Canst like a poet write, a patriot feel,

Accept my verse; relax thy brow awhile,
Nor scorn my labours for their homely style.
If now and then a happier line appear,

*

And sound with sweeter music in thine ear;
A brighter thought, in which thou seest combin'd
Sound judgment, fertile fancy, strength of mind;
Such as may justly claim thy meed of praise,
And call to mind the bards of former days;
'Tis all I hope-but far from me be those
Who flatter Grenville's rhyme, or Dibdin's
Phlegmatic judges, who unmov'd can sit,
And Arnold's ribaldry mistake for wit;
O'er Dimond's + puling scenes lament and sigh,
With Skeffington or Godwin ‡ laugh and cry;
And O! (what wonders we may live to see,)
Think, Maturin, mighty Shakespeare rivals THEE! §

prose;

* Lord George Grenville, author of " Portugal," a Poem.

+ Mr. Dimond wrote "The Hunter of the Alps," "Adrian and Orrilla," "The Foundling of the Forest," and several other pieces in the German style.

Mr. Godwin perpetrated a laughable Tragedy, called "Faulkner," that was damned at Drury Lane.

In those day-dreams of fancy, which persons of a certain temperament are wont to indulge, I have pictured to my imagination Shakespeare and his times. His majestic countenance, from the contemplation of which Dryden

Let such dull loungers (if they rise so soon)
At dry rehearsals spend their time till noon;
To billiards stroll, or half asleep peruse

The

vague abortions of Fitzgerald's muse; Then at Albina's rout complete the

yawn, With her blue-stocking friends, and gape till dawn.

caught inspiration, has been rudely, yet faithfully preserved; his mind is best seen in his works. On the few incidents recorded in his life, I dwell with fond enthusiasm. His boyhood, courtship, marriage, his wild exploits in the park of Sir Thomas Lucy (the scene of “ As You Like It"), his bitter lampoon on the "Parliament Member," his retreat from Stratford, arrival in London, accidental encounter with the players, his appearance as an actor and author, and the first dawning of his mighty genius. That the muse had vouchsafed him her inspirations, and opened to his infant eyes the gates of immortality; that she had haunted his visions by day, and his dreams by night, is not the fiction of an idle brain, but an inference fully warranted by events. In disgrace and penury, the world before him, but its prospects gloomy and uncertain, Shakespeare quitted his native town, his family, and kindred. His feelings who shall imagine? who shall describe? I should say they partook of melancholy mingled with hope, relieved by the curiosity of a young and ardent adventurer strong in the emotions of genius, anticipating a wider field for the exercise of his talents, and not without some partial glimpses of "The All Hail Hereafter!" If such were his aspirations, never was vision more prophetic.

In aid of this illusion, his contemporaries pass in review before me Elizabeth, "the expectancy and rose of the

fair state;" the munificent Southampton, "the observ'd of all observers ;" the gallant Raleigh; the rare Ben Jonson, and his fellows, Alleyn, Armin, Burbage, Green, and that prince of clowns, Dick Tarlton, whose true effigies have passed to posterity, and enough of whose history remains to give me some insight into their characters. Their very places of resort, convivial and theatrical, though for the most part destroyed by time, are transmitted by the graver's art; and so minutely has description set forth each particular, that pace the deserted chambers of the Falcon and the Devil-I hear the wisdom and the wit, and the loud laugh-I visit the Bear Garden, the Globe, and the Fortune--I listen to Tarlton, with his wondrous, plentiful, pleasant, extemporal humour, exchanging gibes with our merry ancestors-I behold Burbage, such a player as no age must look to see the like," in his original character of the crafty Richard-Maister Greene, than whom "there was not an actor of his nature, in his time, of better ability in performance of what he undertook, more applaudent by the audience, of greater grace at the court, or of more general love in the Citty," in his crack part of Bubble, in "Tu Quoque !"-the merry and frolicsome Bob Armin, in simple John, in the Hospitall—and

Alleyn, playing Faustus,

With the Cross upon his breast."

The age of Shakespeare was the age of romance,

"Of pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask and antique pageantry;
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream."

66

As yet, frigid philosophy had not reduced man's existence to one dull round of sad realities; but some magical drops

were distilled in the cup, to make the bitter draught of life go down. Shakespeare had drank deep at this fountain of inspiration; hence the high-toned sentiment, the noble enthusiasm, the perfect humanity, that make the heart tremble, and the tears start, in the works of this mighty enchanter. The age, too, was a joyous one; the puritanical ravings of Gosson and Stubbes, and the snarling of Prynne, had not disinclined the people to their ancient sports and pastimes; and England, in her holy-days and festivals, well deserved her characteristic appellation of " Merrie.” These national peculiarities were not lost on a mind so excursive as Shakespeare's :-his works abound in curious illustrations of the domestic habits and popular superstitions of our ancestors; and he who has attentively studied them, may claim more credit for antiquarian knowledge than is generally conceded to the readers of fiction and fancy. From all that I can learn of his personal history, his disposition was bland, cheerful, and humane; by one who best knew him, he is styled the" gentle Shakespeare." He possessed that happy temperament so beautifully described by Hamlet in his character of Horatio :

"For thou hast been

As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing;
A man that Fortune's buffets and rewards

Hast ta'en with equal thanks: and bless'd are those,
Whose blood and judgment are so well co-mingled,
That they are not a pipe for Fortune's finger
To sound what stop she please."

He loved the merry catch and the mirth-inspiring glee,— the wine and wassail, the cakes and ale, which warmed the hearts of that immortal triumvirate, Sir Andrew, Sir Toby, and the Clown, and extracted from the taciturn Master Silence those precious relics of old ballad poetry that erst graced the collection, "fair wrapt up in parchement, and

bound with a whipcord," of that righte cunninge and primitive bibliographer, Captain Cox, of Coventry! And how deeply has he struck the chords of melancholy !—yet no marvel thereat; since there never was a true poet who did not feel the presence of this sublime spirit—a spirit that dwelt in Shakespeare in all its intensity:

"To him the mighty mother did unveil
Her awful face; the dauntless child
Stretch'd forth his little arms and smil'd.

This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear,

Richly paint the vernal year:

Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal boy!

This can unlock the gates of joy!

Of horror, that, and thrilling fears,

And ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears."

Among the moments that I contemplate with peculiar complacency, are those passed in the theatre. Katharine and Constance Hamlet and Lear-Richard and Shylockand those merry varlets, Benedick, Mercutio, and Autolicus, from being my idols on the stage, became my companions in the closet, and there inspired me with still more exquisite delight. Thus led to the fountain-head of true poetry, I discovered that the stream had been polluted by ignorance and presumption; that interpolation and stage necessity (?) had disfigured the bard, and shorn him of some of his choicest beauties; and that passages of high intellectual power, from being slurred over by a "robustious periwigpated fellow," had fallen unheeded on my ear, but now discoursed most eloquent music. Like the traveller journeying afar, who has been alternately delighted and amazed with the various prospects that have opened to his viewwho has contemplated the smooth river and the mountaintorrent-whose eye has rested on one unbounded extent of earth, and ocean, and sky; I, in studying the writings of