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we in the leaft differ from Dr. Edwards, with refpect to his politics, on this particular point.

In brief, whatever imperfections may be found in Dr. E.'s performance, we muft obferve, in behalf of his modefty, and becoming diffidence of himfelf, that he does not pretend to give it to the world as faultlefs. Let us, therefore, repeat, in this conclufion of our fhort account of a greatly diverfified work, our teftimony to the apparent rectitude of his defign, and his laudable defire to promote the welfare of his country, by the publication of his thoughts on the interefting topics on which he has bestowed his beft attention. Whatever may be deemed of him as a writer, we cannot but confider him as a worthy man, who has dedicated his time and labour to the general good of mankind, and to the increafe of the profperity of this nation, in particular.

ART. X. Bell's Edition of Shakfpere; or, The Dramatic Writings of Will. Shakfpere, with the Prolegomena, and the Notes of all the various Commentators; printed complete from the best Editions of Sam. Johnson and Geo. Steevens. In Twenty Volumes. 12mo. 61. bound. Bell. 1788.

BY

Y men of cold and phlegmatic conftitutions, it may be thought that the rage for Shakespeare has been carried to exceís; and that editions have multiplied fo faft, that the Public may now be faid to be, not only encumbered, but diftracted, with variety. The critic of tafte, however, who has the honour of letters and of his country at heart, will not subscribe to a propofition fo frigid and fpiritlefs. The genius of Shakespeare deferves all the homage that has been offered by a grateful pofterity-but this is not the place for the panegyric of that extraordinary man, who, in many of his plays, intermixed indeed with scenes of heterogeneous matter, has left to his countrymen the true model of dramatic dialogue; a model, which has not yet been in any degree rivalled, and always poorly imitated. The glory of Shakespeare has been maintained in its proper luftre by his commentators only: fome of whom were men who, by their own productions, were fure of extending their names to aftertimes. In this clafs may be reckoned Rowe, Pope, Warburton, and Johnfon. The reft may have done fome good by their labours, but, as Dr. Bentley expreffed it, they ride to pofterity an the back of an ancient. In the next rank to the commentators, ftand the bookfellers, who have fpared neither money nor attention to decorate the name of Shakespeare by fplendid editions of his works. It has been faid, that while he was by these means advanced to the pinnacle of fame, the Greek and Roman elaffics have been too much neglected, and that a complete and

5

fuperb

fuperb edition of thofe great writers has never been published in England. Their time, we hope, is to come: a noble edition of Cicero has lately iffued from the Oxford prefs *, and in the prefent age it is more than probable that the example will be followed. For the attention fhewn to Shakespeare, during a great number of years, there was an immediate and preffing demand. To fay nothing of the emendations which the text required, Voltaire called aloud on every Englishman to vindicate the memory of a genius, who did honour to their country. By decrying, diftorting, and mifreprefenting the productions of the great English bard, Voltaire had the prefumption to hope that, in the opinion of all Europe, he fhould be able to exalt Corneille, Racine, and himfelf. We took the alarm at home, and every new edition of Shakespeare was a full and decifive answer to envy, malice, and detraction. Voltaire continued to traduce and vilify we held up the works of our bard, and thereby the detractor ftood refuted. The French nation have, at length, opened their eyes: the truth is now diffufed among them, and Shakespeare ftands as a Coloffus, while the most that can be done by Voltaire, and indeed the very beft of our modern writers at home, is to creep under his feet. More perhaps cannot now be expected. Quintilian has obferved, that where a great genius has reached the fummit of the fublime, to furpafs him is impoffible; and to equal him, too much to be expected. A falling off is more likely to be the confequence.

To the number of thofe, who have contributed to the reputation of our immortal bard, Mr. Bell may now be added. His edition has been well received by the Public, and it deserves all encouragement. The whole is beautifully printed the type is elegant, and does honour to him, who had the fpirit to undertake fo expensive a work. The Editor has called in the best artifts to his affiftance, and the number and elegance of the engravings which he has given, are fine embellishments of the work. He has printed from that text which was, at the time of his undertaking, thought to be the beft. Mr. Reed's edition was not then published: an account of it may be seen in our Review, vol. lxxv. p. 81. and 161.

We cannot aver that we have perufed every play in the prefent edition, but what we have feen deferves applause; and the whole has the reputation of being correct. We have now a fet of these charming dramas, not only fit for the library, but for a pocket-companion. The fize of the work, and the type, make it convenient in all places; and, therefore, he who has Bell's Shakespeare, has amicus omnium horarum. The purchaser has this farther advantage, that he may arrange the plays into vo

See Review, vol. lxxii. p. 56.

lumes

lumes in what order he pleases :-this was judiciously contrived. The works of the great Poet may be bound up feparately, and the Notes and Commentary on each play may be collected in another set of volumes, and fo placed as to correfpond with the feries of the plays. He may then read the text, and let himself be carried away by the current of the poet's imagination, without that frequent interruption of notes, which is apt to distract the mind, and weaken the impreffion made by the Author.

The reader will obferve that we have written the name of our Mr. Bell bard in the most received and accuftomed manner. has thought proper to depart from the established form: he writes SHAKSPERE; but whatever authority he may have for it, there is, we believe, equal authority for the old accustomed way; and we are not fond of useless innovations. If this be an objection, it is, however, a flight one: and it is the only one in our power to make. The Editor is juftly entitled to the applause we have given him; and we congratulate the elegant arts, on the fuccefs of that fpirit of enterprife, which, by exciting emulation, cannot fail of rendering great fervice to the literature of this country.

ART. XI. Liberality; or, the Decayed Macaroni. A Sentimental Piece. 4to. 15. Dodfley, &c. 1788.

THE

HE character of that fpecies of fop, called Macaroni, has never, to the beft of our recollection, been defined. If we take our idea of him from this poem, he is a motly mixture of the beau, the buck, the gamefter: in a word, the fashionable profligate: a contemptible, as well as a deteftable compofition.

This is an admirable piece of fatire. If it is not an ANSTY, it is, at leaft, of equal value with moft of the productions of the Bath Mufe: and no writer, of the prefent day, will be afraid of its being afcribed to him.

The hero of the tale is drawn in broken-down circumftances, and reduced to folicit a fubfcription for his future fupport. He relates the marked events of his worthlefs life; and in this deTake the followtail confifts the fatire on his despicable tribe.

ing ftanzas, by way of fpecimen :

VI.

When I first came to years of difcretion,

I took a round fum from the stocks,

Just to keep up a decent fucceffion

Of race-horses, women, and cocks :

VII.

Good company always my aim,

Comme il faut were my cellars and table:

And freely I ask'd to the same

Ev'ry Jockey that came to my ftable:

VIII. No

VIII.

No ftripling of fortune I noted
With a paffion for carding and dice,
But to him I my friendship devoted,
And gave him the beft of advice:
IX.

"To look upon money as trash,
Not play like a pitiful elf,
But turn all his acres to cash,
And sport it as free as myself."
X.

And as Faro was always my joy,
1 fet up a bank of my own,
Juft to enter a hobbedehoy,

And give him a fmack of the ton:
XI.

In the morning I took him a-hunting,
At dinner well-plyed with champaign,
At tea gave a lecture on punting;

At midnight, on throwing a main :
XII.

His friends too with bumpers I cheer'd,
And in truth fhould have deem'd it a fin
To have made, when a stranger appear'd,
Any fcruple of taking him in.

XIII.

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My friends were much pleas'd with the action,
But charm'd when I open'd my door

To his wife, whom he lov'd to distraction,

But could not fupport any more.'

A vignette, not ill engraved, gives us the miferable figure of this wretch. Whether the poet, or the painter, may have had any individual in view, as the original of the picture, we know not. On the whole, we look upon the object, not as a particu lar macaroni, fingled out for the example's fake, but rather as a general character:

"As Knight of the fhire, to reprefent 'em all."

ART.

ART. XII. Poems: Confifting chiefly of original Pieces. By the Rev. John Whitehoufe, of St. John's College, Cambridge. 8vo. 3s. 6d. Boards. Robinfons. 1787.

HIS volume contains Elegies, Odes, Sonnets, and Infcriptions. The elegies are in the ftyle of Tibullus, or rather in that of his imitator, Hammond

Unbleft is he, and born in evil hour,
Whom tyrant-love with iron fceptre fways:
Who lull'd fupine within his fyren bow'r,
Forgets the meed of honourable praise :

Who pines in youth, while on his fickly cheek,
Blafted by love the drooping rofes die;
Whose heart, to ev'ry manly effort weak,
Melts in the foft expreffion of a figh.
Science or fame in vain their charms difplay,
In vain convivial, social hours invite:
In moody indolence he waftes the day,

And reftiefs toffes all the live-long night."

Mr. Whitehoufe's imagination, though it be not remarkably lively and fervid," Acer Spiritus ac vis," is yet by no means unpoetical. The Verfes written near the Ruins of a Nunnery' have confiderable beauty, as will be feen by the following ex-tract:

Amidst thefe defolated aifles, where now

Springs the rank weed, and tangling briars moleft,
The fainted Sifters from their cloister'd cells
Affembled, at the ftated hour of prayer

Chanting their orifons: and th' evening bell
Swinging with conftant toll from the mofy tow'r,
Summon'd them frequent 'mid the taper'd choir
To hold late vefpers; from th' embowed roof,
Solemn and flow, the pealing organ roll'd
The manly bafs, to voices loud and clear
Anfwering at intervals; round the rude walls.
Now clings the ivy pale, and props awhile
Some mould'ring column; in each arched nook
Where legendary faints flood carv'd in stone,
And quaint Madonas on their bofom wore
A holy crofs, now wreathes full many a shrub
Its dufky branches, emulous to shade

The falling fhrine. E'en there where painting breath'd
High o'er the altar, each expreflive form
Starting to life, and moving o'er the piece,
At Titian's magic touch, or, Raphael, thine;
Now fits gaunt Ruin, grinning o'er the wreck
His ruthlefs arm has made: while Genius rolls
His fiery eyes around, that blaze at times
Like meteors in a storm; the winds of night,
In hollow accents murmur to his fighs.

-Here

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