The Hiſtory of Doraſtus and Fawnia.

BEFORE Chriſtianity appear⯑ed in the World, there reign⯑ed in Bohemia a King, named Pandoſto, who was married to a Princeſs of exquiſite Beauty and conſummate Virtue, cal⯑led Bellaria. The Harmony that ſubſiſted between this royal Couple gave the greateſt Satisfaction to all their Subjects, whoſe Hap⯑pineſs was greatly increaſed by the Felicity of their Sovereigns.

At the End of the firſt Year of their Mar⯑riage Bellaria was delivered of a Son, who was named Garrinter. The Bohemians upon [2] this Occaſion made great Rejoicings over all the Kingdom. And the King, as well to expreſs his own Satisfaction at this happy In⯑cident, as to comply with the Deſires of the People, appointed Juſts and Tournaments in Honour of the young Prince; to which not only many foreign Noblemen reſorted, but alſo ſeveral neighbouring Kings and Princes came to exerciſe their Valour and Judgment at theſe martial Entertainments.

The Sports laſted twenty Days, during which Time the King made a general Feaſt for all his Subjects; and the Kings and Prin⯑ces, who had been royally entertained, re⯑turned home to their reſpective Countries, full of Admiration of the great Magnificence of Pandoſto.

The Smiles of Fortune are ſeldom ſincere or laſting; the fickle Goddeſs, weary of be⯑ſtowing Favours upon Pandoſto, while he was wholly taken up in the Enjoyment of them, prepared a ſad reverſe of Fate for him and the lovely Bellaria. Pandoſto, from his earlieſt Youth, had contracted and maintained a ſtrict Friendſhip and Correſpondence with Egiſtus, the young King of Sicily.

This Prince being deſirous of ſhewing that neither Time nor Diſtance of Place could weaken the Force of his Affection for Pan⯑doſto, reſolved to viſit him in his own Domi⯑nions, to congratulate him upon his Marriage and the Birth of a Son. For this Purpoſe he ordered a ſmall Fleet to be prepared, and with [3] a ſmall but ſelect Number of Attendants ar⯑rived in Bohemia.

Pandoſto and his Queen, with a numerous Retinue, went to meet Egiſtus at his landing, and carried him to the Palace in the midſt of moſt expenſive Shows and magnificent Arches, which had been prepared and erected for his Reception.

Pandoſto, whoſe Heart overflowed with grateful Tranſport for this Demonſtration of Friendſhip in Egiſtus, intreated his Queen to ſhew all imaginable Reſpect and Eſteem to a Prince whom he loved ſo much, and to whom he was ſo highly obliged.

The ſweet Bellaria, who had no other Will but that of her Huſband, was eaſily pre⯑vailed upon to comply with a Requeſt to which her own Inclinations naturally incited her, for the noble Qualities ſhe obſerved in Egiſtus had al⯑ready produced ſuitable Effects in a Mind, that being virtuous and ſenſible to the higheſt Degree itſelf, could not chuſe but love thoſe Perfections in another.

Bellaria therefore, as well in Obedience to her Huſband's Commands, as in Conſequence of the Friendſhip ſhe had conceived for Egiſtus, gave him every Day a thouſand innocent Marks of her Eſteem, which that Prince, who admired and loved her Perfections with all the Warmth of a diſintereſted Friend, did not fail to return with every Inſtance of Gra⯑titude and Reſpect.

[4]This mutual Eſteem gave riſe to an eaſy Confidence and familiar Intercourſe between them; ſo that Pandoſto being often engaged with his Miniſters in Affairs of State, Bellaria and Egiſtus paſſed away the Time in his Ab⯑ſence in various Diſcourſes and innocent A⯑muſements, all which at firſt was very pleaſ⯑ing to Pandoſto.

But that unhappy Prince, either becauſe he was conſcious of the ſuperior Merit of Egiſtus, or through the natural Bent of his Diſpoſition, began to look with ſuſpicious Eyes on a Friend⯑ſhip and Familiarity which he had been ſo ſoli⯑citous to form: Doubtful and uneaſy Thoughts aroſe in his Mind, he reflected on the irreſſiſt⯑able Charms of Bellaria, and the manly Beauty and noble Qualities of Egiſtus, and thought it impoſſible that two Perſons ſo formed to pleaſe ſhould be inſenſible to each others Merit.

Theſe Doubts having entered his Mind, he fed his growing Jealouſy with continual Ob⯑ſervations on the Looks and Words of his Friend and Wife; and prejudiced as he now was, their innocent Familiarity appeared to him to be a convincing Proof of their guilty Paſſion; Suſpicion was now changed to abſo⯑lute Certainty; he no longer looked upon Egiſtus as his Friend and Gueſt, but as the Deſtroyer of his Honour, and the Violater of his Queen.

A violent Hatred ſucceeded the tender Af⯑fection he once bore to Egiſtus; and thoſe Smiles of Love with which he had always [5] been accuſtomed to behold the charming Bellaria, gave Place to ſullen Reſerve and gloomy Frowns: Racked with the torment⯑ing Remembrance of his fancied Wrongs, the Deſire and Hope of Revenge afforded him ſome Intervals of Eaſe.

He reſolved therefore to poiſon Egiſtus, and while his Mind was labouring how to execute his cruel Purpoſe with Security, his Words and Behaviour ſtill wore an Appearance of Friendſhip and Reſpect.

Pandoſto had a Cup-bearer, named Franion, whom, becauſe he had always ſhewn an inviola⯑ble Attachment to his Perſon, he believed it would be eaſy to perſuade to execute his purpoſed Vengeance on the King of Sicily.

To this Man therefore the jealous Mo⯑narch communicated his ungenerous Deſign, and promiſed him a large Reward, if when the next Time that Egiſtus called for Drink at his Table, he would put Poiſon in his Cup.

Franion ſhuddered with Horror at this in⯑human Propoſition; and with all the Freedom of a good Man and a faithful Subject he en⯑deavoured to diſſuade his King from his bar⯑barous Purpoſe. He repreſented to him that Murder was an unpardonable Offence to the Gods, and abhorred by all Mankind, that ſuch unnatural Crimes not only drew down the Wrath of Heaven upon the Perpetrators of them, but the Revenge of Men. He urged to him the ſacred Laws of Hoſpitality, [6] that Egiſtus was his Gueſt, his Friend and Ally; that any Cruelty committed upon his Perſon would brand his Name with perpetual Infamy, and ſow the laſting Seeds of Diſcord and Hatred between the Sicilians and Bohemi⯑ans; and that even his own Subjects would murmur at ſuch an unexampled Piece of Cruelty and Treachery.

Theſe Arguments had no Force with the determined Pandoſto, who, perſiſting ſtill in his cruel Reſolution, gave Franion his Choice either to poiſon Egiſtus, and be rewarded with Riches and Honours, or to ſuffer Death for his Diſobedience.

Franion, ſtaggered by theſe dreadful Threat⯑nings on one Hand, and allured by thoſe great Promiſes on the other, told Pandoſto that he would obey him, and as ſoon as a fair Opportunity offered he would poiſon Egiſtus.

The King was very well pleaſed with this Promiſe, and reſolved as ſoon as his deſigned Vengeance on Egiſtus was executed, to ſa⯑crifice Bellaria in the ſame Manner, to his abuſed Love and injured Honour.

When the King was departed, Franion having no longer that dreadful Object before his Eyes, threatening Death and Torments if he did not murder the innocent Prince, be⯑gan to reflect ſeriouſly upon the horrid Deed he had engaged to perform: Murder he thought, however ſecretly and ſecurely committed, might for a Time avoid Danger, but never wholly eſcape Puniſhment; that no Balm, no Leni⯑tive [7] could heal the Stings of a wounded Con⯑ſcience, and the Guilt of innocent Blood would always be accompanied with Remorſe and Horror.

He reflected that, though he was a Subject, his King had no Right to his Obedience when his Commands were contrary to the expreſs Will and Pleaſure of the Gods, to whom he owed a higher Duty.

He conſidered, that the peaceful Calm of a contented Mind in an humble Condition was preferable to the reſtleſs Turbulence of Dignity and Riches, when purchaſed with Crimes and ſtained with Blood, and that honeſt Poverty was infinitely better than ſhameful Grandeur.

Seeing therefore that he muſt either die with a clear Mind, or live with a foul and ſpotted Conſcience; his Soul was ſo perplexed be⯑tween theſe two Extremes that he could take no Reſt; at laſt he determined to diſcover the Affair to Egiſtus, and for that Purpoſe he went to his Apartments, and deſiring a private Au⯑dience of the King of Sicily he was admitted to his Preſence, and in a few Words laid open the whole Conſpiracy againſt him.

The Brave and Generous are not eaſily in⯑duced to believe thoſe they love are capable of Baſeneſs and Ingratitude. Egiſtus judging of Pandoſto's Heart by the Rectitude of h [...]s own, told Franion with a ſevere Countenance, that he would not entertain a Thought to the Prejudice of the King of Bohemia's Honour.

"Pandoſto, continued he, is my Friend and Ally, no Suſpicion has ever yet interrupt⯑ed [8] our mutual Affection, I did not come here to invade his Territories, to ſeduce his Sub⯑jects from their Allegiance, or to conſpire with his Enemies. Since therefore I have given him no Cauſe to ſeek my Death, I can⯑not believe him guilty of ſo unjuſt and trea⯑cherous a Deſign; but rather ſuſpect the In⯑formation you have given me to be the Ef⯑fect of a Combination among the Bohemians, to create a Variance between me and their King."

Franion replied, "that it was dangerous to dally with the Rage of an incenſed and ſecret Enemy; that if the Bohemians had intended any Harm to him they might eaſily accompliſh it without revealing their Conſpiracy; that it was unkind therefore in his Majeſty to miſ⯑conſtrue his Zeal for his Preſervation into a treacherous Deſign, for that his Intention was to prevent Treaſon, not to become a Traitor."

He urged him then to fly with Speed in⯑to Sicily if he hoped to eſcape the Danger which threatned him, and begged his Majeſty would permit him to go along with him, when if he did not fully prove that Pandoſto had de⯑ſigned to poiſon him, he deſired that his ima⯑gined Treachery might be puniſhed with the moſt cruel Torments.

Egiſtus, weighing the Matter thoroughly in his Mind, gave many Thanks to Franion, and promiſing if he arrived ſafe in Sicily to re⯑ward him royally; he deſired him to contrive the Method of their Eſcape.

[9] Franion went immediately to conſult with the Admiral of Egiſtus's Fleet, and it was agreed between them, that it ſhould be put in Readineſs to ſail as ſoon as a fair Wind and Opportunity offered.

In the mean Time Franion amuſed Pandoſto with Hopes of ſoon having his ſo much de⯑ſired Revenge accompliſhed, telling him that he was employed in preparing and compound⯑ing ſo ſubtle a Poiſon, that the Moment it was ſwallowed would procure immediate Death.

Pandoſto received this News with a malignant Joy, every Hour ſeeming an Age to his im⯑patient Fury till His Revenge was ſatiated with the Death of thoſe who had offended him.

Egiſtus being informed that a favourable Gale had ſprung up, conveyed himſelf and his Sicilians, by the Aſſiſtance of Franion, out of a Poſtern Gate of the City, with ſuch Secreſy and Expedition, that they got on board their Ships without the leaſt Suſpicion, and ſpread⯑ing all their Sails to the Wind ſoon loſt Sight of Bohemia.

As ſoon as Pandoſto was informed that Egiſtus had fled away in the Night, and that Franion was gone with him, he let looſe all his Rage upon his Queen, whom he accuſed of conſpiring with Egiſtus and the Traitor Franion, and commanded ſhe ſhould be led to Priſon.

The Bohemians were all alarmed, and ſuſ⯑pected ſome Treaſon; and the furious Pandoſto [10] believing the Queen not only guilty of diſho⯑nouring his Bed, but of projecting the Flight of Egiſtus, ſent his Guards with Orders to ſeize her.

The innocent Bellaria not expecting the impending Storm, was playing with her lit⯑tle Son Garrinter, when the Guards, with much Reluctance, came to execute the King's Demands.

The Queen was at firſt aſtoniſhed and turned pale, but recollecting herſelf, and aſ⯑ſuming all the noble Pride of conſcious Inno⯑cence and affronted Virtue, ſhe gave her Hand to the Captain of the Guard, and without murmuring, ſuffered him to lead her to her Priſon, where ſhe ſpent the Time in patient Sorrow and abſolute Reſignation.

Pandoſto, mad with the Diſappointment of his Revenge upon Egiſtus, reſolved it ſhould fall doubly heavy on the Head of the injured Bellaria, he therefore cauſed it to be proclaim⯑ed throughout all his Dominions, that the Queen had committed Adultery with Egiſtus, and with his Cup-bearer, Franion, had conſpir⯑ed his Death.

Though the Queen's Life had hitherto ap⯑peared blameleſs, yet this confident Proclama⯑tion, and the Flight of the King of Sicily and Franion, raiſed many Suſpicions againſt her in the Minds of the People, who notwithſtand⯑ing daily offered up Prayers for her Deli⯑verance.

Her Youth, her Beauty, the Sweetneſs of her Manners, but above all her Misfortunes, excited every one's Compaſſion.

[11]But the cruel Pandoſto, in whoſe rocky Boſom Pity could find no Acceſs, reſolved to load the unfortunate Bellaria with every Kind of Infamy and Hardſhip; he would not allow her to be treated in the Priſon with the Reſpect due to the Rank ſhe once held, but cauſed her to be ſerved and attended with the moſt cruel Neglect.

The Cruelties he exerciſed on the Queen did but in Part ſatisfy his Revenge, he longed to make Egiſtus feel the Weight of his Fury: But this Monarch was ſo powerful by his Al⯑lies, having married the Emperor of Ruſſia's Daughter, that he deſpaired of ever being able by open Force to accompliſh his Re⯑venge.

The unhappy Queen being informed of the vile Accuſation againſt her ſo openly proclaimed, conſcious of her own ſpotleſs In⯑nocence, and the Integrity of Egiſtus, earneſt⯑ly intreated that ſhe might be brought to a public Trial, confronted with her Accuſer, and allowed to anſwer for herſelf.

But the King was ſo inflamed with Rage and Jealouſy that he would not receive her Petition; and while the poor Queen was thus languiſhing under the Weight of her Calami⯑ties, and hopeleſs of Redreſs, ſhe perceived herſelf to be quick with Child.

So affecting an Incident in her melancholy Condition drew Complaints from her, which ſoftening the rugged Temper of her Keeper; [12] he cauſed the King to be immediately inform⯑ed of it, not doubting but the News would induce him to ſet her at Liberty.

The Queen's Pregnancy however produced quite a contrary Effect; for the King no ſooner heard of it than ſtarting up in a violent Fury, he ſwore Bellaria and her Baſtard ſhould die, even though the Gods themſelves ſhould ſay no.

The Queen, notwithſtanding ſo many cruel Afflictions, was happily delivered of a Daughter; and Pandoſto immediately declar⯑ed his Reſolution to have both the Mother and Child burnt.

The Noblemen of his Court uſed all the Arguments their Reaſon and Humanity could furniſh them with, to prevail upon him to change his barbarous Purpoſe, but all they could do was to prevent the Murder of the Child.

The Queen's Doom he told them was ir⯑revocably fixed, but though at the earneſt So⯑licitations of his Nobles, he promiſed the Child ſhould not be put to Death, yet the Reſolution he took concerning it was little leſs cruel, ſince by it he only meant to protract its Faté.

He ſent a Perſon to the Priſon with Orders to take the Infant from its wretched Mother, and putting it into a Boat and launching it into the Sea, leave it to the Mercy of the Wind and Waves.

[13]The Guards who aſſiſted at this barbarous Deed, moved by the ſweet Countenance of the innocent Babe, could not help accuſing the King of great Cruelty; nevertheleſs Fear of his Reſentment obliged them to execute his Commands.

They put the Child into a Boat, covering it with Boughs to preſerve it from the Incle⯑mency of the Weather, and ſet it into the Ocean, when immediately ſo great a Storm aroſe, that it was with much Difficulty they got to ſhore again.

This horrid Deed accompliſhed, the King aſſembled his Nobles and Counſellors, and Bellaria was brought into Court, where ſhe heard the Charge againſt her read.

The Queen, who ſaw nothing but her Death would ſatisfy the incenſed King, con⯑fiding in her own Innocence, aſſumed all the Courage her unhappy Condition required, and with a noble Haughtineſs demanded to have Law and Juſtice; "for Mercy, ſaid ſhe, I do not expect; let my Accuſers therefore appear in Court, and give their Evidences be⯑fore my Face."

Pandoſto replied, "that the Witneſſes were of ſuch Credit that their Words alone were ſufficient; that for her, indeed it was her Part to deny ſuch a monſtrous Crime, and forſwear herſelf, ſeeing that ſhe had overcome all Senſe of Shame and Remorſe in committing it; ne⯑vertheleſs, [14] added he, you ſhall die, and die a moſt cruel and ignominious Death."

The Queen, not terrified by theſe Threats, replied without any Emotion, "that to pro⯑ceed to Puniſhment without Proof, was Ri⯑gour, not Law."

The Nobles approved of what ſhe ſaid, and required that her Accuſers ſhould be ſworn and openly examined; and if the Queen's Guilt was fully proved, his Majeſty might condemn her to ſuffer the Puniſhment ordain⯑ed by the Law for ſuch Offences.

The King anſwered, "that in this Caſe he could and would diſpenſe with the Law, and that the Nobles ſhould take his Word for ſuf⯑ficient Evidence, otherwiſe he would make the proudeſt of them repent it.

This Threat ſtruck them all dumb, but Bellaria, who deſpaired of Life, and dreaded Infamy more than Death, ſaid, "if his Will muſt be the Law, the Jury's Verdict will be uſeleſs: Then falling on her Knees, ſhe conjured the King by the Love he bore to the young Prince Garrinter his Son, that he would grant her one Requeſt, which was to ſend ſix of his Nobles, in whom he placed the greateſt Confidence, to the Iſland of Delphos, and there conſult the Oracle of Apollo con⯑cerning the Crimes ſhe was accuſed of."

Pandoſto could not refuſe ſo reaſonable a Requeſt, and having named ſix Embaſſadors to be diſpatched with all Speed to Delphos, he [15] committed the Queen to cloſe Impriſonment till their Return.

The Ambaſſadors performed their Voyage in three Weeks, and as ſoon as they landed at Delphos, they went to the Temple of Apollo, and with great Devotion offered Sacrifices to the God, and Gifts to his Prieſts, according to Cuſtom, and then humbly beſought an Anſwer to their Demands.

They had not kneeled long at the Altar, when Apollo with a loud Vice ſaid, "Bohemi⯑ans, what you find behind the Altar take and depart;" they obeyed the Oracle, and found a Scroll of Parchment, which the Prieſt com⯑manded them not to open but in the Preſence of the King.

The Ambaſſadors aſſured him of their ex⯑act Obedience to his Injunctions, and their Devotions being finiſhed they left the Tem⯑ple, and ſailed with a fair Wind for Bohemia, where they ſoon arrived, and haſtened to Court.

Pandoſto received them very graciouſly, and they after giving him an Account of their Voyage, preſented the divine Scroll to him, intreating him at the ſame Time, ſince the Queen's Life or Death, her Innocence or Guilt, was contained in that ſacred Writing, that he would ſummon the Nobility to meet in the Judgment Hall, and before them and the accuſed Queen cauſe the Oracle to be read.

[16]The King approved of their Advice, and on the Day appointed the King and the No⯑bles being all aſſembled in the Court, the Queen was brought to the Bar, and thus ſpoke.

"How I have led my Life before Egiſtus came into Bohemia, I appeal, Pandoſto, to thy Conſcience, and to the immortal Gods; they only know whether I am guilty of the Crimes whereof I am accuſed; for me, I here proteſt my Innocence, and for the Truth of what I ſay, I refer myſelf to the divine Oracle.

Here Bellaria being ſilent, the King com⯑manded one of his Nobles to open the Scroll, which he did, and read aloud the following Words, which were written in Letters of Gold.

OBSERVATIONS on the Uſe Shakeſpear has made of the foregoing Novel in his Play called The Winter's Tale.
The Fable of the WINTER's TALE.

POLIXENES, King of Bohemia, and Leontes, King of Sicilia, having been bred together in their Youth, and maintained a ſtrict Friendſhip and Correſpondence with each other after they ſucceeded to the Thrones of their Fathers; Polixenes deſirous of ſeeing again his beloved Companion, pays him a Viſit in his own Dominions, where, after ſtaying a con⯑ſiderable Time, he propoſes to take Leave and return to his own Kingdom; but Leontes, un⯑willing to part with him, preſſes him to a lon⯑ [...]er Stay; Polixenes refuſes; whereupon Leon⯑tes deſires his Queen Hermione to ſolicit him; ſhe obeys; and Polixenes, at her Requeſt, con⯑ſents to remain a little longer in Bohemia.

Leontes takes Occaſion, from the Earneſt⯑neſs of his Wife's Entreaties and the eaſy Compliance of Polixenes, to ſuſpect them both [...]f Adultery; and growing furious with Jea⯑ [...]ouſy, he endeavours to perſuade Camillo, one [72] of his Courtiers, whom he had made Cup-Bearer to Polixenes, to poiſon him.

Camillo promiſes to perform his Orders, but ſecretly diſcovers them to the King of Bohemia, who, thus warned, makes his Eſcape by Night, accompanied by his Preſerver, Camillo.

Leontes, enraged at their Flight, and ſup⯑poſing that his Queen was privy to it, pub⯑licly accuſes her of Adultery with Polixenes, and of conſpiring with Camillo to take away his Life.

Hermione is ſent to Priſon, where ſhe is deli⯑vered of a Daughter: Paulina, an old Lady, Friend to the Queen, carries the Child to Leontes, who ſwears it is a Baſtard, and threat⯑ens to have both it and the Mother burnt; be⯑ing with Difficulty diſſuaded from this cruel Reſolution, he orders Antigonous, the Huſ⯑band of Paulina, to carry the Child to ſome deſert Place, quite out of his Dominions, and there leave it.

Antigonous being inſtructed in a Dream how to diſpoſe of it, carries it into Bohemia, and leaves it in a Wood, but as he is returning to his Veſſel, he is devoured by a wild Bear, and the Ship is wrecked.

Leontes having ſent Meſſengers to Delpho to conſult the Oracle of Apollo concerning hi [...] Queen's Infidelity; as ſoon as they return, th [...] Queen is brought to her Trial, and her Ac⯑cuſation [73] being read, which ſhe courageouſly denies, and refers to the Oracle, it is broke open and read aloud, and pronounces her In-her Inocence.

The King declares the Oracle is falſe, and orders the Court to proceed in the Tryal, when a Meſſenger brings him an Account of the ſudden Death of the Prince his Son, the Queen falls into a Swoon at this News, and is carried out.

Leontes, believing the Death of his Son to be a Puniſhment for his Profanation in deny⯑ing the Truth of the Oracle, repents his un⯑juſt Accuſation of Hermione, aſks Pardon of Apollo, and reſolves to make his Queen Amends, for the Injuries he had offered her.

While he is making theſe penitent Reſo⯑lutions, Paulina enters, and informs him the Queen is dead. Leontes, in great Affliction, vows to viſit her Tomb once in every Day while he lives, and weep ever it.

In the mean Time the little Perdita, his Daughter, is found by a Bohemian Shepherd, who breeds it up as his own Child: Prince Florizel, the Son of Polixenes, falls in love with Perdita, and reſolves to marry her. The King, his Father, diſcovers his Intention, and threatens Perdita with Death if ſhe ever again preſumes to receive his Son's Addreſſes; Camillo, who ardently deſired to viſit his own Country, Sicilia, and his old Maſter Leontes, [74] perſuades Prince Florizel, ſince he was deter⯑mined not to quit Perdita, to ſteal her away and carry her to Sicilia, and feign an Embaſſy from his Father to Leontes, which would ſe⯑cure him a kind Reception.

Florizel goes on board a Ship with Perdita, and ſails to Sicilia, where he is received with great Friendſhip by Leontes, but immediately after King Polixenes himſelf arrives, having been perſuaded by Camillo to follow his Son, and prevent his Marriage with Perdita.

The ſuppoſed Father of Perdita having been decoyed on board the Prince's Veſſel, as he was going to the King to diſcover how he came by Perdita, and to ſhow him the Tokens he found with her; ſhe is by his Means diſcovered to be the Daughter of Leontes.

Paulina, overjoyed at this happy Diſcovery, invites the two Kings, with the Prince and Princeſs, to her Houſe to ſee a Statue of Her⯑mione, which ſhe ſays is juſt finiſhed, they follow her, and ſhe ſhews them Hermione her⯑ſelf, who they ſuppoſed dead, ſtanding upon [...] Pedeſtal; after they have gazed on her ſome Time, ſtill thinking it was a Statue of the de⯑ceaſed Queen, Paulina orders the Muſic to play, and bids the Statue deſcend, which it does, and is diſcovered to be the living Hermione.

Leontes receives her again with Tranſport Prince Florizel is married to his beloved Perdita [75] and the good old Paulina is rewarded with a⯑nother Huſband, in the Room of her loſt Antigonous.

It has been mentioned as a great Praiſe to Shakeſpear that the old paltry Story of Doraſtus and Fawnia ſerved him for a Winter's Tale, but if we compare the Conduct of the Inci⯑dents in the Play with the paltry Story on which it is founded, we ſhall find the Original much leſs abſurd and ridiculous.

If Shakeſpear had even improved the Story, and cleared it of great Part of its Inconſiſten⯑cies, yet he would ſtill have been accountable for what remained, for why indeed did he chuſe a Subject ſo faulty for the Story of a Play; his Claim to Praiſe would have been but very ſmall, by making what was bad bet⯑ter, ſince he was free in the Choice of his Subject; but certainly he can have no Preten⯑ſions to it at all by changing bad to worſe; that he has done ſo will be eaſily proved by ex⯑amining ſome of the principal Incidents, as they are differently managed by the Noveliſt and the Poet.

The King's Jealouſy is the Foundation of all the Adventures that followed, but extra⯑vagant as its Conſequences are in both, yet the Riſe and Progreſs of this terrible Paſſion is better accounted for in the Novel than the Play: In the firſt we are told that Pandoſto, charmed with the friendly Viſit Egiſtus paid him in his Dominions, deſired the Queen to [76] treat her royal Gueſt with, the Reſpect and Eſteem that was due to his Merit and the Friendſhip he had for him; the Queen, like an obedient Wife, complies with her Huſ⯑band's Directions, and perhaps over-acts her Part. The King begins to think he has been too officious; the innocent Familiarity be⯑tween his Wife and Friend creates Suſpicions, which meeting with a Mind prepared by a natural Diſtruſtfulneſs to receive them, pro⯑duces thoſe Sparks of Jealouſy which his in⯑tereſted Obſervations on all their Looks, Words, and Actions, afterwards blew into a Flame.

This Account of the King's Jealouſy does not abſolutely claſh with Probability. But let us ſee how Shakeſpear manages it in the Play; the two Kings make their firſt Ap⯑pearance in the ſecond Scene in high Friend⯑ſhip and Confidence; Polixenes reminding his Friend of the Length of his Viſit, tells him he is now reſolved to be gone.

Leontes, not able to part with him, preſſes him earneſtly to ſtay longer, Polixenes urges the Neceſſity of his ſpeedy Departure, and truly, as he obſerves, nine Months is a great while for a good King to be out of his own Dominions.

Leontes, after many fruitleſs Intreaties, re⯑proaches his Queen for not endeavouring to detain Polixenes, ſhe, in obedience to his Com⯑mands, preſſes him to gratify her Lord by a [77] little longer Stay; Polixenes complies at her Requeſt, and certainly he muſt be a very ill bred Monarch had he done otherwiſe.

All this Converſation paſſes in the Preſence of Leontes, who from hence takes Occaſion to be jealous, and paſſes in an Inſtant from the greateſt Confidence, Security, and Friend⯑ſhip imaginable, to the laſt Extremity of Jea⯑louſy and Rage. What wonderful Contriv⯑ance is here? The Legerdemain, who ſhews you a Tree that buds Bloſſoms and bears ripe Fruit in the Space of five Minutes, does not put ſo great a Cheat on the Senſes, as Shakeſ⯑pear does on the Underſtanding; for this Jealouſy of one Minute's Growth we ſee take Root before our Eyes, and ſo far from there being the ſmalleſt Progreſſion in the ſeveral Actions of budding, bloſſoming, and bear⯑ing ripe Fruit, that we have the firſt and the laſt at one and the ſame Inſtant.

The extravagant Effects of the King's Rage and Jealouſy are carried far enough in all Conſcience in the Novel, and Shakeſpear is not a Whit more moderate; only he has altered a Circumſtance which entirely deſtroys the lit⯑tle Probability the Noveliſt had preſerved in the Relation.

In the Story, the King being in his own Mind firmly perſuaded of the Queen's Guilt, [...]rders her to be impriſoned, and the Daughter [...]at ſhe was delivered of in Priſon to be burnt; [...] the Intreaties of his Courtiers he reverſes [78] the Sentence paſt on the Child, and com⯑mands it to be expoſed in a Boat, but declares that his Queen ſhall die.

She inſiſts upon being confronted with her Accuſers, whereupon ſhe is brought to a Tryal; but finding ſhe was likely to meet with no Juſ⯑tice in a Court over-ruled by the Power of her Huſband, ſhe on her Knees proteſts her In⯑nocence, and intreats the King to conſult the Oracle of Apollo concerning the Crimes of which ſhe was accuſed. This ſo reaſonable a Requeſt being made in open Court, the King could not refuſe it, and therefore ſends Am⯑baſſadors to Delphos; who return with the An⯑ſwer of the God; which being read, declares her Innocence, and the King is ſatisfied.

Shakeſpear makes the King in the Heighth of his Frenzy of Jealouſy ſend himſelf to the Oracle of Apollo, and in the mean Time com⯑mit the moſt barbarous Cruelties on his Queen and Child. How inconſiſtent is this! why does he conſult the Oracle if he is reſolved to proceed to Extremities before the Anſwer ar⯑rives? The Requeſt comes very naturally from the Queen in the Novel, and the King's Compliance with it is very well accounted for, but in the Play nothing can be more abſurd than that the King ſhould be reaſonable enough to conſult voluntarily the Gods concerning the Infidelity of his Wife; and while the An⯑ſwer was expected, and her Guilt yet doubt⯑ful, puniſh her with as much Rigour as if the Oracle had declared her an Adultreſs. Her [...] [79] again the paltry Story has the Advantage of the Play. Let us go on to examine a few more of the Incidents.

In the Novel, the Perſons who perform the hateful Office of expoſing the Infant Princeſs are ſome of the King's Guards.

In the Play, it is a Nobleman of high Rank, who had Courage enough to reprove the King for his violent and unjuſt Jealouſy, yet baſely ſubmits to take an Oath to perform his Commands, though he had Reaſon to think they would not be very mild, and ſtill more baſely keeps that Oath, though it enjoins him to carry the innocent Babe to a Deſert, and there leave it to the Mercy of the wild Beaſts.

In the Novel, the Accidents that happen to the expoſed Infant are governed by Chance; the Boat into which it was put being left in the midſt of the Ocean, is driven by the Winds to the Coaſt of Bohemia, and being ſpied by a Shepherd is drawn to Land.

In the Play, Antigonous, who is bound by Oath to leave the Child in ſome deſert Place quite out of its Father's Dominions, is warn⯑ed in a Dream by its unhappy Mother to call the Infant Perdita, and carry it to Bohemia, and there leave it.

Antigonous obeys, and this done, it is abſo⯑lutely neceſſary he ſhould never return to Sicily, otherwiſe it may be diſcovered where the Princeſs is left, and all the future Adven⯑tures would fall to the Ground, therefore a Bear ruſhes out of the Woods and devours [80] him; the good-natured Bear, as it ſhould ſeem, reſolved not to ſpoil the Story, paſſes by the little Princeſs, who is to make ſo great a Fi⯑gure hereafter, and a convenient Storm ariſing, ſplits the Ship in which ſhe was brought thither, ſo that all the Sailors periſhing, though they were near enough the Shore to have ſav⯑ed themſelves, no one is left to ca [...]ry back any Account of the Affair to Sicily, and thereby prevent the Adventures which are to follow.

All this is very wonderful: Shakeſpear mul⯑tiplies Miracle upon Miracle to bring about the ſame Events in the Play, which Chance, with much more Propriety, performs in the Novel.

The Loves of the young Prince of Bohemia and the royal Shepherdeſs are carried on much in the ſame Manner by the Poet as the No⯑veliſt; Shakeſpear has even borrowed ſome of the Thoughts from the latter in this Speech of Florizel to Perdita.

[81] Doraſtus ſpeaks almoſt the ſame Words in the Novel, "The Gods themſelves have not diſdained to love: Jupiter was enamoured of Danaë, and the bright Apollo woo'd the inex⯑orable Daphne; theſe were mortal Beauties, and they were Deities; why then, though a Prince, may not I love a Shepherdeſs, but their Paſſions were diſhonourable, mine is pure and chaſte, 'tis true, and herein I ſurpaſs the Gods; be ſtill then, O my Soul, for 'tis decreed, Fawnia, the adorable Fawnia, ſhall be mine."

The Eſcape of the two Lovers is very dif⯑ferently managed in the Novel and Play; in the firſt, the Prince being preſſed by his Fa⯑ther to marry, reſolves to leave Sicily with Fawnia, and fly into Italy, where he intend⯑ed to live concealed till his Father's Death, or that he could reconcile him to his Marriage with the beautiful Shepherdeſs; having pro⯑cured a Ship, and a ſufficient Quantity of Money and Jewels, he meets Fawnia early in the Morning and carries her to the Port, they embark, and ſteer their Courſe for Italy, but are driven by contrary Winds to Bohemia, where they are obliged to land.

In the Play, Florizel diſguiſed in the Habit of a Shepherd for the Sake of Perdita, aſ⯑ſiſts at a Sheepſhearing Feaſt. The King, his Father, being informed of his Son's Reſort to the Houſe of a Shepherd, goes there diſ⯑guiſed with his Confidant, Camillo, and comes [82] very opportunely to hear the Prince, his Son declare his Paſſion for the Fair Shepherdeſs pub⯑licly, and his Intentions of marrying her; nay he carries his Indiſcretion ſo far as to join Hands with her before all the Country People who are preſent; can any Thing be more abſurd?

The King, ſufficiently informed of his Son's Deſigns, diſcovers himſelf, and forbids the Bans: this is indeed a terrible Stroke; one would be puzzled to think how the Lovers will eſcape; for is it not natural to ſuppoſe that the enraged King will keep his Son in a ſtrict Con⯑finement to prevent this unequal Match; but it happens quite otherwiſe; for the King, after ſome ſevere Menaces, goes back to his Palace, and leaves his Son at Liberty to run away with the Country Girl, which he accordingly does.

The Part Camillo acts in this Affair is not more conſiſtent; he longs to ſee again his old Maſter Leontes and his native Country Si⯑cilia, which he had quitted to preſerve Po⯑lixenes, and becauſe this Monarch loved him ſo well that he could not bear his Abſence, and gently denied him Permiſſion to go, Camillo betrays the Confidence he repoſed in him, con⯑ſents to the Prince's Flight, and adviſes him to take Refuge in Sicilia, in Hopes that Polixenes, to whom he intended to diſcover where the Prince was gone, would follow him, and thus he might again return to his own Country.

This double Treachery and ſelf-intereſted Views are very inconſiſtent with the Character [83] of ſo honeſt a Man as Camillo is repreſented to be; beſides the Contrivance is abſolutely ridi⯑culous; for what Reaſon had the Prince to ſup⯑poſe that Leontes, who paſſionately deſired to be reconciled to the King his Father, whom he had ſo greatly injured, would offend him anew by protecting his Son, who had fled from him in order to marry a poor Shepherdeſs, for he could not expect the Story, however he diſguiſed it, would be long concealed from him; and why ſhould Camillo ſuppoſe that Polixenes, when he was informed of his Son's Flight, would quit his Dominions to follow him, and put his Perſon again in the Power of a King who had once deſigned to murder him: was it not more likely that he would ſend Ambaſſa⯑dors to demand the Prince of Leontes, who would then have an Opportunity of ſhewing if his Penitence was ſincere by ſending him back again; but Shakeſpear has fallen into all theſe Abſurdities in order to bring the chief Characters in his Play together at Sicilia, tho' for ſome of them there was not the leaſt Oc⯑caſion.

The ſeveral Incidents that lead to the Diſ⯑covery of Fawnia are conducted with ſome Shadow of Probability in the Novel, but are much the worſe for Shakeſpear's Alterations.

In the Novel Capnio, the Prince's Confi⯑dant, as he is haſtening after him to the Port, meets the Father of Fawnia going to Court, [84] and ſuſpecting his Deſign, he artfully perſuades him to follow him, and, partly by Stratagem, and partly by Force, carries him on board the Veſſel in which the Prince and Fawnia were embarked; the old Man had taken with him when he left his Houſe the Chain and Jewels he found with Fawnia in order to ſhew them to the King and relate the Manner in which he found her; but being prevented in this De⯑ſign by Capnio, who obliged him to be the Com⯑panion of their Flight, he very prudently con⯑tinues to conceal from Fawnia the Circum⯑ſtance of her Birth; and, to ſecure to himſelf a reſpectful Treatment from the Prince and her, ſuffers her ſtill to believe him her Father; but when at Bohemia the King of Sicilia's Am⯑baſſadors diſcover who they are, and the old Shepherd and Fawnia are by the King of Bo⯑hemia ordered to be put to Death for deluding the Prince of Sicily, he then declares that Faw⯑nia is not his Daughter, and produces the Chain and Jewels he found with her as Proofs that her Birth was not mean; the King at the Sight of theſe Tokens knows and acknow⯑ledges his Daughter.

Thus theſe Circumſtances are altered by Shakeſpear.—The Prince having changed Cloaths with a cheating Pedlar, eſcapes with his Miſtreſs to the Ship; the Pedlar imme⯑diately over-hears a Converſation between the reputed Father of Perdita and his Son, in which it is reſolved that he ſhall carry the Jewels to the King and declare how he found Perdita; the Pedlar ſuppoſing it would be an [85] Advantage to the Prince to know this, decoys the old Shepherd and his Son aboard; now one would imagine that all muſt come out; but ſee what ſtrange Accidents conſpire to hinder it.

The Pedlar, though he over-heard the old Shepherd ſay that Perdita was a Foundling and not his Daughter, neglects to tell the Prince this important Circumſtance, though it was with that very Deſign he came and forced the two Clowns along with him.

Perdita, though her Father and Brother are in the ſame Veſſel with her, never ſees or ſpeaks to them: the old Shepherd and his Son make no Attempts to ſpeak to her; and the Prince has ſo little Conſideration for the Fa⯑ther and Brother of his Beloved that he takes no Notice of them; how wonderful is all this! the moſt unlikely Things imaginable fall out to poſtpone the Diſcovery of Perdita till their Arrival at Sicily.

The Novel makes the Wife of the jealous King die through Affliction for the Loſs of her Son; Shakeſpear ſeems to have preſerved her alive for the ſake of her repreſenting her own Statue in the laſt Scene; a mean and abſurd Contrivance; for how can it be imagined that Hermione, a virtuous and affectionate Wife, would conceal herſelf during ſixteen Years in a ſolitary Houſe, though ſhe was ſenſible that [...]er repentant Huſband was all that Time con⯑ſuming [86] away with Grief and Remorſe for her Death; and what Reaſon could ſhe have for chuſing to live in ſuch a miſerable Confinement, when ſhe might have been happy in the Poſ⯑ſeſſion of her Huſband's Affection and have ſhared his Throne: how ridiculous alſo in a great Queen, on ſo interreſting an Occaſion, to ſubmit to ſuch Buffoonery as ſtanding on a Pedeſtal, motionleſs, her Eyes fixed, and at laſt to be conjured down by this magical Com⯑mand of Paulina.

After this ſolemn Incantation, her Majeſty comes down from the Pedeſtal and embraces her Huſband, and her new found Daughter, for whoſe Sake ſhe declares ſhe had preſerved her Life.

To bring about this Scene, ridiculous as it is, Shakeſpear has been guilty of many Ab⯑ſurdities, which would be too tedious to men⯑tion, and which are too glaring to eſcape the Obſervation of the moſt careleſs Reader.

The Novel has nothing in it half ſo low and improbable as this Contrivance of the [87] Statue; and indeed wherever Shakeſpear has altered or invented, his Winter's Tale is great⯑ly inferior to the old paltry Story that furniſh⯑ed him with the Subject of it.

Sir Thomas Hanmer, in his Edition of Shakeſpear, has this Note at the Beginning of the Winter Tale.

This Country, here called Bithynia, hath in all former Editions been printed Bohemia, an inland Kingdom, ſituated nearly in the Center of Europe; whereas many of the great Incidents of the Play turn upon its be⯑ing a maritime Country, of which Polixenes was the King. This is a Blunder and an Ab⯑ſurdity, of which Shakeſpear in Juſtice ought not to be thought capable, and as he hath turned quite anew the Story contained in the old paltry Book of Doraſtus and Fawnia, changing moſt of the main Circumſtances, and all the Names of the Perſons; it is pro⯑bable he removed this Impropriety, and plac⯑ed the Scene in Bithynia, which the Ignorance and Negligence of the firſt Tranſcribers, or Printers, might corrupt and bring back again to Bohemia, by a leſs Variation in the Letters than they have been guilty of in numberleſs other Places of this Work.

Shakeſpear, in his Two Gentlemen of Verona, makes Protheus travel from Verona to Milan by Sea. Yet both thoſe Cities are in⯑land, and both more than eighty Miles diſtant from the Sea. Unleſs this Blunder can be alſo charged upon the Tranſcribers, or Printers, 'tis reaſonable to ſuppoſe that Shakeſpear, who was guilty of the one, might be ſo of the other.

THE MENAECHMI. A COMEDY of PLAUTUS. Tranſlated from the French OF Monſieur GUEUDIVILLE.

OBSERVATIONS on the Uſe Shakeſpear has made of the Menaechmus of Plautus, in his Comedy of Errors.

SHAKESPEAR's Comedy of Errors has been generally allowed to be founded on the Menaechmi of Plautus. Mr. Langbain, in his Account of the Dramatic Poets, ſays that if it be not a juſt Tranſlation of it, it is at leaſt a Paraphraſe, and in his Opinion far be⯑yond a Tranſlation, called Manaechmus, Print⯑ed at London, 1593.

From this Tranſlation of Plautus's Me⯑naechmi, Shakeſpear certainly borrowed his Comedy of Errors; but not being able to pro⯑cure a Copy of it, and being wholly unac⯑quainted with the Latin Tongue, I have turn⯑ed Monſieur Gueudiville's French Tranſlation of the Menaechmi into Engliſh, which al⯑though, as I am informed, it be not very li⯑teral as to the Dialogue, yet the Plot, the In⯑cidents, and Characters, being exactly the ſame with the Latin Poet's, it will ſerve to ſhew how much of the Plot Shakeſpear has borrowed in his Comedy of Errors.

[220]That we may be the better able to trace him in his Imitations, it will be neceſ⯑ſary to examine the Comedy of Errors Scene by Scene, and take the Story a little higher than the Commencement of the Action of the Play.

The Cities of Syracuſe and Epheſus being at War with each other, a Law was made in both, by which it was provided, that if any Epheſian Merchant was ſeen to traffic in Syracuſe, or any Syracuſan Merchant in Epheſus, his Goods ſhould be confiſcated, and himſelf condemn⯑ed to Death.

An old Merchant of Syracuſe, named Aegeon, landing at Epheſus, is apprehended upon this Law.

Here the Action of the Play begins, as Aegeon is leading to Priſon, the Duke of Epheſus meeting him, demands the Cauſe of his hav⯑ing left his native Country, and coming to Epheſus; Aegeon thereupon gives a long Ac⯑count of himſelf and his Family, which, in order to underſtand well the following Inci⯑dents, I will tranſcribe.

[225]Here ends the firſt Scene; the Appearance of Aegeon is of no other Uſe than to tell the Spectators ſeveral Circumſtances antecedent to the Action of the Play, which it is neceſſary they ſhould be acquainted with; this Plautus does in his Prologue.

The Story, though borrowed from Plautus, is yet very different; the Circumſtance of two Brothers being ſo extremely like each other, that it was impoſſible to diſtinguiſh them, is highly improbable in the Latin Poet.

Shakeſpear however doubles the Miracle, and preſents us with two Pair of Twins in⯑ſtead of one, with the ſame wonderful Re⯑ſemblance.

Plautus accounts very naturally for the Bro⯑thers having both the ſame Name; the Grand⯑father upon the Loſs of the eldeſt, whom he loved beſt, to preſerve the Remembrance of him, gives his Name to the youngeſt.

Shakeſpear, without aſſigning any Reaſon for it, makes the Twin Sons of Aegeon be both called Anthipholis, and the Twin Brothers, their Slaves, both Dromio.

The Separation of the Huſband and Wife, and their Children, from whence all the di⯑verting Miſtakes in the Comedy of Errors ariſe, is brought about without the leaſt Re⯑gard to Probability.

[226] Aegeon ſails from Syracuſe to Epidamnum, to ſettle his Affairs there, which were left in Confuſion by the Death of his Factor, and his Wife, though near the Time of her Ly⯑ing-in, follows him, for no Reaſon indeed but to be delivered at an Inn, where a poor Wo⯑man, who like her, having born two Male Twins, ſhe may buy them for Slaves to her own Sons; and that returning to Syracuſe they may be ſhipwrecked, and ſeparated from each other.

When the Storm ariſes the Merchant and his Wife, who, as it ſhou'd ſeem, have a View to the diverting Perplexities which are to fol⯑low, faſten one Antipholis, and one Dromio together, ſo when the Ship ſplits they are very conveniently ſeparated. Had they, like other fond Parents, been more ſollicitous for the Preſervation of their own Offspring than their little Slaves, and uſed their joint Endeavours for that Purpoſe only, the Father and Mother, and their Twin Sons, might have been all taken up together by the Corinthian Veſſel, but thus equally dividing their Affection between their Children and their Slaves, and that ex⯑cellent Contrivance of faſtening a Twin of each Sort together, occaſioned their falling into different Hands, and gave to each Anti⯑pholis his Dromio, for the future Buſineſs of the Play.

The Mother and the elder Antipholis be⯑ing ſeparated, he and his little Slave Dromio [227] are carried to Epheſus, where in Proceſs of Time he is married to a rich Lady, and ſet⯑tles there: Here the younger Antipholis comes to ſeek for his Brother, and his Father after⯑wards for him; the old Man is immediately ſeized, and condemned to die, as has been mentioned, but the Duke reſpites him for the Space of one Day, in order to try if he can raiſe the Sum of one Thouſand Marks to buy his Life.

In the ſecond Scene Antipholis of Syracuſe makes his Appearance with the Merchant of the City, who informing him of what had happened to the Syracuſan Merchant, adviſes him to give out that he came from Epidam⯑num.

Antipholis of Syracuſe ſends his Man, Dromio, with a Thouſand Marks to lay up ſafe at his Inn, and being left to himſelf, de⯑clares the Cauſe of his wandering about the World to be the Hopes of finding his Mother and Brother, whoſe Loſs he deplores. While he is ſtanding in the Street, Dromio of Epheſus comes up to him, and taking him for his Maſter, tells him his Dinner is ready, and that his Wife waits for him.

Antipholis, deceived by the Reſemblance, ſuppoſes this Dromio to be his Slave, reproves him for his ill timed Jeſts, and aſks him where he had left his Money? Dromio talks of Six⯑pence he had given him two or three Days ago.

[228] Antipholis aſks for his Thouſand Marks? Dromio tells him of his Dinner, his Houſe, his Wife, and preſſes him to come home. Antipholis at laſt, in a Fury, ſtrikes him, Dro⯑mio runs off, and Antipholis, full of Uneaſi⯑neſs about his Money, returns to his Inn to look after it.

In the ſecond Act the Scene is the Houſe of Antipholis of Epheſus, his Wife complains to her Siſter of her Huſband's long Stay, and wonders the Slave ſhe ſent for him is not re⯑turned. Dromio then enters, and humorouſly repeats what had paſt between his ſuppoſed Maſter and him, declaring that he believes him to be mad, the Wife frets, and orders him to go back again and fetch him.

Yet notwithſtanding this Reflexion, the Moment his own Slave, Dromio of Syracuſe, appears, he reproaches him with his having denied receiving his Gold, and with talking to him about his Wife, and a Dinner; and though the poor Fellow aſſures him that he never ſpoke ſuch Words to him, and had not [229] ſeen him ſince he ſent him to the Inn till now, yet Antipholis falls into a Rage, and beats him.

A Dialogue of Puns and Quibbles enſues between the Maſter and Man, which is in⯑terrupted by the Entrance of Adriana, the Wife of Antipholis of Epheſus, and her Siſter.

Adriana, [...] this Antipholis, and this Dromio, [...] band and his Slave, re⯑proaches him with his Neglect of her, and intreats him to come home to dinner.

Antipholis proteſts he does not know her, and that he is but juſt arrived at Epheſus; the Siſter chides him, and tells him his Wife had ſent for him home to Dinner by Dromio. Dromio is ſurpriſed, and denies it. Antipholis ▪ who had had that Meſſage delivered to him by the other Dromio, ſtorms at the Slave for lying, the Fellow aſſures him he had never ſeen her. Antipholis aſks how ſhe could be acquainted with their Names if he had not ſeen her be⯑fore, and informed her of them. Adriana; vexed at this Jeſting, as ſhe thinks it, intreats Antipholis to go home with her, and charges Dromio to keep the Gate for that Day, and let no one in to interrupt them.

Antipholis, though amazed to the laſt De⯑gree at all this, reſolves at laſt to

In the third Act, the Scene is the Street be⯑fore the Houſe of Antipholis of Epheſus. An⯑tipholis of Epheſus, and his Slave Dromio, with a Merchant and a Goldſmith, whom An⯑tipholis has invited to dine at his Houſe enter.

Antipholis, fearing leſt his Wife ſhould be angry at his long Stay, deſires the Jeweller to excuſe it, by ſaying that he lingered at his Houſe ſeeing the making of her Bracelet, and chides his Man for having dared to tell him he met him on the Mart, and charged him with a Thouſand Marks in Gold, and with having denied his Wife and Houſe. He then knocks at his Door, but is refuſed Entrance.

Adriana, who ſuppoſes her Huſband is dining with her above, is ſurpriſed at the Fel⯑low below, who calls her Wife, and inſiſts upon Admittance, and renews her Orders to Dromio of Syracuſe to keep the Door ſhut.

A ſmart Dialogue follows between the two Dromio's, the one within Doors and the other without; the Huſband and his Gueſts not be⯑ing ſuffered to enter, he reſolves to go and dine with a Courtezan at the Porcupine, and deſires the Jeweller to bring the Gold Chain thither to him, that as he ſays, he may, to ſpight his Wife, beſtow it upon the Courte⯑zan, and accordingly they all go off.

[231]In the next Scene Antipholis of Syracuſe makes Love to Luciana, Siſter to Adriana, ſhe upbraids him with his Falſhood to his Wife; he ſwears he is not married to her Siſter, and that he cannot be happy without her. Luciana threatens to acquaint his Wife with his Trea⯑chery, and leaves him.

His Slave, Dromio, then enters, and Anti⯑pholis, from the ſtrange Accidents that had happened both to himſelf and his Slave, be⯑lieving the Place inhabited by Witches, re⯑ſolves to be gone immediately, and orders Dromio to go to the Harbour, and bring him Intelligence if any Bark was to ſail that Night, telling him he will walk in the Mart till his Return.

Dromio goes away to perform his Commiſ⯑ſion; and the ſame Moment the Jeweller, Angelo, enters with the Chain, and gives it to Antipholis of Syracuſe, whom he takes for the other.

Antipholis denies that he had ever ordered ſuch a Chain to be made, but the Jeweller in⯑ſiſting that he had, and telling him that he will call in the Evening at his Houſe for the Money: Antipholis offers to pay him immedi⯑ately, leſt, as he ſays, he ſhould never ſee the Chain or Money more, which the Jeweller refuſing, and leaving him, Antipholis goes to the Mart to wait for Dromio, which ends the third Act.

[232]In the fourth Act a Merchant, to whom the Goldſmith, Angelo, owes a Sum of Mo⯑ney, demands inſtant Payment, or threatens to arreſt him by an Officer, whom he has with him. Angelo tells him Antipholis owed him juſt as much Money as he was indebted to him for a Gold Chain, which he had deli⯑vered to him a Moment ago, and deſired him to go with him to his Houſe to receive the Money for it.

Antipholis of Epheſus, and his Slave, Dromio, enter, as from the Houſe of the Courtezan, where they had dined. Antipholis orders Dromio to go and buy a Rope's-end, that he may chaſtiſe his Wife, he ſays, for locking him out of Doors, and that in the mean Time he will go to the Goldſmith; but ſeeing him, he reproaches him with not bringing the Chain as he had promiſed.

Angelo deſires him to pay the Money for the Chain to the Merchant there preſent, to whom he owes as much. Antipholis replies, that he has not ſo much Money about him, but bids the Jeweller take the Gentleman and Chain to his Houſe, and his Wife would pay for it. Angelo ſays he gave him the Chain, and preſſes him to pay for it. Antipholis denies it. The Merchant, weary of this Altercation, ar⯑reſts the Jeweller, and he arreſts Antipholis.

Dromio of Syracuſe then enters, and taking Antipholis of Epheſus for his Maſter, tells him that a Ship is ready to ſail, and that he had [233] carried their Baggage on board as he com⯑manded him. Antipholis calls him a Madman, and aſks him for the Rope's-end, which he had ſent him to buy: Dromio tells him he ſent him to the Bay to ſee if any Bark was ready to ſail, not for a Rope.

Antipholis, in a Paſſion, threatens him with future Puniſhment, and then orders him to go to Adriana, tell her he was arreſted in the Street, and give her the Key of his Deſk, and bid her ſend the Purſe of Ducats that was in it to him. Dromio remembers that Adriana is the Lady with whom they had dined, and accordingly he goes thither, tells her what had happened, and ſhe diſpatches him away with the Gold.

The Scene then changes to the Street, Antipholis of Syracuſe enters alone, and a Mo⯑ment after Dromio of Syracuſe meets him, and gives him the Purſe. Antipholis, full of Won⯑der, queſtions his Man about it, and he talk⯑ing enigmatically of Arreſts and Durance, An⯑tipholis thinks him diſtracted, and prays ear⯑neſtly to be delivered out of that City.

The Courtezan then enters, and ſeeing the Gold Chain about Antipholis's Neck, whom ſhe takes for Antipholis of Epheſus, who had dined with her, ſhe requires him to per⯑form his Promiſe, and give her the Chain in⯑ſtead of the Diamond Ring he had taken from her. Antipholis flies from her, and Dromio follows.

[234]The Courtezan, from this ſtrange Behavi⯑our, concluding him mad, reſolves to go to his Houſe, and tell Adriana that he had forci⯑bly taken her Ring from her, hoping to re⯑cover it again by this Means. She goes out, and Antipholis of Epheſus enters with the Jaylor, whom he had deſired to accompany him to his own Houſe for Money to releaſe him. As they are going thither Dromio of Epheſus returns with the Rope he had been ſent to buy; his Maſter aſks him for the Mo⯑ney he went to fetch from Adriana. Dromio proteſts he had been ſent not for Money, but for a Rope's-end. Antipholis, violently en⯑raged, beats him, and whilſt he is thus em⯑ployed, his Wife, whom the Courtezan had alarmed with an Account of his being mad, enters with one Pinch, a Conjurer, whom ſhe employed to cure her Huſband of his Frenzy.

Antipholis growing furious at this Treat⯑ment, his Wife calls for People to bind him, the Jaylor oppoſes it, he being his Priſoner, but upon Adriana's promiſing to pay him, he ſuffers Antipholis to be carried off: And as Adriana is going out with the reſt, Anti⯑pholis and Dromio of Syracuſe enters with their Swords drawn, and they ſuppoſing him to be the Antipholis who they had juſt before ſent away bound, crying out for Help, and Anti⯑pholis and Dromio again ſet out for the Port.

[235]In the fifth Act the Scene is a Street before a Priory, the Jeweller, and Merchant who arreſted him appear, and while they are diſ⯑courſing about Antipholis's denying that he re⯑ceived the Chain, Antipholis and Dromio of Syracuſe enter. Angelo, ſeeing him with the Chain about his Neck, reproaches him with having denied the Receipt of it, and refuſing to pay for it. Antipholis proteſts he neither denied the one or the other; the Merchant hereupon taxes him with Faſhood, Antipholis draws his Sword, and as the Merchant and he are fighting, Adriana enters, cries out that he is mad, and orders ſome People ſhe had brought with her to bind both him and Dromio, and carry them home. Antipholis and Dromio to avoid this, take Shelter in the Monaſtery, and immediately the Lady Abbeſs appears, and demands the Cauſe of the others throng⯑ing thither.

Adriana tells her that her Huſband, who ran into her Houſe, is mad, and that ſhe wants to have him fetched from thence, and carried home. The Abbeſs, after cunningly queſtioning her concerning her Behaviour to her Huſband, and taking Advantage of her Anſwers, to prove that ſhe had occaſioned his Diſorders, declares that ſhe will not let him depart, but undertake the Cure herſelf.

The Duke that Moment, who is attend⯑ing the Execution of old Aegeon, enters, and Adriana, throwing herſelf at his Feet, de⯑mands [236] Juſtice againſt the Abbeſs, whom ſhe accuſes of keeping her Huſband from her, and recounts all the mad Actions he had been guilty of that Day. The Duke ſends to bid the Lady Abbeſs come out and anſwer to this Accuſation, and in the mean Time a Servant of Adriana's enters, and tells her that his Maſter and Dromio, who had been left bound at home, had broken looſe, and committed the moſt terrible Outrages on the Doctor and Servants at home, Adriana, who had ſeen him, as ſhe thought, go into the Priory a few Minutes before, inſiſts upon it that this Re⯑port is falſe, when immediately Antipholis and Dromio of Epheſus enter.

Antipholis complains to the Duke of his Wife's having locked him out of Doors; ſhe declares that he had dined with her that Day; Antipholis goes on to relate all that had hap⯑pened to him. The Jeweller, the Merchant, the Courtezan, his Wife, and her Siſter, hav⯑ing been all deceived by the Reſemblance of the two Antipholis's, charge the one they are ſpeaking to with all that had paſſed between them and the other; his occaſions a great deal of Confuſion and Perplexity. Old Aegeon, on ſeeing Antipholis of Epheſus, and taking him for his Son Antipholis, whom he had parted from ſeven Years before in the Port of Syracuſe, tells the Duke that he has now found a Friend who will pay his Fine, and ſave his Life, and accordingly goes up to him, and naming him, aſks him if he does not know his Father.

[237] Antipholis proteſts he never ſaw him before; the old Man reminds him that it is ſeven Years ſince they parted at Syracuſe, and deplores his own Miſery in having been ſo ſoon for⯑gotten by his own Son. Antipholis tells him he never ſaw his Father in his Life, nor was ever in Syracuſe, which the Duke confirmed.

In the midſt of this new Perplexity the Abbeſs enters with Antipholis and Dromio of Syracuſe, all ſtand amazed at the exact Like⯑neſs of the two Gentlemen, and their Slaves; the Abbeſs ſpying Aegeon, owns herſelf to be Emilia, his Wife, the Mother of thoſe two Antipholis's and informs him that ſhe and the elder Antipholis, with the Twin Dromio, were taken out of the Sea by Men of Epidamnum, but that ſome Fiſhermen of Corinth took away her Son and Dromio, and left her with the Epidamniens, that what became of them af⯑terwards ſhe never knew, but that herſelf ar⯑rived to the Fortune of being Abbeſs of that Priory.

The two Antipholis's being now diſcover⯑ed, all the Miſtakes which aroſe from their Reſemblance are cleared up, Aegeon has his Life given him by the Duke, and they all go into the Priory to diſcourſe more at large up⯑on their ſeveral Fortunes.

The Unity of Time is exactly obſerved in the Comedy of Errors; the Incidents of this [238] Play take up the Space of one Day like thoſe of the Menaechmi; but the Action which in the laſt is ſingle, and the moſt ſimple that can poſ⯑ſibly be, is by Shakeſpear multiplied into ſe⯑veral, ſome of which are far from being either probable or neceſſary. He has taken all the Characters in the Menaechmi, except Peniculus the Paraſite, and the old Man, Father-in-law to Menaechmus of Epidamnum, and has added ſeveral others; every one of the Incidents he has likewiſe made Uſe of, but varied and ad⯑ded Circumſtances ſo freely, that his Play ſeems to be rather an Imitation, than, as Lang⯑bain calls it, a Tranſlation or Paraphraſe of the Menaechmi.

The Addition of the two Dromio's increaſes the Buſineſs of the Play, but renders the Ob⯑ject ſtill more improbable, which is ſuffici⯑ently ſo in the Menaechmi, where but half the Degree of Credulity is neceſſary to make it be reliſhed.

The Miſtakes which ariſe from the Reſem⯑blance of the Twins, are conducted with much leſs Art by Shakeſpear than Plautus.

In the Latin Poet all appears the Effects of Chance, in Shakeſpear of Deſign; the Per⯑ſons in his Drama are hardly ever introduced with Propriety; they appear on the Stage, and go off again, evidently for no other Pur⯑poſe than to give Occaſion for the Blunders which enſue.

[239]Thus Antipholis of Syracuſe being reſolved to leave Epheſus, ſends Dromio to the Port to ſee if any Veſſel is ready to ſail, and bids him come to him to the Mart, where he will wait his Return, accordingly they ſeparate, and it may now be reaſonably ſuppoſed that Anti⯑pholis is gone thither, but inſtead of that we find him a Scene or two afterwards ſtanding in the ſame Place, where he is met either by the Wife, the Friends, or the Servants of the other Antipholis; and after having with great Difficulty diſengaged himſelf from a⯑bundance of perplexing Adventures, again he declares he is going to the Mart, and goes off for that Purpoſe, and again he is found in the ſame Place to give Riſe to new ones.

In this Manner the whole Buſineſs of the Comedy of Errors is conducted. Thoſe Errors do not as in the Play, which Shakeſpear bor⯑rowed from, ariſe out of a natural and pro⯑bable Succeſſion of Incidents, but every Thing is put out of its Courſe to introduce them, and each Error is produced by an Abſurdity.

The Story of Amleth, tranſlated from the Daniſh Hiſtory of Saxo-Gram⯑maticus.

IN the Reign of Roderic, Hor⯑wendil and Fengo, Sons of Gerwendil, had the Garriſon of Jutland committed to them by the King. Horwendil was the braveſt Pirate on the Sea, and for the Fame of his Exploits envied by Coller, King of Norway, who ſailed in purſuit of his Rival; they met, they fought, and the King was ſlain.

The Encounter of theſe Heroes, with the extraordinary Manner of their Meeting each other alone in the Receſſes of a Wood, with other Circumſtances as improbable as any in Romance, are related in the true Stile of ſuch Writings, by Saxo-Grammaticus, in the third Book of his Daniſh Hiſtory.

[242]After the Death of Coller, and his Siſter Selam, Horwendil, having for three Years given the greateſt Proofs of Valour, deſtines his rich Spoils and choice Prey for Roderic, that he might riſe in his Friendſhip. Grown fa⯑miliar, he obtains his Daughter, Geruth, in Marriage, and by her had a Son, Amleth.

Fengo, fired with Envy at his Brother's Happineſs, is reſolved, by Treachery, to ruin him. So that Virtue is not always ſecure a⯑gainſt the Deſigns of ſuch as are the neareſt to, and the moſt intimate with us. For when an Opportunity offered to commit Fratricide, he with bloody Hand ſatiates the dire Luſt of his Heart, poiſoned with Envy; and enjoying the Wife of his murdered Brother, adds foul Inceſt to his Fratricide. He who ſubmits to one Offence too readily offends again, for one Crime is often the Provocation to another.

He contrived this Villany with ſuch Art and Impudence as to frame an Excuſe for his Guilt from counterfeit Benevolence, and give to Fratricide the Colour of Love. Geruth was of ſo mild a Diſpoſition as never to give the leaſt Offence, and yet he ſaid ſhe had incurred the ſevereſt Hatred of her Huſband, and that he had killed his Brother for her ſake, and to ſave her, thinking it ungenerous ſo gentle a Lady, and without Gall, ſhould endure the extream Moroſeneſs of that Man.

His Succeſs was equal to his Wiſhes, for Princes may be deceived, and made to believe [243] Untruths in Courts where Buffoonery is ſome⯑times favoured, and malicious Detraction ho⯑noured. Fengo heſitated not with murderous Hands to embrace a Brother's Wife, and with equal Villany commits a double Impiety.

Amleth ſees this, but that he might not raiſe Suſpicions in his Uncle by an over prudent Care for his own Safety, puts on the Guiſe of Folly, and feigns himſelf diſtracted, and by this Sort of Device he not only covers his Deſign, but ſaves himſelf. He lazily ſtretch⯑ed himſelf out every Day before his Mother's Hearth, rolling on the Ground, and covering himſelf with Filth; his Face diſcoloured and beſmeared with Gore and Naſtineſs, preſented the ridiculous Extravagance of a Natural. Whatever he ſaid was like the Ravings of a Madman; whatever Action he performed ſa⯑voured of extream Ignorance. In ſhort, you would not ſay he was a Man, but a ridiculous Monſter, produced by Fortune in a Frenzy.

Sometimes ſitting by the Fire, and raking the Embers with his Hand, he would make wooden Hooks, and harden them in the Fire, and faſten the Ends within one another, that they might hold more firmly together; and when aſked what he was about, would ſay he made ſharp Spikes to revenge his Father.

He was not a little laughed at for this An⯑ſwer. The Vanity of ſuch a ridiculous Per⯑formance was treated with Contempt by all, [244] though it afterwards was of Uſe to him in the Proſecution of his Deſign.

This Ingenuity gave to thoſe of better Judg⯑ment the firſt Suſpicion of his Subtilty. The latent Ability of the Workman for greater Matters was ſeen by his Skill in leſſer ones. Nor could it be thought that his Senſes were impaired, who by the Work of his Hands diſcovered ſuch ingenious Artifice. Beſides, he preſerved his Heap of Brands that he had burnt at the Points to make them hard with the greateſt Care.

There were thoſe, who aſſerting that he was of uncommon Strength and Quickneſs of Parts, that he hid his good Senſe under the Pretence of Folly, and covered the deep De⯑ſign of his Mind with crafty Invention, and that his Advice could not be more readily diſ⯑covered than by introducing to him at any Time in his Receſſes a beautiful Woman, who might call forth his Mind to the Allure⯑ments of Love.

So prone is Nature to the Paſſion of Love, that no Artifice can diſguiſe it, and it is too violent to be interrupted by Policy. And therefore, if his Ignorance were counterfeit he would, when Occaſion offered, yield Obe⯑dience to the Power of Love.

Certain Companions therefore are employ⯑ed, who ſhould engage him to ride to diſtant [245] Parts of the Foreſt, and try him with that Temptation.

Amongſt them there happened to be a Youth, who had the ſame Nurſe with Amleth, and ſtill preſerved in his Heart the Regard that naturally ariſes in thoſe who are brought up together.

He preferring the Remembrance of former Fellowſhip to the preſent Charge, attends up⯑on Amleth, with the reſt of his appointed Comrades, with a Purpoſe to inform rather than betray him; which he could not doubt would happen at laſt if he diſcovered the leaſt Sign of a ſound Mind, and eſpecially if he ſhould openly indulge the Paſſion of Love.

Which was no Secret to Amleth himſelf; for when commanded to get on Horſeback he purpoſely ſeats himſelf ſo as to turn his Back to the Horſe's Head, and face his Tail, to which he began to apply the Bridle, as if he was by that Part to govern the Speed of his Horſe. By means of this Contrivance he baffles the Deſign of his Uncle, and defeats his Arts. It was very ridiculous to ſee the Horſe go forward without the uſual Check of the Reins, the Rider directing only the Tail.

Amleth in the Way met with a Wolf a⯑mongſt the Trees; his Companions ſaying they had met with a young Horſe, he replied there were few ſuch in Fengo's Troops; by [246] this modeſt and witty Prevarication he rallied the Riches of his Uncle.

When they added that he had made a ſenſi⯑ble Anſwer; he affirmed that he intended that he might ſo to do, not in any Degree ſeem to favour a Falſhood. For deſiring to be thought incapable of lying, he blended Craft and Truth together that he might not ſeem entirely to de⯑viate from Veracity in whatever he ſaid, nor diſcover the Richneſs of his Parts by too much Exactneſs.

Paſſing along the Shore, when his Compa⯑nions found the Rudder of a ſhip-wrecked Veſſel, they ſaid they had found a Knife of prodigious Size: It is therefore fit, ſays he, to cut up a large Ham, meaning the Sea in⯑deed, to which the Size of the Rudder did well agree. Paſſing alſo by the ſandy Clifts, and being directed to look upon the Beach, as if it were Corn, he ſaid the ſame was ground by the foaming Billows of the Sea. This Anſwer being commended by his Attendant, be aſſured them it was diſcreetly ſaid by him.

Being left by them on Purpoſe, that he might with greater Freedom indulge his Luſt, in a private Place he meets a Girl, ſent by his Uncle, as if it were by Chance, and would have lain with her, had not the Foſter-bro⯑ther warned him of the Snare by a ſecret kind of Information.

[247]For he, conſidering how he might beſt diſ⯑charge the Office of an unknown Monitor to his Friend, and prevent the Danger of his wanton Appetite, fixed a Straw he found on the Ground in the Tail of a Buzze, or Bee, flying by, and drove him towards the Place where he knew Amleth was. By this Act he conferred the greateſt Benefit on the unguard⯑ed Youth.

Nor was this Notice more cunningly con⯑veyed than readily underſtood; for Amleth ſee⯑ing the Fly, and the Straw that he carried in his Tail, and having carefully conſidered it to be a tacit Admonition to beware of Frauds: Alarmed therefore with the Suſpicion of inju⯑rious Deſigns againſt him, that he might more ſecurely indulge his Wiſhes, he catch⯑ing the Girl in his Arms, carries her a conſi⯑derable Diſtance into a Marſh, and unfre⯑quented, and after Enjoyment earneſtly in⯑treats her not to declare it to any one.

With equal Concern therefore is Silence urged and obtained. For their being brought up together under the ſame Guardians from their Infancy, produced the greateſt Famili⯑arity between her and Amleth.

Upon his Return home, being aſked by every one whether he had gratified his Luſt, he owned he had lain with the Girl. Being aſked again in what Place he had done it, or what Pillow he had uſed, anſwered, The Hoof [248] of an Animal that carries a Burthen, ^§ the Comb of a Cock, and under an arched Roof. He had put all theſe Particulars, when under Trial, that he might avoid the telling a Lie. This Account excited much Laughter in thoſe about him, although, for the Jeſt ſake, he did not diminiſh any Thing of the Truth.

The Girl alſo being queſtioned (kept her Word with him) and declared he had done no⯑thing. Credit is given her, and the rather, as it appeared that his Guards knew nothing of the matter. Then he who had marked the Buzze for a Token, to ſhew that the Safety of Amleth was owing to his Conceit, ſaid that he was lately the only one who took Care of him, and that the young Man's An⯑ſwer was to the Purpoſe.

Nor was the Merit of the Token forgot: he related how he ſaw the little Carrier of the Straw with haſty Flight paſſing near him, and that the Straw was ſtuck in the hinder Parts of his Body. As this Relation excited greater Laughter in the reſt, the Friend of Amleth was no leſs delighted with his Pru⯑dence.

All of them being defeated, and unable to gain Admittance into the Secrets of this young Man's Stratagems; one of the Friends of Fengo, more preſumptuous than politic, deni⯑ed [249] that this unextricable Scheme of Subtilty could be unravelled by common Artifice; for he was too obſtinate to be moved by Trials of little Moment: An ordinary manner of Trial would not reach ſuch Variety of Craft. But he had diſcovered by ſuperior Sagacity a more ſubtle Manner of trying him, not improper for Execution, but moſt effectual for the Diſ⯑covery of the Thing propoſed.

The Scheme was this, "That Fengo ſhould under the Pretence of Buſineſs of great Con⯑ſequence withdraw himſelf, and Amleth be ſhut up with his Mother alone in her Apartment, Care being taken to have a Man, who un⯑known to either of them, ſhould be placed in ſome ſecret Part of the Room unſeen, to hear attentively whatever paſſed in Converſa⯑tion between them. For if the Son was really in his Senſes he would have no Difficul⯑ty in ſpeaking freely to a Mother's Ear, nor miſtruſt the Fidelity of her that bore him. And that he might not ſeem more forward to adviſe than ready to execute, he deſired him⯑ſelf to be the Spy.

Fengo approved the Scheme, and ſets out with the Pretence of taking a long Journey.

Mean while the Projector having privately ſtole to the Chamber where Amleth and his Mother were, lay hid under the Matt of the Bed.

[250]But Amleth was not the Dupe of this Trea⯑chery. For ſuſpecting that he might be over⯑heard by ſome officious Liſtener, he has at firſt Recourſe to his accuſtomed Folly, and imitates the crowing of a Cock, and flapping his Arms as if they were Wings, he jumps up and down upon the Bed to try if any Thing lay hid there. And when he found a Maſs under his Feet he examined the Place with his Sword, and ſtabs the Man who was under⯑neath, and dragging him forth put him to Death. Cutting the Body in Pieces, he boils them, and pours them out through the Sewer to be devoured by the Hogs.

And thus was the miſerable Body rendered undiſtinguiſhable from the Dung of the Stye.

Having eſcaped this Snare, he returns to his Mother's Apartment, and when ſhe with great Lamentation and Tears began to bemoan the want of Underſtanding in her Son now preſent, "Why; O! worſt of Women, ſays he, doſt thou endeavour to diſguiſe the fouleſt Crime under a falſe Species of Wailing? Thou, who ſporting with the Wantonneſs of a Strum⯑pet, and yielding to the vile and impious Condition of your ſecond Marriage, embrace in your inceſtuous Boſom the Murderer of your Huſband, and fawn upon, and pleaſe with lewdeſt Tranſport the very Man who put to death the Father of your Offspring; ſo Mares are coupled with Horſes that ſubdued their Foremates. It is for Beaſts alone to be [251] dragged to any, and to every Male. By this Example it appears that you have loſt all Memory of your former Huſband. It is not without Reaſon that I bear the Reſemblance of a Fool; for I cannot doubt that he who could deſtroy a Brother would with like Cruelty rage againſt his other Kindred. It is ſafer to wear the Garb of Folly than of Senſe, and I muſt borrow a Safeguard from the loweſt Species of Madneſs. Yet the Care of revenging my Father is ever preſent to my Mind, but I wait for Times and Seaſons. The ſame Place ſuits not with every Scene or Purpoſe againſt a dark and cruel Mind, much Thought is re⯑quiſite. But for you to lament my Madneſs is vain, when you ought rather to deplore your own Infamy; you ſhould therefore not lament another's but your own Failing, for the reſt be on your Guard and keep the ſtricteſt Silence. By ſuch Reproach did he endeavour to recall his Heart-rent Mother to the Practice of for⯑mer Habits of Virtue, and to teach her to prefer the former Flames of chaſter Love to the preſent criminal Tranſports."

Fengo returns, and of every one, and every where enquires for his injudicious Spy; but he is no more to be found, nor does any one re⯑member to have ſeen him. Amleth, in jeſt, is aſked whether he could diſcover any Tracts of him; and replies, "that he went in at the Sewer, fell to the Boſtom, was kept down by the Mud, and devoured by the Hogs, who thronged to the Draught." Which Declara⯑tion, [252] though true, ſeeming idle and fooliſh, was treated as ridiculous.

When Fengo no longer doubted of the Sub⯑tilty of his Son-in-law, he reſolved to deſtroy him, but was afraid to execute his Purpoſe on account of his Grandfather, Roderic, and the Diſpleaſure of his own Wife. To cover his Guilt by the Service of another, he purpoſes to have him deſtroyed by means of the King of Britain. Thus deſirous of con⯑cealing his Cruelty, he chuſes rather to pol⯑lute his Friend than to be thought infamous himſelf.

Amleth, departing in ſecret, directs his Mother to furniſh the Hall with Hangings well knotted together, and at the Expiration of a Year to report him dead, and celebrate his funeral Obſequies, and at that very time he promiſes to return.

He is attended by two of Fengo's Officers, bearing Letters inſcribed on Wood (for that was once a famous Manner of Writing) by which it was given in Charge to the King of Britain to deſtroy the young Man that was ſent to him.

Whilſt theſe Officers ſlept, Amleth examin⯑ing their Baggage diſcovers theſe Tablets; having read them, he rubs out what was writ⯑ten therein, and inſerting other Characters, changes the Tenor of the Mandate from his own Deſtruction to the Death of his At⯑tendants. [253] Nor ſatisfied with this Alteration, whereby he ſaves his own Life and expoſes that of his Guards, he adds, as the earneſt Entreaty of Fengo, that the King of Britain would be⯑ſtow his Daughter in Marriage upon that Youth he had ſent him, who was moſt wiſe and prudent.

When they came to Britain the Envoys waited on the King, and preſented the In⯑ſtrument for their own Deſtruction, though they thought it threatned not them but their Companion.

The King, taking no Notice to them of the Inſtructions delivered him, entertains them with great Magnificence and Hoſpitality, when Amleth, deſpiſing the Splendor of the royal Tables as if they contained but common Food, abſtains in a ſurpriſing Manner from the richeſt Exhibition of Dainties, both in Meats and Drinks.

All admired that a Youth of foreign Ex⯑tract ſhould nauſeate the choiceſt Dainties of the royal Board and moſt excellent Luxury, as if it were coarſe and homely Fare.

The Banquet ended, the King diſmiſſed his Friends that they might retire to Reſt, but took Care, by one ſent privately and hid in their Apartments, to be informed of the Con⯑verſation of his Gueſts. When Amleth be⯑ing aſked by his Comrades why he abſtained from the Entertainment of Yeſterday as from [254] Poiſon? "replied that the Bread was ſprinkled with the Contagion of Blood, that the Wine taſted of the Sword, that the animal Food ſavoured of the Corpſe of a dead Man, and was as offenſive as the Smell of a Sepulchre."

He added "that the King had mean Eyes, that the Queen in three Inſtances reſembled a Servant;" railing not only at the Feaſt but at the Authors of it.

His Companions, upbraiding him with his former want of Underſtanding, began to abuſe him for having found Fault with approv⯑ed good Things, blamed what was proper, and ſlandered with indecent Language a great King, and a Queen of refined Manners, and treated with Diſgrace and Indignity thoſe who really deſerved Applauſe.

Which Circumſtances being related to the King by his Officer, he declared the Wiſdom or Madneſs of him who had related ſuch Things of more than mortal Growth in ſo few Words to ſhew ſuch Extent of Know⯑ledge. He ſent for the Steward, and enquir⯑ed of him where he had the Bread, and when he was told that it was made by the Baker to the Houſhold, he aſked again where the Corn grew, and if there was any Sign of human Slaughter in that Place?

He anſwered "that there was a Field not far off covered with the Bones of Men long ſince ſlain, yet manifeſtly exhibiting the Remains [255] of ancient Slaughter, which he, with Expec⯑tation of greater Plenty, as the richer Soil had ſown with Spring Corn, and therefore he did not know whether the Bread might not have contracted a diſagreeable Taſte."

When the King heard this, believing Amleth had ſpoken Truth, he took Care to know whence the Bacon came.

The Man owned that the Swine, ſtraying from his Care, had fed upon the Carcaſe of a Thief, and ſo perhaps the Meat might taſte ſomething like Corruption.

When the King found that his Opinion was true, demanded in this Inſtaece likewiſe with what Liquor he had mixed the Drink? as he knew it to be made of Corn and Water; the Situation of the Spring being ſhewn him he ſet about digging, and found many Swords eaten with Ruſt, from whence he ſuppoſed the Water had contracted that Smell.

Others ſaid the Drink was found fault with becauſe in the Draught he had met with Bees that had been bred in the Belly of a dead Man, and taſted of Comb. By which the King, ſeeing there was ſufficient Reaſon to complain of the Taſte of theſe Things, finding that he himſelf was reproached on account of his Eyes, and knowing that this muſt allude to Baſeneſs of Birth, taking his Mother aſide, de⯑manded of her who was his Father, ſhe de⯑claring ſhe knew no other than the King, by [256] threatning her with Death unleſs ſhe confeſſed; he diſcovered himſelf to be the Son of a Servant.

Thus by the extorted Confeſſion he came to underſtand that his Origin, which had been reflected on, was at leaſt ambiguous. He is confounded with Shame at this Diſcovery of his Condition, but no leſs charmed with the young Man's Wiſdom; and aſked him why he had reproachfully ſlurred the Queen as one of ſervile Manners? But whilſt he laments that the gentle Diſpoſition of his Wife was attack⯑ed by the Diſcourſe of his Gueſt in the Night, he learns that her Mother was a waiting Wo⯑man; and whereas he ſaid ſhe exhibited three Defects of a ſervile Nature, they are theſe. One, "that ſhe dreſſed her Head in the ſame Manner as Servants do, another, that ſhe tucked up her Gown in walking, the third was, that ſhe picked her Teeth with a Skewer, and eat the Pickings of them. He took No⯑tice that her Mother was reduced to Servitude by becoming a Captive, ſo that ſhe was not leſs ſervile in her Birth than her Manners."

Such Sagacity being reverenced by the King, as if it were divine, he gave him his Daughter in Marriage, and received his Affir⯑mation of any Thing as if it bore the Teſti⯑mony of Heaven. But as for his Compani⯑ons, that he might perform the Beheſt of his Friends, he hanged them up the next Day, which, though an Advantage, Amleth ſeemed to reſent as an Injury, feigning a Diſtreſs of Mind, and received Money by way of Com⯑poſition [257] from the King; which he afterwards took Care ſecretly to melt down and pour in⯑to hollow Staves.

Having ſtay'd with him a Year, he obtains Leave to depart, and returns home again, taking nothing out of the Magazine of royal Treaſure but the hollow Staves, in which he had poured the Gold. When he arrived at Jutland, he reſumed his old Behaviour, chang⯑ing his late Elegance for the ridiculous Man⯑ner he had before employed. And when he entered the Hall, covered with Naſtineſs, where the Funeral Rites were celebrated, he threw every body into great Amazement, be⯑cauſe a falſe Report had been ſpread of his Death. At length their Aſtoniſhment was turned into Laughter, and the Gueſts rallied each other upon the Preſence of him alive, to whom they had performed Honours as dead.

When queſtioned concerning his Compani⯑ons, he ſaid, ſhewing the Staves he held, "Here is both the one and the other;" which was ſaid with equal Wit and Truth, for though it ap⯑peared an unmeaning Speech to moſt who heard it, yet ſwerved not from his cuſtomary regard to Truth, ſhewing the Compenſation inſtead of the Men that were executed.

Then mixing with the Waiters, that he might heighten the Mirth of the Table, he ſupplied them with Liquor with more than or⯑dinary Diligence, and that his flowing Habit might not obſtruct his moving up and down, [258] he girt it round him with his Belt, and often with Deſign, drawing his Sword, he cut his Fingers with the Point; Care therefore was taken by thoſe about him to faſten his Sword in the Scabbard with a Nail.

That he might the more ſecurely effect his Purpoſe he charged the Nobility with Exceſs of Liquor, till all were overcame with Drink⯑ing, and, unable to walk, were obliged to take up their Reſt in the Hall, and ſleep where they had been feaſting. And when he obſerved them in a Condition fit for his Deſigns, be⯑lieving the Execution of it was in his Power, he puts the Brands he had formerly prepared into his Boſom, and then re-entering the Hall where the Nobles lay ſtretched on the Ground, oppreſſed with Sleep and Surfeit, he let fall the Curtain his Mother had wove, by cut⯑ting the Lines that held it round the ſides of the Room, which he drew over them, and faſtened with the Hooks in ſo artful a Manner, that not one of them, though he ſtrove with never ſo much Strength, could poſſibly get up.

After this he ſets fire to the Room, which ſpreading far and wide, ſoon ſet the whole Houſe in a Blaze, deſtroyed the Palace, and burnt all, both thoſe that continued aſleep, and thoſe who laboured to riſe but in vain. Thence haſting to Fengo's Apartment, who had been before conducted thither by his Attendants, he took his Sword that hung [259] by his Bed, and put his own in its room; then rouſing his Uncle, he told him that his Nobles were deſtroyed by Fire, that Amleth was there, and furniſhed with the Hooks he had formerly made, and was now preſent with him eager to inflict the Venge⯑ance due for his Father's Death.

On hearing this, Fengo jumps from his Bed, and was murdered, while diſappointed of his own he vainly endeavours to draw Amleth's Sword. O! brave Man! and worthy everlaſt⯑ing Renown, who, furniſhing himſelf wiſely with counterfeit Folly, covered more than human Wiſdom under the Guiſe of a Na⯑tural, not only ſecured his own Safety by that Artifice, but obtained the Means of compleatly revenging his Father, and having ſo done, it is left for every one to judge which was greater, his Bravery or Wiſdom.

OBSERVATIONS on the Uſe Shakeſpear has made of the foregoing Story in his Tragedy of Hamlet.
The Fable of the Tragedy of Hamlet.

CLAUDIUS, the reigning King of Den⯑mark, having ſecretly murdered his Bro⯑ther, in order to poſſeſs himſelf of his Throne afterwards, married his Widow; the Ghoſt of the deceaſed King appears to ſome Cen⯑tinels, who were poſted on the Platform before the Palace; theſe Soldiers tell Marcellus, their Officer, what they had ſeen, and he ac⯑quainting Horatio, the Friend of Hamlet, Son to the deceaſed King, with it; theſe two Gen⯑tlemen watch one Night on the Platform, with an Intention to ſpeak to the Apparition if it ſhould appear. The Ghoſt at the accuſtomed Hour appears. Horatio ſolemnly conjures it to ſpeak, and unfold the Cauſe of its Appearance, but the Ghoſt continues ſilent and ſtalks away.

Horatio thereupon reſolves to tell Hamlet what had happened; the Prince, full of Grief [262] for his Father's Death, diſpleaſed at his Mo⯑ther's inceſtuous Marriage, and diſcontented with the Behaviour of his Uncle, immediately concludes from this Account of his Father's Spirit appearing that all was not well, and de⯑clares to his two Friends that he will watch with them that Night on the Platform, and ſpeak to the Spirit.

Accordingly at Midnight he meets them at the appointed Place, and the Ghoſt ſoon after appearing, Hamlet in a moſt earneſt and af⯑fecting Manner conjures it to ſpeak, and ac⯑quaint him with the Cauſe of its appearing. The Ghoſt beckens him to follow it; his Companions, apprehending ſome Danger might happen to his Perſon, endeavour to re⯑tain him, hut in vain, Hamlet breaks from them and follows the Ghoſt, who bringing him to a remote Place declares that he is the Spirit of his Father, that he was poiſoned in his Garden by his Brother, who luſted for his Wife and Crown; he then charges him to re⯑venge his Murder, and vaniſhes.

Hamlet vows to fulfil his Commands, and to conceal the Grief and Indignation which prey upon his Heart, and his vowed Purpoſe of Revenge, counterfeits Madneſs; which alarm⯑ing the guilty King, and troubling his Mother, they ſend for two of his School-fellows to a⯑muſe him, and engage him in Diverſions to abate the Force of his Melancholy.

[263] Polonius, an old Lord, very faithful to the King's Intereſts, and whoſe Daughter, Ophelia, Hamlet is in Love with; from her Report of a frantic Viſit he made her, con⯑cludes he is mad for her; ſhe having, accord⯑ing to his Orders, returned his Letters and Preſents, and refuſed to hear his Profeſſions as uſual. Pollonius, having as he thought diſ⯑covered the Cauſe of Hamlet's Madneſs, ac⯑quaints the King and Queen with his Suſpici⯑ons: Ophelia is deſignedly thrown in his way, while the King and Polonius conceal them⯑ſeves to hear their Diſcourſe.

Hamlet, after uttering a great many ſenſible Extravagancies, leaves Ophelia firmly con⯑vinced of his Madneſs, which ſhe affection⯑ately deplores; but the King, who had heard all his Diſcourſe, being perſuaded that Love was not the Cauſe of his Melancholy, and that there might be Danger in it, reſolves to ſend him to England to demand the Tribute, the Payment of the Tribute which had been long neglected.

Polonius, to whom he communicates this Scheme, approves of it, but adviſes that the Queen ſhould firſt ſend for him, and in a pri⯑vate Converſation intreat him to diſcover the Cauſe of his Uneaſineſs.

The King conſents, mean Time Hamlet having engaged ſome Players to repreſent a Piece ſomething like the Murder of his Father, [264] invites the King and Queen to the Play; and he doubting that the Spirit that appeared to him might be a lying Spirit, reſoves to make the Play the Teſt of the King's Conſcience; he therefore deſires his Friend, Horatio, to join with him in carefully obſerving the King's Countenance during the Repreſentation of one particular Scene, which reſembles the Circumſtance of his Father's Death, adding,

Accordingly the King is ſo much ſtruck with that Scene that he riſes abruptly and goes out, by which Hamlet is convinced that the Ghoſt had told him nothing but Truth. The Queen then ſends for Hamlet with an Intention to queſtion him concerning his late Behaviour, and Polonius, with her Conſent, conceals himſelf behind the Arras to hear their Diſcourſe.

The Queen being frighted at her Son's rude Treatment of her, cries out for Help, Po⯑lonius behind the Arras echoes her, and Hamlet, ſuppoſing it was the King who had concealed himſelf there, kills him.

After a ſevere Lecture to his Mother, he charges her not to diſcover that his Madneſs is feigned, declares that he ſuſpects ſome Treaſon in the Embaſſy he is ſent on to Eng⯑land, [265] yet reſolves to go, and madly takes Leave of the King and her for that Purpoſe.

Ophelia, at the News of her Father's being murdered by Hamlet, grows diſtracted; her Brother, Laertes, fired by Rage and Grief, raiſes a Mutiny to revenge his Father. The King declares that he is innocent of his Fa⯑ther's Death, informs him of the Manner of it, and joins with him in conſpiring the Mur⯑der of Hamlet.

Hamlet, ſuſpecting the Letters his two Schoolfellows carried to England contained ſome dangerous Inſtructions concerning him⯑ſelf, ſteals them, and upon examining them finds therein an earneſt Requeſt from his Uncle to the King of England, to put him to Death on his Arrival at his Court.

Hamlet ſuppreſſes this Letter, and writes another in the Name of his Uncle to the ſame King, in which he deſires him to put the Bearers of that Letter to Death; this Packet he lays in the Place from whence he had taken the other.

The next Day they are attacked by a Py⯑rate, they fight, and Hamlet boarding it alone, is taken Priſoner, and his two Companions continue their Voyage to England.

Hamlet prevails upon the Pirates to land him in Denmark; the King hearing of his Re⯑turn, urges Laertes, who breathes nothing but [266] Revenge againſt him, to kill him treacherouſ⯑ly as they are fencing with Foils, to which he will engage him, by pretending to lay a Wa⯑ger on his ſuperior Skill at that Exerciſe.

Laertes conſents, and adds that he will anoint the Point of his Sword with a ſtrong Poiſon, that if he draws Blood he may be ſure to kill him.

In the mean Time the diſtracted Ophelia is accidentally drowned; the King, the Queen, and her Brother attend her Funeral: As ſoon as ſhe is laid in the Earth, Laertes, in a Tran⯑ſport of Grief, leaps into her Grave. Hamlet, underſtanding that it is Ophelia whom they had buried, wildly aſſerting his Claim as a Lover to ſuperior Sorrow, leaps into the Grave like⯑wiſe, where Laertes, quite overcome with Rage and Grief, furiouſly faſtens on him; they are with Difficulty parted by the King's Command, and ſome time after the King, as if nothing had happened, ſends a Meſſage to Hamlet, requeſting him to fence with Laertes for a conſiderable Wager; Hamlet obeys, they meet in a Hall, the King and Queen be⯑ing preſent.

The King, to make ſure Work, after drinking Hamlet's Health, poiſons the Wine, and offers the Cup to Hamlet; he refuſes it, and the Queen, not knowing that the Wine is poiſoned, drinks, though the King endea⯑vours to prevent her. Laertes wounds Ham⯑let with the poiſoned Rapier, in the Scuffle [267] they change Weapons, and Hamlet wounds Laertes, they both bleed; the Queen is ſeiz⯑ed with the Agonies of Death, ſhe tells her Son that the Wine is poiſoned, and expires.

Laertes, full of Remorſe for the Treachery he had been guilty of, confeſſes the whole Contrivance, and the Part the King had in it. Hamlet ſtabs the King with the poiſoned Sword that had wounded both him and Laertes, and upon the King's calling for Help obliges him to drink of the Wine he had poiſoned.

The King dies, and Hamlet and Laertes exchanging Forgiveneſs with each other, both expire. Hamlet with his laſt Breath com⯑manding his Friend, Horatio, who would have killed himſelf, to live and do Juſtice to his Fame, by declaring his Story to the World.

The Tranſlation of the Story of Amleth from the Daniſh Hiſtory of Saxo-Grammati⯑cus, I was favoured with by a Friend; the Story itſelf is full of ridiculous Fancies, wild and improbable Circumſtances, and as it is con⯑ducted, has more the Appearance of a Ro⯑mance than an Hiſtorical Fact.

That Shakeſpear founded his Tragedy of Hamlet upon it is very plain, but is it uncer⯑tain whether he ſaw a literal Tranſlation of it, or met with the Incidents dreſt up like a Novel, and perhaps with thoſe Alterations which he has adopted in his Play. All the principal Circumſtances are the ſame in the [268] Play as the Hiſtory. In both a Prince mur⯑ders his Brother, uſurps his Dignity, and marries his Widow: The Son of the mur⯑dered Prince reſolves to revenge his Father; for that Purpoſe he feigns himſelf mad, and at laſt accompliſhes his Deſign; ſeveral of the leſſer Circumſtances are alſo as exactly co⯑pied, and others have afforded Hints for new ones.

Amleth has a private Interview with his Mother, and kills the Spy who had been ap⯑pointed to overhear their Converſation. Hamlet likewiſe viſits the Queen in her Apartment, and kills Polonius, who had concealed himſelf behind the Hangings.

When the Spies are removed the Diſcourſe of the two Princes is much the ſame; they reproach their Mothers with their inceſtuous Marriage, ſharply reprove them for their Crimes declare their Madneſs to be feigned, and enjoin them to Secreſy.

The Embaſſy to England is deſigned after the Hiſtory. Shakeſpear indeed makes Hamlet, after two Days Abſence, be ſet on ſhore a⯑gain at Denmark; and Amleth in the Hiſtory arrives in England, has his Companions hang⯑ed, and marries the King's Daughter before he comes back. But Shakeſpear's Plan re⯑quired the immediate Return of Hamlet; however the Contrivance of changing the Let⯑ters are the ſame, and of puniſhing the trea⯑cherous Bearers of them. Shakeſpear makes [269] thoſe Bearers the Schoolfellows, and profeſt Friends of Hamlet; a Circumſtance which heightens their Baſeneſs, and juſtifies the Ar⯑tifice he uſes to procure their Puniſhment.

The Deſign of entrapping Amleth by means of a Girl, has not been wholly neglected by Shakeſpear, though he manages this Incident much more decently. Ophelia, with whom he is in Love, is ordered to throw herſelf in his way, and the King and his Confident liſten to their Converſation. 'Tis very eaſy to ſee he took the Hint of this Stratagem from the Story, though it is very differently conduct⯑ed, for Ophelia is not a looſe Wanton as in the Hiſtory, but a Woman of Honour, with whom he is in love. The accidental killing of her Father, and her Diſtraction, which was cauſed by it, is all his own Invention, and would have made a very affecting Epiſode if the Lady had been more modeſt in her Frenzy, and the Lover more uniformly af⯑flicted for her Death; for at his firſt hearing it he expreſſes only a ſlight Emotion; pre⯑ſently he jumps into her Grave, fiercely de⯑mands to be buried with her, fights with her Brother for profeſſing to love her, then grows calm, and never thinks of her any more.

The Ghoſt is wholly the Invention of Shakeſpear, as is likewiſe the King's concert⯑ed Scheme with Laertes, to kill Hamlet trea⯑cherouſly as they fenced, or if he failed to poiſon the Wine. The King is killed by Hamlet both in the Hiſtory and the Play, but [270] in the Play he is ſtabb'd in the midſt of his Friends, Guards, and Attendants; in the Hiſtory as he is riſing in Confuſion from his Bed, and unable to draw his Sword to defend himſelf.

Here the Hiſtorian, romantic as his Relati⯑on ſeems, has the Advantage of the Poet in Probability. After Amleth has ſecured his Uncle's Attendants, taken away his Sword from him, and placed his own, which was faſtened to the Scabbard, in its ſtead; it was not difficult for him to kill him diſarmed, and without any Aſſiſtance.

But Shakeſpear makes Hamlet execute his Vengeance on the King in a public Hall, crouded with his Attendants and Guards, and ſurrounded by his Friends; none of theſe of⯑fer to aſſiſt him, and Hamlet has leiſure enough after he has ſtabbed him to make him drink ſome of the Wine he had poiſoned, leſt his Sword had not compleated the Work.

The Queen's Death, by drinking ignorantly of the poiſoned Wine is a beautiful Stroke of the Poet's. The Hiſtory ſhews her unfortu⯑nate, but Shakeſpear makes the ſame Man who ſeduced her to Wickedneſs be her invo⯑luntary Murderer, and at once the Cauſe and Puniſher of her Guilt.

Shakeſpear has with Reaſon been cenſured for the Cataſtrophe of this Tragedy. The brave, the injured Hamlet falls with the Mur⯑derers [271] he puniſhes; one Fate overwhelms a⯑like the innocent and the guilty. In the Hiſtory we find he did not live long after the ſevere Revenge he took for his Father's Mur⯑der, but was unfortunately killed in Battle. Shakeſpear would not ſo far deviate from the Hiſtory as to leave him happy and in Peace, though he has haſtened his Death as well as changed the Manner of it. He is killed by the treacherous Contrivance of the King, and Laertes is the Inſtrument of that Treachery, which is afterwards turned upon himſelf.

As Laertes is a ſubordinate Character in the Play, it ſeems to be a Fault in Shakeſpear to ſhew him with a Similitude of Manners, under the ſame Circumſtances, and acting up⯑on the ſame Principles as Hamlet, his Hero. Laertes is brave and generous; his Father is murdered baſely as he is informed; Duty and Honour incite him to revenge his Death, and he does ſo.

This Sameneſs of Character, and Parity of Circumſtances with the Hero, leſſens his Importance, and almoſt divides our Attention and Concern between them; an Effect which Shakeſpear certainly did not intend to produce, nor can it be leſſened by the Conſideration of the treacherous Meaſures Laertes was prevail⯑ed upon to enter into againſt Hamlet, who had murdered his Father. In this he does not differ much from Hamlet, who did not attempt by open Force to revenge his Father's Mur⯑der [272] on his Uncle, but deſigned to accompliſh it by Subtilty and Craft.

The ſame Equality is preſerved in their Deaths, and in their Actions throughout the Play. Laertes wounds Hamlet with the poi⯑ſoned Weapon, in the Scuffle they change Rapiers, and Hamlet wounds Laertes, and they exchange Forgiveneſs with each other be⯑fore they die.

Thus has Shakeſpear, undeſignedly, no doubt given us two Heroes inſtead of one in this Play; the only Difference between them is that one of them is a Prince, the other a No⯑bleman, and but for this ſlight Diſtinction the Play might have been as well called the Tra⯑gedy of Laertes as Hamlet.

It ought to be obſerved that Shakeſpear has not been led into this Error by the Hiſtory; the Character of Laertes, and all the Circum⯑ſtances relating to him is his own, which he has introduced by making the Spy, who is killed, Father of Laertes.

The Madneſs of Hamlet ſeems to be leſs eſſential to the Play than the Hiſtory; in the latter it affords him the Means of executing a Contrivance, which, abſurd as it is, ſecures the Accompliſhment of his Revenge; but in the Play it is of no other Uſe than to enliven the Dialogue, unleſs its Uſefulneſs may be de⯑duced from its bringing on ſuch Accidents as it was aſſumed to prevent; for Hamlet's Mad⯑neſs [273] alarms the King's Suſpicion, and that produces the treacherous Embaſſy to England, which failing, the Contrivance of the poiſon⯑ed Rapier followed, and that does the Buſi⯑neſs.

But ſince the King's conſcious Guilt and Terror might reaſonably have created a Diſtruſt of Hamlet, and that Diſtruſt, and a Deſire of Security induced him to ſeek his Death, what need had Shakeſpear to make his Heroe's Senſe and Diſcretion appear doubtful, by ſhewing him feigning a Madneſs, deſtructive to his Safety, and which he himſelf knows to be ſo, and yet perſiſts in.

Shakeſpear has indeed followed the Hiſtory in making Hamlet feign himſelf mad; but that Madneſs being of no Conſequence to the prin⯑cipal Deſign of the Play, as it is in the Hiſ⯑tory, or if of Conſequence it hurts the Repu⯑tation of his Hero, 'tis certainly a Fault; for at leaſt he only produces the ſame Events by a Blunder, which might have happened without it.

The Violation of poetical Juſtice is not the only Fault that ariſes from the Death of Hamlet; the revenging his Father's Murder is the ſole End of all his Deſigns, and the great Buſineſs of the Play, and the noble and fixed Reſolution of Hamlet to accompliſh it, makes up the moſt ſhining Part of his Character; yet this great End is delayed till after Hamlet [274] is mortally wounded: He ſtabs the King im⯑mediately upon the Information of his Trea⯑chery to himſelf! thus his Revenge becomes intereſted, and he ſeems to puniſh his Uncle rather for his own Death, than the Murder of the King, his Father.