of Essex, on the 7th of February 1600–I,
desired a company of actors to perform King Richard II. they
alleged “that the play was old, and that they should have
a loss in playing it.” Our author's performance, however, might have been
intended; and the players, perhaps, considered a play as
old, that had been three or four years in possession of the
stage. They might have only meant, that it was not of that
season. Indeed, I the rather think that this was their meaning,
because there is no trace in the Stationers' books, nor
in any ancient catalogue that I have seen, of any play on
this subject, except that of Shakspeare. In further support of his hypothesis, Dr. Farmer relies
on the doctrines of indefeasable right contained in this play,
which, he thinks, could not have been agreeable to the insurgents
abovementioned. But they do not appear to have
been so much concerned about the sentiments of the piece,
(with which, perhaps, they were unacquainted) as desirous
to behold the catastrophe that it exhibits.—This, I conceive,
may be collected from the paragraph subjoined to that
which Dr. Farmer has quoted—“So earnest hee (Merricke)
was, to satisfy his eyes with a sight of that tragedie, which
he thought soone after his Lord should bring from the stage
to the states note.” Entered at the Stationers' hall, Oct. 20, 1597. Printed
in that year. Entered Feb. 25, 1597, according to our present reckoning,
1598. Written therefore probably in 1597. Printed
in 1598. Entered July 22, 1598; and mentioned by Meres in that
year. Published in 1600. All's Well that Ends Well was not registered at Stationers'
hall, nor printed, till 1623; but probably is the play mentioned
by Meres, in 1598, under the title of Love's Labour
Won. This comedy was, I believe, also sometimes called
A Bad Beginning makes a Good Ending; for I find that a play
with that title, together with Hotspur, Benedict and Beatrix,
and several others, was acted at court, by John Heminge's
company in the year 1613: and no such piece is to be found
in any collection however complete or extensive, nor is such
a title preserved in any list or catalogue whatsoever. As the
titles of Hotspur, and Benedict and Beatrix, were substituted
in the place of the first part of K. Henry IV. and Much Ado
about Nothing, it is probable that the other was only a new
name for All's Well that Ends Well. By an entry in the hand writing of king Charles I. in a
copy of the second edition of our author's plays in folio,
which formerly belonged to that monarch, and is now in
the possession of Mr. Steevens, it appears, that this play was
also sometimes called Mr. Parolles. This play was entered at Stationers' hall, August 4, 1600,
and printed in the same year. It was acted very earlyt note in
that year, by the Lord Chamberlain's servants, before Mons.
Vereiken, ambassador to Queen Elizabeth from the Archduke
and the Infanta. The prologue to this piece furnishes a strong argument to
shew that it was not written by Shakespeare. The following
lines particularly deserve our attention:
The character here alluded to, which the author was apprehensive
the audience might confound with his virtuous
peer, appears to have been one that had been exhibited in
the old play of King Henry V. (u noteprior to Shakspeare's) under
the name of Sir John Oldcastlex note. This exhibition was the
forg'd invention that had defaced former time. In this old play
are found the outlines of some of the characters which Shakspeare
has introduced in the two parts of King Henry IV.
and King Henry V. The Sir John Oldcastle of the old play
was probably the prototype of Sir John Falstaff. It is not
necessary here to enter into the question, whether Falstaff
was originally called by the name of Oldcastle. Whether he
was or not, these lines could not, I apprehend, have come
from the pen of Shakspeare. If Falstaff originally went by
the name of Oldcastle, Shakspeare was then as guilty as the
author of the old Henry V. and he never would have arraigned
himself for exhibiting the pampered glutton and aged debauchee,
under the name of Sir John Oldcastle, the good
lord Cobham. Though this were not the case, and the fat
knight bore originally the name of Falstaff, Shakspeare would
hardly have touched upon this string; for the representing
of Sir John Fastolfe, a celebrated general, and a knight of
the garter, under the character of a debauchee and a counsellor
to youthful sin, was no less a forgery, and a departure
from the truth of history, than the other. Our author himself too seems to ridicule this very prologue,
in his epilogue to the Second Part of King Henry IV.
“For Oldcastle dyed a martyr, and this is not the man.”—
This surely ought to decide the question. This reference induces me to think that Sir John Oldcastle
was written before the Second Part of King Henry IV. The Second Part of K. Henry IV. was entered on the Stationers'
note
books, August 23, 1600, and was printed in that
year. It was probably written in the latter end of the year
1598, for from the epilogue it appears to have been composed
before K. Henry V. which itself must have been written in,
or before, 1599. It is observable that the The following allusion to one of the characters in this
play, which is found in Ben Jonson's Every Man out of his
Humour, Act V. Sc. ii. first acted in 1599, is an additional
authority for supposing the Second Part of K. Henry IV. to
have been written in 1598. Mr. Pope thought that this historical drama was one of
our author's latest compositions; but he was evidently mistaken.
King Henry V. was entered on the Stationers' books,
August 14, 1600, and printed in the same year. It was
written after the Second Part of K. Henry IV. being promised
in the epilogue of that play; and while the Earl of Essex
was in Irelanda note. Lord Essex went to Ireland April 15,
1599, and returned to London on the 28th of September
in the same year. So that this play (unless the passage relative
to him was inserted after the piece was finished) must
have been composed between April and September, 1599.
Supposing that passage a subsequent insertion, the play was
probably not written long before; for it is not mentioned by
Meres in 1598. The prologueb note
till 1601, when the play was printedc note. It appears to have
been Jonson's first performanced note; and we may presume that
it was the very play, which, we are told, was brought on
the stage by the good offices of Shakspeare, who himself
acted in ite note. Malignant and envious as Jonson appears to
have been, he hardly would have ridiculed his benefactor
at the very time he was so essentially obliged to him.
In two or three years afterwards, his jealousy probably broke
out, and vented itself in this prologue. It is certain that,
not long after the year 1600, a coolnessf note
Shakspeare and him, which, however, he may talk of his
almost idolatrous affection, produced on his part, from that
time to the death of our author, and for many years afterwards,
much clumsy sarcasm and many malevolent reflectionsg note
note,
to raise a laugh at Hamlet's exclamation when he kills
Polonius. Some other passages which are found in Jonson's works, might
be mentioned in support of this observation, but being quoted
hereafter for other purposes, they are here omitted. Notwithstanding these proofs, Jonson's malevolence to Shakspeare,
and jealousy of his superior reputation, have been doubted
by Mr. Pope and others; and much stress has been laid on a
passage in his Discoveries, and on the commendatory verses prefixed
to the first edition of our author's plays in folio.—The reader,
after having perused the following character of Jonson,
drawn by Mr. Drummond of Hawthornden, a contemporary, and
an intimate acquaintance of his, will not, perhaps, readily believe
these posthumous encomiums to have been sincere. “Jonson,
(says that writer) was a great lover and praiser of himself; a contemner
and scorner of others, rather chusing to lose a friend than
a jest; jealous of every word and action of those about him, especially
after drink, which was one of the elements he lived in;
a dissembler of the parts which reigned in him; a bragger of some
good that he wanted: he thought nothing right, but what either
himself or some of his friends had done. He was passionately kind
and angry; careless either to gain or to keep; vindictive, but, if he
was well answered, greatly chagrined; interpreting the best sayings
often to the worst* note. He was for any religion, being versed
in all. His inventions were smooth and easy, but above all, he
excelled in translation. In short, he was, in his personal character,
the very reverse of Shakespeare; as surly, ill-natured,
proud and disagreeable, as Shakespeare, with ten times his merit,
was gentle, good-natured, easy, and amiable.”
Drummond's Works, fol. 1711. In the year 1619 Jonson went to Scotland, to visit Mr. Drummond,
who has left a curious account of a conversation that passed
between them, relative to the principal poets of those times. From a natural partiality to his author, the foregoing well-authenticated
character was suppressed by the last learned editor of
Jonson's works.
On this play Mr. Pope has the following note, Act I.
Sc. i. “This first scene was added since the edition of 1608,
which is much short of the present editions, wherein the
speeches are generally enlarged, and raised; several whole
scenes besides, and the choruses also, were since added by
Shakespeare.”— Dr. Warburton also positively asserts that this first scene
was written after the accession of K. James I. and the subsequent
editors agree, that several additions were made by
the author to King Henry V. after it was originally composed.
But there is, I believe, no good ground for these assertions.
It is true that no perfect edition of this play was published
before that in folio, in 1623; but it does not follow from
thence, that the scenes which then first appeared in print,
and all the choruses, were added by Shakspeare, as Mr. Pope
supposes, after 1608. We know indeed the contrary to be
true; for the chorus to the fifth act must have been written
in 1599. The fair inference to be drawn from the imperfect
and mutilated copies of this play, published in 1600,
1602, and 1608, is, not that the whole play, as we now
have it, did not then exist, but that those copies were surreptitious,
(probably taken down in short hand, during the
representation;) and that the editor in 1600, not being able
to publish the whole, published what he could. I have not indeed met with any evidence (except in three
plays) that the several scenes which are found in the folio
of 1623, and are not in the preceding quartos, were
added by the second labour of the author.—The last chorus of
K. Henry V. already mentioned, affords a striking proof that
this was not always the case. The two copies of the Second
Part of K. Henry IV. printed in the same year (1600) furnish
another. In one of these, the whole first scene of Act III.
is wanting; not because it was then unwritten, (for it is
found in the other copy published in that year) but because
the editor was not possessed of it. That what have been
called additions by the author, were not really such, may
be also collected from another circumstance; that in some
of the quartos where these supposed additions are wanting,
references and replies are found to the passages omittedh note. I do not however mean to say, that Shakspeare never made
any alterations in his plays. We have reason to believe
that Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, and the Merry Wives of Windsor,
were entirely new written; and a second revisal or temporary
topicks might have suggested, in a course of years,
some additions and alterations in all his pieces. But with
respect to the entire scenes that are wanting in some of the
early editions, (particularly those of K. Henry V. the Second
and Third Part of King Henry VI. and the Second Part of King
Henry IV.) I suppose the omissions to have arisen from the
imperfection of the copies; and instead of saying that “the
first scene of K. Henry V. was added by the author after the
publication of the quarto in 1600,” all that we can pronounce
with certainty is, that this scene is not found in the
quarto of 1600. Printed in 1600, without the name of Shakspeare. In
the title page are the letters W. S. Much Ado about Nothing, was written, we may presume,
early in the year 1600; for it was entered at Stationers'
hall, August 23, 1600, and printed in that year. It is not mentioned by Meres in his list of our author's
plays, published in the latter end of the year 1598. This comedy was not printed till 1623, and the caveat or
memorandumi note in the second volume of the books of the
Stationers' company, relative to the three plays of As You
Like it, Henry V. and Much Ado about Nothing, has no date
except Aug. 4. But immediately above that caveat there is
an entry, dated May 27, 1600,—and the entry, immediately
following, it is dated Jan. 23, 1603. We may therefore
presume that this caveat was entered between those two periods:
more especially, as the dates scattered over the pages
where this entry is found, are, except in one instance, in a
regular series from 1596 to 1615. This will appear more
clearly by exhibiting the entry exactly as stands in the
book:
27 May 1600.
To Mr. Roberts.] Allarum to London. 4 Aug.
As You Like It, a book. to be staied, Henry the Fift, a book. to be staied. Every Man in his Humour, a book. to be staied. Comedy of Much Ado about Nothing. to be staied. 23 Jan. 1603.
To Thomas Thorpe, and William Aspley. This to be their copy, &c. It is extremely probable that this 4th of August was of the
year 1600; which standing a little higher on the paper,
the clerk of the Stationers' company might have thought unnecessary
to be repeated. All the plays which were entered
with As You Like it, and are here said to be staied, were printed
in the year 1600 or 1601. The stay or injunction against
the printing appears to have been very speedily taken off; for
in ten days afterwards, on the 14th of August 1600, King
Henry V. was entered, and published in the same year. So,
Much Ado about Nothing, was entered August 23, 1600, and
printed also in that year: and Every Man in his Humour was
published in 1601. Shakspeare, it is said, played the part of Adam in As You
Like It. As he was not eminent on the stage, it is probable
that he ceased to act some years before he retired to the country.
His appearance, however, in this comedy, is not inconsistent
with the date here assigned; for we know that he
performed a part in Jonson's Sejanus in 1603. The first sketch of this comedy was printed in 1602. It
was entered in the books of the Stationers' company, on the
18th of January 1601–2, and was therefore probably written
in 1601, after the two parts of K. Henry IV. being, it is
said, composed at the desire of queen Elizabeth, in order to
exhibit Falstaff in love, when all the pleasantry which he
could afford in any other situation was exhausted. But it
may not be thought so clear, that it was written after K.
Henry V. There is reason to believe that The Merry Wives of Windsor
was revised and considerably enlarged by the author,
after its first production. The old edition in 1602, like
that of Romeo and Juliet, is apparently a rough draught, and
not a mutilated or imperfect copy. At what time the alterations
and additions were made, is uncertain. Mr. Warton
supposes them to have been made in 1607. Dr. Farmer
concurs with him in that opinion, though he does not
think the argument on which it is founded, conclusive. I
have not met with any information on this head. This comedy was not printed in its present state, till 1623,
when it was published with the rest of our author's plays in
folio.
This play seems to have been entered on the Stationers'
books, February 12, 1604, under the title of the Enterludek note
of K. Henry VIII. It was probably written, as Dr. Johnson
and Mr. Steevens observe, before the death of queen Elizabeth,
which happened on the 24th of March 1603. The
elogium on king James, which is blended with the panegyrick
on Elizabeth, in the last scene, was evidently a subsequent
insertion, after the accession of the Scotish monarch
to the throne: for Shakspeare was too well acquainted with
courts, to compliment in the life-time of queen Elizabeth,
her presumptive successor, of whom history informs us she
was not a little jealous. That the prediction concerning
king James was added after the death of the queen, is still
more clearly evinced, as Dr. Johnson has remarked, by the
aukward manner in which it is connected with the foregoing
and subsequent lines. It may be objected, that if this play was written after the
accession of king James, the author could not introduce a
panegyrick on him, without making queen Elizabeth the
vehicle of it, she being the object immediately presented to
the audience in the last act of K. Henry VIII. and that, therefore,
the praises so profusely lavished on her, do not prove
this play to have been written in her life-time; on the contrary,
that the concluding lines of her character seem to
imply that she was dead, when it was composed. The objection
certainly has weight; but, I apprehend, the following
observations afford a sufficient answer to it. 1. It is more likely that Shakspeare should have written a
play, the chief subject of which is, the disgrace of queen
Catharine, the aggrandizement of Anne Boleyn, and the
birth of her daughter, in the life-time of that daughter, than
after her death: at a time when the subject must have been
highly pleasing at court, rather than at a period when it must
have been less interesting. Queen Catherine, it is true, is represented as an amiable
character, but still she is eclipsed; and the greater her merit,
the higher was the compliment to the mother of Elizabeth,
to whose superior beauty she was obliged to give way. 2. Had K. Henry VIII. been written in the time of king
James I. the author, instead of expatiating so largely in the
last scene, in praise of the queen, which he could not think
would be very acceptable to her successor, would probably
have made him the principal figure in the prophecy, and
thrown her into the back-ground as much as possible. 3. Were James I. Shakspeare's chief object in the original
construction of the last act of this play, he would probably
have given a very short character of Elizabeth, and have
dwelt on that of James, with whose praise he would have
concluded, in order to make the stronger impression on the
audience, instead of returning again to queen Elizabeth, in
a very aukward and abrupt manner, after her character seemed
to be quite finished: an aukwardness that can only be accounted
for, by supposing the panegyrick on king James an
after-productionl note
4. If the queen had been dead when our author wrote
this play, he would have been acquainted with the particular
circumstances attending her death, the situation of
the kingdom at that time, and of foreign states, &c. and as
archbishop Cranmer is supposed to have had the gift of prophecy,
Shakspeare, probably, would have made him mention
some of those circumstances. Whereas the prediction,
as it stands at present, is quite general, and such as might,
without any hazard of error, have been pronounced in the
life-time of her majesty; for the principal facts that it foretells,
are, that she should die aged, and a virgin. Of the
former, supposing this piece to have been written in 1601,
the author was sufficiently secure; for she was then near
seventy years old. The latter may perhaps be thought too
delicate a subject, to have been mentioned while she was
yet living. But, we may presume, it was far from being an
ungrateful topick; for very early after her accession to the
throne, she appears to have been proud of her maiden character;
declaring that she was wedded to her people, and
that she desired no other inscription on her tomb, than—
Here lyeth Elizabeth, who reigned and died a virginm note. Besides,
if Shakespeare knew, as probably most people at that time
did, that she became very solicitous about the reputation
of virginity, when her title to it was at least equivocal,
this would be an additional inducement to him to compliment
her on that head. 5. Granting that the latter part of the panegyrick on Elizabeth
implies that she was dead when it was composed, it
would not prove that this play was written in the time of
king James; for these latter lines in praise of the queen, as
well as the whole of the compliment to the king, might have
been added after his accession to the throne, in order to
bring the speaker back to the object immediately before him,
the infant Elizabeth. And this Mr. Theobald conjectured
to have been the case. I do not, however, see any necessity
for this supposition; as there is nothing, in my apprehension,
contained in any of the lines in praise of the queen,
inconsistent with the idea of the whole of the panegyrick on
her having been composed in her life-time. In further confirmation of what has been here advanced
to shew that this play was probably written while queen
Elizabeth was yet alive, it may be observed, (to use the
words of an anonymous writern note,) that “Shakspeare has cast
the disagreeable parts of her father's character as much into
shade as possible; that he has represented him as greatly
displeased with the grievances of his subjects, and ordering
them to be relieved; tender and obliging [in the early part
of the play] to his queen, grateful to the cardinal, and in
the case of Cranmer, capable of distinguishing and rewarding
true merit.” “He has exerted (adds the same author)
an equal degree of complaisance, by the amiable lights in
which he has shewn the mother of Elizabeth. Anne Bullen
is represented as affected with the most tender concern for
the sufferings of her mistress, queen Catherine; receiving
the honour the king confers on her, by making her marchioness
of Pembroke, with a graceful humility; and more
anxious to conceal her advancement from the queen, lest it
should aggravate her sorrows, than sollicitous to penetrate
into the meaning of so extraordinarily a favour, or of indulging
herself in the flattering prospect of future royalty.” It is unnecessary to quote particular passages in support
of these assertions; but the following lines which are
spoken of Anne Boleyn by the Lord Chamberlain, appear to
me so evidently calculated for the ear of Elizabeth, (to
whom such incense was by no means displeasing) that I cannot
forbear to transcribe them:— The Globe play-house, we are told by the continuator of
Stowe's Chronicle, was burnt down, on St. Peter's day,
in the year 1613, while the play of K. Henry VIII. was exhibiting.
Sir Henry Wotton, (as Mr. Tyrwhitt has observed)
says in one of his letters, that this accident happened
during the exhibition of a new play, called All is True;
which, however, appears both from Sir Henry's minute description
of the piece, and from the account given by Stowe's
continuator, to have been our author's play of K. Henry
VIII. If indeed Sir H. Wotton was accurate in calling it
a new play, all the foregoing reasoning on this subject
would be at once overthrown; and this piece, instead of
being ascribed to 1601, should have been placed twelve
years later. But I strongly suspect that the only novelty attending
this play, in the year 1613, was its title, decorations,
and perhaps the prologue and epilogue. The Elector
Palatine was in London in that year; and it appears
from the Ms. register of lord Harrington
Dr. Johnson long since suspected, from the contemptuous
manner in which “the noise of targets, and the fellow in
a long motley coat,” or, in other words, most of our author's
plays, are spoken of, in this prologue, that it was not the
composition of Shakspeare, but written after his departure
from the stage, on some accidental revisal of K. Henry VIII.
by B. Jonson, whose style, it seemed to him to resembleq note
Dr. Farmer is of the same opinion, and thinks he sees something
of Jonson's hand, here and there, in the dialogue also.
After our author's retirement to the country, Jonson
was perhaps employed to give a novelty to the piece by a
new title and prologue, and to furnish the managers of the
Globe with a description of the coronation ceremony, and
of those other decorations, with which, from his connection
with Inigo Jones, and his attendance at court, he was
peculiarly conversant. The piece appears to have been revived with some degree
of splendour; for Sir Henry Wotton gives a very pompous
account of the representation. The unlucky accident that
happened to the house during the exhibition, was occasioned
by discharging some small pieces, called chambers, on
K. Henry's arrival at cardinal Wolsey's gate at Whitehall,
one of which, being injudiciously managed, set fire to the
thatched roof of the theatrer note
The play, thus revived and new-named, was probably called, in the bills of that time, a new play; which might have led Sir Henry Wotton to describe it as such. And thus his account may be reconciled with that of the other contemporary writers, as well as with those arguments which have been here urged in support of the early date of K. Henry VIII. Every thing has been fully stated on each side of the question. The reader must judge. Mr. Roderick in his notes on our author, (appended to Mr. Edwards's Canons of Criticism) takes notice of some peculiarities in the metre of the play before us; viz. “that there are many more verses in it than in any other, which end with a redundant syllable”—“very near two to one”—and that “the cæsuræ or pauses of the verse are full as remarkable.”—The redundancy, &c. observed by this critick, Mr. Steevens thinks (a remark, which, having omitted to introduce in its proper place, he desires me to insert here) “was rather the effect of chance, than of design in the author; and might have arisen either from the negligence of Shakspeare, who in this play has borrowed whole scenes and speeches from Holinshed, whose words he was probably in too much haste to compress into versification strictly regular and harmonious; or from the interpolations of Ben Jonson, whose hand Dr. Farmer thinks he occasionally perceives in the dialogue.” Whether Mr. Roderick's position be well founded, is hardly worth a contest; but the peculiarities which he has animadverted on, (if such there be) add probability to the conjecture that this piece underwent some alterations, after it had passed out of the hands of Shakspeare. Our author had produced so many plays in the preceding years, that it is not likely that K. Henry VIII. was written before 1601. It might perhaps with equal propriety be ascribed to 1602, and it is not easy to determine in which of those years it was composed; but it is extremely probable that it was written in one of them. K. Henry VIII. was not printed till 1623. “A book or poem, called the Life and Death of Thomas Woolsey Cardinall,” which was entered on the books of the Stationers' company, in the year 1599, perhaps suggested this subject to Shakspeare. Entered at Stationers' hall, August 11, 1602. Printed in 1613, with the letters W. S. only, in the title page. Troilus and Cressida was entered at Stationers' hall Feb. 7. 1602–3, by J. Roberts, the printer of Hamlet, the Merchant of Venice, and A Midsummer Night's Dream. It was therefore, probably, written in 1602. It was printed in 1609, with a preface by the editor, who speaks of it as if it had not been then acted. But it is entered in 1602–3, “as acted by my Lord Chamberlen's men.” The players at the Globe theatre, to which Shakspeare belonged, were called the Lord Chamberlain's servants, till the year 1603. In that year they obtained a licence for their exhibitions from king James; and from that time they bore the more honourable appellation of his majesty's servants. There can, therefore, be little doubt, that the Troilus and Cressida which is here entered, as acted at Shakspeare's theatre, was his play, and was, if not represented, intended to have been represented theres note. Perhaps the two discordant accounts, relative to this piece, may be thus reconciled. It might have been performed in 1602 at court, by the lord chamberlain's servants, (as many plays at that time were) and yet not have been exhibited on the publick stage till some years afterwards. The editor in 1609 only says, “it had never been staled with the stage, never clapperclaw'd with the palms of the vulgar.” As a further proof of the early appearance of Troilus and Cressida, it may be observed, that an incident in it seems to be burlesqued in a comedy entitled Histriomastix, which, though not printed till 1610, must have been written before the death of queen Elizabeth, who, in the last act of the piece, is shadowed under the character of Astræa, and is spoken of as then living. In our author's play, when Troilus and Cressida part, he gives her his sleeve, and she, in return, presents, him with her glove. To this circumstance these lines in Histriomastix seem to refer. They are spoken by Troilus and Cressida, who are introduced in an interlude: Troi.“Come Cressida, my cresset light, Thy face doth shine both day and night. Behold, behold, thy garter blue Thy knight his valiant elbow weares, That, when he shakes his furious speare, The foe in shivering fearful sort May lay him down in death to snort. Cress. O knight, with valour in thy face, Here take my skreene, weare it for grace; Within thy helmet put the same, Therewith to make thy enemies lame.”
Dryden supposed Troilus and Cressida to have been one of Shakspeare's earliest performancest note; but has not mentioned on what principles he founded his judgment. Pope, on the other hand, thought it one of his last; grounding his opinion not only on the preface by the editor in 1609, but on “the great number of observations both moral and political with which this piece is crowded, more than any other of our author's.” For my own part, were it not for the entry in the Stationers' books, I should have been led, both by the colour of the writing and by the abovementioned preface, to class it (though not one of our author's happiest effusions) in 1608, rather than in that year in which it is here placed. This play was not registered at Stationers' hall, nor printed, till 1623. But from two passages in it, which seem intended as a courtly apology for the stately and ungracious demeanour of K. James I. on his entry into England, it appears probable that it was written soon after his accession to the throne: “I'll privily away. I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes. Though it do well, I do not relish well Their loud applause, and aves vehement; Nor do I think the man of safe discretion That does affect it.” Meas. for Meas. Act I. sc. i. Again, Act II. sc. iv. &lblank; “So The general, subject to a well-wish'd king, Quit their own part, and in obsequious fondness Croud to his presence, where their untaught love Must needs appear offenceu note.”
King James was so much offended by the untaught, and, we may add, undeserved, gratulations of his subjects, on his entry into England, that he issued a proclamation, forbidding the people to resort to him.—“Afterwards,” says the historian of his reign, “in his publick appearances, especially in his sports, the accesses of the people made him so impatient, that he often dispersed them with frowns, that we may not say with cursesw note.” That Measure for Measure was written before 1607, may
be fairly concluded from the following passage in a poem
published in that year, which we have good ground to believe
was copied from a similar thought in this play, as the
author, at the end of his piece, professes a personal regard
for Shakspeare, and highly praises his Venus and Adonis “So play the foolish throngs with one that swoons; Come all to help him, and so stop the air By which he should revive.” Meas. for Meas. Act II. Sc. iv. “And like as when some sudden extasie Seizeth the nature of a sicklie man; When he's discern'd to swoune, straite by and by Folke to his helpe confusedly have ran, And seeking with their art to fetch him backe, So many throng that he the ayre doth lacke.” Myrrha the Mother of Adonis, or Luste's Prodigies, by William Barksted, a poem, 1607. Cymbeline was not entered on the Stationers' books, nor printed, till 1623. It stands the last in the earliest folio edition; but nothing can be collected from thence, for the folio editors manifestly paid no attention to chronological arrangement. Not containing any intrinsick evidence by which its date might be ascertained, it is attributed to this year, chiefly because there is no proof that any other play was written by Shakspeare in 1604. And as in the course of somewhat more than twenty years, he produced, according to some, forty-three, in the opinion of others, thirty-five dramas, we may presume that he was not idle during any one year of that time. This play was perhaps alluded to, in an old comedy called The Return from Parnassus: “Frame as well we might, with easy strain, “With far more praise, and with as little pain, “Stories of love, where 'fore the wond'ring bench “The lisping gallant might enjoy his wench; “Or make some sire acknowledge his lost sony note, “Found, when the weary act is almost done.” If the author of this piece had Cymbeline in contemplation, it must have been more ancient than it is here supposed; for from several passages in the Return from Parnassus, that comedy appears to have been written before the death of queen Elizabeth, which happened on the 24th of March 1603. Mr. Steevens has observed, that there is a passage in B. and Fletcher's Philaster, which bears a strong resemblance to a speech of Jachimo in Cymbeline: “I hear the tread of people: I am hurt; “The Gods take part against me: could this boor “Have held me thus, else?” Philaster, Act IV. Sc. i. &lblank; “I have bely'd a lady “The princess of this country; and the air of't “Revengingly enfeebles me; or could this carle, “A very drudge of nature, have subdu'd me, “In my profession?” Cymbeline, Act V. Sc. ii. Philaster is supposed to have appeared on the stage about 1609; being mentioned by John Davies of Hereford, in his Epigrams, which have no date, but were printed, according to Oldys, in or about that yearz note. One edition of the tract called Westward for Smelts, from which part of the fable of Cymbeline is borrowed, was published in 1603.
There is good ground for thinking that The London Prodigal
was written long before 1605; but not affording any
marks to ascertain the precise time of its composition, and
not deserving any very minute inquiry, it is here ascribed
to that year, in which it was published. Shakspeare's name is printed in the title page of this
play, as well as in three other contested pieces;—Pericles,
Sir John Oldcastle, and A Yorkshire Tragedy. But how little
the booksellers of that time scrupled to avail themselves of
his name, in order to procure a sale for their publications,
appears from its being prefixed to two of Ovid's Epistles,
(which have ever since been published among his poems)
though they were translated by Thomas Heywood; and
printed (as Dr. Farmer has observed) in a work of his entitled
Brytaine's Troy, fol. 1609a note, before they were ascribed
to Shakspeare. The tragedy of King Lear was entered on the books of
the Stationers' company Nov. 26, 1607, and is there mentioned
to have been played the preceding Christmas, before
his majesty at Whitehall. But this, I conjecture, was not
its first exhibition. It seems extremely probable that its first
appearance was in 1605; in which year the old play of K.
Leir, that had been entered at Stationers' hall in 1594, was
printed by Simon Stafford, for John Wright, who, we may
presume, finding Shakspeare's play successful, hoped to
palm the spurious one on the publick for hisb note. Our author's King Lear was not published till 1608.
Harsnet's Declaration of Popish Impostures, from which Shakspeare
borrowed some fantastick names of spirits, mentioned
in this play, was printed in 1603.
From a book entitled Rex Platonicus, cited by Dr. Farmer,
we learn that king James, when he visited Oxford in
1605, was addressed by three students of St. John's college,
who personated the three weird sisters, and recited a short
dramatick poem, founded on the prediction of those sybils,
(as the author calls them) relative to Banquo and
Macbeth. Dr. Farmer is of opinion, that this little piecec note preceded
Shakspeare's play; a supposition which is strengthened by
the silence of the author of Rex Platonicus, who, if Macbeth
had then appeared on the stage, would probably have mentioned
something of it. It should be likewise remembered,
that there subsisted at that time a spirit of opposition and
rivalship between the regular players and the academicks of
the two universities; the latter of whom frequently acted
plays both in Latin and English, and seem to have piqued
themselves on the superiority of their exhibitions to those of
the established theatresd note
This tragedy contains an allusion to the union of the three kingdoms of England, Scotland and Ireland, under one sovereign, and also to the cure of the king's-evil by the royal touche note; but in what year that pretended power was assumed by king James I. is uncertain. Macbeth was not entered in the Stationers' books, nor printed, till 1623. In The Tragedy of Cæsar and Pompey, or Cæsar's Revenge, are these lines: “Why think you, lords, that 'tis ambition's spur “That pricketh Cæsar to these high attempts?” If the author of that play, which was published in 1607, should be thought to have had Macbeth's soliloquy in view, (which is not unlikely) this circumstance may add some degree of probability to the supposition that this tragedy had appeared before that year: &lblank; “I have no spur “To prick the sides of my intent, but only “Vaulting ambition, which o'er-leaps itself “And falls at the other”— At the time when Macbeth is supposed to have been written, the subject, it is probable, was considered as a topick the most likely to conciliate the favour of the court. In the additions to Warner's Albion's England, which were first printed in 1606, the story of “the Three Fairies or Weird Elves,” as he calls them, is shortly told, and king James's descent from Banquo carefully deduced. Ben Jonson, a few years afterwards, paid his court to his majesty by his Masque of Queensf note, presented at Whitehall, Feb. 12, 1609; in which he has given a minute detail of all the magick rites that are recorded by king James in his book of Dæmonologie, or by any other author ancient or modern. Mr. Steevens has lately discovered a Ms. play, entitled
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