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If the limits prescribed to me on the present oc casion would admit of such a disquisition, I would submit to my readers an analysis of one of our Poet's finest plays, that I might distinctly show how much he has lost by his neglect of the dramatic unities; and how much more effectually he might have wrought for his purpose if he had not disdained or been too idle to solicit their assistance. In two lines of supreme fustian and nonsense, John son says of him,

"Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, And panting time toil'd after him in vain."

king's approach; who must thus nave passed from Phrygia to the Peloponnesus, obstructed also as his passage was by a tempest, with the celerity nearly of a ray of light; and in the Trachiniæ of Sophocles, a journey of about one hundred and twenty miles is accomplished during the recitation of a hundred verses. The transgression of the unity of time was not, perhaps, much the subject of the auditor's calculation, or in any degree of his concern. With his mind intent on the still occupied stage and the unchanging scene, he was ready to welcome the occurrence of any new event, or to isten with pleasure to any new narration of facts beyond the stage, without pausing to investigate the If he spurn'd the reign of existence, he must have poet's due apportionment of time. If the scene had been shifted, the feelings of the spectator would plunged into some illimitable void, if there be such, have been outraged by such an infringement of the in the infinity of space; and what is the idea inunity of place. When the arbitrary separation of tended to be conveyed by "Panting time toiling the drama into acts was accomplished by the Roman after him in vain," I will confess that I do not predramatists, the observance of the unity of place cisely comprehend. I conclude, however, that of became more easy, though still it was not to be these lines the first refers to the super-human creaabandoned. An act constitutes a portion of the tures of the dramatist's invention, to his fairies, his action of a drama, at the close of which the stage magicians, and his ghosts: and these, indeed, are is vacated and the curtain drops. If, during the proud evidences of his imaginative powers; and act, the scene be shifted, the unity of place is bro- that the second, in the ludicrous image, which it ken; the probability of the dramatic imitation is presents, of old Time, panting and toiling in vain to diminished, and our feelings are certainly offended: catch the active and runaway Poet, must allude to but in the interval between act and act, the scene less bard for probability and the limitation of time; the contempt occasionally discovered by our lawmay be removed to any place where it may suit the convenience of the poet to plant it, to Venice or to and this, of which any scribbler may be guilty, is, Cyprus; and any lapse of time may, readily and in truth, the most effective dispraise. But it is more without absurdity, be imagined to intervene. The wonderful that Shakspeare, who may be regarded action of the drama must necessarily be maintained one and entire, and then, with the scene stationary during the act, all the dramatic unities will be sufficiently, if not rigidly, preserved. As we know nothing of the tragic writers of Rome, all their works having perished, with the exception of those of Seneca, from which not any thing of value can be learned, we cannot decide whether or not they availed themselves of the liberty which they had obtained by this division of their plays into acts; and that their plays were divided into acts, like those of the Roman comic writers, we are assured by

Horace when he tells the Pisos

"Neve minor, neu sit quinto productior actu Fabula, &c."*

as the father of the English drama, accomplished so much for its perfection, than that he failed to accomplish more."

We have now considered this extraordinary man as the giver of a poetic soul to historic narration, as the framer of a dramatic fable, and excelling equally in the sublime, the pathetic, and the ludicrous; as luxuriating by himself, in a sort of inaccessible glory, in a world of his own imagination; as neglecting the dramatic unities, either from ignorance of their effect, or from an indolent dislike of their restraint. We have made, in short, a cur sory survey of his excellencies and his defects. His diction only now remains to be the subject of our attention; and in this subordinate portion of the drama, we shall find him to be as superior to competition as he is in the characteristic and the imaBut if they did not assert the liberty, which they ginative. His diction is an instrument, which is had gained by thus breaking the continued repre- admirably adapted to all his purposes. In his tra sentation of the Grecian theatre, they had them-gic strains, it sounds every note of the gamut; and selves only to blame; for they certainly possessed is either sublime or tender, vehement or pathetic, the means of effectively preserving all the power of with the passion of which it is the organ in de the unities at a very small expense of difficulty and scription it is picturesque, animated, and glowing; labour. It is for his inattention to the integrity of and every where its numbers are so harmonious, so the scene during the continuance of each single act varied, almost to infinity, in their cadence and their that I conceive Shakspeare to be principally cen- pauscs, that they give to the ear a perpetual feast, surable; and the variety, to which we are instruct-in which there is no satiety. As the diction of ed to look as the consequence of his lawlessness in Shakspeare rises in his higher scenes, without ef this instance, to be an insufficient compensation for fort or tumour, to the sublime of poetry, so does it the outrage of probability, for the frequent violation fall, in his comic, with facility and grace, into the of our feelings, and for the vicious example with humility of prose. It has been charged with being which he has corrupted the good taste, and has harsh and ungrammatical. I believe it to be harsh diminished the efficiency of the English stage. A and unrhythmical (I confine the remark, of course, recent commentator, however, has discovered, and to the verse portion of it) only when it has been he seems to applaud himself on the felicitous dis-deformed by the perverse industry of tasteless comcovery, that our great bard has been faithful to one unity of the drama, though he has treated the others with disregard-that he has been faithful to the unity of feeling-to the unity of feeling! What! when he transports us from the revels and the wit of Falstaff to the council chamber of the politic Bolingbroke, to the military array of the young Percy, to the field of Shrewsbury, to the castle of the plaintiff Northumberland. The tragedies of Rowe, and the comedies of Congreve may vaunt of their unity of feeling: but that mixed species of drama, in which Shakspeare delights, will admit the praise of any other unity in preference to that of feeling.

De Arte Poetica, 1. 189.

mentators, referring us to incorrect transcriptions for authorities; and to the same cause may be ascribed, as I am satisfied, many, if not all, of its grosser grammatical errors. It will not, indeed, in every instance, as we are willing to allow, abide the rigid analysis of grammar, for it sometimes impresses the idea forcibly and distinctly on the mind without the aid of regular grammar, and with out discovering the means by which the exploit has been achieved. As one example of this power of Shakspeare's diction, among many of a similar nature which might be adduced, we will transcribe the often-cited answer of Claudio to his sister, in "Measure for Measure," respecting the unknown terrors of deatn. The expressions in Italics convey their meaning with great accuracy to the hear

er's or the reader's mind; but, if submitted to the
philosophical grammarian's examination, they will
not easily stand under it; and they may puzzle us to
account for their affect in the communication of the
poet's ideas.

Ay, but to die, and go we know not where:
To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot:
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bathe in fiery floods; or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice :
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds;
And blown with restless violence about

The pendent world: or to be worse than worst
Of those that lawless and uncertain thoughts
Imagine howlings!-'tis too horrible!
The weariest and most loathed worldly life,
That age, ache, penury, imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death."

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Vicesimo quinto die Martii, Anno Regni Domini nostri Jacoln nunc Regis Angliæ, &c. decimo quarto, et Scotia quadragesimo nono. Anno Domini 1616.

This entire passage, terminating at "howling," is deficient in grammatical correctness, for it contains an antecedent not succeeded by a consequent : In the name of God, Amen. I William Shakbut is there a reader of taste who would wish it to speare of Stratford upon Avon, in the county of be any thing but what it is? As for those barba-Warwick, gent. in perfect health and memory (God risms of the double negative and the double com- be praised!) do make and ordain this my last parative, which Malone is studious to recall from will and testament in manner and form following; the old copies into Shakspeare's text, I have already that is to say: declared my conviction that they are falsely charged upon Shakspeare. They are not to be found in those effusions of his muse which issued from the press under his own immediate inspection; and they must assuredly be considered as the illiterate errors of an illiterate transcriber.

I could now easily, and the task would be delightful to me, produce examples, from the page of Shakspeare, of all the excellencies which I have attributed to his diction; of its sublimity, its force, its tenderness, tis pathos, its picturesque character, its sweet and ever varying harmony. But I have already very far_transgressed the limits prescribed to me in my volume; and I must restrain myself. When, therefore, I have cited, at the close of what I am now writing, the description by Jaques, in "As you Like it," of the seven ages of man, as an evidence of Shakspeare's power to touch the most familiar topics into poetry, as the Phrygian monarch could touch the basest substances into gold, I shall conclude this long and, as I fear, this fatiguing treatise on Shakspeare and his works, by asking if he be not a mighty genius, ufficiently illustrious and commanding to call forth the choice spirits of a learned and intellectual century to assert his greatness, and to march in his triumph to fame ?

Yes, master of the human heart! we own

Thy sovereign sway; and bow before thy throne:
Where, richly deck'd with laurels never sere,
It stands aloft, and, baffles Time's career.
There warbles Poesy her sweetest song:
There the wild Passions wait, thy vassal throng.
There Love, there Hate, there Joy in turn presides;
And rosy Laughter holding both his sides.
At thy command the varied tumult rolls.
Now Pity melts, now Terror chills our souls.
Now, as thou wavest the wizard-rod, are seen
The Fays and Elves quick glancing o'er the green:
And, as the moon her perfect orb displays,
The little people sparkle in her rays.
There, mid the lightning's blaze, and whirlwind's

howl,

On the scath'd heath the fatal sisters scowl:
Or, as hell's caldron bubbles o'er the flame,
Prepare to do a deed without a name.

These are thy wonders, Nature's darling birth!
And Fame exulting bears thy name o'er earth.

First, I commend my soul into the hands of God my creator, hoping, and assuredly believing, through the only merits of Jesus Christ my Saviour, to be made partaker of life everlasting; and my body to the earth whereof it is made.

Item, I give and bequeath unto my daughter Judith, one hundred and fifty pounds of lawful English money, to be paid unto her in manner and form following; that is to say, one hundred pounds in discharge of her marriage portion within one year after my decease, with consideration after the rate of two shillings in the pound for so long a time as the same shall be unpaid unto her after my decease; and the fifty pounds residue thereof, upon her sur rendering of, or giving of such sufficient security as the overseers of this my will shall like of, to surrender or grant, all her estate and right that shall descend or come unto her after my decease, or that she now hath, of, in, or to, one copyhold tenement, with the appurtenances, lying and being in Stratford upon Avon aforesaid, in the said county o Warwick, being parcel or holden of the manor Rowington, unto my daughter Susanna Hall, and her heirs for ever.

Item, I give and bequeath unto my said daughter Judith one hundred and fifty pounds more, if she, or any issue of her body, be living at the end of three years next ensuing the day of the date of this my will, during which time my executors to pay her consideration from my decease according to the rate aforesaid and if she die within the said term without issue of her body, then my will is, and I do give and bequeath one hundred pounds thereof to my niece Elizabeth Hall, and the fifty pounds to be set forth by my executors during the life of my sister Joan Hart, and the use and profit thereof coming, shall be paid to my said sister Joan, and after her decease the said fifty pounds shall remain amongst the children of my said sister, equally to be divided amongst them; but if my said daughter Judith be living at the end of the said three years, or any issue of her body, then my will is, and so I devise and bequeath the said hundred and fifty pounds to be set out by my executors and overseers for the best benefit of her and her issue, and the stock not

There, where Rome's eagie never stoop'd for blood, to be paid unto her so long as she shall be married

By hallow'd Ganges and Missouri's flood:
Where the bright eyelids of the Morn unclose;
And where Day's steeds in golden stalls repose;
Thy peaceful triumphs spread; and mock the pride
Of Pella's Youth, and Julius slaughter-dyed.
In ages far remote, when Albion's state
Hath touch'd the mortal limit, marked by Fate:
When Arts and Science fly her naked shore:
And the world's Empress shall be great no more:
Then Australasia shall thy sway prolong;
And her rich cities echo with thy song.

and covert baron; but my will is, that she shall have the consideration yearly paid unto her during her life, and after her decease the said stock and consideration to be paid to her children, if she have any, and if not, to her executors and assigns, she living the said term after my decease: provided that if such husband as she shall at the end of the said three years be married unto, or at any [time] after, do sufficiently assure unto her, and the issu

for ever.

of her body, lands answerable to the portion by this | to the right heirs of me the said William Shakspeare my will given unto her, and to be adjudged so by my executors and overseers, then my will is, that the said hundred and fifty pounds shall be paid to such husband as shall make such assurance, to his

own use.

Item, I give and bequeath unto my said sister Joan twenty pounds, and all my wearing apparel, to be paid and delivered within one year after my decease; and I do will and devise unto her the house, with the appurtenances, in Stratford, wherein she dwelleth, for her natural life, under the yearly rent of twelve-pence.

Item, I give and bequeath unto her three sons, William Hart, Hart, and Michael' Hart, five pounds apiece, to be paid within one year after my decease.

Item, I give and bequeath unto the said Elizabeth Hall all my plate (except my broad silver and gilt bowl,) that I now have at the date of this my will.

Item, I give and bequeath the poor of Stratford aforesaid ten pounds; to Mr. Thomas Combe my sword; to Thomas Russel, esq. five pounds; and to Francis Collins of the borough of Warwick, in the county of Warwick, gent. thirteen pounds six shillings and eight-pence, to be paid within one year after my decease."

Item, I give and bequeath to Hamlet [Hamnet] Sadler twenty-six shillings eight-pence, to buy him a ring; to William Reynolds, gent. twenty-six shillings eight-pence, to buy hun a ring; to my godson William Walker, twenty shillings in goid; to Anthony Nash, gent, twenty-six shillings eightpence; and to Mr. John Nash, twenty-six shillings eight-pence; and to my fellows, John Hemynge, Richard Burbage, and Henry Cundell, twenty-six shillings eight-pence apiece, to buy them rings.

Item, I give, will, bequeath, and devise, unto my daughter Susanna Hall, for bette enabling of her to perform this my will, and towards the performance thereof, all that capital messuage or tenement, with the appurtenances, in Stratford aforesaid, called The New Place, wherein I now dwell, and two messuages or tenements, with the appurtenances, situate, lying, and being in Henley-street, within the borough of Stratford aforesaid; and all my barns, stables, orchards, gardens, lands, tenements, and hereditaments whatsoever, situate, lying, and being, or to be had, received, perceived, or taken, within the towns, hamlets, villages, fields, and grounds of Stratford upon Avon, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe, or in any of them, in the said county of Warwick; and also all that messuage or tenement, with the appurtenances, wherein one John Robinson dwelleth, situate, lying, and being, in the Blackfriars in London, near the Wardrobe and all other my lands, tenements, and hereditaments whatsoever: to have and to hold all and singular the said premises, with their appurtenances, unto the said Susanna Hall, for and during the term of her natural life; and after her decease to the first son of her body lawfully issuing, and to the hefts males of the body of the said first son lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue, to the second son of her body lawfully issuing, and to the heirs males of the body of the said second son lawfully issuing; and for default of such heirs, to the third son of the body of the said Susanna lawfully issuing, and to the heirs males of the body of the said third son lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue, the same so to be and remain to the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons of her body, lawfully issuing one after another, and to the heirs males of the bodies of the said fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons lawfully issuing, in such manner as it is before limited to be and remain to the first, second, and third sons of her body, and to their heirs males; and for default of such issue, the said premises to be and remain to my said niece Hall, and the heirs males of her body lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue, to my daughter Judith, and the heirs males of her body lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue,

Item, I give unto my wife my second best bed, with the furniture.

Item, I give and bequeath to my said daughter Judith my broad silver gilt bowl. All the rest of my goods, chattles, leases, plate, jewels, and household stuff whatsoever, after my debts and legacies paid, and my funeral expenses discharged, I give, devise, and bequeath to my son-in-law, John Hall, gent. and my daughter Susanna his wife, whom I ordain and make executors of this my last will and testament. And I do entreat and appoint the said Thomas Russell, esq. and Francis Collins, gent. to be overseers hereof. And do revoke all former wills, and publish this to be my last will and testament. In witness whereof I have hereunto put my hand, the day and year first above written.

By me WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE Witness to the publishing hereof,

Fra. Collyns, Julius Shaw, John Robinson, Hamnet Sadler, Robert Whatcott.

Probatum fuit testamentum suprascriptum apud London, coram Magistro William Byrde, Legum Doctore, &c. vicesimo secundo die mensis Junii, Anno Domini 1616; juramento Johannis Hall unius ex. cui, &c. de bene, &c. jurat. reservata potestate, &c. Susanne Hall, all. ex. &c. eam cum venerit, &c. petitur, &c.

ΤΟ

THE MEMORY

OF MY BELOVED

MR. WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE,

AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US.

To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name,
Am I thus ample to thy book and fame:
While I confess thy writings to be such,
As neither man nor Muse can praise too much.
'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways
Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise,
For silliest ignorance on these may light,
Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right;
Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance
The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance;
Or crafty malice might pretend this praise,
And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise.
These are, as some infamous bawd or whore
Should praise a matron. What could hurt her more?
But thou art proof against them, and indeed
Above th' ill fortune of them, or the need.
I therefore will begin. Soul of the age!
Th' applause! delight! the wonder of our stage!
My Shakspeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie
A little further, to make thee a room:
Thou art a monument without a tomb,
And art alive still, while thy book doth live,
And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
That I not mix thee so, my
brain excuses,

I mean with great, but disproportion'd muses:
For if I thought my judgment were of years,
I should commit thee surely with thy peers,
And tell how far thou didst our Lily outshine,
Or sporting Kid, or Marlow's mighty line.
And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek,
From thence to honour thee, I will not seek

For names; but call forth thund'ring Eschylus,
Euripides, and Sophocles to us,
Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead,
To live again, to hear thy buskin tread,
And shake a stage or when thy socks were on,
Leave thee alone for the comparison

Of all, that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome
Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.
Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show,
To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age, but for all time!
And all the Muses still were in their prime,
When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm!
Nature herself was proud of his designs,
And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines!
Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit,
As since, she will vouchsafe no other wit.
The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes,
Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please;
But antiquated and deserted lie,
As they were not of Nature's family.
Yet must I not give Nature all: thy art,
My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part.
For though the poet's matter nature be,
His art doth give the fashion. And that he
Who casts to write a living line, must sweat,
(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat
Upon the Muse's anvil; turn the same,
And himself with it, that he thinks to frame;
Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn,
For a good poet's made, as well as born.
And such wert thou. Look how the father's face
Lives in his issue: even so the race

Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines
In his well-turned, and true filed lines:
In each of which he seems to shake a lance,
As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance.
Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were,
To see thee in our water yet appear,

And make those slights upon the banks of Thames,
That so did take Eliza, and our James!
But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere
Advanc'd, and made a constellation there!
Shine forth thou star of poets, and with rage,
Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage,
Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourn'd
like night,

And despairs day, but for thy volumes' light.
BEN JONSON.

ON

WORTHY MASTER SHAKSPEARE, AND HIS POEMS.

A MIND reflecting ages past, whose clear
And equal surface can make things appear,
Distant a thousand years, and represent
Them in their lively colours, just extent:
To outrun hasty time, retrieve the fates,
Rowl back the heavens, blow ope the iron gates
Of death and Lethe, where confused lie

Great heaps of ruinous mortality:

In that deep dusky dungeon, to discern
A roya gnost from churls; by art to learn
The physiognomy of shades, and give
Them sudden birth, wond'ring how oft they live;
What story coldly tells, what poets feign
At second hand, and picture without brain,
Senseless and soulless shews: To give a stage,-
Ample, and true with life,-voice, action, age,

As Plato's year, and new scene of the world,
Them unto us, or us to them had hurl'd:
To raise our ancient sovereigns from their herse,
Make kings his subjects; by exchanging verse
Enlive their pale trunks, that the present age
Joys in their joy and trembles at their
rage:
Yet so to temper passion, that our ears
Take pleasure in their pain, and eyes in tears
Both weep and smile; fearful at plots so sad,
Then laughing at our fear; abus'd, and glad
To be abus'd; affected with that truth
Which we perceive is false, pleas'd in that ruth
At which we start, and, by elaborate play,
Tortur'd and tickl'd; by a crab-like way
Time past made pastime, and in ugly sort
Disgorging up his ravin for our sport:-

While the plebeian imp, from lofty throne,
Creates and rules a world, and works upon
Mankind by secret engines; now to move
A chilling pity, then a rigorous love;
To strike up and stroke down, both joy and ne
To steer the affections; and by heavenly fire
Mould us anew, stol'n from ourselves :-

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This, and much more, which cannot be exprest But by himself, his tongue, and his own breast,Was Shakspeare's freehold; which his cunning brain Improv'd by favour of the nine-fold train ;The buskin'd muse, the comick queen, the grand And louder tone of Clio, nimble hand And nimbler foot of the melodious pair, The silver-voic'd lady, the most fair Calliope, she whose speaking silence daunts, And she whose praise the heavenly body chants.

These jointly woo'd him, envying one another;
Obey'd by all as spouse, but lov'd as brother;-
And wrought a curious robe, of sable grave,
Fresh green, and pleasant yellow, red most brave,
And constant blue, rich purple, guiltless white,
The lowly russet, and the scarlet bright:
Branch'd and embroider'd like the painted spring;
Each leaf match'd with a flower, and each string
Of golden wire, each line of silk: there run
Italian works, whose thread the sisters spun ;
And there did sing, or seem to sing, the choice
Birds of a foreign note and various voice;
Here hangs a mossy rock; there plays a fair
But chiding fountain, purled: not the air,
Nor clouds, nor thunder, but were living drawn⚫
Not out of common tiffany or lawn,
But fine materials, which the Muses know,
And only know the countries where they grow
Now, when they could no longer him enjoy,
In mortal garments pent,-Death may destroy,
They say, his body; but his verse shall live,
And more than nature takes our hands shall give
In a less volume, but more strongly bound,
Shakspeare shall breathe and speak; with laure
crown'd,

Which never fades; fed with ambrosian meat,
In a well-lined vesture, rich and neat:-
So with this robe they clothe him, bid him wear it;
For time shall never stain, nor envy tear it.

The friendly admirer of his Endowments,

I. M. S.

These admirable verses were first prefixed to the second folio printed in 1632: they are here placed as a noble tribute from a contemporary to the genius of our immortal Poet. Conjecture has been vainly employed upon the initials I. M. S. affixed. I entirely subscribe to Mr. Boaden's opinion that they are from the pen of George Chapman; the structure of the verse and the phaseology bear marks of his hand, and the vein of poctry such as would do honour to his genius.

S. W. S

THE PREFACE OF THE PLAYERS.

Prefixed to the First Folio Edition published in 1623.

TO THE GREAT VARIETY OF READERS,

FROM the most able, to him that can but spell: there you are number'd. We had rather you were weigh'd. Especially, when the fate of all Bookes depends upon your capacities: and not of your heads alone, but of your purses. Well! it is now publique, and you wil stand for your priviledges wee know: to read, and censure. Do so, but buy it first. That doth best commend a Booke, the Stationer saies. Then, how odde soever your braines be, or your wisedomes, make your licence the same, and spare not. Judge your sixe-pen'orth, your shillings worth, your five shillings worth at a time, or higher, so you rise to the just rates, and welcome. But, whatever you do, Buy. Censure will not drive a Trade, or make the Jacke go. And though you be a Magistrate of wit, and sit on the Stage at Black-Friers, or the Cockpit, to arraigne Playes dailie, know, these Playes have had their triall alreadie, and stood out all Appeales; and do now come forth quitted rather by a Decree of Court, than any purchas'd Letters of commendation.

It had bene a thing, we confesse, worthie to have bene wished, that the Author himselfe had lived to have set forth, and overseen his owne writings; But since it hath bin ordain'd otherwise, and he by death departed from that right, we pray you, doe not envie his Friends, the office of their care and paine, to have collected and publish'd them; and so to have publish'd them, as where (before) you were abus'd with divers stolne, and surreptitious copies, maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of injurious impostors, that expos'd them: even those are now offer'd to your view cur'd, and perfect of their limbes; and all the rest, absolute in their numbers, as he conceived the: Who, as he was a happie imitator of Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. His mind and hand went together: and what he thought, he uttered with that easmesse, that wee have scarse received from him a blot in his papers. But it is not our province, who only gather his works, and give them you, to praise him. It is yours that reade him. And there we hope, to your divers capacities, you will finde enough, both to draw, and hold you: for his wit can no more lie hid, then it could be lost. Reade him, therefore; and againe, and againe: And if then you doe not like him, surely you are in some manifest danger, not to understand him. And so we leave you to other of his Friends, whom if you need, can bee your guides: if you neede them not, you can leade yourselves, and others. And such readers we wish him.

JOHN HEMINGE,

HENRIE CONdell.

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