Poets who have not a little succeeded in writing for the stage, have yet fallen short of their great original in the general power of the drama; none ever found so ready a road to the heart; his tender scenes are inexpressibly moving, and such as are meant to raise terror, are no less alarming; but then Shakespeare does not much shine when he is considered by particular passages; he sometimes debases the noblest images in nature by expressions which are too vulgar for poetry. The ingenious author of the Rambler has observed, that in the invocation of Macbeth, before he proceeds to the murder of Duncan, when he thus expresses himself,
————-Come thick night
And veil thee, in the dunnest smoke of hell,
Nor heaven peep thro' the blanket of the dark,
To cry hold, hold.
That the words dunnest and blanket, which are so common in vulgar mouths, destroy in some manner the grandeur of the image, and were two words of a higher signification, and removed above common use, put in their place, I may challenge poetry itself to furnish an image so noble. Poets of an inferior class, when considered by particular passages, are excellent, but then their ideas are not so great, their drama is not so striking, and it is plain enough that they possess not souls so elevated as Shakespeare's. What can be more beautiful than the flowing enchantments of Rowe; the delicate and tender touches of Otway and Southern, or the melting enthusiasm of Lee and Dryden, but yet none of their pieces have affected the human heart like Shakespeare's.
But I cannot conclude the character of Shakespeare, without taking notice, that besides the suffrage of almost all wits since his time in his favour, he is particularly happy in that of Dryden, who had read and studied him clearly, sometimes borrowed from him, and well knew where his strength lay. In his Prologue to the Tempest altered, he has the following lines;
Shakespear, who taught by none, did first impart,
To Fletcher wit, to lab'ring Johnson, art.
He, monarch-like gave there his subjects law,
And is that nature which they paint and draw;
Fletcher reached that, which on his heights did grow,
While Johnson crept, and gathered all below:
This did his love, and this his mirth digest,
One imitates him most, the other best.
If they have since outwrit all other men,
'Tis from the drops which fell from Shakespear's pen.
The storm[2] which vanished on the neighb'ring shore
Was taught by Shakespear's Tempest first to roar.
That innocence and beauty which did smile
In Fletcher, grew in this Inchanted Isle.
But Shakespear's magic could not copied be,
Within that circle none durst walk but he.
The plays of this great author, which are forty-three in number, are as follows,
1. The Tempest, a Comedy acted in the Black Fryars with applause.
2. The Two Gentlemen of Verona, a Comedy writ at the command of Queen Elizabeth.
3. The first and second part of King Henry IV the character of Falstaff in these plays is justly esteemed a master-piece; in the second part is the coronation of King Henry V. These are founded upon English Chronicles.
4. The Merry Wives of Windsor, a Comedy, written at the command of Queen Elizabeth.