ways careful to fhew in the virtuous a disapprobation of the wicked; he carries his perfons indifferently through right and wrong, and at the clofe difmiffes 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 independant on time or place.

The plots are often fo loosely formed, that a very flight confideration may improve them, and fo carelefsly pursued, that he feems not always fully to comprehend his own defign. He omits opportunities of inftructing or delighting which the train of his story feems to force upon him, and apparently rejects thofe exhibitions which would be more affecting, for the fake of thofe which are more eafy.

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 fhortened the labour, to fnatch the profit. He therefore remits his efforts where he should most vigorously exert them, and his catastrophe is improbably produced or imperfectly reprefented.

He had no regard to diftinction of time or place, but gives to one age or nation, without fcruple, the customs, inftitutions, and opinions of another, at the expence not only of likelihood, but of poffi bility. Thefe faults Pope has endeavoured, with more zeal than judgment, to transfer to his imagined interpolators. We need not wonder to find Helor

quoting

quoting Ariftotle, when we fee the loves of Thefeus and Hippolyta combined with the Gothick mytho logy of fairies. Shakespeare, indeed, was not the only violator of chronology, for in the fame age Sidney, who wanted not the advantages of learning, has, in his Arcadia, confounded the paftoral with the feudal times, the days of innocence, quiet and fecurity, with those of turbulence, violence and ad

venture.

In his comick scenes he is feldom very fuccefsful, when he engages his characters in reciprocations of fmartness and conteft of farcasm; their jefts are commonly gross, and their pleasantry licentious; neither his gentlemen nor his ladies have much delicacy, nor are fufficiently distinguished from his clowns by any appearance of refined manners. Whether he reprefented the real converfation of his time is not eafy to determine; the reign of Elizabeth is commonly fupposed to have been a time of ftateliness, formality and reserve, yet perhaps the relaxations of that feverity were not very elegant. There must, however, have been always fome modes of gayety preferable to others, and a writer ought to chuse the best.

In tragedy his performance feems conftantly to be worfe, as his labour is more. The effufions of paffion which exigence forces out are for the moft part ftriking and energetick; but whenever he folicits his invention, or strains his faculties, the offspring of his throes is tumour, meannefs, tedioufnefs, and obfcurity.

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In narration he affects a difproportionate pomp of diction and a wearifome 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 fhould 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 fplendour.

His declamations or fet fpeeches 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 inftead of inquiring what the occafion demanded, to fhow how much his ftores of knowledge could fupply, he feldom efcapes without the pity or refentment

of his reader.

It is incident to him to be now and then entangled with an unwieldy fentiment, which he cannot well exprefs, and will not reject; he ftruggles with it a while, and if it continues ftubborn, comprises it in words fuch as occur, and leaves it to be difentangled and evolved by thofe who have more leifure to bestow upon it.

Not that always where the language is intricate the thought is fubtle, or the image always great where the line is bulky; the equality of words to things is very often neglected, and trivial fentiments and

vulgar

vulgar ideas difappoint the attention, to which they are recommended by fonorous epithets and fwelling figures.

But the admirers of this great poet have never leis reafon to indulge their hopes of fupreme excellence, than when he seems fully refolved to fink them in dejection, and mollify them with tender emotions by the fall of greatnefs, the danger of innocence, or the croffes of love. He is not long foft and pathetick without fome idle conceit, or contemptible equivocation. He no fooner begins to move, than he counteracts himself, and terrour and pity, as they are rifing in the mind, are checked and blafted by fudden frigidity.

A quibble is to Shakespeare, what luminous vapours are to the traveller; he follows it at all adventures, it is fure to lead him out of his way, and fure to engulf him in the mire. It has fome malignant power over his mind, and its fafcinations are irrefiftible. Whatever be the dignity or profundity of his dif quifition, whether he be enlarging knowledge or exalting affection, whether he be amufing attention with incidents, or enchaining it in fufpenfe, let but a quibble fpring up before him, and he leaves his work unfinished. A quibble is the golden apple for which he will always turn afide from his career, or stoop from his elevation. A quibble poor and barren as it is, gave him fuch delight, that he was content to purchase it, by the facrifice of reason, propriety and truth. A quibble was to him the fatal Cleopatra

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Cleopatra for which he loft the world, and was content to lose it.

It will be thought ftrange, that, in enumerating the defects of this writer, I have not yet mentioned his neglect of the unities; his violation of thofe laws which have been inftituted and established by the joint authority of poets and of criticks.

For his other deviations from the art of writing, I refign him to critical juftice, 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 cenfure which this irregularity may bring upon him, I fhall, with due reverence to that learning which I muft oppose, adventure to try how I can defend him.

His hiftories, being neither tragedies nor comedies, are not fubject to any of their laws; nothing more is neceffary to all the praise which they expect, than that the changes of action be fo prepared as to be underftood, that the incidents be various and affecting, and the characters confiftent, natural and distinct. No other unity is intended, and therefore none is to be fought.

In his other works he has well enough preferved the unity of action. He has not, indeed, an intrigue regularly perplexed and regularly unravelled; he does not endeavour to hide his defign only to discover it, for this is feldom the order of real events, and ShakeSpeare is the poet, of nature: But his plan has commonly what Aristotle requires, a beginning, a middle,

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and