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the common mistake of that age, and is indeed become so agreeable to the English taste, that though

The criticks who renounce tragi-comedy as barbarous, I fear, speak more from notions which they have formed in their closets, than any well-built theory deduced from experience of what pleases or displeases, which ought to be the foundation of all rules.

Even supposing there is no affectation in this refinement, and that those criticks have really tried and purified their minds till there is no dross remaining, fill this can never be the case of a popular audience, to which a dramatick representation is referred.

Dryden in one of his prefaces condemns his own conduct in The Spanish Friar; but, says he, I did not write it to please myself, it was given to the publick. Here is an involuntary confeflion that tragi-comedy is more pleasing to the audience; I would ask then, upon what ground it is condemned ?

This ideal excellence of uniformity refts upon a supposition that we are either more refined, or a higher order of beings than we really are: there is no provision made for what may be called the animal part of our minds.

Though we should acknowledge this paffion for variety and contrarieties to be the vice' of our nature, it is still a propensity which we all feel, and which he who undertakes to diverţ us' must find provision for.

We are obliged, it is true, in our pursuit after science, or excellence in any art, to keep our minds steadily fixed for a long continuance; it is a task we impofe on ourselves : but I do not wish to talk myself in my amusements.

If the great object of the theatre is amusement, a dramatick work must possess every means to produce that effect; if it gives instruction, by the by, so much its merit is the greater ; but that is not its principal object. The ground on which it stands, and which gives it a claim to the protection and encouragement of civilised fociety, is not because it enforces moral precepts, or gives instruction, of any kind; but from the general advantage that it produces, by habituating the mind to find its amufement in intellectual pleasures; weaning it from fenfuality, and by degrees filing off, smoothing, and polishing, its rugged corners,


the feverer criticks among us cannot bear it, yet the generality of our audiences seems to be better pleased with it than with an exact tragedy. The Merry Wives of Windsor, The Comedy of Errors, and The Taming of a Shrew, are all pure comedy; the rest, however they are called, have something of both kinds. It is not very easy to determine which way of writing he was most excellent in. There is certainly a great deal of entertainment in his comical humours; and though they did not then strike at all ranks of people, as the satire of the present age has taken the liberty to do, yet there is a pleasing and a well-distinguished variety in those characters which he thought fit to meddle with. Falstaff is allowed by every body to be a masterpiece; the character is always well sustained, though 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 the Fifth, though 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 though he has made him a thief, lying, cowardly, vain-glorious, and in short every way vicious, yet he has given him so much wit as to make him almost too agreeable; And I do not know whether some people have not, in remembrance of the diversion he had formerly afforded them, been sorry to see his friend Hal use him so fcurvily, when he comes to the crown in the end of The Second Part of Henry the Fourth. Amongst other extravagancies, in The Merry Wives of Windsor he has made him a deer-stealer, that he might at the same time remember his Warwickshire prosecutor, under the

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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 "Velsh parson descant very pleasantly upon them. That whole play is admirable; the humours are various and well opposed; the main design, which is to cure Ford of his unreasonable jealousy, is extremely well conducted. In Twelfth Night there is something fingularly ridiculous and pleasant in the fantastical steward Malvolio. Ilie 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. Pc. truchio, in The Taming of the Shrew, is an uncommon piece of humour. Tlie 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 Crefida, and Apemantus in Timon, will be allowed to be inafter-pieces of illnature, and satirical snarling. To these I might add, that incomparable character of Shylock the Jew, in The Merchant of Venice; but though we have


the same coat of arms which Dugdale, in his Antiquities of that county, describes for a family there, ] There are two coats, I observe in Duguale, where three silver fishes are borne in the name of L’icy; and another coat to the mos

ment of Thomas Lucy, son of Sir William Lucy, in which are quartered in four several divilions, twelve little fishes, three in each division, probably l!cces. This very coat, indeed, seems alluded to in Shallow's giving the dozen' white luces, and in Slender's saying he may quarter. THEOBALD.

seen that play received and acted as a comedy,' and the part of the Jew performed by an excellent comedian, yet I cannot but think it was designed tragically by the author. There appears in it such a deadly spirit of revenge, such a favage 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 itself, take it altogether, seems to me to be one of the most finished of any of Shakspeare's. The tale indeed, in that part relating to the caskets, and the extravagant and unusual kind of bond given by Antonio, is too much removed 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 (sup: posing, 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, and the other on thę power of inufick. The melancholy of Jaques, in As you like it, is as fingular and odd as it is diverting. And if, what Horace says,

" Difficile est proprie communia dicere."

but though we have seen that play received and acted as a comedy, ] In 1701 Lord Lansdown produced his alteration of The Merchant of Venice, at the theatre in Lincoln's-InnFields, under the title of The Jew of Venice, and expressly calls it a comedy. Shylock was performed by Mr. Dogget.

Reed. And such was the bad taste of our ancestors that this piece continued to be a stock-play from 170110 Feb, 14, 1741, when The Merchant of Venice was exhibited for the first time at the theatre in Drury-Lane, and Mr. Macklin made his first appearance in the character of Shylock. MALONE.


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it will be a hard talk for any one to go beyond him in the description of the several degrees and ages of man's lise, though the thought be old and common enough.

All the world's a stage,
" And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances,
" And one man in his time plays many parts,
“ His ads 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 thining morning face, creeping like snail
* Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover
$6 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 ;
56 In fair round belly, with good capon lin'd,
“ With eyes fevere, and beard of forinal cut,
" Full of wise saws and modern instances;
- And so he plays his part. The fixth age shifts

Into the lean and flipper'd pantaloon;
“ With speđacles on nose, and pouch on side ;
& His youthful hose, well fav’d, a world too wide
" For his shrunk fhank; aud his big manly voice,
!! Turning again tow'rd childish treble, pipes
5. And whistles in his found : Last scene of all,
+6 That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion ; " Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing." His images are indeed every where so lively, that the thing he would represent stands full before you, and you possess every part of it. I will venture to

I point out one more, which is, I think, as strong and as uncommon as any thing I ever law; it is an image of Patience, Speaking of a maid in love, hę lays,

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 fat like Patience on a monument,

Siniling at Grief."

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