Title page THE WORKS OF Mr. William Shakespear. Volume the First. CONTAINING, The Tempest. The Two Gentlemen of Verona. The Merry Wives of Windsor. Measure for Measure. Comedy of Errors. Much Ado about Nothing. Love's Labour's Lost. LONDON: Printed for Jacob Tonson, at Grays-Inn Gate. MDCCIX.

TO HIS GRACE, THE Duke of Somerset.

My Lord,

If the Application of too great a Part of my Time to the unprofitable Love and Study of Poetry, has been an Imputation, perhaps, justly enough charg'd upon me; I am bound, by the first Principles of Duty and Gratitude, to own, that it is by Your Grace's immediate Goodness that I have

at length an Opportunity of turning my Thoughts a better and more useful Way. The Honour of Your Grace's Protection and Favour, has something in it which distinguishes it self from that of other Great Men; the Benefit of it is extensive, and to have a share in Your Grace's good Opinion, is to be entitled, at least, to some Esteem and Regard from Your Grace's illustrious Friends, that is, from those who fill up the first and best Rank of Mankind. Whatever I am or can be, (if I am ever to be any thing) is all Your Grace's. It is an Acknowledgment that I make, with as much Satisfaction as Pride; and I don't know whether the Obligation I lye under, or the Benefit I receive from it, be capable of giving me the greater Pleasure. Some Dependances are indeed a Pain, tho' they bring considerable Advantages along with them; but where there is a gracious Temper, an easie Condescension, and a Readiness to do Good equal to the Magnificence of the Giver, the Value of that Gift must certainly be very much enhanc'd. 'Tis my particular Happiness, that Your Grace is the best Benefactor I could have; for as I am capable

of making no Return, Your Grace never thinks of receiving one. I have indeed one thing still to beg, That as Your Grace receiv'd me into Your favourable Opinion, without any Pretension that could be made on my side, I may have the Honour to continue there, by my first Title, Your Grace's meer Goodness.

Tho' it be high time to disclaim those Studies, with which I have amus'd my self and other People; yet I could not take leave of an Art I have long lov'd, without commending the best of our Poets to the Protection of the best Patron. I have sometimes had the Honour to hear Your Grace express the particular Pleasure you have taken in that Greatness of Thought, those natural Images, those Passions finely touch'd, and that beautiful Expression which is every where to be met with in Shakespear. And that he may still have the Honour to entertain Your Grace, I have taken some Care to redeem him from the Injuries of former Impressions. I must not pretend to have restor'd this Work to the Exactness of the Author's Original Manuscripts: Those are lost, or, at least, are gone beyond any Inquiry I

could make; so that there was nothing left, but to compare the several Editions, and give the true Reading as well as I could from thence. This I have endeavour'd to do pretty carefully, and render'd very many Places Intelligible, that were not so before. In some of the Editions, especially the last, there were many Lines, (and in Hamlet one whole Scene) left out together; these are now all supply'd. I fear Your Grace will still find some Faults, but I hope they are mostly litteral, and the Errors of the Press. Such as it is, it is the best Present of English Poetry I am capable of making Your Grace. And I believe I shall be thought no unjust Disposer of this, the Author's Estate in Wit, by humbly Offering it where he would have been proud to have Bequeath'd it.

The Present Age is indeed an unfortunate one for Dramatick Poetry; she has been persecuted by Fanaticism, forsaken by her Friends, and oppress'd even by Musick, her Sister and confederate Art, that was formerly employ'd in her Defence and Support. In such perillous Times, I know no Protection for Shakespear, more Safe nor more Honourable than Your Grace's: 'Tis the best

Security a Poet can ask for, to be shelter'd under that Great Name which presides over One of the most Famous Universities of Europe. To do publick Benefits, is indeed an Honour Natural and Hereditary to Your Grace's illustrious Family; 'tis to that Noble Stock we owe our Edward the Sixth; a Prince of the greatest Hopes which that or any other Age ever produc'd: A Prince, whose uncommon Proficiency in Learning made him the Wonder of his own Time; whose Care for his People will distinguish him among the best of our Kings, and whose Piety and Zeal for the true Religion, will preserve his Name Dear and Sacred to our Church for ever. But if we look back so high as the Reformation, 'twill be impossible not to remember the Share Your Grace's Noble Ancestor had in that good Work: He was the Defence and Ornament of it in his Life, and the Martyr of it in his Dearh. Since it is most certain, that those wicked and ambitious Men, who design'd the Subversion of Church and State, and of whom the Chief dy'd a profest Papist, could not propose to have brought about those fatal Designs, 'till they had first remov'd the Duke of Somerset.

I need not tell the World how well Your Grace has follow'd the Examples of Honour and Virtue in your own Family. The Establish'd Church, the Crown and Your Country, have receiv'd many Eminent Testimonies of Your unalterable Zeal for their Service, and unshaken Resolution in their Defence. There was a Time, somewhat above twenty Years ago, when the pernicious Councils of some Men put the Crown upon taking such Measures as might have been fatal in the last Degree to both Our Religious and Civil Liberties; when they had the Hardiness not only to avow a Religion equally destructive to the Church and State, but did even presume to bring in a publick Minister from the Bishop of Rome, as it were in Defiance of Our Constitution, and in Triumph over Our Laws: It was then, I say, that they thought it highly necessary to their Purpose, that a Man of the first Quality and Figure in England, should countenance so bold and unexampled an Undertaking. They pitch'd upon one, 'tis true, whose known Love of his Country might in a good measure have taken off the Odiousness of that Action,

and even allay'd the Apprehensions of Danger, which on such an Occasion People naturally had. It must be own'd, that they had thought prudently for themselves; but they were highly mistaken in the Man they had chosen, and found him to be above all Temptation; such a one, whom neither the Respect he bore to the Person of the Prince, (which was very great) nor the Menaces of an insolent Faction, could prevail upon, for any Regards, to do Violence to his Country, or engage in any thing which might be an Offence to his Honour and Conscience.

It is with Pleasure, my Lord, that we compare the troublesome Condition of those past Times, with the Security of these present. And I cannot but Congratulate Your Grace upon the Prosperity and Success of Her Majesty's Counsels, in the great Juncture of Affairs which now draws the Eyes and Expectations of all Europe. Never, certainly, was there a fairer Prospect of Happiness than that which now rises to our View. There appears to be a general Disposition for Unanimity and good Agreement at Home, as for Peace Abroad. These

are the great Rewards given to the Piety of the Best of Queens: And it seems a Blessing peculiarly reserv'd for Her, to save, not only Europe in General, but even France, her Enemy, from the last Ruin. That Your Grace may long enjoy the Happiness of that Peace, which in Your several high Stations, either as a Patriot to Your Country, or a faithful Councellor to the Queen, You have so largely contributed to, is the most humble and hearty Wish of, my Lord,

Your GRACE's
Most Oblig'd,
Most Devoted, and
Obedient Humble Servant,
N. Rowe.

SOME ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE, &c. OF Mr. William Shakespear.

It seems to be a kind of Respect due to the Memory of Excellent Men, especially of those whom their Wit and Learning have made Famous, to deliver some Account of themselves, as well as their Works, to Posterity. For this Reason, how fond do we see some People of discovering any little Personal Story of the great Men of Antiquity, their Families, the common Accidents of their Lives, and even their Shape, Make and Features have

been the Subject of critical Enquiries. How trifling soever this Curiosity may seem to be, it is certainly very Natural; and we are hardly satisfy'd with an Account of any remarkable Person, 'till we have heard him describ'd even to the very Cloaths he wears. As for what relates to Men of Letters, the knowledge of an Author may sometimes conduce to the better understanding his Book: And tho' the Works of Mr. Shakespear may seem to many not to want a Comment, yet I fancy some little Account of the Man himself may not be thought improper to go along with them.

He was the Son of Mr. John Shakespear, 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 mention'd as Gentlemen. His Father, who was a considerable Dealer in Wool, had so large a Family, ten Children in all, that tho' he was his eldest Son, he could give him no better Education than his own Employment. He had bred him, 'tis true, for some time at a Free-School, where 'tis probable he acquir'd that little Latin he was Master of: But the narrowness of his Circumstances, and the want of his assistance at

Home, forc'd his Father to withdraw him from thence, and unhappily prevented his further Proficiency in that Language. It is without Controversie, that he had no knowledge of the Writings of the Antient Poets, not only from this Reason, but from his Works themselves, where we find no traces of any thing that looks like an Imitation of 'em; 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 'em with so much Pleasure, that some of their fine Images would naturally have insinuated themselves into, and been mix'd with his own Writings; so that his not copying at least something from them, may be an Argument of his never having read 'em. Whether his Ignorance of the Antients were a disadvantage to him or no, may admit of a Dispute: For tho' the knowledge of 'em 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 restrain'd some of that Fire, Impetuosity, and even beautiful Extravagance which we admire in Shakespear: And I believe we are better pleas'd with those Thoughts, altogether New and Uncommon,

which his own Imagination supply'd 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 'em. Some Latin without question he did know, and one may see up and down in his Plays how far his Reading that way went: In Love's Labour lost, the Pedant comes out with a Verse of Mantuan; and in Titus Andronicus, one of the Gothick Princes, upon reading

says, 'Tis a Verse in Horace, but he remembers it out of his Grammar: Which, I suppose, was the Author's Case. Whatever Latin he had, 'tis certain he understood French, as may be observ'd from many Words and Sentences scatter'd up and down his Plays in that Language; and especially from one Scene in Henry the Fifth written wholly in it. Upon his leaving School, he seems to have given intirely into that way of Living which his Father propos'd 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 continu'd for some time, 'till an Extravagance that he was guilty of, forc'd him both out of his Country and that way of Living which he had taken up; and tho' it seem'd at first to be a Blemish upon his good Manners, and a Misfortune to him, yet it afterwards happily prov'd the occasion of exerting one of the greatest Genius's 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, engag'd him with them more than once in robbing a Park that belong'd 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 tho' 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 oblig'd 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 Play-house. He was receiv'd into the Company then in being, at first in a very mean Rank; But his admirable Wit, and the natural Turn of it to the Stage, soon distinguish'd him, if not as an extraordinary Actor, yet as an excellent Writer. His Name is Printed, as the Custom was in those Times, amongst those of the other Players, before some old Plays, but without any particular Account of what sort of Parts he us'd to play; and tho' I have inquir'd, I could never meet with any further Account of him this way, than that the top of his Performance was the Ghost in his own Hamlet. I should have been much more pleas'd, to have learn'd from some certain Authority, which was the first Play he wrote; it would be without doubt a pleasure to any Man, curious in Things of this Kind, to see and know what was the first Essay of a Fancy like Shakespear's. Perhaps we are not to look for his Beginnings, like those of other Authors, among their least perfect Writings; Art had so little, and Nature so large a Share in what he did, that, for ought I know, the Performances of his Youth, as

they were the most vigorous, and had the most fire and strength of Imagination in 'em, were the best. I would not be thought by this to mean, that his Fancy was so loose and extravagant, as to be Independent on the Rule and Government of Judgment; but that what he thought, was commonly so Great, so justly and rightly Conceiv'd in it self, that it wanted little or no Correction, and was immediately approv'd by an impartial Judgment at the first sight. Mr. Dryden seems to think that Pericles is one of his first Plays; but there is no judgment to be form'd on that, since there is good Reason to believe that the greatest part of that Play was not written by him; tho' it is own'd, some part of it certainly was, particularly the last Act. But tho' the order of Time in which the several Pieces were written be generally uncertain, yet there are Passages in some few of them which seem to fix their Dates. So the Chorus in the beginning of the fifth Act of Henry V. by a Compliment very handsomly turn'd 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 Q. Elizabeth, and her Successor K. James, in the latter end of his Henry VIII, 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 pleas'd to see a Genius arise amongst 'em 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-natur'd Man, of great sweetness in his Manners, and a most agreeable Companion; so that it is no wonder it 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 handsomly apply'd to her. She was so well pleas'd 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 obey'd, the Play it self 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 Oldcastle; some of that Family being then remaining, the Queen was pleas'd to command him to alter it; upon which he made use of Falstaff. The present Offence was indeed avoided; but I don't 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 distinguish'd Merit in the Wars in France in Henry the Fifth's and Henry the Sixth's Times. What Grace soever the Queen confer'd upon him, it was not to her only he ow'd 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 Venus and Adonis,

the only Piece of his Poetry which he ever publish'd himself, tho' many of his Plays were surrepticiously and lamely Printed in his Lifetime. There is one Instance so singular in the Magnificence of this Patron of Shakespear's, that if I had not been assur'd that the Story was handed down by Sir William D' Avenant, who was probably very well acquainted with his Affairs, I should not have ventur'd 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 Eunuchs.

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 Candor and good Nature must certainly have inclin'd all the gentler Part of the World to love him, as the power of his Wit oblig'd the Men of the most delicate Knowledge and polite Learning to admire him. Amongst these was the incomparable Mr. Edmond Spencer, who speaks

of him in his Tears of the Muses, not only with the Praises due to a good Poet, but even lamenting his Absence with the tenderness of a Friend. The Passage is in Thalia's Complaint for the Decay of Dramatick Poetry, and the Contempt the Stage then lay under, amongst his Miscellaneous Works, p. 147.

I know some People have been of Opinion, that Shakespear is not meant by Willy in the first Stanza of these Verses, because Spencer's Death happen'd twenty Years before Shakespear's. But, besides that the Character is not applicable to any Man of that time but himself, it is plain by the last Stanza that Mr. Spencer does not mean that he was then really Dead, but only that he had with-drawn himself from the Publick, or at least with-held his Hand from Writing, out of a disgust he had taken at the then ill taste of the Town, and the mean Condition of the Stage. Mr. Dryden was always of Opinion these Verses were meant of Shakespear; and 'tis highly probable they were so, since he was three and thirty Years old at Spencer's Death; and his Reputation in Poetry must have been great enough before that Time to have deserv'd what is here said of him. His Acquaintance with Ben Johnson began with a remarkable piece of Humanity and good Nature; Mr. Johnson, who was at that Time altogether unknown to the World, had offer'd one of his Plays to the Players, in order to have it Acted; and the Persons into whose Hands it was put, after having turn'd it carelessly and superciliously over, were just upon returning it to him with an ill-natur'd Answer,

that it would be of no service to their Company, when Shakespear 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. Johnson and his Writings to the Publick. After this they were profess'd Friends; tho' I don't know whether the other ever made him an equal return of Gentleness and Sincerity. Ben was naturally Proud and Insolent, and in the Days of his Reputation did so far take upon him the Supremacy in Wit, that he could not but look with an evil Eye upon any one that seem'd to stand in Competition with him. And if at times he has affected to commend him, it has always been with some Reserve, insinuating his Uncorrectness, a careless manner of Writing, and want of Judgment; the Praise of seldom altering or blotting out what he writ, which was given him by the Players who were the first Publishers of his Works after his Death, was what Johnson could not bear; he thought it impossible, perhaps, for another Man to strike out the greatest Thoughts in the finest Expression, and to reach those Excellencies of Poetry with the Ease of a first Imagination, which himself with infinite Labour and Study could but hardly attain to. Johnson was certainly

a very good Scholar, and in that had the advantage of Shakespear; tho' at the same time I believe it must be allow'd, that what Nature gave the latter, was more than a Ballance 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 Eaton, and Ben Johnson; Sir John Suckling, who was a profess'd Admirer of Shakespear, had undertaken his Defence against Ben Johnson with some warmth; Mr. Hales, who had sat still for some time, hearing Ben frequently reproaching him with the want of Learning, and Ignorance of the Antients, told him at last, That if Mr. Shakespear had not read the Antients, he had likewise not stollen any thing from 'em; (a Fault the other made no Conscience of) and that if he would produce any one Topick finely treated by any of them, he would undertake to shew something upon the same Subject at least as well written by Shakespear. Johnson did indeed take a large liberty, even to the transcribing and translating of whole Scenes together; and sometimes, with all Deference to so great a Name as his, not altogether for the advantage of the

Authors of whom he borrow'd. And if Augustus and Virgil were really what he has made 'em in a Scene of his Poetaster, they are as odd an Emperor and a Poet as ever met. Shakespear, on the other Hand, was beholding to no body farther than the Foundation of the Tale, the Incidents were often his own, and the Writing intirely so. There is one Play of his, indeed, The Comedy of Errors, in a great measure taken from the Menœchmi of Plautus. How that happen'd, I cannot easily Divine, since, as I hinted before, I do not take him to have been Master of Latin enough to read it in the Original, and I know of no Translation of Plautus so Old as his Time.

As I have not propos'd to my self to enter into a Large and Compleat Criticism upon Mr. Shakespear's Works, so I suppose it will neither be expected that I should take notice of the severe Remarks that have been formerly made upon him by Mr. Rhymer. I must confess, I can't very well see what could be the Reason of his animadverting with so much Sharpness, upon the Faults of a Man Excellent on most Occasions, and whom all the World ever was and will be inclin'd to have an Esteem and Veneration for. If it was to shew his own

Knowledge in the Art of Poetry, besides that there is a Vanity in making that only his Design, I question if there be not many Imperfections as well in those Schemes and Precepts he has given for the Direction of others, as well as in that Sample of Tragedy which he has written to shew the Excellency of his own Genius. If he had a Pique against the Man, and wrote on purpose to ruin a Reputation so well establish'd, he has had the Mortification to fail altogether in his Attempt, and to see the World at least as fond of Shakespear as of his Critique. But I won't believe a Gentleman, and a good-natur'd Man, capable of the last Intention. Whatever may have been his Meaning, finding fault is certainly the easiest Task of Knowledge, and commonly those Men of good Judgment, who are likewise of good and gentle Dispositions, abandon this ungrateful Province to the Tyranny of Pedants. If one would enter into the Beauties of Shakespear, there is a much larger, as well as a more delightful Field; but as I won't prescribe to the Tastes of other People, 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 pleas'd with in looking him over.

His Plays are properly to be distinguish'd 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 'em. That way of Trage-Comedy was the common Mistake of that Age, and is indeed become so agreeable to the English Tast, that tho' the severer Critiques among us cannot bear it, yet the generality of our Audiences seem to be better pleas'd 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 call'd, have something of both Kinds. 'Tis not very easie to determine which way of Writing he was most Excellent in. There is certainly a great deal of Entertainment in his Comical Humours; and tho' they did not then strike at all Ranks of People, as the Satyr of the present Age has taken the Liberty to do, yet there is a pleasing and a well-distinguish'd Variety in those Characters which he thought fit to meddle with. Falstaff is allow'd by every body to be a Master-piece; the Character is always well-sustain'd, tho' 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 V. tho' 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 tho' he has made him a Thief, Lying, Cowardly, Vainglorious, and in short every way Vicious, yet he has given him so much Wit as to make him almost too agreeable; and I don't know whether some People have not, in remembrance of the Diversion he had formerly afforded 'em, 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 Extravagances, in The Merry Wives of Windsor, he has made him a Dear-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 'em. That whole Play is admirable; the Humours are various and well oppos'd; the main Design, which is to cure Ford of his unreasonable Jealousie, is extremely

well conducted. Falstaff's Billet-doux, and Master Slender's

are very good Expressions of Love in their Way. 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 Benedick 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 allow'd to be Master-Pieces of ill Nature, and satyrical Snarling. To these I might add, that incomparable Character of Shylock the Jew, in The Merchant of Venice; but tho' we have seen that Play Receiv'd and Acted as a Comedy, and the Part of the Jew perform'd by an Excellent Comedian, yet I cannot but think it

was design'd Tragically by the Author. There appears in it such 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 it self, take it all together, seems to me to be one of the most finish'd of any of Shakespear's. The Tale indeed, in that Part relating to the Caskets, and the extravagant and unusual kind of Bond given by Antonio, is a little too much remov'd 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, pag. 577; and the other on the Power of Musick, pag. 587. The Melancholy of Jaques, in As you like it, is as singular and odd as it is diverting. And if what Horace says

'Twill be a hard Task for any one to go beyond

him in the Description of the several Degress and Ages of Man's Life, tho' the Thought be old, and common enough.

And Whistles in his Sound. Last Scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful History,
Is second Childishness and meer Oblivion,
Sans Teeth, sans Eyes, sans Tast, sans ev'ry thing. p. 625.

His Images are indeed ev'ry where so lively, that the Thing he would represent stands full before you, and you possess ev'ry 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; 'tis 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 express'd the Passions design'd by this Sketch of Statuary? The Stile of his Comedy is, in general, Natural to the Characters, and easie in it self; and the Wit most commonly sprightly and pleasing, except in those places where he runs into Dogrel Rhymes, as in The Comedy of Errors,

and a Passage or two in some other Plays. As for his Jingling sometimes, and playing upon Words, it was the common Vice of the Age he liv'd 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 do's 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 plac'd the first by the former 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: Tho' that was what, I suppose, he valu'd himself least upon, since his Excellencies were all of another Kind. I am very sensible that he do's, in this Play, depart too much from that likeness to Truth which ought to be observ'd in these sort of Writings; yet

he do's 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 sustain'd, 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 was ever seen. The Observation, which I have been inform'd * ^notethree very great Men concurr'd in making upon this Part, was extremely just. That Shakespear had not only found out a new Character in his Caliban, but had also devis'd and adapted a new manner of Language for that Character. Among the particular Beauties of this Piece, I think one may be allow'd to point out the Tale of Prospero in the First Act; his Speech to Ferdinand in the Fourth, upon the breaking up the Masque of Juno and Ceres; and that in the Fifth, where he dissolves his Charms, and resolves to break his Magick Rod. This Play has been alter'd by Sir William D' Avenant and Mr. Dryden; and tho' I won't Arraign the Judgment of those two great Men, yet I think I may be allow'd to say, that there are some

things left out by them, that might, and even ought to have been kept in. Mr. Dryden was an Admirer of our Author, and, indeed, he owed him a great deal, as those who have read them both may very easily observe. And, I think, in Justice to 'em both, I should not on this Occasion omit what Mr. Dryden has said of him.