He had bred him, 'tis true, for fome time at a Free-school, where 'tis probable he acquired what Latin he was mafter of: But the narrowness of his circumftances, and the want of his assistance at home, forc'd his father to withdraw him from thence, and unhappily prevented his further proficiency in that language. It is without controverfy, that in his works we scarce find any traces of any thing that looks like an imitation of the Ancients. The delicacy

of his taste, and the natural bent of his own great Genius, (equal, if not fuperior to fome of the best of theirs) would certainly have led him to read and study 'em with so much pleasure, that some of their fine images would naturally have infinuated themselves into, and been mix'd with his own writings; fo that his not copying at least something from them, may be an argument of his never having read 'em. Whether his ignorance of the Ancients were a difadvantage to him or no, may admit of a difpute: For tho' the knowledge of 'em might have made him more correct, yet it is not improbable but that the regularity and deference for them, which would have attended that correctnefs, might have restrain'd some of that fire, impetuofity, and even beautiful extravagance which we admire in Shakespear: And I believe we are better pleas'd with those thoughts, altogether new and uncommon, which his own imagination supply'd him so abundantly with, than if he had given us the most beautiful paffages out of the Greek and Latin poets, and that in the most agreeable manner that it was poffible for a master of the English language to deliver 'em.

Upon his leaving school, he seems to have given entirely into that way of living which his father propos'd 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, faid to have been a fubftantial yeoman in the neighbourhood of Stratford. In this kind of settlement he continu'd for some time, 'till an extravagance that he was guilty of forc'd him both out of his country and that way of living which he had taken up ; and tho' it feem'd at firft to be a blemish upon his good manners, and a misfortune to him, yet it afterwards happily prov'd the occafion of exerting one of the greatest Genius's that ever was known

in dramatick Poetry. He had, by a misfortune common enough to young fellows, fallen into ill company; and amongst them, fome that made a frequent practice of Deer-stealing, engag'd him with them more than once in robbing a Park that belong'd to Sir Thomas Lucy of Cherlecot, near Stratford. For this he was profecuted by that gentleman, as he thought, somewhat too severely; and in order to revenge that ill ufage, he made a ballad upon him. And tho' this, probably the first effay of his Poetry, be lost, yet it is faid to have been so very bitter, that it redoubled the prosecution against him to that degree, that he was oblig'd to leave his business and family in Warwickshire, for fome 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 Play-house. He was receiv'd 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 diftinguish'd 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 fome old Plays, but without any particular account of what fort of parts he us'd to play; and tho' I have enquir'd, 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 pleas'd, to have learn'd from fome 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 fee and know what was the first essay of a fancy like Shakespear's. Perhaps we are not to look for his beginnings, like thofe of other authors, among their least perfect writings; art had fo little, and nature so large a share in what he did, that, for ought I know, the performances of his youth, as they were the most vigorous, and had the most fire and strength of imagination in 'em, were the best. I would not be thought by this to mean, that his fancy was fo loose and extravagant, as to be independent on the rule and government of judgment; but that

(a) The highest date of any I can yet find, is Romeo and Juliet in 1597, when the Author was 33 years old; and Richard the 2d, and 3a, in the next year, viz. the 34th of his age.

what

what he thought, was commonly fo great, so justly and rightly conceiv'd in it felf, that it wanted little or no correction, and was immediately approv'd by an impartial judgment at the first sight. But tho' the order of time in which the feveral pieces were written be generally uncertain, yet there are paffages in fome few of them which feem to fix their dates. So the Chorus at the end of the fourth Act of Henry V. by a compliment very handsomely turn'd to the Earl of Effex, fhews the Play to have been written when that Lord was General for the Queen in Ireland: And his Elogy upon Queen Elizabeth, and her successor King James, in the latter end of his Henry VIII. is a proof of that Play's being written after the acceffion of the latter of those 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 diverfions of this kind, could not but be highly pleas'd to see a Genius arise amongst 'em of so pleasurable, so rich a vein, and fo plentifully capable of furnishing their favourite entertainments. Befides the advantages of his wit, he was in himself a good-natur'd man, of great fweetness in his manners, and a most agreeable companion; fo that it is no wonder if with so many good qualities he made himself acquainted with the best conversations of thofe 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 Veftal, Throned by the Weft.

Midsummer Night's Dream.

And that whole paffage is a compliment very properly brought in, and very handfomely apply'd to her. She was fo well pleas'd 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 fhew him in love. This is faid to be the occafion of his writing The Merry Wives of Windfor. How well fhe was obey'd, the play it felf is an admirable proof. Upon this occasion it may not be improper to obferve, that this part of Falstaff is faid to have been written originally under the name of Oldcastle; some of that

(a) See the Epilogue to Henry 4th.

a

family

family being then remaining, the Queen was pleas'd to command him to alter it; upon which he made use of Falstaff. The present offence was indeed avoided; but I don't know whether the Author may not have been somewhat to blame in his second choice, fince it is certain that Sir John Falstaff, who was a Knight of the garter, and a Lieutenant-general, was a name of distinguish'd merit in the wars in France in Henry the fifth's and Henry the fixth's times. What grace foever the Queen confer'd upon him, it was not to her only he ow'd the fortune which the reputation of his wit made. He had the honour to meet with many great and uncommon 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 Effex. It was to that noble Lord that he dedicated his Poem of Venus and Adonis. There is one instance so fingular in the magnificence of this Patron of Shakespear's, that if I had not been affur'd that the story was handed down by Sir William D'Avenant, who was probably very well acquainted with his affairs, I fhould not have ventur❜d 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 profufe generosity the present age has fhewn to 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 tafte of merit, and could diftinguish men, had generally a juft value and efteem for him. His exceeding candor and good-nature must certainly have inclin'd all the gentler part of the world to love him, as the power of his wit oblig'd the men of the most delicate knowledge and polite learning to admire him.

His acquaintance with Ben Johnson began with a remarkable piece of humanity and good-nature; Mr. Johnson, who was at that time altogether unknown to the world, had offer'd one of his Plays to the Players, in order to have it acted; and the perfons into whofe hands it was put, after having turn'd it carelefly and superciliously over, were just upon returning it to him with an ill-natur’d

e

answer,

anfwer, that it would be of no fervice to their Company; when Shakespear luckily caft his eye upon it, and found something so well in it as to engage him firft to read it through, and afterwards to recommend Mr. Johnson and his writings to the publick. Johnson was certainly a very good fcholar, and in that had the advantage of Shakespear; tho' at the fame time I believe it must be allow'd, that what Nature gave the latter, was more than a balance for what Books had given the former; and the judgment of a great man upon this occafion was, I think, very juft and proper. In a conversation between Sir John Suckling, Sir William D'Avenant, Endymion Porter, Mr. Hales of Eaton, and Ben Johnson; Sir John Suckling, who was a profefs'd admirer of Shakespear, had undertaken his defence against Ben Johnson with fome warmth; Mr. Hales, who had fat ftill for fome time, told 'em, That if Mr. Shakespear had not read the Ancients, he had likewife not ftolen any thing from 'em; and that if he would produce any one Topick finely treated by any of them, he would undertake to fhew fomething upon the same subject at least as well written by Shakespear.

The latter part of his life was spent, as all men of good fenfe will wish theirs may be, in ease, retirement, and the converfation of his friends. He had the good fortune to gather an estate equal to his occafion, and, in that, to his wifh; and is faid to have spent some years before his death at his native Stratford. His pleafurable wit, and good-nature, engag'd him in the acquaintance, and entitled him to the friendship of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood. Amongst them, it is a story almost still remember'd in that country, that he had a particular intimacy with Mr. Combe, an old gentleman noted thereabouts for his wealth and ufury: It happen'd, that in a pleasant conversation amongst their common friends, Mr. Combe told Shakespear in a laughing manner, that he fancy'd he intended to write his Epitaph, if he happen'd to out-live him; and fince he could not know what might be said of him when he was dead, he defir'd it might be done immediately: Upon which Shakespear gave him these four verses.

Ten