Eighteenth Century Essays on Shakespeare Part 4

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 _Bened.i.c.k_ 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 friends.h.i.+p of _Antonio_ to _Ba.s.sanio_ 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 pa.s.sages 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,

Difficile est proprie communia dicere,

'twill be a hard task for any one to go beyond him in the description of the several degrees and ages of man's life, tho' the thought be old, and common enough.

--All the World's a Stage, And all the men and women meerly Players; They have their Exits and their Entrances, And one man in his time plays many Parts, His Acts being seven Ages. At first the Infant Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms: And then, the whining School-boy with his satchel, And s.h.i.+ning morning-face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then the Lover Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad Made to his Mistress' eye-brow. Then a Soldier Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the Pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble Reputation Ev'n in the cannon's mouth. And then the Justice In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth Age s.h.i.+fts Into the lean and slipper'd Pantaloon, With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side; His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice Turning again tow'rd childish treble, pipes 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 taste, sans ev'ry thing.

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,

--She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i'th' bud, Feed on her damask cheek: She pin'd in thought, And sate like _Patience_ on a monument, Smiling at _Grief_.

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 pa.s.sions 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 pa.s.sage 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 Nights 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(36) three 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, when 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.

_Shakespear_, who, taught by none, did first impart To _Fletcher_ Wit, to lab'ring _Johnson_ Art: He, monarch-like, gave those his subjects Law, And is that Nature which they paint and draw.

_Fletcher_ reach'd that which on his heights did grow, Whilst _Johnson_ crept and gather'd all below: This did his Love, and this his Mirth digest, One imitates him most, the other best.

If they have since out-writ all other men, 'Tis with the drops which fell from _Shakespear_'s pen.

The(37) Storm which vanish'd on the neighb'ring sh.o.a.r, Was taught by _Shakespear_'s Tempest first to roar.

That innocence and beauty which did smile In _Fletcher_, grew on this _Enchanted Isle_.

But _Shakespear_'s Magick could not copied be, Within that Circle none durst walk but he.

I must confess 'twas bold, nor would you now That liberty to vulgar Wits allow, Which works by Magick supernatural things: But _Shakespear_'s Pow'r is Sacred as a King's.

Prologue to _The Tempest_, as it is alter'd by Mr. _Dryden_.

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. _Shakespear_. If one undertook to examine the greatest part of these by those rules which are establish'd by _Aristotle_, and taken from the model of the _Grecian_ stage, it would be no very hard task to find a great many faults: But as _Shakespear_ liv'd 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 liv'd in a state of almost universal licence and ignorance: There was no establish'd 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 ent.i.tle 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 plac'd the first, among those that are reckon'd the const.i.tuent 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 consider'd 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 _Shakespear_ lay, so I shall not undertake the tedious and ill-natur'd 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 'em in that order, with those incidents, and that extent of time in which he found 'em in the Authors from whence he borrow'd them. So _The Winter's Tale_, which is taken from an old book, call'd _The Delectable History of_ Dorastus _and_ Faunia, contains the s.p.a.ce of sixteen or seventeen years, and the Scene is sometimes laid in _Bohemia_, and sometimes in _Sicily_, according to the original order of the Story.

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 shown by the Poet_, he may be generally justify'd, and in very many places greatly commended. For those Plays which he has taken from the _English_ or _Roman_ history, let any man compare 'em, 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 t.i.tle very often tells you, 'tis _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 _Shakespear_ has drawn of him! His Manners are every where exactly the same with the story; one finds him still describ'd with simplicity, pa.s.sive sanct.i.ty, want of courage, weakness of mind, and easie submission to the governance of an imperious Wife, or prevailing Faction: Tho' at the same time the Poet do's justice to his good qualities, and moves the pity of his audience for him, by showing him pious, disinterested, a contemner of the things of this world, and wholly resign'd to the severest dispensations of G.o.d's providence. There is a short Scene in the second part of _Henry_ VI., which I cannot but think admirable in its kind.

Cardinal _Beaufort_, who had murder'd 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_ VIII. 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 'em; 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 expos'd 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 tyrannical, cruel, and insolent in his prosperity; and yet, by a wonderful address, he makes his fall and ruin the subject of general compa.s.sion. The whole man, with his vices and virtues, is finely and exactly describ'd in the second Scene of the fourth Act. The distresses likewise of Queen _Katherine_, in this Play, are very movingly touch'd; and tho' the art of the Poet has skreen'd King _Henry_ from any gross imputation of injustice, yet one is inclin'd 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 observ'd in those characters taken from the _Roman_ History; and of this, the fierceness and impatience of _Coriola.n.u.s_, 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 'em exactly as they are describ'd by _Plutarch_, from whom certainly _Shakespear_ copy'd 'em. He has indeed follow'd his original pretty close, and taken in several little incidents that might have been spar'd 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 _Oth.e.l.lo_. 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 'em, and occasion'd the effusion of so much blood. In the management of this story, he has shewn something wonderfully tender and pa.s.sionate 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 'em a young Prince is engag'd to revenge the death of his father, their mothers are equally guilty, are both concern'd 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. _D'Acier_ has observ'd, there is something very unnatural and shocking in the Manners he has given that Princess and _Orestes_ in the latter part. _Orestes_ embrues his hands in the blood of his own mother; and that barbarous action is perform'd, tho'

not immediately upon the stage, yet so near, that the audience hear _Clytemnestra_ crying out to _aegysthus_ for help, and to her son for mercy: While _Electra_, her daughter, and a Princess, both of them characters that ought to have appear'd 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 deserv'd to die; nay, in the truth of the story, she was kill'd 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 observ'd there. On the contrary, let us only look a little on the conduct of _Shakespear_. _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 heighten'd by incest: But 'tis 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.

But howsoever thou pursu'st this Act, Taint not thy mind; nor let thy soul contrive Against thy mother ought; leave her to Heav'n, And to those thorns that in her bosom lodge, To p.r.i.c.k and sting her.

This is to distinguish rightly between _Horror_ and _Terror_. The latter is a proper pa.s.sion 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 _Shakespear_ has done. The whole Tragedy of _Macbeth_, but more especially the scene where the King is murder'd, in the second Act, as well as this Play, is a n.o.ble 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 _Shakespear_ distinguish it self upon the stage, by Mr. _Betterton_'s fine performance of that part: A man who, tho' 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 _Shakespear_'s manner of expression, and indeed he has study'd 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 conceiv'd it as he plays it. I must own a particular obligation to him, for the most considerable part of the pa.s.sages relating to this life, which I have here transmitted to the publick; his veneration for the memory of _Shakespear_ having engaged him to make a journey into _Warwicks.h.i.+re_, on purpose to gather up what remains he could of a name for which he had so great a value. Since I had at first resolv'd not to enter into any critical controversie, I won't pretend to enquire into the justness of Mr.

_Rhymer_'s Remarks on _Oth.e.l.lo_; he has certainly pointed out some faults very judiciously; and indeed they are such as most people will agree, with him, to be faults: But I wish he would likewise have observ'd some of the beauties too; as I think it became an exact and equal Critique to do. It seems strange that he should allow nothing good in the whole: If the Fable and Incidents are not to his taste, yet the Thoughts are almost every where very n.o.ble, and the Diction manly and proper. These last, indeed, are parts of _Shakespear_'s praise, which it would be very hard to dispute with him. His Sentiments and Images of things are great and natural; and his Expression (tho' perhaps in some instances a little irregular) just, and rais'd in proportion to his subject and occasion. It would be even endless to mention the particular instances that might be given of this kind: But his Book is in the possession of the publick, and 'twill be hard to dip into any part of it, without finding what I have said of him made good.

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, engag'd him in the acquaintance, and ent.i.tled him to the friends.h.i.+p of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood. Amongst them, it is a story almost still remember'd in that country, that he had a particular intimacy with Mr.

_Combe_, an old gentleman noted thereabouts for his wealth and usury: It happen'd, that in a pleasant conversation amongst their common friends, Mr. _Combe_ told _Shakespear_ in a laughing manner, that he fancy'd he intended to write his Epitaph, if he happen'd to out-live him; and since he could not know what might be said of him when he was dead, he desir'd it might be done immediately: Upon which _Shakespear_ gave him these four verses.

Ten in the hundred lies here ingrav'd, 'Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not sav'd: If any man ask, Who lies in this tomb?

Oh! ho! quoth the devil, 'tis my _John-a-Combe_.

But the sharpness of the Satyr is said to have stung the man so severely, that he never forgave it.

He dy'd in the 53d year of his age, and was bury'd on the north side of the chancel, in the great church at _Stratford_, where a monument, as engrav'd in the plate, is plac'd in the wall. On his Grave-stone underneath is,

Good friend, for Jesus sake, forbear To dig the dust inclosed here.

Blest be the man that spares these stones, And curst be he that moves my bones.

He had three daughters, of which two liv'd to be marry'd; _Judith_, the elder, to one Mr. _Thomas Quiney_, by whom she had three Sons, who all dy'd 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 marry'd first to _Thomas Nash_, Esq; and afterwards to Sir _John Bernard_ of _Abington_, but dy'd 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 Johnson_ has made a sort of an essay towards it in his _Discoveries_, tho', as I have before hinted, he was not very cordial in his friends.h.i.+p, I will venture to give it in his words.

"I remember the Players have often mention'd it as an honour to _Shakespear_, that in writing (whatsoever he penn'd) 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 circ.u.mstance to commend their friend by, wherein he most faulted: And to justifie mine own candor (for I lov'd 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 flow'd with that facility, that sometimes it was necessary he should be stopp'd: _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 could not escape laughter; as when he said in the person of _Caesar_, one speaking to him,

_Caesar_ thou dost me wrong.

He reply'd:

_Caesar_ did never wrong, but with just cause.

and such like, which were ridiculous. But he redeem'd his vices with his virtues: There was ever more in him to be prais'd than to be pardon'd."

As for the pa.s.sage which he mentions out of _Shakespear_, there is somewhat like it in _Julius Caesar_, but without the absurdity; nor did I ever meet with it in any edition that I have seen, as quoted by Mr.

_Johnson_. Besides his plays in this edition, there are two or three ascrib'd 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 stanza's, which have been printed in a late collection of Poems. As to the character given of him by _Ben Johnson_, there is a good deal true in it: But I believe it may be as well express'd by what _Horace_ says of the first _Romans_, who wrote Tragedy upon the _Greek_ models (or indeed translated 'em), in his epistle to _Augustus_.

-- Natura sublimis & Acer, Nam spirat Tragic.u.m satis & feliciter Audet, Sed turpem putat in Chartis metuitque Lituram.

There is a Book of Poems, publish'd in 1640, under the name of Mr.

_William Shakespear_, but as I have but very lately seen it, without an opportunity of making any judgment upon it, I won't pretend to determine, whether it be his or no.