this affertion to the proof by particular applications, we should poffibly find quot homines tot fententiæ.

After having enumerated the various excellencies of this great poet, our Editor proceeds to mention his faults; faults, fays he, fufficient to obfcure and overwhelm any other merit.' The first defect he charges him with, is, indeed, a very capital one; from which we should be glad, and fhall endeavour, to exculpate him.

His first defect is that to which may be imputed most of the evil in books or in men. He facrifices 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 fyftem of focial duty may be felected, for he that thinks reafonably muft think morally; but his precepts and axioms drop cafually from him; he makes no juft diftribution of good or evil, nor is always careful to fhew in the virtuous a difappro bation 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 barba ity of his age cannot extenuate; for it is always a writer's duty to make the world better, and juftice is a virtue independant on time or place.'

No question, fays our Editor, in another place, can be more innocently difcuffed than a dead poet's pretenfions to renown.' But, tho' this be true, fome tenderness furely fhould be felt for his probity. Shakespeare is here charged with facrificing virtue to convenience,' for no other reason than that he feemed more careful to please than inftruct, and to write without any moral purpose. But if it be admitted, as our Editor actually admits, that a fyftem of facial duty may be felected from his writ ings, and that his precepts and axioms were virtuous; we may juftly afk, whether they are lefs fo for dropping cafually from him? Muft a writer be charged with making a facrifice of virtue, because he does not profeffedly inculcate it? Is every writer ex profeffo a parfon or a moral philofopher? It is doubtless always the moralift's duty, to ftrive at leaft, to make the world better; but we should think it no inconfiderable merit in a comic-poet, to be able to divert and amuse the world without makjng it worse, especially if he fhould occafionally drop fuch virtuous precepts and axioms, as would ferve to form a fyftem of focial duty. We are, for these reasons, fo far from thinking that the barbarity of his age cannot extenuate the fault here cenfured, that we think he stands in need of no other excuse than our Editor hath on another occafion made for him, viz. his ignorance of poetical compofition. He did not know that the rules of criticism required the drama to have a particular moral; nor did he conceive himself bound, as a poet, to write like a philofo pher, He carries his perfons, therefore, indifferently through

right

right and wrong, for the fame reafon as he makes them laugh and cry in the fame piece; and is juftifiable on the same principles; it is a strict imitation of nature; and Shakespeare is the Poet of Nature. Were our Poet now living, and poffeffed of Dr. Johnson's critical knowledge, we prefume he would make no more nor greater facrifices of virtue to convenience than his Editors may have done. Shakespeare, it is true, hath depicted none of

"Those faultless monfters which the world ne'er faw;" He did not prefume to limit the defigns of providence to the narrow bounds of poetical juftice; but hath difplayed the fun fhining, as it really does, both on the juft and the unjust.

The next fault our immortal Poet is charged with, is the want of connection and confiftence in his plots; from which charge, with all the aggravating circumstances enumerated by the learned Editor, we fhall not undertake to defend him, any more than from the charge, of paying no regard to distinction of time or place. It is certain he makes no fcruple of giving, to one age or nation, the customs, inftitutions, and opinions of another, not only at the expence of likelihood, but even of poffibility. But furely our Editor will admit that the barbarity of his age may extenuate this fault; fince, by his own confeffion, Shakespeare was not the only violater of chronology in his time: Sidney, his contemporary, who wanted not the advantages of learning, having, in his Arcadia, confounded the paftoral with the feudal times, the days of innocence, quiet and fecurity, with thofe of turbulence, violence, and adventure.

- Shakespeare is faid to be feldom very fuccessful in his comic fcenes, when he engages his characters in raillery or repartée, or as Dr. Johnfon more quaintly expreffes it, reciprocations of fmartness and contefts of farcafm.' Their jefts, we are told, are commoly grofs and their pleafantry licentious: nor will, it feems, the barbarity of his age excufe our Poct with regard to this defect, any more than the former. For our part, however, we think that Shakespeare is fometimes peculiarly happy in hitting off that kind of theer wit; for which fome modern writers, particularly Congreve and Farquhar, have been fo generally admired. The reciprocations of fmartness between Benedict and Beatrice in Much-ado-about-Nothing, are fcarce inferior to any thing of the kind; and tho' we cannot pretend that the dialogue of his gentlemen and ladies, is fo delicate and refined, as that of Cibber and fome other writers, it is full as witty, and not a jot more licentious, than what we frequently find in Vanbrugh and Congreve, who had not the barbarity of the age to plead in excufe.

As to the quirks and quibbles of Shakespeare's clowns, which fometimes infect the graver paits of his writings, we cannot be

of

of Dr. Johnson's opinion. He affirms that 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 difquifition, whether he be enlarging knowledge or exalting affection, whether he be amufing attention with incidents, or enchaining it in suspence, let but a quibble spring up before him, and he leaves his work unfinished. A quibble is the golden apple for which he will al ways turn afide from his career, or ftoop 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 for which be loft the world, and was content to lose * it.'

Quaintly as all this is expreffed, and boldly as it is afferted, we cannot be perfuaded that Shakespeare's native genius was not too fublime to be so much captivated with the charms of fo contemptible an object. How poorly foever it might defcend to trifle with an ignis fatuus by owl-light, we cannot think an eagle, foaring in the direct beams of the meridian fun, could be allured, to look down with pleasure on the feeble glimmerings of a rush-light. It is not impoffible, indeed, that the neceffity of accommodating himself in this particular fo frequently to the humour and tafte of the times, had rendered a practice habitual to him, which his own better taste and judgment could not fail to condemn. We do therefore readily adopt Sir Thomas Hanmer's defence of Shakespeare, with regard to this point. It must be remembered, fays that judicious Editor, that our poet wrote for the ftage, rude and unpolished as it then was; and the vicious taste of the age must stand condemned for the poor witticisms and conceits that fell from his pen; fince he hath left upon record a fignal proof how much he defpifed them. In his play of the Merchant of Venice, a clown is introduced quibbling in a miferable manner; upon which one who bears the character of a man of fense makes the following reflection: How every fool can play upon a word! I think the bift grace of wit will shortly turn into filence, and difcourfe grow commendable in none but parrots. He could hardly have found ftronger

Doth not this whole paragraph ferve egregioufly to prove, that, altho' our Editor may not be fond of down-right punning, he takes full as much delight in starting and hunting down a poor conceit as he affirms Shakespeare did? We will venture to affert, indeed, that this is a fpecies of quibbling, which, barren and pitiful as it is, feems to give the critic himself so much delight, that he is "content to purchate it, by the facrifice of reafon, propriety and truth.”

words

words to express his indignation at thofe falfe pretences to wit then in vogue; and therefore tho' fuch trafh is frequently interfperfed in his writings, it would be unjust to caft it as an imputation upon his taste and judgment as a writer.'

We shall leave our Readers to determine, whether what the prefent Editor hath above advanced, is fufficient to invalidate this plea; or whether they will take the Editor's word for Shakespeare, rather than Shakespeare's word for himself.

In fpeaking of our poet's faults in tragedy, the Editor fays, his performance feems conftantly to be worfe as his labour is more. The effufions of paffion which exigence forces out, are for the most part striking and energetic; but whenever he folicits his invention, or ftrains his faculties, the offspring of his throes is tumour, meanness, tedioufness, and obfcurity.' And again

His declamations or fet-fpeeches are commonly cold and weak, for his power was the power of nature; when he endeavoured, like other tragic writers, to catch opportunities of amplification, and instead of inquiring what the occafion demanded, to fhow how much his ftores of knowlege could fupply, he feldom efcapes without the pity or refentment of his reader.' It is a pity our Editor does not refer us to the particular paffages, that justify thefe general affertions. For, admitting the truth of them, yet if it be very feldom, as we will venture to say it is, that Shakespeare appears reduced to the neceffity of straining his faculties; if he be hardly ever endeavouring, like other tragic poets, at amplification, or to make an impertinent difplay of his knowledge, what fhall we fay to the candour of that commentator, who lays hold of a few defects, ubi plura nitent, on which to found a general charge against his author? Were we disposed to be as harfh and fevere on the learned Annotator, as the Annotator himself hath been on his GREAT, INIMITABLE Author, we might here appeal to the public, to decide which of them moft demands our pity or merits our refentment.

He goes on.- It is incident to Shakespeare to be now and then entangled with an unwieldy fentiment, which he can not well exprefs, and will not reject; he ftruggles with it a while, and if it continues ftubborn, comprifes it in fuch words as occur, and leaves it to be difintangled and evolved by thofe who have more leisure to bestow upon it."

We know not whether this incident might not be called with more propriety a misfortune rather than a fault, and be imputed with greater juftice to the then imperfect state of our language than to Shakespeare. But be this as it may; certain it is, that if our poet be fometimes entangled with his fentiments for want of words, our Editor is not feldom entangled with his, through a multiplicity of them; or, if he may understand his own meaning, it is not always the cafe with his reader, who, as he says of the poet,

poet, ftruggles with it for a while, and if it continues ftubborn, leaves it comprised in the words that invelop it, to be difintangled and evolved by those who have more leifure to bestow upon it. It is poffible that, in this, he may betray the want of patience, though we cannot admit that he betrays a want of judgment; being fully of opinion with our Editor, that where the language is intricate the thought is not always fubtle, nor the image always great where the line is bulky. The equality of words to things,' as he justly obferves, is very often neglected, and trivial fentiments and vulgar ideas difappoint the attention, to which they are recommended by fonorous epithets and fwelling figures.'

Having thus endeavoured to prove the faults of Shakespeare fufficient to obfcure and overwhelm any other merit,' our Editor attempts dexteroufly to change fides, and to ftand up in his defence, against those who have accufed him, of violating those laws, which have been inftituted and established by the joint authority of poets and of critics; we mean, the unities of action, place and time.

< From the cenfure, which this irregularity may bring upon. him, fays Dr. Johnfon, I fhall with due reverence to that learning which I muft oppofe, adventure to try how I can defend him.'

It happens, however, very unluckily for our Editor, that, in fpite of that refpect which he is fo notorioufly ready to pay to his opponents, he fhews himself to be as indifferent a pleader for Shakespeare as he hath proved against him. Nay, we entertain fome fufpicion that the critical Reader will, on a due confideration of what is hereafter advanced, be apt to think Dr. Johnson too little acquainted with the nature and ufe of the drama, to engage fuccefsfully in a difpute of fo much difficulty as that which relates to the breach or obfervation of the dra matic unities.

To begin with the first. If we except the historical plays of Shakespeare, where these unities are never looked for; in his other works our Editor fays, he has well enough preferved the unity of action. He has not indeed,' continues he, an intrigue regularly perplexed and regularly unravelled; he does not endeavour to hide his defign only to difcover it, for this is feldom the order of real events, and Shakefpeare is the poet of nature but his plan has commonly what Ariftotle requires, a beginning, a middle and an end; one event is concatenated with another, and the conclufion follows by an eafy confequence.' All this, however, might be faid of many fimple hiftories, that make no pretences to unity of action. Their merely having a beginning, middle, and end, is not sufficient. Ariftotle's meaning is more diftinctly explained by Boffu, thus:

The