‘The dramas of William Shakespeare, sir, with which I happen to have some acquaintance,’ returned the antiquary with bitter significance, ‘extend in more than one case to a greater length than the “Vortigern.”’
‘Come, come, Kemble,’ said the manager good-naturedly. ‘Surplusage is no error, and one can hardly complain because one gets two plays for the price of one. Now, Mr. Erin, would you prefer to be present at our investigation or not? Mothers generally shrink from an inquest upon even a foster-child, but there have been Roman matrons——’
‘I make it an invariable rule, Mr. Sheridan,’ put in the antiquary hastily, ‘though on the present occasion there is no ground, of course, for its being put in practice, never to permit the literary offspring of which you speak to leave my hands.’
‘Afraid of body-snatching, eh? Think of you and me wanting to steal a play, Kemble! Why, Drury Lane is a perfect foundling hospital for them. However, just as you please, sir.’
Then, while Mr. Erin sat apart affecting to be immersed in a folio (but with his ears wide open), the two sat down to the manuscript, from which Kemble now and then read aloud in deep sonorous tones, which were not always so sarcastic as he intended them to be.
There was a certain rhythmical roll in many lines like the thunder of the surf, and also (as in its case) a head of foam which gave the impression of strength. For example:—
Full fifty breathless bodies struck my sight;
And some with gaping mouths did seem to mock me;
Whilst others, smiling in cold death itself,
Scoffingly bade me look on that which soon
Would wrench from off my brow this sacred crown,
And make me too a subject like themselves.
From Kemble’s mouth at least such lines were not wanting in majestic vigour, though he lent it to them involuntarily. It was evident enough, indeed, that he was adverse to the acceptance of the play, while Sheridan was in favour of it. What doubtless furthered Mr. Erin’s hopes was that Sheridan had notoriously no very high opinion of Shakespeare himself; he thought his genius exaggerated. Presently Kemble came to the three best lines in the tragedy—
Give me a sword,