Chapter 2

He was the Son of Mr. _John Shakespear_, and was Born at _Stratford_ upon _Avon_, in _Warwickshire_, in _April_ 1564. His Family, as appears by the Register and Publick Writings relating to that Town, were of good Figure and Fashion there, and are mention'd as Gentlemen. His Father, who was a considerable Dealer in Wool, had so large a Family, ten Children in all, that tho' he was his eldest Son, he could give him no better Education than his own Employment. He had bred him, 'tis true, for some time at a Free-School, where 'tis probable he acquir'd that little _Latin_ he was Master of: But the narrowness of his Circumstances, and the want of his assistance at Home, forc'd his Father to withdraw him from thence, and unhappily prevented his further Proficiency in that Language. It is without Controversie, that he had no knowledge of the Writings of the Antient Poets, not only from this Reason, but from his Works themselves, where we find no traces of any thing that looks like an Imitation of 'em; the Delicacy of his Taste, and the natural Bent of his own Great _Genius_, equal, if not superior to some of the best of theirs, would certainly have led him to Read and Study 'em with so much Pleasure, that some of their fine Images would naturally have insinuated themselves into, and been mix'd with his own Writings; so that his not copying at least something from them, may be an Argument of his never having read 'em. Whether his Ignorance of the Antients were a disadvantage to him or no, may admit of a Dispute: For tho' the knowledge of 'em might have made him more Correct, yet it is not improbable but that the Regularity and Deference for them, which would have attended that Correctness, might have restrain'd some of that Fire, Impetuosity, and even beautiful Extravagance which we admire in _Shakespear_: And I believe we are better pleas'd with those Thoughts, altogether New and Uncommon, which his own Imagination supply'd him so abundantly with, than if he had given us the most beautiful Passages out of the _Greek_ and _Latin_ Poets, and that in the most agreeable manner that it was possible for a Master of the _English_ Language to deliver 'em. Some _Latin_ without question he did know, and one may see up and down in his Plays how far his Reading that way went: In _Love's Labour lost_, the Pedant comes out with a Verse of _Mantuan_; and in _Titus Andronicus_, one of the _Gothick_ Princes, upon reading

_Integer vitæ scelerisque purus Non eget Mauri jaculis nec arcu--_

says, _'Tis a Verse in_ Horace, _but he remembers it out of his_ Grammar: Which, I suppose, was the Author's Case. Whatever _Latin_ he had, 'tis certain he understood _French_, as may be observ'd from many Words and Sentences scatter'd up and down his Plays in that Language; and especially from one Scene in _Henry_ the Fifth written wholly in it. Upon his leaving School, he seems to have given intirely into that way of Living which his Father propos'd to him; and in order to settle in the World after a Family manner, he thought fit to marry while he was yet very Young. His Wife was the Daughter of one _Hathaway_, said to have been a substantial Yeoman in the Neighbourhood of _Stratford_. In this kind of Settlement he continu'd for some time, 'till an Extravagance that he was guilty of, forc'd him both out of his Country and that way of Living which he had taken up; and tho' it seem'd at first to be a Blemish upon his good Manners, and a Misfortune to him, yet it afterwards happily prov'd the occasion of exerting one of the greatest _Genius's_ that ever was known in Dramatick Poetry. He had, by a Misfortune common enough to young Fellows, fallen into ill Company; and amongst them, some that made a frequent practice of Deer-stealing, engag'd him with them more than once in robbing a Park that belong'd to Sir _Thomas Lucy_ of _Cherlecot_, near _Stratford_. For this he was prosecuted by that Gentleman, as he thought somewhat too severely; and in order to revenge that ill Usage, he made a Ballad upon him. And tho' this, probably the first Essay of his Poetry, be lost, yet it is said to have been so very bitter, that it redoubled the Prosecution against him to that degree, that he was oblig'd to leave his Business and Family in _Warwickshire_, for some time, and shelter himself in _London_.

It is at this Time, and upon this Accident, that he is said to have made his first Acquaintance in the Play-house. He was receiv'd into the Company then in being, at first in a very mean Rank; But his admirable Wit, and the natural Turn of it to the Stage, soon distinguish'd him, if not as an extraordinary Actor, yet as an excellent Writer. His Name is Printed, as the Custom was in those Times, amongst those of the other Players, before some old Plays, but without any particular Account of what sort of Parts he us'd to play; and tho' I have inquir'd, I could never meet with any further Account of him this way, than that the top of his Performance was the Ghost in his own _Hamlet_. I should have been much more pleas'd, to have learn'd from some certain Authority, which was the first Play he wrote; it would be without doubt a pleasure to any Man, curious in Things of this Kind, to see and know what was the first Essay of a Fancy like _Shakespear's_. Perhaps we are not to look for his Beginnings, like those of other Authors, among their least perfect Writings; Art had so little, and Nature so large a Share in what he did, that, for ought I know, the Performances of his Youth, as they were the most vigorous, and had the most fire and strength of Imagination in 'em, were the best. I would not be thought by this to mean, that his Fancy was so loose and extravagant, as to be Independent on the Rule and Government of Judgment; but that what he thought, was commonly so Great, so justly and rightly Conceiv'd in it self, that it wanted little or no Correction, and was immediately approv'd by an impartial Judgment at the first sight. Mr. _Dryden_ seems to think that _Pericles_ is one of his first Plays; but there is no judgment to be form'd on that, since there is good Reason to believe that the greatest part of that Play was not written by him; tho' it is own'd, some part of it certainly was, particularly the last Act. But tho' the order of Time in which the several Pieces were written be generally uncertain, yet there are Passages in some few of them which seem to fix their Dates. So the _Chorus_ in the beginning of the fifth Act of _Henry_ V. by a Compliment very handsomly turn'd to the Earl of _Essex_, shews the Play to have been written when that Lord was General for the Queen in _Ireland_: And his Elogy upon Q. _Elizabeth_, and her Successor K. _James_, in the latter end of his _Henry_ VII, is a Proof of that Play's being written after the Accession of the latter of those two Princes to the Crown of _England_. Whatever the particular Times of his Writing were, the People of his Age, who began to grow wonderfully fond of Diversions of this kind, could not but be highly pleas'd to see a _Genius_ arise amongst 'em of so pleasurable, so rich a Vein, and so plentifully capable of furnishing their favourite Entertainments. Besides the advantages of his Wit, he was in himself a good-natur'd Man, of great sweetness in his Manners, and a most agreeable Companion; so that it is no wonder if with so many good Qualities he made himself acquainted with the best Conversations of those Times. Queen _Elizabeth_ had several of his Plays Acted before her, and without doubt gave him many gracious Marks of her Favour: It is that Maiden Princess plainly, whom he intends by

_--A fair Vestal, Throned by the West._

_Midsummer Night's Dream_, Vol. 2. p. 480.

And that whole Passage is a Compliment very properly brought in, and very handsomly apply'd to her. She was so well pleas'd with that admirable Character of _Falstaff_, in the two Parts of _Henry_ the Fourth, that she commanded him to continue it for one Play more, and to shew him in Love. This is said to be the Occasion of his Writing _The Merry Wives of_ Windsor. How well she was obey'd, the Play it self is an admirable Proof. Upon this Occasion it may not be improper to observe, that this Part of _Falstaff_ is said to have been written originally under the Name of _Oldcastle_; some of that Family being then remaining, the Queen was pleas'd to command him to alter it; upon which he made use of _Falstaff_. The present Offence was indeed avoided; but I don't know whether the Author may not have been somewhat to blame in his second Choice, since it is certain that Sir _John Falstaff_, who was a Knight of the Garter, and a Lieutenant-General, was a Name of distinguish'd Merit in the Wars in _France_ in _Henry_ the Fifth's and _Henry_ the Sixth's Times. What Grace soever the Queen confer'd upon him, it was not to her only he ow'd the Fortune which the Reputation of his Wit made. He had the Honour to meet with many great and uncommon Marks of Favour and Friendship from the Earl of _Southampton_, famous in the Histories of that Time for his Friendship to the unfortunate Earl of _Essex_. It was to that Noble Lord that he Dedicated his _Venus_ and _Adonis_, the only Piece of his Poetry which he ever publish'd himself, tho' many of his Plays were surrepticiously and lamely Printed in his Lifetime. There is one Instance so singular in the Magnificence of this Patron of _Shakespear_'s, that if I had not been assur'd that the Story was handed down by Sir _William D'Avenant_, who was probably very well acquainted with his Affairs, I should not have ventur'd to have inserted, that my Lord _Southampton_, at one time, gave him a thousand Pounds, to enable him to go through with a Purchase which he heard he had a mind to. A Bounty very great, and very rare at any time, and almost equal to that profuse Generosity the present Age has shewn to _French_ Dancers and _Italian_ Eunuchs.

What particular Habitude or Friendships he contracted with private Men, I have not been able to learn, more than that every one who had a true Taste of Merit, and could distinguish Men, had generally a just Value and Esteem for him. His exceeding Candor and good Nature must certainly have inclin'd all the gentler Part of the World to love him, as the power of his Wit oblig'd the Men of the most delicate Knowledge and polite Learning to admire him. Amongst these was the incomparable Mr. _Edmond Spencer_, who speaks of him in his _Tears of the Muses_, not only with the Praises due to a good Poet, but even lamenting his Absence with the tenderness of a Friend. The Passage is in _Thalia's_ Complaint for the Decay of Dramatick Poetry, and the Contempt the Stage then lay under, amongst his Miscellaneous Works, _p._ 147.

_And he the Man, whom Nature's self had made To mock her self, and Truth to imitate With kindly Counter under mimick Shade, Our pleasant _Willy_, ah! is dead of late: With whom all Joy and jolly Merriment Is also deaded, and in Dolour drent._

_Instead thereof, scoffing Scurrility And scorning Folly with Contempt is crept, Rolling in Rhimes of shameless Ribaudry, Without Regard or due _Decorum_ kept; Each idle Wit at will presumes to make, And doth the Learned's Task upon him take._

_But that same gentle Spirit, from whose Pen Large Streams of Honey and sweet _Nectar_ flow, Scorning the Boldness such base-born Men, Which dare their Follies forth so rashly throw; Doth rather choose to sit in idle Cell, Than so himself to Mockery to sell._

I know some People have been of Opinion, that _Shakespear_ is not meant by _Willy_ in the first _Stanza_ of these Verses, because _Spencer's_ Death happen'd twenty Years before _Shakespear's_. But, besides that the Character is not applicable to any Man of that time but himself, it is plain by the last _Stanza_ that Mr. _Spencer_ does not mean that he was then really Dead, but only that he had with-drawn himself from the Publick, or at least with-held his Hand from Writing, out of a disgust he had taken at the then ill taste of the Town, and the mean Condition of the Stage. Mr. _Dryden_ was always of Opinion these Verses were meant of _Shakespear_; and 'tis highly probable they were so, since he was three and thirty Years old at _Spencer's_ Death; and his Reputation in Poetry must have been great enough before that Time to have deserv'd what is here said of him. His Acquaintance with _Ben Johnson_ began with a remarkable piece of Humanity and good Nature; Mr. _Johnson_, who was at that Time altogether unknown to the World, had offer'd one of his Plays to the Players, in order to have it Acted; and the Persons into whose Hands it was put, after having turn'd it carelessly and superciliously over, were just upon returning it to him with an ill-natur'd Answer, that it would be of no service to their Company, when _Shakespear_ luckily cast his Eye upon it, and found something so well in it as to engage him first to read it through, and afterwards to recommend Mr. _Johnson_ and his Writings to the Publick. After this they were profess'd Friends; tho' I don't know whether the other ever made him an equal return of Gentleness and Sincerity. _Ben_ was naturally Proud and Insolent, and in the Days of his Reputation did so far take upon him the Supremacy in Wit, that he could not but look with an evil Eye upon any one that seem'd to stand in Competition with him. And if at times he has affected to commend him, it has always been with some Reserve, insinuating his Uncorrectness, a careless manner of Writing, and want of Judgment; the Praise of seldom altering or blotting out what he writ, which was given him by the Players who were the first Publishers of his Works after his Death, was what _Johnson_ could not bear; he thought it impossible, perhaps, for another Man to strike out the greatest Thoughts in the finest Expression, and to reach those Excellencies of Poetry with the Ease of a first Imagination, which himself with infinite Labour and Study could but hardly attain to. _Johnson_ was certainly a very good Scholar, and in that had the advantage of _Shakespear_; tho' at the same time I believe it must be allow'd, that what Nature gave the latter, was more than a Ballance for what Books had given the former; and the Judgment of a great Man upon this occasion was, I think, very just and proper. In a Conversation between Sir _John Suckling_, Sir _William D'Avenant_, _Endymion Porter_, Mr. _Hales_ of _Eaton_, and _Ben Johnson_; Sir _John Suckling_, who was a profess'd Admirer of _Shakespear_, had undertaken his Defence against _Ben Johnson_ with some warmth; Mr. _Hales_, who had sat still for some time, hearing _Ben_ frequently reproaching him with the want of Learning, and Ignorance of the Antients, told him at last, _That if Mr. _Shakespear_ had not read the Antients, he had likewise not stollen any thing from 'em;_ (a Fault the other made no Confidence of) _and that if he would produce any one Topick finely treated by any of them, he would undertake to shew something upon the same Subject at least as well written by_ Shakespear. _Johnson_ did indeed take a large liberty, even to the transcribing and translating of whole Scenes together; and sometimes, with all Deference to so great a Name as his, not altogether for the advantage of the Authors of whom he borrow'd. And if _Augustus_ and _Virgil_ were really what he has made _'em_ in a Scene of his _Poetaster_, they are as odd an Emperor and a Poet as ever met. _Shakespear_, on the other Hand, was beholding to no body farther than the Foundation of the Tale, the Incidents were often his own, and the Writing intirely so. There is one Play of his, indeed, _The Comedy of Errors_, in a great measure taken from the _Menoechmi_ of _Plautus_. How that happen'd, I cannot easily Divine, since, as I hinted before, I do not take him to have been Master of _Latin_ enough to read it in the Original, and I know of no Translation of _Plautus_ so Old as his Time.

As I have not propos'd to my self to enter into a Large and Compleat Criticism upon Mr. _Shakespear_'s Works, so I suppose it will neither be expected that I should take notice of the severe Remarks that have been formerly made upon him by Mr. _Rhymer_. I must confess, I can't very well see what could be the Reason of his animadverting with so much Sharpness, upon the Faults of a Man Excellent on most Occasions, and whom all the World ever was and will be inclin'd to have an Esteem and Veneration for. If it was to shew his own Knowledge in the Art of Poetry, besides that there is a Vanity in making that only his Design, I question if there be not many Imperfections as well in those Schemes and Precepts he has given for the Direction of others, as well as in that Sample of Tragedy which he has written to shew the Excellency of his own _Genius_. If he had a Pique against the Man, and wrote on purpose to ruin a Reputation so well establish'd, he has had the Mortification to fail altogether in his Attempt, and to see the World at least as fond of _Shakespear_ as of his Critique. But I won't believe a Gentleman, and a good-natur'd Man, capable of the last Intention. Whatever may have been his Meaning, finding fault is certainly the easiest Task of Knowledge, and commonly those Men of good Judgment, who are likewise of good and gentle Dispositions, abandon this ungrateful Province to the Tyranny of Pedants. If one would enter into the Beauties of _Shakespear_, there is a much larger, as well as a more delightful Field; but as I won't prescribe to the Tastes of other People, so I will only take the liberty, with all due Submission to the Judgment of others, to observe some of those Things I have been pleas'd with in looking him over.

His Plays are properly to be distinguish'd only into Comedies and Tragedies. Those which are called Histories, and even some of his Comedies, are really Tragedies, with a run or mixture of Comedy amongst 'em. That way of Trage-Comedy was the common Mistake of that Age, and is indeed become so agreeable to the _English_ Tast, that tho' the severer Critiques among us cannot bear it, yet the generality of our Audiences seem to be better pleas'd with it than with an exact Tragedy. _The Merry Wives of_ Windsor, _The Comedy of Errors_, and _The Taming of the Shrew_, are all pure Comedy; the rest, however they are call'd, have something of both Kinds. 'Tis not very easie to determine which way of Writing he was most Excellent in. There is certainly a great deal of Entertainment in his Comical Humours; and tho' they did not then strike at all Ranks of People, as the Satyr of the present Age has taken the Liberty to do, yet there is a pleasing and a well-distinguish'd Variety in those Characters which he thought fit to meddle with. _Falstaff_ is allow'd by every body to be a Master-piece; the Character is always well-sustain'd, tho' 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_ V. tho' 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 tho' 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 don't know whether some People have not, in remembrance of the Diversion he had formerly afforded 'em, been sorry to see his Friend _Hal_ use him so scurvily, when he comes to the Crown in the End of the Second Part of _Henry_ the Fourth. Amongst other Extravagances, in _The Merry Wives of_ Windsor, he has made him a Dear-stealer, that he might at the same time remember his _Warwickshire_ Prosecutor, under the 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 _Welsh_ Parson descant very pleasantly upon 'em. That whole Play is admirable; the Humours are various and well oppos'd; the main Design, which is to cure _Ford_ his unreasonable Jealousie, is extremely well conducted. _Falstaff's Billet-doux_, and Master _Slender_'s

_Ah! Sweet_ Ann Page!

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 _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 _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 bloody 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 Friendship of _Antonio_ to _Bassanio_ 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 Passages that deserve a particular Notice. The first is, what _Portia_ says in praise of Mercy, _pag. 577_; and the other on the Power of Musick, _pag. 587_. The Melancholy of _Jacques_, 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 shining 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 shifts 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 Tast, sans ev'rything._