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IT seems to be a kind of respect due to the memory of excellent men, especially of those whom their wit and learning have made famous, to deliver some account of themselves, as well as their works, to posterity. For this reason, how fond do we see some people of disco. vering any little personal story of the great men of antiquity! their families, the common accidents of their lives, and even their shape, make, and features, have been the subject of critical inquiries. How trifling soever this curiosity may seem to be, it is certainly very natural; and we are bardly satisfied with an account of any remarkable person, till we have beard him described even to the very clothes be wears. As for what relates to men of let ters, the knowledge of an author may sometimes conduce to the better understanding bis book; and though the works of Mr. Shakspeare may seem to many not to want a comment, yet I fancy some little account of the man bimself may pot be thought improper to go along with them.

He was the son of Mr. John Shakspeare, and was born at Stratford-upon-Avon, in Warwickshire, in April, 1564. His family, as appears by the register and public writings relating to that town, were of good figure and fashion there, and are mentioned as gentlemen. His father, who was a considerable dealer in wool, had so large a family, ten children in all, that though he was his eldest son, he could give bim no better education than his own employment. He had bred him, it is true, for some time at a free school, where, it is probable, he acquired what Latin he was master of: but the narrowness of his cir: cumstances, and the want of his assistance at home, forced his father to withdraw him from thence, and unhappily prevented his further proficiency in that language. It is without controversy, that in his works we scarce find any traces of any thing ihat looks like an imitation of the ancients. 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 them with so much pleasure, that some of their fine images would naturally have insinuated themselves into, and been mixed with his own writings; so that his not copying at least something from them, may be an argument of his never having read them. Whether his ignorance of the ancients were a disadvantage to him or no, may admit of a dispute: for though the knowledge of them might have made him more correct, yet it is not improbable but that the regularity and deference for them, which would have attended thai correctness, might bave restrained some of that fire, impetuosity, and even beautiful extravagance, which we admire in Sbakspeare: and I believe we are better pleased with those thoughts, altogether new and uncommon, which his own imagination supplied 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 them.

Upon his leaving school, he seems to have given entirely into that way of living which his father proposed 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 yevman in the neighbourhood of Stratford. In this kind of settlement he continued for some time, till an extravagance that he was guilty of forced him both out of his country, and that way of living which he had taken up; and though it seemed at first to be a blemish upun bis good manners, and a misfortune to him, yet it afterwards happily proved the occasion of exerting one of the greatest geniuses that ever was known in dramatic poetry. He had by a misfortune common enough to young fellows, fallen juto ill company, aud amongst them some that made a frequent practice of deer-stealing, engaged him more than once in robbing a park that belonged to Sir Toomas Lucy, of Charlecote, 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 though this, probably the tirst 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 obliged 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 playhouse. He was received 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 distinguished 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 used to play; and though I have enquired, 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 pleased to have learned, from 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 Shakspeare'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 aught I know, the performances of his youth, as they were the most vigorous, and had the most fire and strength of imagination in them, 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 conceived in itself, that it wanted little or no correction, and was immediately approved by an impartial judgment at the first sight. But though 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 at the end of ihe fourth act of Henry the Fifth, by a compliment very handsomely turned 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 Queen Elizabeth, and ber successor King James, in the latter end of his Henry the Eighth, is a proof of that play's being written after the accession of the latter of these 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 bighly pleased to see a genius arise amongst them of so pleasurable, só rich a vein, and so plentifully capable of furnishing their favourite entertainments. Besides the advantages of his wit, he was in himself a good-natured 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."-A Midsummer Night's Dream. And that whole passage is a compliment very properly brought in, and very handsomely applied to her. She was so well pleased 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 obeyed, the play itself 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 picased to command him to alter it; upon which he made use of Falstaff. T'he present offence was indeed avoided ; but I do not 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 distinguished' merit in the wars in France in Henry the Fifth's and Henry the Sixth's times. What grace soever the Queen conferred upon him, it was not to her only he owed the fortune which the reputation of his wit made. He had the honour to meet with many great and upcommon 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 poem of Venus and Adonis. There is one instance so singular in the magnificence of this patron.of Shakspeare's, that if I had not been

• As the reader may wish to have a specimen of this first effort of our Author's powers, we have subjoined the tirst stanza, which has been recovered through the industry of one of his

"A parliemente member, a justiee of peace,
At home a poor scare-crowe, at London an asse,
If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it,
Then Lncy is lowsie whatever befall it;

He thinks himself greate,

Yet an asse in his state
We allowe by his ears but with asses to mate.
If Lucy is lowic, as some volke iniscalie it,
Sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befall it,"


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assured that the story was handed down hy Sir William D'Avenant, who was probably very
well acquainted with his affairs, I should not have ventured 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 lo French
dancers and Italian singers.

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 candour and good-
nnture must certainly have inclined all the geutler part of the world to love him, as the
power of his wit obliged the men of the most delicate knowledge and polite learning to
admire him.

His acquaintance with Ben Jonson began with a remarkable piece of humanity and
good-nature: Mr. Jonson, who was at that time altogether unknown to the world, had
offered one of his plays to the players, in order to have it acted; and the persons into
whose hands it was put, after having turned it carelessly and superciliously over, were just
upon returning it to him with an ill-natured answer, that it would be of no service to their
company; when Shakspeare luckily cast his eye upon it, and found something so well in
it, as to engage bim first to read it through, and afterwards to recommend Mr.Jonson and
his writings to the public. Jonson was certainly a very good scholar, and in that had the
advantage of Shakspeare; though at the same time I believe it must be allowed, that what
mature gave the latter, was more than a balance 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.
llalts of Eton, and Ben Jonson, Sir John Suckling, who was a professed admirer of Shak-
speare, had undertaken his defence against Ben Jonson with some warmth; Mr. Hales,
who had sat still for some time, told them, That if Mr. Shukspeare had not read the an-
cients, he had likewise not stolen any thing from them ; and that if he would produce
any one topic finely treated by any one of them, he would undertake to shew some.
thing upon the same subject at least as well written by Shakspeare.

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 bis 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 pleasureable wit and good-nature en.
gaged him in the acquaintance, and entitled him to the friendship, of the gentlemen of the
neighbourhood. Amongst them, it is a story, almost still remembered in that country, that
he had a particular intimacy with Mr. Combe, an old gentleman noted thereabouts for
his wealth and his usury: it happened, that in a pleasant conversation amongst their com-
mon friends, Mr. Combe told Shakspeare in a laughing manner, that he fancied he intended
to write his epitaph, if he fappened to out-live him ; and since he could not know what
might be said of him when he was dead, he desired it might be done immediately: upon
which Shakspeare gave him these four verses :

« Ten in the hundred lies here ingraved ;
'Tis a lindred to ten his soul is not saved;
If any man ask, Who lies in this tomb?

Oh! ho ! quoth the devil, 'tis my John-a-Combe."
But the sharpness of the satire is said to have stung the man so severely, that he never
forgave it.

He died in the 534 year of his age, and was buried on the north side of the chancel, in
the great church at Stratford, where a monument is placed in the wall. On bis grave-stone
uuden neath is-

“Good friend, for Jesas' sake forbeur
To dig the dust inclosed here,
Blest he the man that spares these stones,

And curst be he that moves my bones."
He had three daughters, of which two lived to be married ; Judith, the elder, to one Mr.
Thurnas Quiney, by whom she had three sons, who all died without children; and Susanna,
who was his favourite, to Dr. John Hall, a physician of good reputation in that county.
She left one child only, a daughter, who was married first to Thomas Nashe, Esq. and
afterwards to Sir John Barnard of Abington, but died likewise without issue.

This is what I could learn of any note, either relating to bimself or family; the character
of the man is best seen in his writings. But since Ben Jonson has made a sort of an essay
towards it in his Discoveries, I will give it in his words:

" I remember the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakspeare, that in
writing (whatsoever he penned) 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 circumstance to commend their
friend by, wherein he most faulted : and to justify mine own candour, for I loved 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, aná gentle expres.
sions; wherein he flowed with that facility, that sometimes it was necessary he should be
stopped: Sufflaminundus erat, as Augusius said of Haterius. His wit was in his own

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