Vol. I. Page 8.

This paſſage hath raiſed much contention among the com⯑mentators; though it is authorized, it ſeems, by the old edi⯑tions. Dr. Johnſon, however, ſays

Mr. Theobald is treated with no little ſeverity in the pre⯑face of the preſent editor, for pluming himſelf on his critical pe⯑netration in making ſome diſcoveries that have eſcaped others. Dr. Johnſon, however, gives himſelf an air of ſuperiority in the above note, as exceptionable at leaſt as any of Theobald's; as will appear on the ſlighteſt attention to the conſtruction of the ſentence; this pretended emendation, however plau⯑ſibly ſupported, being in fact entirely groundleſs.—What can we underſtand by NO SOIL BETID to any creature in the veſſel? Or if we can with difficulty ſtrain out a meaning, is the ſtile at all like that of Shakeſpeare; whoſe attention to colloquial idiom is ſo cloſe, that our language is more indebted, in this reſpect, to him than to any other writer; I had almoſt ſaid, all other writers put together?—If the paſſage is to be altered, let us at leaſt make Engliſh of it: Shakeſpeare very probably wrote ILL; a word eaſily corrupted by the tranſcriber into ſoul.

To betide is to befal, to happen to, to come to paſs, to be⯑come of; and would here be very improperly uſed with ſoil; for even ſuppoſing there were no impropriety in ſaying a ſoil might betide a ſuit of cloaths: no idiom will bear a ſoil betiding to a creature, when its cloathing only was meant.

But what ſhall we ſay to the ſpeeches of Ariel and Gon⯑zalo, that ſeem to favour the emendation propoſed?—What, indeed, but that they are little or nothing to the purpoſe! The poet was evidently judicious enough to apprehend the ſpectator muſt be offended with the palpable impropriety of bringing on a parcel of people, that had been juſt heartily [3] ſouſed in the ſea, without any apparent ^* ſoil or ſpot on their cloaths. To prevent him, therefore, from being thus offended on their appearance on the ſtage, Ariel is previouſly made to mention this circumſtance to Proſpero; and in order to reconcile the audience to it when the perſons actually appear, Gonzalo is artfully made to remind them of what had been effected by the miniſtry of Ariel.—There is not the leaſt ne⯑ceſſity for telling this to the auditors three times over, or for Proſpero to mention this circumſtance at all to Miranda.—Proſpero had before told her there was no harm done: which ſhe thinks very ſtrange; and he proceeds accordingly to ex⯑plain from what cauſe there is no ill betid thoſe, of whoſe dan⯑ger ſhe was ſo very apprehenſive, and for whoſe ſafety ſhe was ſo very ſolicitous. Hath not every friend to the reputation of Shakeſpeare, a right to exclaim here,—ILL BETIDE ſuch com⯑mentators!

Vol. I. Page 9.

Perhaps, ſays our editor, it ſhould be 'and thou his only heir.' I ſay, perhaps not: for, if thou be admitted, without reject⯑ing the preceding and, the meaſure is deſtroyed; and the ſenſe is perfect without making any ſuch innovation, if we [4] dele the ſuperfluous and, which may well be ſpared, in the third line, and read, with Theobald, A princeſs.

Perhaps the reader will be of my opinion, that the paſſage loſes neither ſenſe, ſpirit, nor propriety by this reſtoration. As Dr. Johnſon tells us in his preface, that he has generally adopted Theobald's notes, unleſs confuted by ſubſequent an⯑notators, it is to be wiſhed he had always given his reaſons for deviating from him in the text.

Vol. I. Page 17.

The note contained in this page is ſo far a good one, as it is neceſſary and proper to give the reader an idea of the ſyſtem of enchantment, on which the plot and machinery of the play is conducted. I ſhould therefore have paſſed it over as unexceptionable, had it come from any other pen than that of Dr. Johnſon. But as the world hath been pleaſed very publickly to impute ſentiments to him, which ſeem in⯑congruous with thoſe he here profeſſes, I cannot paſs it over without ſome little animadverſion. The incongruity I mean lies here: the Doctor, I have been frequently informed, very religiouſly believes in the exiſtence of ghoſts and appari⯑tions; although he here ſtrongly inſinuates that there never was any ſuch thing practiſed as witchcraft. But if he believes the ſtory of the witch of Endor, and that the ghoſt of Sa⯑mu [...] appeared to Saul, as doubtleſs he does, he muſt believe in [...] exerci [...]e of witchcraft, and alſo in its power over de⯑parted ſpirits. For, though ſome divines maintain that it was the devil who appeared in the form of Samuel, and not the ghoſt of Samuel himſelf; yet, as Dr. Johnſon, in the note before us, adopts the diſtinction made by king James in his demonology, viz. that an enchanter is one who commands the devil, whereas the witch only ſerves him, he cannot be al⯑lowed [5] to ſhelter himſelf under the opinion of thoſe learned theologues. Either Dr. Johnſon therefore muſt give up his faith in apparitions, or retract this part of his note.—But af⯑ter all, perhaps, I may have been miſinformed by the wicked wits of the times; for though it be true they do avouch ſome corroborating circumſtances, and advance ſome plauſible pre⯑texts, I think I can diſcover ſome fallacy at the bottom. Our editor's favourite, Hooker, it is true, talks of ſpirits diſperſed up and down in caves and dens under the earth; and occa⯑ſion may hence be taken to give out, that the viſit Dr. Johnſon once made to a certain cemetery was to confer with ſome of theſe ſpirits. But in this theſe ſuperficial witlings muſt certainly be miſtaken; the ſpirits mentioned by Hooker were ſuppoſed, as is here obſerved, to be fallen angels. Hence, though I ſhould be brought to believe, that our edi⯑tor did go from Cock-lane to Clerkenwell, to fulfil an ap⯑pointment with the ghoſt of Fanny, I cannot poſſibly ſuſ⯑pect him of ever going there purpoſely to meet the devil.

Vol. I. page 15.

I wiſh our editor had given his reaſon for reſtoring the for⯑mer reading, againſt the authority of all the later editions. He will ſay perhaps they are of no authority, as Theobald did of the editions of Rowe and Pope. But reaſon and authority ſeem in this caſe to be ſo much at variance, that I am appre⯑henſive our editor will go near to be thought authority-mad, at leaſt by many, for making this reſtoration without aſſigning the motive for it. Madneſs hath been, with propriety, called a fever of the mind, by writers of all ages and countries; and [6] it is at beſt a pleonaſm, or a piece of tautology, for Ariel to ſay, they played tricks of deſperation, after he had ſaid they were ſeized with madneſs. Perhaps our editor might think there was an impropriety, in ſaying that a ſoul felt a fever of the mind. But, not to ſtand upon the philoſophical diſtinc⯑tion that might juſtly be made between the mind and the ſoul, he cannot be ignorant that the word ſoul is here uſed in the vulgar and popular ſenſe, as a man, a perſon. Will he perſiſt in thinking it a ſufficient reaſon for abiding by the old copies, that the tranſcribers and compoſitors could read? The ſame plea might be argued for perpetuating a number of blun⯑ders committed in the preſent edition. Admitting alſo, after all, that the oldeſt copies are likely to be moſt authentic, and that ſuch reading, if erroneous, could not thus paſs through ſucceſſive editions; yet I will undertake, in behalf of Shakeſpeare, to affirm, that he did not write the above ſentence, as it now ſtands in the text. The commentators on Shakeſpeare are all very liberal in their declarations againſt the ungrammaticalneſs of his ſtile. Now I will not here con⯑tend, whether he always wrote grammatically or not; but this I will maintain, that he always wrote idiomatically; if he did not always write grammar, he always wrote Engliſh. I wiſh I could ſay as much for the new-fangled accent-tuners of the preſent age; who, with their quaint and affected pre⯑tenſions to refinement and elegance, have ſo vilely corrupted the idiom of our tongue. Whoſoever would recover, and ground themſelves in this, muſt ſtudy Shakeſpeare, who, though he might poſſibly write

that is, ſuch a fever as the mad, or as mad-men, feel, I will be bold to ſay, could never in this place write

for if this means any thing, it muſt mean they caught a fever [7] by feeling, or being in contact with mad-men. Dr. Johnſon muſt, therefore, retouch this reſtoration, if he means to do juſtice to the text of Shakeſpeare.

Vol. I. Page 19.

In anſwer to the odd queſtion propoſed at the beginning of this note, I have only to ſay, as the editor ſo frequently does, when he meets with difficulties, I know nothing of the matter. I have for ſuch a why no wherefore. Nay, I know not that a wonderful ſtory does produce ſleep; unleſs it follows from a profound obſervation, which poſſibly our editor may have made, that old women and children generally amuſe themſelves with relating wonderful ſtories juſt as they are going to bed. The editor believes, experience will prove that any violent agita⯑tion of the mind eaſily ſubſides in ſlumber. Now, if he does not mean ſimply by this, that when people are drowſy they cannot be violently agitated, I do believe, on the contrary, experi⯑ence will prove, that no violent agitation of the mind eaſily ſubſides at all. I have indeed heard of ſomebody's being ſo deſperately in love, as to fall into a profound lethargy; but I believe this too was only on the authority of ſome play-book, and much ſuch another philoſopher as Miranda. But, ſup⯑poſing the fact to be true, what does the editor mean by aſk⯑ing ſo ſtrange a queſtion? or what does he intend by his re⯑ply to it? Does he mean, for the credit of the poet, to account for Miranda's ſleepineſs from natural cauſes? Shakeſpeare is, doubtleſs, much obliged to him; but in this our editor ſeems rather too officious, as the poet hath taken care to inform us, that Proſpero had cauſed it by the power of inchantment: a cir⯑cumſtance [8] I wonder the editor ſhould ſo ſoon forget, when he had complimented Dr. Warburton, but two or three ^* pages before, on his ſagacity in diſcovering that Proſpero's art-magic had, in this caſe, operated on her like a doſe of liquid lauda⯑num, and that he had wiſely ſet it to work juſt as he was going to tell her the moſt intereſting ſtory ſhe ever heard in her life.

Vol. I. page 28.

Urgently for ungently. This is probably an error of the preſs; as, notwithſtanding the inſtance above given of our editor's foiſting in a thou, againſt all propriety of meaſure, I think neither the emendation of ſenſe, if any is aimed at, nor even the authority of copies, can juſtify the breach of meaſure here. And indeed, though it ſhould be the miſtake of the printer, an editor, who is employed in literal and verbal criticiſm, is inexcuſable for not cancelling the page wherein ſuch errors occur. Yet theſe miſtakes ſeem very frequently to happen in the preſent edition; thus, in page 6, Gonzalo is made to ſay

All the other editions that I have ſeen, read gape; but perhaps our editor had ſome objection to a drop of water's gaping: but ſurely it might gape, and even ſwallow, as well as ſwear. Or, perhaps, he thought every ſingle drop could never gape wide enough to take down a man-of-war's boatſwain; and therefore choſe to read it quaintly gap; meaning that the drops ſepa⯑rated from each other, and thereby made a gap for him in the ſea. By every drop, however, Shakeſpeare meant all the drops, or the water collectively. After all, it is not unlikely, as our editor has no note on this word, that he did not think [9] at all about it, but left the text to the mercy of the printer.—Poor Shakeſpeare!

Again in this very play, page 77. than is printed for that, and in many other places, both in the text and in the notes, theſe errors occur, to the great injury of the ſenſe; ſo that one might be apt to think this edition (as Dr. Johnſon affirms of the old ones) was AT LAST printed without correction of the preſs. It may be very true, as he alſo obſerves, that ‘before the editor's art was applied to modern languages, our an⯑ceſtors were accuſtomed to ſo much negligence of Engliſh printers ^*, that they could very patiently endure it.’ But is it not reaſonably to be expected, Dr. Johnſon, that, ſince the editor's art hath been ſo very ſucceſsfully applied to mo⯑dern languages, our printers ſhould be a little more careful in correcting the preſs? or that the editor himſelf ſhould a little attend to this matter?

Vol. I. page 34.

This note ſerves to very little purpoſe in illuſtrating the au⯑thor. It is a matter of no conſequence to the ſpectator, whe⯑ther the king and his lords thought the ſhip loſt or not. [10] They knew they muſt be ſomewhere in the Mediterranean. They were neither in the Atlantic ocean, nor the South-ſea, and could not be caſt aſhore on Greenland, nor on Terra Au⯑ſtralis incognita. And as they found the iſland pleaſant and temperate, and affording 'every thing advantageous to life,' it was no wonder if they did not at all deſpair of ſubſiſting there, till they ſhould find means to get back to Naples, even if their own veſſel and all the fleet were wrecked and gone to the bottom. But, though this annotation doth not ſerve to remove any difficulty, or diſplay any merit in the author, it ſufficiently ſerves to expoſe the incapacity of the annotator, for commenting on Shakeſpeare as a poet. He cannot ſee why Sebaſtian ſhould plot againſt his brother, unleſs he actu⯑ally knew how to find the kingdom he meant to inherit. But Sebaſtian's plot was natural, even ſuppoſing there had been more reaſon for diffidence in this particular. This editor might as well aſk, why the chiefs of the rebellious party, in Henry the fourth, are made to quarrel about the diviſion of the kingdom, before they are maſters of it, and that of a king⯑dom of which they never are maſters? Yet this is one of the fineſt ſcenes in all Shakeſpeare, admirably repreſenting that anticipation of our wiſhes and expectations, which is daily obſervable in men of ſanguine conſtitutions, and is inſeparable from the human mind. We are all too apt to count our chickens before they are hatched, and even ſometimes to ſell them too, and ſpend the money; which occaſions the hen to fit ſo long brooding over the eggs, and produce ſo many addled ones at laſt.—'My annotations are no eggs.'—I did not ſay they were, Dr. Johnſon; but qui capit ille facit.

Vol. I. Page 38.

Dr. Johnſon ſeems here to have gotten a glimpſe (as he before ſays of another commentator) of the author's meaning, but can⯑not keep it. I wonder the word almoſt, in the preceding line, did not lead him quite into it. There is no neceſſity for altering the text any farther than to tranſpoſe the comma, placed after the word perſuaſion, to the end of the line. The meaning would then be this: He hath ALMOST [not quite] perſuaded the king; for he is the SPIRIT of perſuaſion only, he profeſſes to perſuade: that is, ‘He has only almoſt perſuaded the king; for he hath no ſolid argument or weighty reaſon to enforce what he ſays; he hath only the mere volatile ſpirit of per⯑ſuaſion; that ſuperficial vapour of words which exhales and carries with it only the appearance, the mere ſhew or pro⯑feſſion of perſuading.’ —Or perhaps the word ſpirit is here uſed in a meaning nearly ſimilar, for the mere form, appa⯑rition, ſemblance; that is, not the body or ſubſtance of per⯑ſuaſion. But be it as it will, it ſeems that a better ſenſe than either of Dr. Johnſon's, may be drawn from this entangled ſen⯑tence, without the leaſt alteration of Shakeſpeare's words. For it appears evident, from the opinion that both Antonio and Sebaſtian entertain of the capacity of Gonzalo, that the one would never call him the ſpirit of perſuaſion, as having the [12] gift of elocution ^*; nor the other be at all influenced by any thing of which he might, or might not, be perſuaded. So that we ſee neither of our editor's meanings are ſupportable; but both as impertinent, as the alteration of the text is un⯑neceſſary.

Vol. I. Page 43.

Our editor might alſo have added, in the Winter's Tale too, Act III. Scene 7. where the clown tells the ſhepherd that he is a made old man. I have no fault to find with this note, except that I think Dr. Johnſon might have confeſſed his obligation to the author of the Canons of Criticiſm; who gave this meaning, after having expoſed the abſurdity of Dr. Warburton's very learned and ridiculous note on this paſſage.—This is not the only inſtance, however, by many, as the reader will find in the peruſal of theſe ſheets, wherein Dr. Johnſon adopts the opinion of that ingenious critic, without mentioning either his name, or his book. But per⯑haps, after treating this gentleman ſo ſcurvily as he has done in his preface, he might be aſhamed to have it known that his ſentiments ſo frequently coincided with ſo indifferent a critic. Or perhaps he might think that, after having knocked him fairly on the head, the law of arms gave him a right to plunder him at pleaſure.

Vol. I. Page 76.

The opinions of the commentators are ſtrangely divided about this elegant little ſong. Mr. Theobald reads, in the firſt line, there lurk I; obſerving that Ariel was a ſpirit of a refined aethereal eſſence, and could not be intended to want food. Beſides, the ſequent lines rather countenance lurk. For my part, I am apt to be of Mr. Theobald's opinion, for another reaſon; and that is, I think Ariel, though he ſhould even be ſuppoſed to have occaſion for more ſubſtantial food than the cameleon; yet he cannot mean to compare himſelf to a bee, or a ſuckling of any kind. Mr. Theobald's read⯑ing is alſo more elegant; and yet our editor hath reſtored the old word ſuck, without giving any reaſon for it.—A more material alteration hath been attempted on the laſt line; which Mr. Theobald, in his Shakeſpeare Reſtored, conceived ſhould be written, After ſun-ſet merrily. This conjecture was countenanced by Mr. Pope, and adopted by Sir Thomas Hanmer: but Dr. Warburton rejected it with infinite diſdain. Dr. Johnſon alſo, having reſtored ſummer to the text, and quoted Warburton's note without any animadverſion of his own, muſt be ſuppoſed to acquieſce in the force of what that learned commentator hath advanced; or at leaſt, by his own confeſſion, to have nothing better to offer.—And yet no⯑thing, in my opinion, can be more inconcluſive than the ar⯑gument contained in Dr. Warburton's annotation.—It will be thought, no doubt, a little preſumptuous in ſo petty an Ariſtarchus as myſelf, to attack conjointly two ſuch gigantic and formidable critics. But I could not, with patience, ſee a Goliah treat the muſe of Shakeſpeare like a common drab, at his pleaſure; my weapon, therefore, is quickly out, [14] you ſee, for ‘I dare draw as ſoon as another man, if I ſee oc⯑caſion, in a good quarrel, and the law of my ſide.’

Dr. Warburton's note, as it is quoted by our editor, runs thus:

Such is Dr. Warburton's elaborate annotation: in anſwer to which it may be obſerved that, whether Theobald's rea⯑ſoning be right or not, his own arguments are egregiouſly wrong. I will admit, with Dr. Warburton, that Ariel here ſpeaks of himſelf as a kind of fairy; but, ſuppoſing no objec⯑tion to be made to the difference of climates, I do not know that Shakeſpeare hath any where repreſented winter ſo exceſ⯑ſively diſagreeable to fairies, as to oblige them, like ſwallows, [15] to expatriate on the arrival of winter. The argument he makes uſe of, and the quotation he brings to put the matter out of queſtion, are inſufficient, and are invalidated by many other paſſages in Shakeſpeare. He would infer from the two lines, quoted from the ſong in Love's Labour loſt, that owls never cry but in winter. But the queen of the fairies, in the Mid-ſummer Night's Dream, ſays to her attendants,

And again, Puck, at the latter end of the ſame play, ſays,

Thus we ſee that the owls do cry, even in the preſence of the fairies. It may not be amiſs alſo to remark, that in the ſong of Winter, the owl is repreſented as ſinging a merry note; whereas, in the other paſſages, ſhe is ſaid to cry, to be clamo⯑rous: which it might with great propriety be ſaid to do in ſummer, when her hooting is contraſted

A circumſtance that does not operate to the owl's diſadvan⯑tage in the cold and dreary nights of winter, when the ſame hooting may even have ſomething chearful in it; at leaſt to thoſe who are ſitting by a good fire in the chimney-corner: While greaſy Joan doth keel the pot. As to what Dr. Warburton ſays about following ſummer quite round the globe, I never be⯑fore heard that ſummer itſelf went round the globe. That it vibrates from pole to pole is certain: but there is ſome little difference between that motion of the earth which cauſes ſum⯑mer and winter, and that which cauſes day and night.

In regard to Dr. Warburton's calling Theobald's reaſon, for altering the text, an idle fancy, and his telling us, that the [16] circumſtance of the bat is only introduced to deſign the time of night in which fairies travel; I muſt obſerve, that Ariel does not ſeem to be one of thoſe kind of fairies, that, as Puck ſays,

On the contrary, he appears to execute the commands of Proſpero by day-light. Nor is this inconſiſtent with his cha⯑racter, as a fairy of a ſuperior kind. For thus, Oberon, the fairy king, on Puck's telling him of the approach of morn⯑ing, which haſtens away thoſe ſpirits that for aye conſort with black-brow'd night, replies;

Vol. I. p. 112.

Dr. Warburton, and our editor, have both attempted to illu⯑ſtrate this paſſage, without ſucceſs. The difficulty lies in the ſixth, ſeventh and eighth lines. Dr. Warburton ſays,

This note, Dr. Johnſon tells us, is very ingenious; but, continues he, ‘ſince follying is a word of which I know not any example; and the fairy's favourite might, without much licentiouſneſs of language, be ſaid to follow a ſhip that ſailed in the direction of the coaſt, I think there is no ſufficient reaſon for adopting it. The coinage of new words is a vio⯑lent remedy, not to be uſed but in the laſt neceſſity.’

I will not diſpute with our editor the ingenuity of Dr. War⯑burton's note, or that of his own; but it is certainly an in⯑genuity of a different kind to that which is neceſſary to illu⯑ſtrate Shakeſpeare. The former of theſe gentlemen, I re⯑member, affected to ridicule the bookſellers for believing a ſilly maxim, that none but a poet ſhould preſume to meddle with a poet. The event, however, hath proved this maxim to have ſome truth in it. If either Dr. Warburton, or Dr. John⯑ſon, had, in criticiſing this paſſage, exerciſed their ingenuity as poets, inſtead of their ingenuity as philologers, I am per⯑ſuaded they would have ſoon diſcovered its meaning. But they were too intent upon words, to attend to the images de⯑ſigned to be conveyed by them. The former talks of an ac⯑tion deſcribed in two lines, wherein nothing is ſpoken of but goſſipping and laughing. Do theſe imitate a ſhip under ſail? To have been merely playful and wanton, is not the imitation here mentioned: nor does it conſiſt in merely following the ob⯑ject imitated, as Dr. Johnſon conceives; for ſhe did not only ſail upon land, in the ſame direction along the coaſt as the ſhips did in the ſea; but ſhe returned again, which muſt have been in a different direction. So that it appears neither of theſe ingenious critics had any idea of the poetical beauty of this paſſage.—I ſhall endeavour to explain it, therefore, by a very [19] different mode of inveſtigation.—If the reader hath ever ſeen a ſhip ſcudding before the wind, with its fore-ſail grown big-bellied, as the poet expreſſes it, with the ſwelling breeze; he muſt recollect that, in ſuch a caſe, the ſail projects ſo far for⯑ward, that it ſeems, to a ſpectator on ſhore, to go in a man⯑ner before the reſt of the veſſel; which, for the ſame reaſon, appears to follow, though cloſely, after, with an eaſy, ſwim⯑ming motion.—This was the moving image, which the fairy's favourite, taking the hint from, and the advantage of, her pregnancy, endeavoured to imitate; and this ſhe did, by wantonly diſplaying before her the convexity of her ſwelling belly, and moving after it, as the poet deſcribes, ‘—with pretty and with ſwimming gate.’ Such being the ſenſe of the paſſage, the text is eaſily aſcer⯑tained, by pointing and reading thus;

This is the method a critic ſhould take with the poets. Trace out their images, and you will ſoon find how they expreſſed themſelves, without perplexing yourſelf either about the meaning of antiquated words, or the coinage of new ones.

Vol. I. Page 162.

It is very common with Dr. Johnſon, when his critical ſa⯑gacity is at fault, to ſuppoſe a chaſm in the text, to excuſe his having loſt ſcent of the poet's meaning. There is no need, however, for ſuch a ſuppoſition here. By intents is plainly [20] meant the deſign or ſcheme of the piece intended for repre⯑ſentation; the conceit of which being far-fetched or improba⯑ble, it might be with propriety enough called extremely ſtretched. As to this ſcheme or deſign being conn'd (if any objection be made to the ſuppoſition of its having been written, penn'd) it is no wonder ſuch players as theſe are repreſented to be, ſuch

Vol. I. Page 163.

That is, ſays our editor, we ſhould read directly contrary to what the poet has written! Nothing, however, I think, can be more plain, or more conſiſtent with truth, than the paſſage as it now ſtands. Is it not a common thing for the lords, and other owners of eſtates, in many countries where the peaſants are poor, and cannot pay their rent in caſh, to take it in catile, or in corn? Doth not the parſon, tho' he ſometimes takes his tythes in a modus, frequently take them alſo in kind? [21] Is not every creditor, where a debt is deſperate, willing to take in meal or in malt, what he cannot get in money? And does not this mode of expreſſion juſtify the ſpeaker in ſaying, agreeable to the idiom of our language, that as to

That is, not as an act of ability, though not of merit, as Dr. John⯑ſon ſays; but as an act of merit, though not of ability: thus in conſequence of its inability, taking the will for the deed; viz. accepting the beſt in its might to do, for the beſt that might be done; rating the merit of the deed itſelf at no⯑thing, agreeable to the firſt line of Theſeus's ſpeech,

Vol. I. Page 167.

On this paſſage our editor quotes the following note from Dr. Warburton, without animadverſion. ‘Shakeſpeare could never write this nonſenſe: we ſhould read—to REAR without warning; i. e. It is no wonder that walls ſhould be ſuddenly down, when they were as ſuddenly up;—REAR'D without warning.’

Had our editor nothing to offer better than this? And hath he ſo little veneration for Shakeſpeare, as ſo readily to coun⯑tenance the charge againſt him of writing nonſenſe? Did you, Dr. Johnſon, ever read the ſcene, wherein this paſſage occurs, quite through? I could almoſt venture to affirm, that neither you nor Dr. Warburton ever could have read it through with any attention. It ſeems to me morally impoſſible, if you had, that he could have made ſo egregious a miſtake, or you have admitted it among your notes.—Shakeſpeare moſt undoubtedly wrote it HEAR, as it ſtands in the text. For not to inſiſt upon the palpable defects of Dr. Warburton's ex⯑planation, the moſt undoubted evidence in juſtification of this [22] reading, may be deduced from the context. In the preceding page the wall makes a ſpeech, on which Theſeus ſays, Would you deſire lime and hair to ſpeak better? and Demetrius anſwers, It is the wittieſt partition that ever I heard diſcourſe. On this Pyramus enters and cloſes his ſpeech with a curſe againſt the wall. His ſpeech ending with the words deceiving me. Upon which Theſeus again thus remarks, ‘The wall, methinks, being ſenſible, ſhould curſe again.’ No, ſays the actor who play'd Pyramus, in truth, Sir, he ſhould not. DECEIVING ME, is Thiſbe's cue; ſhe is to enter, and I am to ſpy her through the wall. You ſhall ſee, it will fall pat as I told you. Yonder ſhe comes.

Now, Pyramus and Thiſbe having met and ſpied each other through the crevice, for which purpoſe only the wall was in⯑troduced, their interview is no ſooner over than the actor who played the wall, apparently, without waiting for his cue, as no body ſpeaks to him, and he ſpeaks to no perſon in the drama, ſays,

On which Theſeus obſerves again, as in the paſſage cited, ‘Now is the mural down between the two neighbours.’ To which Demetrius anſwers; No remedy ^*, my lord, when walls are ſo wilful, to HEAR without WARNING. That is, ſo wilful as to take their cue before it be given them.

Vol. I. Page 266.

Dr. Warburton ſays, ‘This nonſenſe muſt be corrected thus; with ſpecial roll: i. e. by a ſpecial commiſſion.’ The pre⯑ſent editor, Dr. Johnſon, thinks Warburton right in ſuppoſing a corruption, but leſs happy in his emendation. He reads, therefore, with ſpecial ſeal; which, he ſays, is a very natural metonymy for a ſpecial commiſſion.—But why did not our editor obviate the objection made againſt this ſuppoſition of a corruption, by the author of the Canons of Criticiſm? Was his objection of too little weight, or was the writer of too little conſequence to need a refutation? This author re⯑marks on this paſſage, that ‘with ſpecial ſoul, may fairly be interpreted to mean, with great thought, upon mature deliberation; but that with ſpecial roll, for—by ſpecial com⯑miſſion, is harſh and aukward; and to elect a man by a com⯑miſſion, inſtead of—appoint him, is flat nonſenſe.’ Now, this objection lies equally againſt Dr. Johnſon's reading as againſt Dr. Warburton's, and muſt be removed before I with⯑draw my caveat againſt any innovation being made in the text. Indeed I will oppoſe, totis viribus, the admiſſion of Dr. Johnſon's ſeal, leſt ſome future commentator ſhould ſtart up, and affirm that, although to elect by or with a commiſſion may be nonſenſe; yet to ERECT by or with a commiſſion is ſenſe; to erect here meaning nothing more than to ſet up, to promote, which is done by commiſſion. And how plauſibly might not ſuch an annotator maintain, that ſuch reading would be per⯑fectly conſiſtent with the context?

[24]Might he not exclaim, ‘Is it not plain, that the duke means to ſay he has erected, that is, ſet up Angelo in the place of himſelf? Beſides, who could refuſe, after having changed two letters at the inſtance of Dr. Johnſon, to make ſo ſmall a variation as one for his ſucceſſor?’ Tis only, he might plead, changing an l for an r, merely one liquid for another; the tranſcribers and printers might eaſily miſtake it.— ‘Who does not ſee, (as Dr. Johnſon ſays in another place) that upon ſuch principles there is no end of correction!’ —Away, therefore, with all ſuch trifling, and revere the TEXT of SHAKESPEARE.

Vol. I. Page 308.

This paſſage ſeems to have confounded all the commentators. Dr. Warburton makes the following curious and learned note upon it. ‘This is ſo obſcure a paſſage, but ſo fine in its ap⯑plication, that it deſerves to be explained. A feodary was one that, in the times of vaſſalage, held lands of the chief lord, under the tenure of paying rent and ſervice, which te⯑nures were called feuda amongſt the Goths. Now, ſays An⯑gelo, we are all frail; yes, replies Iſabella, if all mankind were not feodaries, who owe what they are to this tenure of imbe⯑cility, and who ſucceed each other by the ſame tenure, as well as my brother, I would give him up. The comparing mankind, lying under the weight of original ſin, to a feodary, who owes ſuit and ſervice to his lord, is, I think, not ill-ima⯑gined.’ —This note, with little variation, is inſerted in Theobald's edition; who ſays it explains one of the moſt beautiful alluſions imaginable.—The preſent editor inſerts this note alſo, without any remark of his own. He obſerves indeed, that to owe means in this place to own, to hold, to have poſſeſſion.—For my part, I never could reconcile the words of this paſſage, by any mode of conſtruction, to the ſenſe here put on it. Indeed, it never appeared to me, from [25] the tenour of the converſation, that Iſabel could poſſibly en⯑tertain ſuch a conſtrained and far-fetched alluſion, as the in⯑genious Dr. Warburton hath here fiſhed out for her. I con⯑ceive her meaning to be much more ſimple, and if the reader obſerves the connection of this ſpeech with thoſe of Angelo that precede and follow, I doubt not but he will be of my opinion. It is true, that to owe means here, as in other parts ^* of Shakeſpeare's writings, to own, to have, to be poſſeſſed of or inveſted with. The word feodary, however, is not derived from feuda, nor hath its meaning here any relation to the cuſ⯑toms of the feudal times, but is derived from foedus, a cove⯑nant, and is therefore miſ-ſpelt, it having here the ſame mean⯑ing as the word feodary in the following paſſage in Cymbeline, where it means an accomplice, a confederate, a companion equally guilty.

Taking the words in this, their true ſenſe, let us ſee if we cannot, without forcing their conſtruction, diſcover a mean⯑ing more in character with the ſpeaker, and therefore more likely to be intended by Shakeſpeare:

That is, ‘Let my brother die, if not one of his companions, if only he, of all his ſex, is frail, and hath ſucceeded in his attempts on women, by taking advantage of a like frailty in them.’ —That this is the true ſenſe, I think, is put paſt diſpute by the ſubſequent ſpeech of Angelo; who takes occa⯑ſion, from the laſt ſuggeſtion of Iſabel, to ſay ‘Nay, women are frail TOO.’ [26] Which is as much as if he had ſaid, ‘Nay, the women, as you obſerve, are frail too.’ —Ay, ſays Iſabel,

That is, ſays Dr. Johnſon, ‘in imitating them, in taking them for examples.’ But I cannot ſee how we can, with any propriety, be ſaid to profit by what mars our creation. I rather think Iſabel means to ſay, that man diſgraces himſelf by profiting or taking advantage of female weakneſs. And this ſeems to agree with the context.

Vol. I. Page 312.

Dr. Warburton, in order, I preſume, to lay hold of an oc⯑caſion for altering the text, excepts againſt this paſſage, as being a direct perſuaſive to ſuicide. The abſurdity, however, of ſuppoſing that the ſpeaker intended it as ſuch, is obvious, ſince he is endeavouring to inſtil into a condemned priſoner a reſignation to his ſentence. Dr. Johnſon obſerves, that the meaning ſeems plainly this, that ‘none but fools would wiſh to keep li [...]e; or, none but fools would keep it, if choice were allowed.’ A ſenſe which, whether true or not, he re⯑marks, is certainly innocent. But though our editor is gra⯑ciouſly pleaſed to exculpate Shakeſpeare in this particular, it appears to be only that he may fall upon him with the greater violence in a page or two after; where Dr. Warburton vouch⯑ſafes to pay the poet a compliment. This paſſage is in the ſame ſpeech as the foregoing;

This paſſage, ſays Dr. Warburton, ‘is evidently taken from [27] the following, of Cicero: Habes ſomnum imaginem mortis, eamque quotidie induis, & dubitas quin ſenſus in morte nullus ſit, cum in ejus ſimulachro videas eſſe nullum ſenſum. But the Epicurean inſinuation is with great judgment omitted in the imitation.’ On this note Dr. Johnſon hath made the fol⯑lowing remark: ‘Here Dr. Warburton might have found a ſentiment worthy of his animadverſion. I cannot, without indignation, find Shakeſpeare ſaying, that death is only ſleep, lengthening out his exhortation by a ſentence which in the friar is impious, in the reaſoner is fooliſh, and in the poet is trite and vulgar.’ —Nor can I, Dr. Johnſon, without equal indignation, find you miſrepreſenting Shakeſpeare, and thence taking occaſion to condemn him for what he is not culpable; lengthening out your cenſure with imputations that, being falſe in themſelves, appear as invidious in the man, as they are contemptible in the critic. Would not one imagine, from the warmth with which Dr. Johnſon ſpeaks of this paſ⯑ſage, that it militates againſt the doctrine of the immortality of the ſoul; inſinuating that in death we cloſe our eyes, and ſleep for ever?—Nothing, however, can be more foreign from the plain intent of the ſpeaker, and the obvious meaning of the paſſage. The duke, in the aſſumed character of a friar, is endeavouring to perſuade Claudio to acquieſce in the ſentence of death paſſed on him, and to prepare himſelf for launching into eternity. To this end he adviſes him to think altogether on death; and to excite him to do ſo, he enume⯑rates the ſeveral foibles of humanity, and the calamities in⯑cident to human life; evidently intending by this means to wean his affections from the world, and render him leſs averſe to part with it, and leſs apprehenſive of the pain of dying. Thou oft provokeſt ſleep, ſays he, yet abſurdly fear to die; which, with regard to the painful and perplexing vigil of life, is only to go to ſleep. For that he only ſpeaks of the mere ſenſe of death, the parting of the ſoul from the body, and that Claudio underſtood him ſo, is very evident, by the reply which the latter makes to his harangue; notwithſtanding the very [28] laſt words of it ſeem to be full as exceptionable as thoſe ob⯑jected to.

If any thing further be neceſſary to corroborate what is here ad⯑vanced, we might inſtance the duke's exhorting him, in ſcene III. of the ſame act, to go to his knees and prepare for death. It is highly inconſiſtent to think ſuch a piece of advice ſhould come from one who conceived death to be a perpetual ſleep. Prayers muſt ſeem as ſuperfluous to him, as the advice muſt appear impertinent to the priſoner. But that Claudio had the ſtrongeſt notions of a future ſtate after death is not to be doubted, ſince, ſpeaking of the ſin of debauching his ſiſter, and An⯑gelo's deſign to commit it, he ſays

Again, when his fears recurring, he tells his ſiſter that ‘Death is a fearful thing,’ it is plain, he doth not confine the meaning of the word, as the Duke did, to the mere act or circumſtance of dying. For when ſhe retorts upon him, ‘And ſhamed life a hateful,’ he goes on, ‘Ay, but to die, and go we know not where.’ As if he had ſaid, I do not mean the mere pain of dying; it is what is to come after death that I fear, when we are to

Can we think that Shakeſpeare could ſo far forget himſelf, as to be here ſo very explicit regarding the notion of a future ſtate, if but two or three pages before he had been inculcating a contrary doctrine!—What then muſt we think of his commentator, who affects to be moved with indignation, and in effect preſumes to charge him on this account with vulgarity, folly and impiety! Shakeſpeare appears to have had ſuch a regard, even for his mortal part ^*, as to beſtow a curſe on the perſon who ſhould diſturb his aſhes; what a ſevere malediction, then, would he not have beſtowed on that ſacrilegious hand, which hath thus mangled his immortal re⯑putation, could he have penetrated the womb of time, or an⯑ticipated the temerity of a modern critic ^†!

Vol. I. Page 318.

The reaſoning appears to be no more than is actually and obviouſly expreſſed in the text. Iſabel is perſuading her bro⯑ther that the ſenſe of death is felt more in apprehenſion than in reality; for that in reality it is next kin to nothing, the poor beetle that we tread upon, and which, it is to be ſuppoſed, can never be ſuſceptible of much pain, feeling a pang as great as a giant; ergo, more than Claudio will feel.—This is the whole of this ſimple argument; which ſerves to corroborate what hath been ſaid in the preceding note; and, at the ſame time to ſhew that, if any one in this play ſeems to believe in the mortality of the ſoul, it is Iſabel; which, I think, it is pre⯑poſterous to imagine, when we conſider that ſhe is juſt going into a nunnery, with a deſign to take the veil.

Vol. I. Page 319.

To this very curious argument of Dr. Warburton's, the preſent editor only adds the follow⯑ing note.

‘The firſt folio has, in both places, prenzie, from which the other folios made princely, and every editor may make what he can.’

It is really very kind of Dr. Johnſon to give others leave to make SOMETHING of what he can make NOTHING himſelf.—Let us ſee, therefore, what others have made of it.—The author of the Canons of Criticiſm objects to Dr. Warbur⯑ton's emendation; obſerving that, ‘if princely guards means nothing but rich lace, he ſhould be glad to know how prieſtly guards ſhould come to ſignify any thing more than black lace?’ —The author of the Reviſal of Shakeſpeare's Text, goes ſtill farther, and ſays, ‘We ſhould undoubtedly [32] reſtore the ancient reading in both places, the princely An⯑gelo, and in princely guards. Nothing [ſays he] can be weaker and more deſtitute of all foundation, than Mr. War⯑burton's criticiſm. Angelo is repreſented as ſupporting the ſtate of a prince, and the authority of government, by exceſſive ſeverity; but there is not the leaſt hint [given] in the whole play of his affecting a ſanctified exterior, or ſetting up for a devotee.’ Prieſtly guards, we are told, ‘means ſanctity;’ but how the body could be inveſted or covered ‘with ſanctity, Mr. Warburton hath not thought proper to explain; for I preſume he doth not imagine that he wore the prieſtly habit, to which he could be no way en⯑titled, as appears by his marriage afterwards, as well as from many other circumſtances needleſs to enumerate.’ ‘In princely guards,’ moſt certainly ſignifies in a habit adorned "as becomes a prince."

If it be thought neceſſary to add any thing to theſe re⯑marks; it may be obſerved, that the word guards is not ſtrictly confined to mean lace, as Dr. Warburton inſinuates; but is uſed for ornaments of dreſs, or finery in general. Thus Shakeſpeare, in ſome other of his plays, I think it is in Love's Labour Loſt, ſpeaks of the guards of Cupid's hoſe; in all pro⯑bability meaning the clocks of his ſtockings ^*; which could not with propriety be called lace. Dr. Warburton, indeed, thinks the word livery, in this ſentence, fixes that of guards to mere lace, becauſe, it is true, moſt liveries are laced. It does not, however, follow that lace is eſſential to a livery, or that a livery might not be given to ſervants without any lace in the trimming of it: for the word livery comes either from the French livrée, of livrer, to deliver or give; or from the Italian livrea, or the Spaniſh librea, all having the ſame [33] meaning; ſo that a ſuit of cloaths, with trimmings of a dif⯑ferent colour, given to a ſervant, is as much a livery, as if it were covered with lace. Again, to come nearer the point, can we ſuppoſe that when Baſſanio, in the Merchant of Ve⯑nice, commands his followers to give Launcelot

he means particularly that it ſhould have more lace on it? No, ſurely, he only means that it ſhould, on the whole, be more fine and gaudy.

The meaning of the words thus ſettled, it is with great propriety Iſabel calls the princely badges and ducal finery of Angelo the cunning LIVERY of hell; as being given him in order that he might the more effectually ſerve its abhorred and damnable purpoſes.

Vol. I. Page 326.

Why, ſo? Dr. Johnſon.—What offence hath this word done you, Sir? Why will you not indulge the fictitious friar in the harmleſs jeſt he intends to make of the ignorance of the poor conſtable? You will ſay, perhaps, you ſaw no jeſt intended. I believe you; but certainly, ſuch a one as it was, there was one intended; and this it is. The word friar being a corruption of the French word frere, meaning brother; the conſtable had, in fact, called the ſuppoſed friar good father brother; to which the other jocoſely replies, by calling him in turn good brother father.—The reader will now, therefore, expunge this word, or let it ſtand, as he thinks proper.

Vol. I. Page 328.

[34]Dr. Warburton ſays, the meaning of this paſſage is, ‘Are there no women come out cured from a ſalivation?’ And this explanation is implicitly adopted by Dr. Johnſon. The author of the Reviſal, however, ſuppoſes the meaning of this very affected cant to be, ‘Are there no freſh women, no maidenheads to be had now? For (continues the Re⯑viſer, very gravely) Pigmalion's ſtatue newly made woman, was certainly a pure virgin.’ —Now, not to controvert the virginity of a marble ſtatue, or to query how long it re⯑mained ſo, when converted into fleſh and blood, in the hands of

I conceive theſe ſcholiaſts to be all miſtaken with regard to the ſenſe of the paſſage. It is perfectly agreeable to the cha⯑racter of Lucio, to call an innocent uncome-at-able virgin a Pigmalion's ſtatue; nor could he with any propriety give that name to a proſtitute, either under a ſalivation, or newly come out of it. What he meant, therefore, by Pigmalion's images newly made women, was young girls newly de⯑bauched. The deflowering a maid is frequently called, by dramatic writers, the making a woman of her. Again, I think it pretty evident that Lucio is too well acquainted with rogues and bawds, too deep in "the trick of it," not to know that maidenheads were commodities they ſeldom dealt in. On the other hand, I think it as plain that Lucio did not aſk after ſuch battered brims as might be juſt come out of the powdering tub: for when the clown tells him his mi⯑ſtreſs is herſelf in that ſituation, he ſays, 'Tis good; it is the right of it; it muſt be ſo. Ever your FRESH whore, and your powder'd bawd: an unſhunn'd conſequence: it muſt be ſo.—I fancy Lucio would be apt to think ſuch pickled devils as came out of the powdering tub, ſound as they poſſibly might be, too ſtale to be called freſh meat.

‘This ſtrange nonſenſe (ſays Dr. Warburton) ſhould be thus corrected, IT's not DOWN i'th' laſt REIGN. i. e. theſe are ſeverities unknown to the old duke's time. And this is to the purpoſe.’

Very much to the purpoſe truly! and ſo the ingenious au⯑thor of the Canons of Criticiſm hath ſhewn ^*; notwithſtand⯑ing which, our editor, without taking the leaſt notice of what Mr. Edwards has advanced, proceeds thus. ‘Dr. Warbur⯑ton's emendation is ingenious; but I know not whether the ſenſe may not be reſtored with leſs change. Let us conſider it. Lucio, a prating fop, meets his old friend going to pri⯑ſon, and pours out upon him his impertinent interrogatories: to which, when the poor fellow makes no anſwer, he adds, What reply? Ha! what ſay'ſt thou to this? tune, matter and method—is't not! drown'd i'th' laſt rain? ha? what ſay'ſt thou, trot? &c. It is a common phraſe uſed in low raillery of a man creſt-fallen and dejected, that he looks like a drown'd puppy. Lucio, therefore aſks him whether he was drowned in the laſt rain, and therefore cannot ſpeak?’

Dr. Johnſon's explanation of this paſſage is, in my opinion, leſs clear and much leſs conſiſtent with his own pointing than that given by Mr. Edwards. Indeed the latter ſuppoſes Pom⯑pey's anſwer only to be drowned in the laſt rain [a prover⯑bial phraſe, he ſays, to expreſs a thing which is loſt, or ra⯑ther not to be found]; whereas Dr. Johnſon ſuppoſes that Pompey himſelf is taxed with having been drowned in the laſt rain. Taking their own authority, however, for the uſe of their proverbs, Mr. Edwards's explanation is not half ſo far-fetched as Dr. Johnſon's. It is, indeed, a ſtrange round-about kind of ſalutation, to aſk a man whether or not [36] he was drowned in the laſt rain; becauſe, truly, he looks dejected, and therefore may be phraſeologically compared to a drown'd puppy?

Dr. Gray would make a farther emendation of the text, in this paſſage, of which our editor hath made mention in his appendix; but ſeems to diſapprove it. The Doctor propoſes that, inſtead of reading what ſay'ſt thou, trot? we ſhould read, what ſay'ſt thou to't? the word trot being ſeldom, if ever, uſed to a man.—To this Dr. Johnſon replies, ‘Trot, or as it is now often pronounced honeſt trout, is a familiar addreſs to a man among the provincial vulgar.’ Now, it appears to me, although I think Dr. Gray's emendation very admiſſible, that Lucio might very probably here mean to give Pompey an appellation uſually given to women, by way of gibing him for following ſo ſcandalous an employment as that of a bawd, uſually practiſed by wretches of that ſex. But be this as it may, I think nobody can heſitate about Dr. Johnſon's being in the wrong, when he ſuppoſes that Lucio might call Pom⯑pey Bum, the cock-bawd, HONEST trout.—Trout! indeed! Dr. Johnſon ſurely muſt imagine his readers to be very gud⯑geons, to bait his hook with ſuch grubs, as theſe grub-ſtreet annotations!

Vol. I. pages 329 and 330. are inſerted two notes from Dr. Warburton, without any remark of the editor's; notwith⯑ſtanding they are both ſufficiently refuted and exploded in the Canons of Criticiſm, pages 25 and 26. I muſt beg leave, however, for that reaſon to paſs them over here.

Vol. I. Page 333.

I doubt not but my readers have already obſerved that, when Dr. Johnſon's ſentiments coincide with Dr. Warbur⯑ton's, [37] he does not chuſe to hazard them for his own; as he does when they agree with thoſe of Edwards, and ſome others. But, for fear they ſhould be wrong, he takes advan⯑tage of the verbum ſacerdotis, and ſkulks behind the name of WARBURTON. This he does with regard to the paſſage now before us; and yet if I ſhould admit a ſingle emendation of all thoſe Dr. Warburton propoſes, I believe it would be this; and yet I don't approve of it. But the caſe is, I as little ap⯑prove of what is advanced by others in favour of the preſent reading, and yet, as Dr. Johnſon ſays, nothing better ſuggeſts itſelf. Dr. Warburton ſays, ‘We ſhould read SWERVE, i. e. deviate from her nature. The common reading gives us the idea of a ranting whore.’ In oppoſition to this, the author of the Reviſal ſays, the common reading is ‘agreeable to a very common form of expreſſion, This would make a ſaint ſwear, and ſuppoſes it means no more than that the exceſs of the provocation would get the better of the mild diſpoſition even of Mercy herſelf, and put her in a paſſion.’ In anſwer again to this, however, it may be obſerved, that we have no ſuch very common form of ſpeech as is here aſ⯑ſerted. Nay, I don't know that we can poſſibly have occa⯑ſion for ſuch a form. Make a ſaint ſwear! Pray where are there any ſaints now-a-days to be met with? For my part, I never converſed with any but fictitious ones. I have heard, indeed, of things being provoking enough to make a PARSON ſwear, and that even in the middle of his ſermon. But alas! alas! there is a great difference between ſaints and parſons; though I hope the author of the Reviſal is too honeſt a man wilfully to impoſe a parſon on his readers for a ſaint.—The true ſtate of the caſe appears to me to be as follows: the poet did not intend, or at leaſt did not effect, a compleat perſonification of Mercy. If he had, he would not have given us the idea of a ranting whore, as Dr. Warburton juſtly expreſſes it; nor would he have repreſented Mercy as ſtripped of her attributes, or put in a paſſion, as the Reviſer [38] has it.—It ſeems to me that Eſcalus ſpeaks of that mercy, or merciful diſpoſition, exiſting in his own breaſt, agreeable, and in reply, to what the bawd had ſaid to him in the pre⯑ceding ſpeech. Your honour is accounted a MERCIFUL man. To which he anſwers, ‘Yes, but ſuch provocation would make me, merciful as I am, ſwear and play the tyrant.’ To this it may be objected, that Eſcalus repreſents himſelf in this caſe as a ranting bully, juſt as Mercy, in the other, gives the idea of a ranting whore. So that, perhaps, after all, we had better abide by the literal conſtruction of the text, and ſuppoſe the proſopopeia compleat; in which caſe to ſwear muſt mean to make a vow never to be moved by pleas or in⯑terceſſion; to be unrelenting, being one of the principal cha⯑racteriſtics of a tyrant.

Vol. I. Page 348.

I wiſh Dr. Johnſon, every time he had dictated any of the articles of his critical creed, had given us a reaſon for the faith that is in him. Why he ſhould believe Barnardine to be deſperately miſchievous, I cannot poſſibly conceive. The Provoſt ſeems to give him a very different character: He hath evermore, ſays he, had the liberty of the priſon: give him leave to eſcape hence, he would not: drunk many times a day, if not many days entirely drunk. We have very often awaked him, as if to carry him to execution, and ſhewed him a ſeeming warrant for it: it hath not moved him at all. Is this the deſcription of a man deſperately miſchievous? I ſhould rather think that, by [39] deſperately mortal, means totally incurable of diſeaſes, acquired by his beaſtly courſe of life; or elſe that, deſpairing or care⯑leſs of life, he looks upon himſelf as dead to the world, and takes no thought of what becomes of him. That he is yet deſperate, or inflexibly obſtinate, about even dying, is plain from his telling the friar, that he ‘will not die that day for any man's perſuaſion; but if they will have it ſo, they ſhall beat out his brains with billets.’

Vol. I. Page 364.

Dr. Johnſon hath, on this paſſage, ſilently adopted the expla⯑nation of Mr. Edwards, in oppoſition to that of Dr. War⯑burton. He does the ſame thing again in page 369.—See Canons of Criticiſm, page 144.

Vol. I. Page 366.

Dr. Johnſon hath here inſerted the word convented, inſtead of convened, which was the common reading. Convented, indeed, was the reading of the firſt folio, which Dr. Warburton in⯑ſiſts upon to be right ^*, giving his reaſons for it in the fol⯑lowing arrogant and fooliſh note, which is as impertinently and fillily adopted by our editor. ‘The firſt folio reads con⯑vented, and this is right; for to convene ſignifies to aſſem⯑ble; but convent, to cite or ſummons. Yet, becauſe con⯑vented hurts the meaſure, the Oxford editor ſticks to convened, though it be nonſenſe, and ſignifies, whenever he is aſſembled together. But thus it will be, when the author is thinking of one thing, and his critic of another. The poet was at⯑tentive to his ſenſe, and the editor, quite throughout his [40] performance, to nothing but the meaſure; which Shakeſ⯑peare having entirely neglected, like all the dramatic writers of that age, he has ſpruced him up with all the exactneſs of a modern meaſurer of ſyllables.’

I ſhould be glad to know how either Dr. Warburton or Dr. Johnſon came to know that Shakeſpeare entirely neglected meaſure? Shakeſpeare had a poetical ear; and though he might not ſtand to count his fingers, as probably theſe gentle⯑men do when they write verſes, he wrote in general much more melodiouſly than any of the dramatic writers of his own age, or perhaps of the preſent. The Oxford editor did very wiſely, therefore, in abiding by the meaſure, as he could do it without any injury to the ſenſe. For to convene, as the au⯑thor of the Reviſal juſtly obſerves, means not only to aſſemble together, but to cite or cauſe to appear; and is rendered in Latin by cito, cieo.—To this I may add alſo, that cito does not mean ſimply to cite or ſummons in general, but alſo to ſum⯑mons or produce as a witneſs, exactly agreeable to the caſe before us. Thus CICERO, in hâc re te teſtem citabo. But perhaps theſe learned gentlemen will object to all this, be⯑cauſe the verb convene is not derived from cito, cico, but from convenio: they will profit little, however, by this evaſion; for the verb convenio itſelf is uſed in the ſenſe of giving a cita⯑tion or ſummons. Thus PLAUTUS, illum in jus conveniam. But ſuppoſing theſe quotations to be, as learned quotations generally are, nothing at all to the purpoſe, I may ſafely bor⯑row a phraſe from Scripture on this occaſion, and ſay to Dr. Johnſon, Out of thy own mouth will I judge thee, thou CARE⯑LESS COMMENTATOR! The author of the Reviſal ſeems a little unhappy that, having kept no common-place-book, he cannot produce an example of the uſe of the word convene in the ſenſe contended for: but, if he had turned to Dr. John⯑ſon's common-place-book, i. e. his folio dictionary, he would have there found that this ſenſe is properly authorized. To convene, ſays the lexicographer, is to ſummon judicially; as a [41] proof of which he quotes the following paſſage from AY⯑LIFFE; By the papal canon law, clerks, in criminal and civil cauſes, cannot be CONVENED before any but an eccleſiaſtical judge.—What a pity it is there ſhould be ſo little connection between Samuel Johnſon, M. A. the lexicographer, and Dr. Johnſon the commentator? But ſo it is; nor is it any thing new; people are apt to forget themſelves as they riſe to pre⯑ferment.

Vol. I. Page 372.

Our editor appears to know very little of the provincial cuſ⯑toms and manners of his countrymen. He would elſe, I think, hardly have been under the neceſſity of being obliged to Dr. Gray, and recurring back two or three centuries for the beggar's clack-diſh ^*, which I myſelf remember to have ſeen carried about by thoſe itinerants in many towns and vil⯑lages in different counties of England. Again, Dr. Johnſon is equally at a loſs with reſpect to the paſſage before us. He hath not omitted, however, to diſplay Dr. Warburton's eru⯑dition and ſagacity on the occaſion.

Such is Dr. Warburton's explanation of this paſſage; which, our editor ſays, may ſerve till a better is diſcovered. He ob⯑ſerves, nevertheleſs, that ‘whoever has ſeen the inſtruments of a chirurgeon, knows that they may be very eaſily kept out of improper hands in a very ſmall box, or in his pocket.’ —The truth is, that the tables of forfeits, hung up in barbers ſhops, are ſtill extant in ſome parts of Eng⯑land; at leaſt I remember to have ſeen one about twelve or thirteen years ago, in an excurſion from Burlington to North-Allerton in Yorkſhire. I think it was either at Malton or at Thirſk, and very probably it is there ſtill. I do not, indeed, recollect the name of the operator, in whoſe ſhop it was affixed; but its contents ſtruck me ſo much on reading, that I believe I can recite them from memory pretty exactly. They do not relate, however, to the handling of chirurgical inſtruments, but to civility and good behaviour; and ſeem not injudiciouſly calculated for a place, where perſons of dif⯑ferent ſtations and degrees were accuſtomed to meet, in order to be ſucceſſively ſhaved. Theſe ſtatutes were in Rhime, and were entitled,

Vol. I. Page 373.

Dr. Johnſon, who ſeems conſtantly on the watch to catch Shakeſpeare tripping, obſerves here, that ‘Lucio had not, in the former converſation, mentioned cowardice among the faults of the duke.’ But, ſays he, very graciouſly, ‘ſuch failures of memory are incident to writers more diligent than this poet.’ —On this occaſion, I cannot help remark⯑ing, that it is ſomewhat ſingular to find our editor ſo extremely remiſs and negligent in illuſtrating the beauties of Shakeſpeare, and ſo very diligent in diſcovering his faults. This carping critic is in this particular, however, egregiouſly miſtaken; there being no grounds for charging the poet, in this place, with want of attention to his plot. It is true, that Lucio does not expreſly call the duke a coward, in that part of their converſation which paſſed on the ſtage, in ſcene VI. act 3. Our editor might have obſerved, however, that he hath a farther converſation with him in ſcene XI. act 4. where he begins again to talk of the old fantaſtical duke of dark corners; and when the duke wants to ſhake him off, by bidding him farewel, and telling him his company is fairer than honeſt, Lucio will not be thus got rid of, but follows him, ſaying, By my troth, I'll go with thee to the lane's end. If bawdy talk offend you, we'll have very little of it. Nay, friar, I am a kind of bur, I ſhall ſtick. Is it not very natural to ſuppoſe, that Lucio might afterwards call the duke a coward, conſidering the many opprobrious names he had already given him? and is the poet to be cenſured, becauſe he hath made the Duke charge Lucio with a ſingle word of detraction, which was not actu⯑ally ſpoken before the audience? If this be not hypercriticiſm, I know not what is. But, to make the matter worſe on the part of our unfortunate editor, the Duke doth not charge [45] Lucio with calling him a coward, at the time when he runs on enumerating his other vices. For this was in the open ſtreet, through which the officers paſſed in carrying the bawds to priſon: but the time is particularly ſpecified when he called him coward, which was when the duke met him in the pri⯑ſon, and, as I above remarked, could not get rid of him. This is plain from the context.

Surely Dr. Johnſon muſt have invidiouſly ſought occaſion to depreciate the merit of Shakeſpeare, or he could never have laid hold of ſo groundleſs a pretext to cavil either at his inat⯑tention or want of memory.

Vol. I. Page 375.

Dr. Warburton would alter the text to BANED my purpoſe; the futility of this emendation, however, is, if I miſtake not, ſufficiently expoſed by the author of the Canons of Criticiſm; whoſe opinion Dr. Johnſon adopts, without making any men⯑tion of him, as uſual.

Vol. I. Page 377.

Dr. Johnſon hath, in my opinion, a very exceptionable note on this paſſage. I ſhall quote it therefore entire, and make my obſervations on it afterwards.

To expoſe the ſeveral fallacies ſuggeſted throughout the above note, I ſhall obſerve firſt, that it was very natural for Mariana to ſolicit Iſabel's interceſſion for her huſband, the man ſhe ſo much loved. I cannot think alſo, that it is, in [47] any reſpect, out of character for Iſabel, after repeated ſolici⯑tations, to be moved to oblige Mariana, who had already obliged her, ſo far at leaſt as to prevent the apparent neceſ⯑ſity of proſtituting herſelf to Angelo: eſpecially if we reflect on the tranquil ſtate of mind ſhe ſeems to be in with regard to her brother; in whoſe ſuppoſed death ſhe appears to have acquieſced, either from principles of religion or philoſophy: for when the Duke, in the foregoing page, ſpeaking of her brother, ſays,

Iſabel anſwers, ‘I do, my lord.’ From a principle of philoſophy, ſhe muſt be very conſcious that the death of Angelo could not bring her brother to life again; and if to this reflection we ſuppoſe her religion might add the ſuggeſtion of Chriſtian charity and forgiveneſs, I do not ſee any impropriety in Iſabel's ſoliciting Angelo's pardon.

As to the argument ſhe makes uſe of, and which Dr. John⯑ſon thinks ſo very extraordinary, it is to be obſerved, that ſhe does not make uſe of it as a poſitive plea, but introduces it with

Again, Dr. Johnſon ſays, ‘the only intent which his act did not overtake, was the defilement of Iſabel.’ Surely, Dr. John⯑ſon forgets the intended execution of Claudio! There is no doubt that Angelo's guilty intentions fully deſerved puniſh⯑ment; but as the principal of them failed of being carried into execution, I do not ſee why the reader ſhould feel ſo much indignation at his being pardoned, eſpecially as he muſt perceive the propriety of doing poetical juſtice to the injured Mariana; which would not be the caſe, if her new-made [48] huſband were to be immediately puniſhed with the ſeverity due to his wicked deſigns.

As to the ſiniſter meaning he imputes to the poet, of in⯑tending a covert ſatire on the fair ſex, I think enough is al⯑ready ſaid to exculpate him; I wiſh, therefore, Dr. Johnſon were equally excuſable for giving Shakeſpeare the appellation of varlet poet. Our editor can hardly intend here to confine that term to its ſimple and ancient meaning: for where is the jeſt or propriety of calling Shakeſpeare a yeoman, or ſervant, agreeably to the old meaning of the word varlet; which like fur, in Latin, it is allowed, originally conveyed no baſe or opprobrious idea?—And yet, if Dr. Johnſon did not uſe the word in this limited and antiquated ſenſe, what can he mean by calling Shakeſpeare a mean, ſorry, or raſcally poet? For this is the modern ſenſe of the word; and in this ſenſe the word varletry is inſerted in a certain folio dictionary, on the authority of Shakeſpeare himſelf.—Perhaps, indeed, Dr. John⯑ſon only meant here to expreſs himſelf in a ſtrain of wit and pleaſantry. If ſo, let him beware how he attempts to be witty again: for ſurely never was ſuch an aukward attempt made before! It is not in his nature.

Vol. I. Page 389.

All the old copies, it is ſaid, read it is that any thing now? This being palpably defective, the later ones, in general, read as above: but Dr. Johnſon ſuppoſes that we ſhould read, is that any thing NEW? For my part, however, I can ſee no propriety in this ſuppoſition of novelty; nor do I think the reader will conceive there is any room for the propoſed alte⯑ration, if he conſiders the following anſwer of Baſſanio.—Gratiano ſpeaks an infinite deal of nothing more than any man in Venice: his reaſons are as two grains of wheat hid in two byſhels [49] of chaff; you ſhall ſeek all day ere you find them; and when you have them, they are not worth the ſearch.

Gratiano is indeed cenſured juſt before, for being an eter⯑nal talker; and when he goes out, repeating the above couplet, Anthonio ſays, Is that ANY THING now? intimating that, though he is ſo full of talk, there is nothing [i. e. no meaning] in it: and thus, it is plain, Baſſanio underſtood him, by his anſwering—true, he ſpeaks an infinite deal of NOTHING.

Vol. I. Page 410.

This paſſage hath given the commentators a world of trou⯑ble. It ſeems generally agreed, that Mr. Theobald's ex⯑planation is ſtill more inexplicable than the text itſelf. Dr. Johnſon inſerts it, however; for what reaſon I cannot divine, unleſs it be to ſwell his book, or to ſerve as a foil to the ſu⯑perior ſagacity of Dr. Warburton and himſelf, whoſe notes immediately follow. I ſhall only quote thoſe of the two latter.

‘Which doth offer to ſwear upon a book.] This nonſenſe ſeems to have taken its riſe from the accident of a loſt line in tran⯑ſcribing the play for the preſs; ſo that the paſſage, for the future, ſhould be printed thus: Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which doth * * * * * offer to ſwear upon a book I ſhall have good fortune. It is impoſſible to find, again, the loſt line; but the loſt ſenſe is eaſy enough—if any man in Italy have a fairer table which doth [promiſe good luck, I am miſtaken. I durſt almoſt] offer to ſwear upon a book, I ſhall have good fortune.’ Dr. Johnſon, after condemning Theobald's note in the ſevereſt terms, and informing us that by table is meant the palm expanded, goes on very magiſte⯑rially thus.— ‘Dr. Warburton underſtood the word^†, but [50] puzzles himſelf, with no great ſucceſs, in purſuit of the meaning.’ —No wonder at that Dr. Johnſon! people ſeldom puzzle themſelves with any great ſucceſs in purſuit of any thing.—But to proceed with our editor's note. ‘The whole matter is this: Launcelot congratulates himſelf upon his dexterity and good fortune; and, in the height of his rap⯑ture, inſpects his hand, and congratulates himſelf upon the felicities in his table. The act of expounding his hand, puts him in mind of the action in which the palm is ſhewn, by raiſing it to lay it on the book, in judicial atteſtations. Well, ſays he, if any man in Italy have a fairer table, that doth offer to ſwear upon a book—here he ſtops with an abruptneſs very common, and proceeds to particulars.’ —No, Sir, he doth not ſtop here; but goes on, agreeable to Dr. Warburton's explanation, to ſay what is to be ſworn upon the book, i. e. that he ſhall have good fortune. But this is not to be ſworn either by Launcelot himſelf, or by any other Italian. It is the hand itſelf that promiſes ſo ſtrongly, and, as it were, offers to ſwear upon a book, that he ſhall have good fortune. And in this ſenſe the author of the Reviſal takes it; though I think he has not hit off the meaning quite happily. His interpretation is, ‘If any man in Italy have a fairer table, which pronounces that I ſhall have good fortune, with as much aſſurance as if it was ready to ſwear it upon a book.—Here, ſays he, the ſentence breaks off, and we muſt ſupply, I am miſtaken, or ſome other expreſſion of like import.’ —None of theſe commentators, though very ſenſible of the break in this paſſage, ſeem to know where it lies; but if I might be allowed to take the moſt trifling liberty in the world with the text, I dare ſay the reader would ſee the whole meaning and propriety of it, at one view.—Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer ta⯑ble!—Why, it doth offer to ſwear upon a book, I ſhall have good fortune.—Go to, &c. Taking the words, alſo, in this ſenſe, there is a beauty and propriety in ſaying the palm of⯑fers to ſwear upon a book; becauſe, in judicial atteſtations, [51] the eſſential part of the form lies in kiſſing the book, which the hand may not be improperly ſaid to do, even in laying hold of it. Dr. Johnſon, apparently having a con⯑fuſed idea of a court of juſtice in his head, confounds the action of a criminal holding up his hand at the bar, with that of a witneſs, qualifying himſelf by oath, to give evidence againſt him. The former, indeed, muſt of courſe diſplay the palm; but I believe the latter ſeldom or never does.

Vol. I. Page 422.

On theſe verſes Dr. Johnſon hath two notes; in each of which he propoſes an emendation in the text; and I muſt do him the juſtice to own, that I think them both judicious and unexceptionable. He would have ſaved me ſome little trou⯑ble, ſi ſic omnia dixiſſet.

Vol. I. Page 456.

Why will you, Dr. Johnſon, be thus conſtantly ſeeking oc⯑caſion to find fault with Shakeſpeare, for miſconduct in his drama; the buſineſs of which you are evidently much too un⯑ſkilled in to have a right to take upon you the authority of cenſuring the foremoſt man of all this world?—You admit it to be right that Dr. Bellario, whom we may very well ſup⯑poſe to be a civilian of the firſt rank, ſhould be ſent for, to [52] adviſe in this cauſe. You know too, I imagine (or at leaſt you might have known, if you had read the play) that this ſame Dr. Bellario (for he was a doctor too; WE are all doc⯑tors, Dr. Johnſon) was a relation, a couſin, to Portia. This being premiſed, is it not very natural to ſuppoſe that, after Baſſanio was called away in ſuch haſte to Venice, on account of the proſecution carried on againſt his friend Anthonio, his bride Portia would ſend a meſſenger to her couſin Bellario, in order to aſk his opinion of ſo extraordinary a caſe, or to in⯑tereſt him in Anthonio's behalf? And can any thing be more probable than that he ſhould inform her, on receiving ſuch a meſſage, that he was actually ſent for to Venice on that very account? For it is to be obſerved, that the duke ſpeaks as if he had ſent for him ſome conſiderable time before: for he ſays, unleſs Bellario, &c. come here to DAY. His power of diſmiſſing the court alſo, on his not coming, ſeems founded on ſome phyſical or moral impediment, that might very naturally occur, to prevent his arrival within the time: ſo that he muſt be ſuppoſed either at ſuch a diſtance as made it neceſſary to give him a conſiderable timely warning, or that the extra⯑ordinary nature of the cauſe might make him require ſo much the more time to prepare himſelf equitably to determine it.—This being the ſtate of the caſe, was not here a very apt foundation on which to build Portia's plot of officiating for the doctor? which deſign ſhe no doubt concerted with him by letter, before ſhe ſent for the notes and cloaths mentioned ſcene V. act III. ^*—And that this was really the caſe ſeems [53] evident, from what Portia ſays to Jeſſica, during the abſence of Baſſanio, and before ſhe ſends Balthazar to Bellario for the notes and clothes.—Jeſſica compliments her on

A ſufficient intimation, I think, that Baſſanio muſt have been gone ſome time. Again, in Portia's reply to this compli⯑ment, ſhe ſays

Here we find Portia ſpeaking very peremptorily and certainly of Anthonio's deliverance; and of the coſt already beſtowed to effect it. Is it reaſonable to think ſhe would expreſs herſelf thus confidently on a mere ſuggeſtion of her own? Beſides, what coſt could ſhe have beſtowed? Her having bid her huſ⯑band pay the bond three times over, was nothing; becauſe ſhe could not be ſure the money would be taken. Nay, ſhe evidently does not intend to truſt to that acceptance. It is therefore, I think, very evident, that ſhe had even at this time concerted the ſcheme with her couſin Bellario. How far Belmont might be from either Venice or Padua, I cannot ex⯑actly ſay: but it appears from circumſtances, that it could not be very far. From Belmont to Venice it ſeems there was a common traject, or ferry; ſo that the diſtance of both from Padua could not be too great for tranſacting the buſineſs [54] in queſtion.—It is true, that the formality with which Port a introduces her charge to Balthazar, when ſhe ſends him for the notes and cloaths, ſeems to favour the ſuppoſition, that this was the firſt time ſhe had ſent to Bellario, in which caſe there would be ſome grounds for Dr. Johnſon's remark; but we muſt obſerve, that Balthazar is now to be intruſted with a more important charge than he had before been, in merely carrying and bringing back a letter; or, it is not unlikely, that Portia entruſted that buſineſs with a ſervant of leſs im⯑portance. All theſe things duly conſidered, it is plain, I think, that Dr. Johnſon has very raſhly and unadviſedly pre⯑ſumed to call Shakeſpeare unſkilful, becauſe he wanted ſkill himſelf. I ſhall diſmiſs this note, therefore, with adviſing our editor never to wade ſo far out of his depth for the fu⯑ture. It is a trite adage, but it is a very good one, and worthy to be obſerved; Ne ſutor ultra crepidam. I do not ſay that Dr. Johnſon may not probably be well ſkilled in ſome things; not that I know that he is well ſkilled in any ^*; for, though I have read all his works, I declare he does not appear to me (at leaſt ſo far as I myſelf am able to judge) to be maſter of any one ſcience, or any one language, ſo that he muſt not plume himſelf on my ſuffrage. Not that I deny him to be maſter of the whole circle of ſciences, and of all languages an⯑cient and modern. But, if it be ſo; if it be really true, as his friends inform me, that he is poſſeſſed of ſuch amazing ſtores of literary and ſcientific knowledge, I cannot help thinking him extremely culpable, not to ſay very ungrateful, to keep them all avariciouſly to himſelf, and fob off the public with mere ſhreds and patches. How dare Dr. Johnſon treat that public with ſo much contempt, which hath done him ſuch extravagant [55] honour? How dare he behave to that public with ſuch im⯑paralell'd ingratitude, which hath given him ſuch imparalell'd, ſuch avowed, ſuch unmerited encouragement?—It is true, that its having done all this is ſufficient to give Dr. Johnſon a very mean opinion of its ſpirit, taſte and judgment. But he ſhould have been aware of carrying the impoſition too far; he ſhould not have preſumed to think that this public, taſte⯑leſs and ignorant as he may ſuppoſe it, could ever be pre⯑vailed on to grace his waving noddle with a wreath, irreve⯑rently torn from the brows of Shakeſpeare!

The ſelf-ſufficient, the arrogant, Dr. Johnſon may poſſibly conceive, that the zeal, with which the very name of Shake⯑ſpeare inſpires me, is counterfeited; and that I expreſs myſelf thus warmly, to provoke him to a reply.—No, Dr. John⯑ſon, you cannot reply. I muſt join in that deference, which I think the world hath undeſervedly paid you, ſo far as to own, that I ſhould never have preſumed to publiſh any thing againſt Dr. Johnſon, that I had not good reaſon to think UNANSWERABLE. It is indeed prudential in you to make a virtue of neceſſity, and previouſly to give out, that you will not do what you have ſo much reaſon to think you can not do.—Yet you have your ſatellites, your light-troops; you may ſend them out to harraſs the enemy whom you dare not encounter. But, as I am no farther your enemy than as you are Shakeſpeare's, ſend who you will, as many as you will; I will undertake, under ſo gallant a leader, to rout an army of ſcribblers, to cruſh a myriad of cockle-ſhell critics, in his cauſe.

Vol. I. Page 469.

How! the poet blundering again!—Why, what a block⯑head this Shakeſpeare muſt be, Dr. Johnſon? eh!—Nay, if you object to giving the appellation to Shakeſpeare, we muſt beſtow it on ſomebody elſe; the word is blurted out, and can⯑not be recalled. Let us ſee if it will apply, as the lawyers ſay, to the author of the above comment.—

He doth not perceive the uſe of the hermit, becauſe no⯑thing is ſeen or heard of him afterwards.—Pray is any thing ſeen of him now? He is not brought on the ſcene; and may, for ought that effects the buſineſs of the play, exiſt only in nubibus. There is no doubt that the meſſenger tells a lye, reſpecting the employment of his miſtreſs; and why may he not do the ſame reſpecting her attendants?—But perhaps the commentator may not ſee the uſe of the fiction neither, and will therefore condemn this part of the meſſenger's lye as un⯑neceſſary. He would do well to recollect, however, that, although nothing is heard about a hermit afterwards, a ſuf⯑ficient reaſon was given before to ſpeak of one in this meſ⯑ſage; which is evidently a contrivance of Portia to ſupport the impoſition ſhe is carrying on. It is to be remembered that, when Portia takes her leave of Lorenzo and Jeſſica, putting the management of her houſe and family in their hands, act III. ſcene 5. ſhe ſays

Now, having told them this fib at her departure, nothing [57] could be more pertinent, or indeed neceſſary, to keep up the probability of the ſtory, than for the meſſenger to ſay, ſhe was attended by a hermit; as it would be both unſeemly and dangerous for two women to ſtray about, kneeling and praying by holy croſſes, without a male attendant; and who ſo proper on ſuch an occaſion as an holy hermit, whoſe ſacred character might protect them from inſult?—This is ſufficient to ſhew, that it was not unneceſſary, but very pertinent to the plot, to have a hermit here ſpoken of; which is all the poet hath done.—Add to this, that, after all, it is poſſible there might really be a hermit in the caſe, though it was needleſs that he ſhould appear. For the meſſenger himſelf might not be in the plot, and Portia have employed a hermit to deliver him the meſſage from Portia, as he actually did deliver it to Lorenzo; unleſs we are to ſuppoſe that holy hermits are too inflexibly attached to truth, to aſſiſt even in ſo innocent an impoſture: which I, who have had the honour of knowing ſome of thoſe gentry, conceive not to be the caſe.

Vol. II. Page 45.

There cannot, I think, be a more flagrant inſtance of that perverſity of apprehenſion, which ſeems to have diſtinguiſhed almoſt all our poet's commentators, than the difficulty they have raiſed about this paſſage. It is true they have in general been much more ſucceſsful in throwing obſtructions in the way of the reader, than in obviating thoſe which common ſenſe and ſimple ingenuity might naturally ſuggeſt. For my part, I ſhould never have dreamt that theſe verſes ſo greatly [58] needed illuſtration, that they were corrupted, or that a line was loſt and badly reſtored, unleſs the learned Dr. Warburton had told me of the firſt, the ingenious and ſenſible authors of the Canons of Criticiſm and of the Reviſal had inſinuated the ſecond, and laſtly, the learned, ingenious and ſenſible Dr. Johnſon attempted to perſuade me of the third. In⯑deed, they have all ſucceſsfully laboured to throw ſome obſcu⯑rity on the text, Mr. Edwards not excepted; for, though he hath facetiouſly and juſtly expoſed Dr. Warburton's ridiculous emendation of the fifth line, he hath left the reader to explain the paſſage himſelf, after aſſuring him that it certainly is faulty.

It will, I preſume, afford ſome entertainment to the reader to compare the ſeveral notes of theſe annotators; by which they will ſee how they have all blundered round-about the poet's meaning; perhaps for no other reaſon in the world than that they imagined it lay much deeper than it really does. It is not an uncommon thing for perſons immoderately ſaga⯑cious to look too far forward, and ſtumble over what lies im⯑mediately under their noſe. Dr. Johnſon appears, indeed, to have a very different opinion of this matter; and ſeems to think that Shakeſpeare's meaning is always very profound. Thus he tells us, ‘the original and predominant error of Dr. Warburton's Commentary, is acquieſcence in his firſt thoughts; that precipitation which is produced by conſci⯑ouſneſs of quick diſcernment; and that confidence which preſumes to do, by ſurveying the ſurface, what labour only can perform, by penetrating the bottom ^*.’

For my part, I had always a very different opinion of Dr. Warburton's Commentary. That he did too precipitately ac⯑quieſce in his own thoughts, may be very true; and that he ſurveyed only the ſurface of Shakeſpeare's writing may be no leſs ſo; but that he went very deep into the receſſes of his own imagination, as well as into his ſtores of book-learning, [59] for all thoſe far-fetched alluſions, quaint epithets and literary conundrums, which he imputes to Shakeſpeare, is, I think, not to be doubted. For it is very true, as our editor alſo ob⯑ſerves, that ‘his notes exhibit perverſe interpretations and improbable conjectures; he at one time gives the author more profundity of meaning than the ſentence admits, and at another diſcovers abſurdities, where the ſenſe is plain to every other reader ^*.’

It is very natural to conclude, from this reprehenſion, that Dr. Johnſon means to inſinuate his having himſelf repaired the faults of Dr. Warburton, and effected that by perſeverance and labour, which the reverend ſcholiaſt, his predeceſſor, failed to do by his vivacity and precipitation. It is certain, that labour neceſſarily takes up time; and ſo far the frequent procraſtination of the preſent edition affords Dr. Johnſon a plauſible excuſe for pretending to have laboured: but, on the other hand, it is as certain that time doth not neceſſarily in⯑clude labour; for, it is notorious that an induſtrious gerund-grinder may do as much or more in a month, than an idler will do in ſeven years. It is alſo farther certain that, although youth and inexperience may be too haſty and precipitate, yet experi⯑ence and age cannot well execute their work too expeditiouſly; in the former caſe delay may ſerve to correct errors, and check the inordinance and exuberance of zeal; in the latter, it produces only languor and perplexity. Thus if Dr. Johnſon, inſtead of ſpiritedly repairing the neglect of thoſe who only ſurveyed the ſurface, had boldly and immediately penetrated to the bottom, all had poſſibly been right: but, inſtead of doing this, it appears he hath been full as much too tardy as they were precipitate; and thus, leaving the weight of his learning, and the force of his reputation, to work their way without the leaſt application of genius, he hath ſuffered them, by long and conſtant fric⯑tion, to perforate or to penetrate, as he ſays, the bottom itſelf. So that the ſuperficial meanings, which former editors ſkimmed from the top, are left hanging about the ſides of the veſſel; [60] while the profound diſcoveries, weighty arguments, and ſtriking illuſtrations, expected in the preſent edition, are all eſcaped through the hole which Dr. Johnſon's modeſt induſtry and vaſt erudition have worked through the bottom.

But, to leave this digreſſion, and return to the notes of the ſeveral commentators. Dr. Warburton's, as it is inſerted by way of preference, no doubt, in the page before us, runs thus:

[61]On this curious comment, the author of the Canons of Criticiſm hath made the following remarks:

Mr. Edwards then goes on to enumerate Dr. Warbur⯑ton's examples, which having quoted above, need not be repeated.—He proceeds— ‘Theſe are the examples he produces; whether wiſely or not, let the foreſt judge; but the conceit of a ſmiling target is entirely his own; and, if be will allow me a pun invita Minerva; for it ſeems in direct oppoſition to the famed Aegis of Pallas. But this is hardly a laughing matter: for with what face can he ſay ſmiling, ſhining—ſo Shakeſpeare.—Chaucer uſes it in this ſenſe,—and Fairfax—when, if he knows any thing of the lan⯑guage, he muſt know, that not one of them, in theſe in⯑ſtances, uſes ſheen in the ſenſe of SMILING; and that, in [62] its true ſenſe of BRIGHT or ſhining, it would make the paſſage worſe than he found it?’

‘If Sir Thomas Hanmer, as he ſays, took occaſion, from having this emendation communicated to him, to alter the whole line; he ſhewed more judgment than if he had inſerted ſuch a falſe and nonſenſical note; but, "in his rage of correction, he forgot to leave the reaſon, why the winter wind was to be preferred to man's ingratitude." If SHEEN does not ſignify ſmiling, I doubt Mr. Warburton will be in the ſame caſe. However Shakeſpeare has equally forgotten, in the next ſtanza, to leave the reaſon why a freezing ſky is to be preferred to a forgetful friend; which, perhaps, may give a reaſonable ſuſpicion that the word be⯑cauſe ^*, in the firſt ſtanza, may be corrupt.’

The author of the REVISAL of Shakeſpeare's Text, ſays, ‘What the meaning of the common reading, ‘Becauſe thou art not SEEN,’ may be, it is extremely difficult to diſcover, which gives great ground for ſuſpicion that it may be corrupt. Poſſibly it might be intended to be this: the impreſſions thou makeſt on us are not ſo cutting, becauſe thou art an unſeen agent, with whom we have not the leaſt acquaintance or converſe, and therefore have the leſs reaſon to repine at thy treat⯑ment of us.’

To come now to Dr. Johnſon; who, after quoting Dr. Warburton's note, without mentioning a ſyllable of Mr. Ed⯑wards's remarks on it, proceeds thus: ‘I am afraid that no reader is ſatisfied with Dr. Warburton's emendation, how⯑ever vigorouſly enforced; and it is indeed enforced with more art than truth. Sheen, i. e. ſmiling, ſhining. That ſheen ſignifies ſhining, is eaſily proved; but when or where [63] did it ſignify ſmiling? Yet ſmiling gives the ſenſe neceſſary in this place. Sir Thomas Hanmer's change is leſs uncouth, but too remote from the preſent text. For my part, I queſtion whether the original is not loſt, and this ſubſtituted merely to fill up the meaſures and the rhyme. Yet even out of this line, by ſtrong agitation, may ſenſe be elicited, and ſenſe not unſuitable to the occaſion. Thou winter wind, ſays the duke^*, thy rudeneſs gives the leſs pain, as thou art not ſeen, as thou art an enemy that doſt not brave us with thy preſence, and whoſe unkindneſs is therefore not aggravated by inſult.’

After ſo many avowed aſſurances of the difficulty of the above paſſage, and the unſucceſsful, though elaborate, at⯑tempts to clear it up; it may ſeem affectation in me to inſiſt on its being very obvious. I muſt declare, however, that before I had read any of the above criticiſms, it always ſeemed ſo, though I muſt own I did not take either the particular meaning of the words, or the general deſign of the ſong, in the ſame manner as is done by any of the above-mentioned critics. Dr. Warburton ſeems, indeed, to have miſled them all, by confounding ingratitude with pretended friendſhip or private enmity. That flatterers are often ſecret enemies, and generally ungrateful, is very true; but it is by no means eſ⯑ſential to acts of ingratitude that they ſhould be committed in ſecret; and, on the contrary, though it be diſingenuous, mean, and cowardly to do private injuries, it may not be ungrateful; for the doer may happen not be obliged to the perſon offended. With regard alſo to the particular caſe be⯑fore us, there is no doubt but the baniſhed duke had ſuffered enough from public and viſible acts of ingratitude: the wick⯑edneſs of which would therefore be aggravated, as Dr. John⯑ſon rightly ſays, by inſult; and would not be, like acts of falſe friendſhip or private enmity, aggravated by being done [64] in ſecret. When Dr. Johnſon, therefore, adopting Dr. War⯑burton's reaſoning, tells us that ſmiling gives the ſenſe neceſ⯑ſary in this place, he is miſled by the plauſibility of that gen⯑tleman's argument; there being no manner of occaſion, as Mr. Edwards obſerves, for the introduction of his flattering courtiers.

Having expatiated ſo much on the difficulty and miſappre⯑henſion of the paſſage, I come now to explain it that way in which I have ever underſtood it; and according to which, I think, there is no manner of difficulty in reconciling the ſenſe to the words as they now ſtand. Nay, I flatter myſelf many readers will diſcover more beauty in this admirable lit⯑tle ſong, than they were before acquainted with. Before I enter, however, on the explanation of particular words, I ſhall conſider the deſign and tendency of the ſong in general. To this end it may be neceſſary to repeat the whole.

The reader will obſerve that the firſt verſe is addreſſed to the WIND, and the ſecond to the SKY; by which latter is evi⯑dently meant the air or atmoſphere, as appears by the attri⯑tributes or qualities he imputes to it. It is obſervable, far⯑ther, [65] that the poet has, with great judgment, kept the pro⯑perties and effects of both diſtinct, beginning with the leaſt hurtful, and proceeding regularly in the climax to the moſt cutting and ſevere.

This being premiſed, I come now to the diſputed meaning of the particular words: and here all the ſcholiaſts ſeem to blunder, in miſtaking the ſenſe of the word keen in the fourth line; which they take to ſignify ſharp, cutting, piercing; whereas it only means eager, vehement; a ſenſe equally com⯑mon with the former. The poet ſpeaks here only of a keen⯑neſs of appetite; he does not mention actual biting, till he comes to addreſs a more proper and powerful agent: for, tho' it be the property of the wind to bluſter and make a noiſe, it doth not bite, unleſs it bring with it a nipping froſty air. It does not freeze more in an high wind, than when its breath is neither felt nor heard; but often leſs. Beſides, if keen here means ſharp, piercing, &c. this line hath the ſame meaning as the ſeventh line of the ſecond verſe, where the poet is at the laſt ſtage of his climax. And I think he would hardly be guilty of ſuch a piece of tautology, in the ſpace of ſo few lines, or ad⯑dreſs the leſs ſevere and powerful agent exactly in the ſame manner as he does that which is more ſo.

Taking the word in this ſenſe, let us ſee its effect on the context.

That is as much as to ſay, thou art not ſo eager to bite; thy appetite is not ſo voracious—thou art not ſo violent to diſtreſs us.

In other words, becauſe thou doſt not come in a viſible form to confront us, notwithſtanding thou inſulteſt us with thy abuſive bluſtering.—Thou doſt not ſhew thy grim LOOKS, though we hear thy roaring VOICE ^*.—The ſight of thoſe who have behaved to [66] us with ingratitude is known to be particularly diſguſtful, even though we ſhould deſpiſe any thing they ſhould ſay or do when out of our preſence ^*. It were indeed extremely offenſive to ſee others ſhew their teeth at us, even though they could not bite. Perhaps Shakeſpeare had ſome diſtant alluſion to this prover⯑bial phraſe: it is alſo obſervable, that the inviſibility of the wind was a circumſtance which this great poet had frequently in his mind. Thus, in Meaſure for Meaſure, he ſpeaks of the viewleſs winds; an epithet, I believe, peculiar to himſelf.

I now truſt this explanation to the reader's judgment, and ſhould alſo take leave of the ſubject itſelf, were there not an expreſſion in the laſt ſtanza; the beauty of which is, in a great meaſure, loſt, for want of being rightly underſtood.—I have not undertaken, indeed, to ſupply the defects of the commentators; but as this ſong is a favourite, I cannot pro⯑ceed without making a ſlight animadverſion or two on this head. The expreſſion I mean is, ‘Though thou the waters WARP.’ The word warp has been very differently uſed by different writers: it is uſed by ſome to mean contract or ſhrivel, to turn aſide, &c. and a certain lexicographer, in his folio dic⯑tionary, quotes this very line to ſhew that it is uſed to expreſs the effects of froſt. But may we not pertinently aſk him, what theſe effects are? Does he mean to ſay, that Shakeſpeare hath uſed it here in a ſenſe different from its moſt general and obvious meaning? If he does, he does not underſtand the poet; if he does not, he knows not how to write a dictionary. To warp, here means neither to contract, nor to turn aſide; for the body of water in freezing is dilated, not contracted; and though the froſt may arreſt or ſtop water in its paſſage, I don't know that it alters its courſe.

The word waters, indeed, doth not mean here, as ſome have ſuppoſed, water in the a [...]ſtract, as a fluid in general; it means alſo neither the waving, multitudinous, ſea, nor the ra⯑pid [67] unfreezing rivers, but ſuch inland pools, lakes, and other ſtagnant or ſlowly-moving pieces of water that are ſubject to be affected by froſt ^†. Now, it is well known that the ſurface of ſuch waters, as is here meant, ſo long as they remain fluid, i. e. unfrozen, is apparently a perfect plane; whereas when they are frozen, this ſurface deviates from its exact flatneſs, or warps. This is peculiarly remarkable in ſmall ponds, the ſurface of which, when frozen, forms a regular concave; the ice on the ſides riſing higher than that in the middle. Thus we ſee that Shakeſpeare need not to be obliged to any lexicographer for admitting the latitude of his expreſ⯑ſion, as he here uſes the word warp in its primitive and moſt general ſignification; to make a thing caſt or bend, as boards do when they are cut before they are thoroughly dry, or when they are put to the fire.

Vol. II. Page 54.

Dr. Warburton tells us ‘we ſhould read Juniper, as the following-words ſhew, alluding to the proverbial term of a juniper lecture: a ſharp or unpleaſing one! Juniper being a rough prickly plant.’

In anſwer to this, Dr. Johnſon ſays, in his uſual indolent and laconic manner, 'Surely Jupiter may ſtand.'

Ay, ſurely; why not? as well as Jupiter in the beginning of the 6th ſcene of the preceding act, where the ſame Roſa⯑lind ſays, O Jupiter! how weary are my ſpirits! Yet neither he, nor Dr. Warburton, boggle in the leaſt at Jupiter there. But who told you, Dr. Johnſon, that Jupiter might ſtand here, and gave you the ſame reaſon for it?—Did not the au⯑thor [68] of the Canons of Criticiſm do this? Why ſhould you be ſo ſparing of confeſſing your obligations to that gentleman?

Vol. II. Page 81.

Dr. Warburton ſays, ‘that inſtead of the laſt word ſleep, we ſhould read weep:’ to this reading, however, Dr. John⯑ſon objects. ‘I know not, ſays he, why we ſhould read to weep. I believe muſt men would be more angry to have their ſleep hindered than their grief interrupted.’

What our editor ſuggeſts is certainly very true, eſpecially of perſons addicted to ſomnolency; but if the poet intended the antitheſis Dr. Warburton ſeems to ſuppoſe, I ſhould rather read weep: but then the conſtruction of the ſentence will not do. Inſtead of ſaying, I will laugh like a hyen, and that when you are inclined to weep; the and ſhould be tranſpoſed, and the word that omitted. He ſhould have ſaid, AND I will LAUGH like a hyen, when you are inclined to WEEP. Suppoſing the text uncorrupted in no other particular, I muſt give my voice, with the editor, for ſleep. But I cannot help ſuſpecting that this paſſage is corrupted in a part where none of the commenta⯑tors ſeem to think it. It is juſtly to be preſumed, at leaſt, that Dr. Johnſon does not think it ſo, as he paſſes it over, notwithſtanding he aſſures us, in his preface, that he hath left not one paſſage, that he thought obſcure, without attempt⯑ing to elucidate it.

But what ſhall we ſay to Roſalind's laughing like a HYEN? If by a hyen is meant an hyaena, I do not know what authority we have for its laughing, nor can diſcover the propriety of the alluſion. It is reported, indeed, of that furious animal, [69] that it will counterfeit a man's voice; nay, call him by his name, to entice him out of doors, in order to devour him; after which he may be ſaid, metaphorically, to laugh in his ſleeve at the ſucceſs of his contrivance. But the laughing here alluded to, muſt be neceſſarily ſo loud as to prevent a drowſy man's going to ſleep; and I do not know that any animal in nature is poſſeſſed of the ſtreperous part of riſibility, except man. ‘Homo eſt animal riſibile,’ and I believe excluſively ſo. Shakeſpeare then can never mean to ſay, like an hyaena.

"What then could he mean?"—True, reader, that is the queſtion.—Have but a little patience and I will endeavour to tell you.—Shakeſpeare, with all his diverſity of action and character, is generally very uniform and conſtant in his train of thinking. He does not chop his metaphors into fritters; nor ſkip giddily and alternately from the alluſions of art to thoſe of nature, or vicê verſâ. The reader will pleaſe to obſerve, that, in the preceding line, and in this very ſen⯑tence, he mentions Diana. Now, it is not at all like Shakeſ⯑peare to fly off immediately from this claſſical alluſion, to ſo diſtant a one as any afforded by natural hiſtory; even ſuppo⯑ſing there were not that impropriety in it as I have above noticed.

I would venture, after the modiſh way of deciding argu⯑ments, to lay a good bet, if it could be determined, that Shakeſpeare wrote thus;

—I will WEEP for nothing like DIANA in the fountain; and I will do that, when you are diſpoſed to be MERRY: I will LAUGH like a HYAD, and that when you are inclined to SLEEP.

The word laugh in the laſt part of the ſentence being uſed, by way of irony, for CRY; thus we ironically ſay, to laugh like Heraclitus, the weeping philoſopher ^*: ſo that to laugh like a [70] hyad, is to ſob and blubber like one of the hyads. Now hyads, or hyades, is an appellation given to the conſtellation, other⯑wiſe called the ſeven ſtars, and ſupoſed to be a watery ſign; whence their denomination from [...], i. e. to rain. The poets feign theſe hyads to have been the daughters of Atlas and Aethra; and pretend that Hyas, their brother, having been torn to pieces by a lioneſs, they wept ſo vehemently for his death, that the gods, in compaſſion to them, tranſlated them to heaven, and placed them in the forehead of the bull, where they ſtill continue to weep: whence the conſtellation is ſuppoſed by ſome to preſage rain.

I am well aware, that ſome of my readers will think this comment written rather too much in the Warburtonian ſtrain ^*. But, if it be juſt and pertinent, I think this ſhould be no ob⯑jection [71] to it; for, though Dr. Warburton's comments on Shakeſpeare are ſeldom to the purpoſe, and therefore do not always deſerve our approbation, they are generally learned, and never fail to excite our admiration, either on account of their actual ingenuity or moſt palpable abſurdity.

Vol. II. Page 107.

‘Here, ſays Dr. Johnſon, ſeems to be a chaſm or ſome other depravation, which deſtroys the ſentiment here intended. The reaſoning probably ſtood thus, Good wine needs no buſh, good plays need no epilogue, but bad wine requires a good buſh, and a bad play a good epilogue. What caſe am I in then? To reſtore the words is impoſſible; all that can be done without copies is, to note the fault.’ —Happy is it for the memory of Shakeſpeare, and as happy for his diſcerning readers, that the veneration paid to his name ſometimes pre⯑vents the hand of the commentator from executing thoſe deſigns which his temerity conceives. What work would not a critic, of leſs modeſty than our editor, make of this paſſage, ſhould he take it in his head to ſupply what is thus ſuppoſed wanting? Yet how eaſily is the whole ſet right! It can hardly be called a ſuppoſition that Shakeſpeare wrote tho' inſtead of then ^*. It is obvious he muſt, as he plays on the word good all through the paſſage, not once introducing the epithet bad, made uſe of by Dr. Johnſon, nor hinting at the antitheſis, which the editor conceives ſo neceſſary to the ſenſe. Tho', at the end of a ſentence, is commonly uſed in diſcourſe for however, and [72] has the ſame meaning as but at the beginning of it. Thus it is the ſame thing as if the ſpeaker had ſaid, BUT what a caſe am I in, &c. Let the reader ſubſtitute theſe words for what a caſe am I in THEN, and I dare ſay he will conceive with me there is no chaſm in the paſſage; but that it ſtands as Shake⯑ſpeare wrote it. Be this, however, as it may, what is ſub⯑ſtituted by Dr. Johnſon is entirely foreign to the purpoſe. It does by no means follow that, becauſe good wine needs no buſh, bad wine requires a good one. Good wine will recommend itſelf, and ſell without a buſh; but we do not thence infer, that the goodneſs of any buſh can recommend or ſell bad wine.—The Bermudans, I am told, when they go fiſhing, never trouble themſelves to carry any oil or butter for ſauce; for if they catch a fat fiſh it requires none, and if they catch a lean one it deſerves none.—Shakeſpeare, I fancy, by ſaying nothing about either bad wine or bad plays, reaſoned about them both as the Bermudans do about their fiſh.

Vol. II. Page 114.

Dr. Warburton and Dr. Johnſon, having both exerted their critical abilities on this paſſage, and, as I think, left it worſe than they found it, I ſhall inſert the annotations of both, as I find them printed in the pages before me.

On the above annotation, Dr. Johnſon obſerves, ‘that there being two ways of ſetting a paſſage right, gives reaſon to ſuſpect that there may be a third way better than either. The firſt of theſe emendations makes a fine ſenſe, but will not unite with the next line; the other makes a ſenſe leſs fine, and yet will not rhyme to the correſpondent word. I cannot ſee why the paſſage may not ſtand without diſtur⯑bance. The conſequence, ſays Biron, of too much knowledge, is not any real ſolution of doubts, but mere empty repu⯑tation ^*.’

[74]The author of the Reviſal hath a very long note on this paſſage; rejecting the emendations propoſed by Dr. Warbur⯑ton, and ſeeming to coincide with the opinion of Dr. Johnſon. His explanation of the paſſage is this. ‘Too eager a purſuit of knowledge is rewarded, not with the real poſſeſſion of its object, but only with the reputation of having attain⯑ed it.’

It is really ſurprizing to me, that theſe ſeveral critics ſhould be ſo much at a loſs to comprehend, what I conceive the con⯑text renders very plain; without making any alteration in the text, as it ſtood before Dr. Warburton meddled with it, viz.

I cannot imagine what put it into the head of Dr. Johnſon, or of the author of the Reviſal, that fame here means repu⯑tation. And, ſuppoſing it does, what can Dr. Johnſon mean by ſaying, that too much knowledge gives only fame, a name which every god-father can give likewiſe? What, becauſe every god-father can call a child N or M, is he able therefore to give him a literary reputation ^*? or is Dr. Johnſon ſo careleſs of his pointing, as to mean to ſay that reputation is a mere name? Or, farther, how can to know nought but fame mean to acquire nothing but reputation? Be all this, however, as it may, fame means here nothing more than report, rumour or [75] relation. Biron is declaiming againſt reading, or the mere ſtudy of books. Little, ſays he,

the authors of which books he calls

Now, continues he,

To all which the king replies, by obſerving to another noble⯑man, how well Biron is read, ‘—to reaſon againſt READING.’ Hence, I think it is plain that Biron means, through the whole paſſage, to inculcate a maxim, which is undoubtedly a very true one, viz. that the greateſt readers are not the moſt ſcientific; the knowledge of things and of words being as different, as the ſtudy of nature and the plodding over books. From the latter, people may acquire a heap of indigeſted lite⯑rature, without having any real knowledge at all: indeed, their too great attention to philological purſuits, or to words, often prevents their knowing any thing of philoſophy or of things. Add to this, that the knowledge acquired from books, is, for the moſt part, founded on the authority of the writer, and what is thus known, is known only by report or relation. So that thoſe, whoſe whole ſtock of knowledge conſiſts in what they have read, merely in the learned lumber of their memory, may, with great propriety, be ſaid to know nothing but what is told them; that is, to be entirely ignorant of facts, and to know nothing but FAME It would be abſurd alſo, to the laſt degree, to ſay, that to know TOO MUCH would be to know NOTHING, if no difference in the kind of knowledge was intended. Again, the laſt line of Biron's ſpeech evidently refers to what he had juſt before ſaid, concerning the baſe [76] authority of books. The authors can give names, ſays he, to things; inſtancing thoſe, ‘That give a name to every fixed ſtar,’ though they profit no more by them, and know nothing far⯑ther about them, than thoſe who are ignorant of thoſe names. And this being all they can do, he may well call their wri⯑tings baſe authority, and ſay that any body can do as much, for ‘—Every god-father can give a name,’ which is as much at leaſt as aſtronomers do by the ſtars.

The author of the Reviſal ſeems to think the word fame, in this place, hath ſome reference to the king's ſpeech at the commencement of the play; when he propoſes reputation as the principal aim and motive of their ſtudies.

But admitting this, I cannot ſee any reaſon to think that fame, in the paſſage diſputed, hath preciſely the ſame meaning as in that juſt quoted, unleſs both ſpeeches had been ſpoken by the king.—It is not unlikely that this paſſage refers to the fame recommended by the king; but it is very unlikely that the ſpeaker ſhould affect to ſet a greater value on knowledge than on that fame, which was at firſt propoſed as the ultimate end to be attained by it.—It is, in my opinion, more than probable that Biron the ſpeaker, who is evidently a wit, and rails at book-learning, takes the advantage here of the equi⯑vocal uſe of the word fame; to ſneer at the king's propoſing celebrity as the end of his ſtudies: in which caſe the conteſted line might be paraphraſed thus; To ſpend all your time in getting to know only the names of things, and what others report about [77] them, is the way to get nothing elſe but fame ſure enough! Indeed, Biron ſeems to be a man of ſuch a kidney, as to reaſon about literary fame as Falſtaff does about military ho⯑nour, and could eaſily reſolve it in like manner by a trim reckoning, into a very word, air, a mere empty report.

Vol. II. Page 121.

Dr. Johnſon tells us in his preface, that, when he inſerts any of Dr. Warburton's propoſed emendations in the text, he means to give them his higheſt approbation. Now, this he hath done in the preſent inſtance; giving that ſcholiaſt's note likewiſe at the bottom of the page. The note is as follows:

‘—Taken WITH the manner.] The following queſtion ariſing from theſe words, ſhews we ſhould read—taken IN the manner. And this was the phraſe in uſe to ſignify taken in the fact. So Dr. Donne, in his letters, But if I melt into melancholy while I write, I ſhall be taken IN the manner; and I ſit by one too tender to theſe impreſſions.’

The author of the Canons of Criticiſm, however, hath in⯑validated what Dr. Warburton advances in this place, by an⯑other of his own notes on a paſſage in the firſt part of Henry the Fourth, where the ſame expreſſion occurs; and on which the ſame reverend commentator ſays: ‘The quarto and folio read with the manner, which is right. Taken with the manner is a law phraſe, and then in uſe to ſignify taken in the fact.’ —Mr. Edwards obſerved, on remarking this in⯑conſiſtency, that "Great wits have ſhort memories." But I am at ſome loſs to know to what I ſhould impute Dr. John⯑ſon's giving the higheſt approbation to this blunder of Dr. War⯑burton's. That his memory is at leaſt as bad, and his atten⯑tion full as little, is evident from his quoting both theſe con⯑tradictory [78] notes in their reſpective places, and his giving the higheſt approbation to both the contradictory emendations, by inſerting them in the text; one in the play before us, and the other in that of Henry IV. Notwithſtanding the inconſiſtency had been pointed out in a book, that hath run through at leaſt ſix editions. To what can we impute ſuch ſervile tranſcription? Shall we ſet it down among Dr. John⯑ſon's other conceſſions to the reſpect due to high place, and his veneration for genius and learning? Or ſhall we rather impute it to his indolence in not conſulting the Canons of Criti⯑ciſm?—Or perhaps he would neither chuſe to depend on the authority of that writer, nor even on Dr. Warburton's himſelf, againſt the united ſuffrage of Dr. Warburton and Dr. Donne. He might have depended, however, on the farther authority of Shakeſpeare; which he might have had by turning over a few pages more of the volume before us; the Clown in the Winter's Tale uſing the ſame phraſe, thus, Your worſhip had like to have given us one, if you had not taken yourſelf WITH the manner.

My readers will hardly doubt, on this repreſentation of the caſe, that the common phraſe was taken WITH the manner. As to the certainty of its being adopted here, however, it may poſſibly be ſtill diſputed. Dr. Warburton ſays, Biron's queſtion, immediately ſucceeding, ſhews that Coſtard ſhould ſay IN the manner. For my part I cannot ſee the force of this reaſon, though I can very well ſee why Biron ſhould not re⯑peat WITH the manner, becauſe of another law phraſe, with which Coſtard anſwers him, viz. IN manner and form follow⯑ing. Now this could not be, with any propriety, WITH man⯑ner and form following. But I think there is no impropriety in ſuppoſing that Biron, not attending to the quaintneſs of Coſtard's expreſſion, aſks him ſimply and naturally IN what manner? notwithſtanding Coſtard had uſed the phraſe WITH what manner. Be all this, however, as it may, we have here a very flagrant inſtance, IN what manner Dr. Johnſon [79] hath commented on Shakeſpeare, and WITH what manners he hath treated the public, who encouraged him in this un⯑dertaking.

Vol. II. Page 142.

Dr. Johnſon boggles here at the word male, which he con⯑jectures may ſtand for mail, a packet or bag, and thence the mountebank's budget ^*. The matter, indeed, he owns is not great; but one would wiſh, he ſays, for ſome meaning or other. I wonder, when he was in the humour to deſcend to ſuch trifles, he ſhould paſs over the word l'envoy, which is ſo often repeated in this and the next page. I dare ſay not one reader of Shakeſpeare in a hundred, and perhaps not all his commentators, know very well what to make of it. Ar⯑mado, indeed, is very explicit on the ſubject.

All this is plain and intelligible enough; every Engliſh reader alſo might learn from Boyer, that envoy meant the concluſion of a ballad or ſonnet; from which he might be led to miſtake [80] it for the mere burthen of a ſong.—But why ſhould the coup⯑lets of a ſong, or the explanation of an enigma, be called the envoy? The caſe was this—during the inſtitution of the Jeux Floraux, or poetical conteſts, which formerly exiſted in France, the ſonnets or verſes of the ſeveral candidates for the prize, always cloſed with an addreſs to the prince, or umpire, who determined their merit, and to whom each was accord⯑ingly ſent [envoiè] whence the name; and hence this part of the compoſition was uſually the moſt ſtudied and highly finiſhed, in order to induce the arbiter to beſtow the prize on the author.

Vol. II. Page 149.

‘To underſtand, ſays our editor, how the princeſs has her glaſs ſo ready at hand in a caſual converſation, it muſt be remembered, that in thoſe days it was the faſhion among the French ladies to wear a looking-glaſs, as Mr. BAYLE coarſely repreſents it, ON THEIR BELLIES; that is, to have a ſmall mirrour, ſet in gold, hanging at the girdle, by which they occaſionally viewed their faces, or adjuſted their hair.’ —As Mr. Johnſon is almoſt always above referring particularly to his authorities, I cannot readily turn to the paſſage in Bayle where he makes this coarſe repreſentation. I am greatly apt to ſuſpect, however, from the opinion I have of Monſ. Bayle's uſual propriety and elegance, that our editor hath miſtaken his meaning. It appears to me that, if theſe mirrors were hanging at the girdle, they would have been rather repre⯑ſented as worn at the ſide, than on the belly, as the watch and etui are at preſent. Add to this, that if the ribbon or chain, by which they were hung, was ſo long as to permit the wearer to adjuſt her hair, without taking it quite off (as is reaſonable to [81] ſuppoſe) it could hardly be ſuſpended at the girdle; for in that caſe ſuch glaſſes would hang down to the knee, and could not, with any propriety, be ſaid to be worn on the belly. I imagine, therefore, theſe mirrors were ſuſpended from the neck, or ſomehow faſtened to the drapery covering the ſto⯑mach and breaſt; in which caſe, Mr. Bayle might ſay, with⯑out the leaſt inelegance, they were worn ſur le ventre. For I will venture to ſay it is, from his uſing the word ventre on this occaſion, that Dr. Johnſon charges him with coarſeneſs; but ventre doth not always ſignify the belly.

The French diſtinguiſh between the ſtomach and belly, by calling the former the petit-ventre, or VENTRE SUPERIEUR; and the latter the bas-ventre. The general term is alſo fre⯑quently uſed inſtead of POITRINE, and as often means the ſtomach and breaſt, as it doth the belly.—Vaugelas will tell him alſo, that the word ventre is uſed with great elegance in metaphorical writing. Thus, paſſer ſur le ventre à ſon en⯑nemi, is an approved phraſe for giving an enemy a total defeat. The French, in like manner, uſe the word entrailles, in ſuch phraſes as, literally tranſlated, would be very coarſe and diſ⯑guſting to an Engliſh ear. To inſtance only one or two. Seigneur, votre loi eſt gravéee dans le fond de mes entrailles.—Les entrailles de la miſericorde de Dieu. One of the moſt ele⯑gant French writers, now living, alſo calls the natural affec⯑tion of a parent for his child, l'amour des entrailles. But what ſhould we think of an Engliſh critic, who ſhould tranſlate ſuch paſſages thus: Thy law, O Lord, is engraven in our guts—The entrails of the mercy of God—The affection of the bowels—and thence take occaſion to cenſure the writer for coarſe⯑neſs and inelegance?

We are informed, by ſome letters lately publiſhed ^*, that when Dr. Johnſon came to town, about the year 1730, he had a deſign of engaging in ſome tranſlation from the French. [82] Whether he ever did or no, I cannot ſay; but, from this and ſome other ſpecimens of his acquaintance with that lan⯑guage, I cannot help thinking the author would have been extremely unlucky that had fallen into his hands.

Vol. II. Page 165.

On this paſſage Dr. Johnſon hath the following note.

‘The night of dew, that on my cheeks down flows.] I cannot think the night of dew the true reading, but know not what to offer.’

That is very ſtrange! Dr. Johnſon.—Why, thou muſt have no more invention in thee than there is in a leaden plummet: thy pegaſus muſt be confined and hoodwinked like a horſe in a mill; or ſurely ſomething would have ſug⯑geſted itſelf to a writer who declares, that ‘not a ſingle paſ⯑ſage, in this whole work, has appeared to him corrupt, which he has not attempted to reſtore!’ ^*—I would be far from ſeeking to depreciate the ſucceſs of our editor's modeſt induſtry ^*: but I am afraid the purchaſers of his book will be apt to think, from many ſuch ſlovenly notes as this, that both his induſtry and modeſty are pretty well matched. It is evident, from the context, that the king, being over head and ears in love, employs himſelf, as people uſually do in that ſituation,

What objection then could our editor have to ſubſtituting nightly dew, inſtead of night of dew. If we are not abſolutely certain the poet wrote ſo, there is a moral preſumption, a [83] great probability, of it: but whether he did or not, the al⯑teration is certainly an amendment, and a very harmleſs one. It would alſo have ſerved a little to ſave the credit of the editor; who, whatever might be his intentions before he be⯑gun his work, ſufficiently ſhews, by the work itſelf, that he regarded not what he had promiſed when he did it; and, by his Preface, that he knew as little what he had done when it was finiſhed.

Vol. II. Page 170.

Here, indeed! we ſee our editor attempting to reſtore a paſ⯑ſage, which appears to him corrupt.—Mark the ſucceſs!—

‘To ſee a king transformed to a knot!] Knot has no ſenſe that can ſuit this place. We may read ſot. The rhymes in this play are ſuch as that ſat and ſot may be well enough admitted.’

What! have you loſt your hearing and judgment too, Mr. Editor, as well as your memory and invention?—Do you not know that even ſot and ſot cannot be admitted into any verſe as Engliſh rhymes; and do you think the matter mended with ſot and ſat?

Beſides, do you ſee no impropriety in Biron's calling the King, to his face, a blockhood or fool, becauſe truly he was in love; eſpecially when he is conſcious he is himſelf in the ſame ſituation? Add to this, that ſo groſs an expreſſion is to⯑tally inconſiſtent with the fine ſtrain of raillery that runs through the whole of his ſpeech. This attempt, therefore, of our editor at reſtoration, is evidently a very unlucky one, and is excuſable only as the unſuceſsful endeavour of modeſt induſtry.

But why doth Dr. Johnſon conclude this paſſage to be cor⯑rupted? If he thinks the rhymes ſot and ſat admiſſible, ſurely he can have no objection to our pronouncing ſat after the broad orthoëpy of the vulgar; in which caſe it would be a much leſs exceptionable rhyme to knot than what he is willing [84] to admit.—But he ſays, ‘knot hath no ſenſe that can ſuit this place.’ He might have found, however, by turning to almoſt any dictionary, excepting his own, that a knot is a ſmall bird, well known in many parts of England, and is called avis Canuti by the naturaliſts; as it is ſaid, becauſe king Canutus was very fond of ſuch birds. It is, indeed, a delicious kind of water-fowl. Now, as Biron hath ſaid but juſt before, ſpeaking of the King, ‘Shot, by heav'n! proceed, ſweet Cupid; thou haſt thumpt him with thy bird-bolt under the left pap;’ I cannot, for my part, ſee any objection to his comparing him in this paſſage to a wounded knot. If my readers do, I have done. They will do me the juſtice, however, to own, that, if I am not poſſeſſed of Dr. Johnſon's ingenuity and modeſty, I ſhew at leaſt as much induſtry in defending the text of Shake⯑ſpeare, as he does in pulling it to pieces.

Vol. II. Page 222.

Dr. Warburton ſays, we ſhould read much-bedight, which is very proper and elegant.—The preſent editor quotes Dr. Warburton's note; to which he adds the following ſhort ani⯑madverſion.

Undoubtedly it is: and I have here only to aſk Dr. John⯑ſon, why he excludes the notes of Theobald, when they have been ſufficiently exploded by other writers; and yet peſters his readers with thoſe of Dr. Warburton, which ſtand exactly in the ſame predicament?

The ingenious author of the Canons of Criticiſm objected, long ago, to this propoſed emendation of Dr. Warburton's; [85] judiciouſly obſerving, that if bedight means bedecked or adorned, the meadows being bedight already, they little need painting.—But Dr. Johnſon ſeems to be ſo much influenced by the reſpect due to high place, that he ſeems determined to avoid the name of Edwards, as much as poſſible, for fear of of⯑fending the biſhop.

Vol. II. Page 242.

It is doubtleſs true, that dole means a ſhare or part; but if this be all the difficulty, how is the ſenſe, elicited by Dr. Johnſon, reconcileable to the literal conſtruction of the ſen⯑tence?—The editor ſhould have told his readers, that happy man be his dole was a common proverbial phraſe, for wiſhing good luck either to one's ſelf or others. Thus Falſtaff, in the firſt part of Henry the Fourth. ‘Now, my maſters, happy man be his dole, ſay I; every man to his buſineſs.’

Vol. II. Page 295.

Here we have another article of Dr. Johnſon's critical creed. It is certain that, whether me be in or out, is, in this place, of very little conſequence; but I ſo much revere the text of Shakeſpeare, that, without I ſee an abſolute neceſſity for it, I will never defile it with a blot. It ſeems as if the very name of Johnſon was fated to caſt invidious reflections on that of Shakeſpeare; as if it was malignantly formed to abſorb tho rays diffuſed by ſuperior luſtre, and enviouſly to fully, with a reflected gloom, the fountain of its own light.—This ſcheme of blotting-out was originally ſuggeſted by a Johnſon; who, [86] when the players made their boaſt, in honour of Shakeſpeare, that he never blotted out a line, replied, ‘Would he had blotted out a thouſand.’ This was BEN Johnſon, who only expreſſed his wiſh that Shakeſpeare had done, what SAM Johnſon boldly determined to do for him. For it is to be ob⯑ſerved, that here was no tenderneſs due to living reputation to ſtop his hand; and he might think to indulge himſelf SAFELY in the innocent diſcuſſion of a dead poet's pretenſions to re⯑nown ^*.

If it be not owing to ſome ſuch antipathy or inviduous in⯑fluence ſubſiſting between the names of Johnſon and Shake⯑ſpeare, to what elſe can we impute Dr. Johnſon's objection to the harmleſs me in the above paſſage! He very poſſibly cannot find any uſe for it. But if we conſider that the whole line is a mere exclamation; teſtifying the clown's ſurprize at hearing Autolicus cry out, and ſeeing him lie groveling on the earth. Had he ſaid In the name of HEAVEN—or, In the name of MERCY—the line, however bordering on profa⯑nity, would have paſt: but nothing is more common than for conſcientious people to check themſelves in the middle of ſuch exclamations, or to ſubſtitute ſome innocent word in the place of the exceptionable one. Again, if any objection be made to the ſuppoſition of the Clown's ſtopping in the middle of the word mercy; let us take another view of the exclama⯑tion, and admit the word me to ſtand as a perſonal pronoun. It is notorious that perſons, who, as Hotſpur ſays, ‘ſwear like comfit-maker's wives, and give ſuch ſarcenet ſecurity for their oaths, as, in good ſooth—as true as I live—as God ſhall mend me—and as ſure as I live.’ I ſay it is very common for theſe uncommon ſwearers, who cannot gulp down or digeſt a good mouth-filling oath, to proteſt upon their WORD. Now I cannot ſee why a perſon, who, to avoid a profane oath, ſhould proteſt upon his WORD, might not, with [87] equal propriety, in order to avoid a profane exclamation, cry out in his NAME. Admitting this, the Clown, inſtead of crying out in the name of heav'n, exclaimed in the name of himſelf; viz. l' th' NAME of me.—And this expreſſion may ſurely paſs among expletives of this kind, as well as for the SOUL of me—for the LIFE of me—for the HEART of me, &c.—After all, whether I have convinced the reader or not, of the propriety of letting me ſtand in the text, I muſt have ſome better reaſon given ME for expunging it, than the ipſe-credidit of a JOHNSON.

Vol. II. Page 298.

Here Dr. Johnſon hath found Shakeſpeare tripping again.—Hear what he ſays.

‘His work ſo noble, &c.] It is impoſſible for any man to rid his mind of his profeſſion. The authorſhip of Shakeſpeare has ſupplied him with a metaphor, which, rather than he would loſe it, he has put, with no great propriety, into the mouth of a country maid. Thinking of his own works, his mind paſſed naturally to the binder. I am glad he has no hint at an editor.’

We have here alſo, another aukward attempt of our editor at wit and pleaſantry. But, why wilt thou, Dr. Johnſon, perſiſt thus in playing at bob-cherry, when the prize hangeth ſo high above thine head, and ſuch a weight of lead is in⯑cumbent on thy heels? I have already adviſed thee, in the fullneſs of my heart, and, as Cicero ſays, non otii abun⯑dantiâ, ſed amoris erga te, not to be ſo forward to diſplay thy wit. I told thee before, and I tell thee again, thou haſt it not in thee, being as unable to divert the reader with thy pleaſantry, as to convince him of Shakeſpeare's impropriety.—Again, why, Dr. Johnſon, art thou glad that Shakeſpeare [88] hath no hint at an editor? Doſt thou think he would have thrown out any cenſures that might reach thee?—No—that incomparable bard was, as thou ſayeſt, the poet of nature, and drew his characters from, the life: and nature had not produced in that age ſo arrogant, and at the ſame time ſo dull an animal, as the preſent commentator on Shakeſpeare. There were pedants and pedagogues, it is true, in his day; he has depicted an Holofernes and a Sir Hugh Evans. But theſe were ſlight excreſcences, muſhrooms, champignons, that pe⯑riſhed as the ſmoke of the dunghil evaporated, which reared them. A modern editor of Shakeſpeare is, on the contrary, a fungus attached to an oak; a male agaric of the moſt aſ⯑tringent kind, that, while it disfigures its form, may laſt for ages to diſgrace the parent of its being.

But, to lay aſide metaphor; not Burgerdiſchius, Gronovius, nor any one of the whole tribe of Dutch commentators, from the firſt of them to the laſt, hath proceeded through his au⯑thor with more phlegm and frigidity, than Dr. Johnſon hath gone through Shakeſpeare ^*. It is hard to ſay, indeed, who [89] is the dulleſt ſcholiaſt of the dulleſt writer of antiquity. But Dr. Johnſon has the ſingular honour of being the dulleſt an⯑notator [90] on the brighteſt of all thoſe who have ſucceeded the revival of letters.

To return to Dr. Johnſon's annotation, and the more par⯑ticular defence of Shakeſpeare's text.

The editor hath here charged the poet with being guilty of an impropriety in making a country maid talk like an author. But how doth Dr. Johnſon know that this is really the caſe? How doth it appear, from the words of the text, that the al⯑luſion he charges on Shakeſpeare is at all intended?—That Perdita could know nothing about book-binding, is taken for granted; this being the very circumſtance, on which the charge of impropriety is founded. But it does not appear, notwithſtanding Dr. Johnſon imputes this impropriety to Shakeſpeare's profeſſion, that the poet himſelf was much verſed in the matter. It is very little likely that a writer, who confeſſedly took ſo little care about the printing of his works, and has no hint at an editor, ſhould yet have his head ſo full of a book-binder. Dr. Johnſon is pleaſed, for the honour I ſuppoſe of our profeſſion, to rank Shakeſpeare among the livery-men of our company. But, though I honour my pro⯑feſſion as being the moſt liberal of all others, though I honour the immortal memory of Shakeſpeare ſtill more, yet I reſpect the truth moſt of all. It does not appear that the term au⯑thorſhip can be applied with any propriety to Shakeſpeare; for, though he wrote for the ſtage, I find no good authority for ſuppoſing he ſold his copies, or transferred his right in them, to bookſellers; and he only is an author by profeſſion who writes for the TRADE.—No—To the honour of the gentlemen of the ſtage, Shakeſpeare was by profeſſion a PLAYER; and I have no better reaſon, than his knowing every thing, to ſuppoſe he knew that a book-binder exiſted.

To come now to verbal criticiſm. A piece of work vilely bound up, muſt, according to Dr. Johnſon, neceſſarily mean a book meanly bound. But why ſo? Neither the words work nor bound up are idiomatical, when applied to book-binding. [91] In the firſt place, we do not call the writings of an author his work, but his works. And, though ſometimes, in ſpeak⯑ing of the ſeveral ſheets of a book, or the different volumes of an author's works, we may talk of binding them up; yet, ſpeaking of a book in the ſingular number, we talk always of its being bound merely; not of its being bound up.

On the other hand, the term bind up is applicable to various works of huſbandry, and ſuch kinds of employment as a country maid might well be ſuppoſed acquainted with. Add to this, that the term bound up has a peculiar propriety in the paſſage before us, as it is oppoſed to prank'd up, a few lines above. The reader will remember, that Perdita, the country maid, is dreſſed like a princeſs; or, as ſhe ſays, moſt goddeſs⯑like prank'd up; and Florizel, the real prince, is diſguiſed in the habit of a clown. Now it is obſervable that, as the ſu⯑perb dreſſes of the rich and gay were faſtened together by or⯑namental brooches, ouches, knots of ribbons, &c. ſo the coarſer garments of the poor and ſimple were faſtened toge⯑ther, and tied with ſtrings or leathern thongs. And hence Perdita might very properly ſay, that the prince, in his ſwain's wearing, was vilely bound up; without having any more allu⯑ſion to the binding of a book than to the binding up of a wheat⯑ſheaf. But, becauſe ſhe has called the ſon the father's work, without any impropriety in the line before, ſhe muſt in this truly allude to book-binding: though, were it ſo, ſhe muſt be guilty of as great an impropriety in the application of her alluſion. For why an author ſhould be ſo terribly angry, as ſhe ſuppoſes, at accidentally ſeeing his works meanly bound, I cannot poſſibly deviſe; as I conceive neither his intereſt nor his reputation can be at all affected by the difference between calve's ſkin and ſheep's leather.

Vol. II. Page 323.

On this paſſage our editor gives the following laconic note:

‘* What he means by his pedler's excrement I know not?’ No!—Then, give me leave to tell you, Dr. Johnſon, you know too little, or are much too indolent and inattentive to undertake a commentary on Shakeſpeare.—Doth not Armado, in Love's Labour Loſt, page 185, of this very volume, call his beard an excrement? and do not you tell us in a note on that paſſage, that 'the author has before called the beard va⯑leur's excrement in the Merchant of Venice?' And ſhould not the recollection of theſe paſſages (not to mention others which an able commentator might have recollected) have excited you to turn over this play a little, in order to ſee whether ſome reaſon might not be found for ſuppoſing the word ex⯑crement to have here the ſame meaning?—You may think, indeed, the futility of ſuch a reſearch evident on the face of the text; as a man cannot eaſily put his beard in his pocket.—Very true; but he does not call it his own beard, but his pedler's beard, for that character was aſſumed, as was alſo the falſe beard he wore on that occaſion, in order the more to diſguiſe himſelf, leſt he ſhould be known again by the clown he had juſt before robbed, act IV. ſcene 3. It would have required no very acute or profound obſervation alſo, to have remarked that, though Florizel, in ſcene 10. ſtripped him of his pedler's clothes, he had either no occaſion for his beard, or did not think it a falſe one: this, therefore, Autolycus had ſtill on, notwithſtanding his change of habit, till he found it neceſſary to ſpeak to the clowns; when, prudently to appear in character, he whip'd it off, and clap'd it in his pocket; ſaying, Let me pocket up my pedler's excrement.—Do you know now, Dr. Johnſon? Or, will you prudentially chuſe to remain [93] ſtill in ignorance; ſhake your wiſe head; and ſay, as uſual, 'Sir, Sir, the man who tells me this, is a blackhead ^*!'

Vol. II. Page 324.

‘This ſatire, or this pleaſantry, ſays Dr. Johnſon, I con⯑feſs myſelf not well to underſtand!’ For my part I ſuſpect, but I will not be poſitive, that the Clown, who ſeems to be the ſhrewdeſt of the two countrymen, ſhould ſay to the other, Advocate's the court-word for a PRESENT, meaning a gift or fee of ſome kind: to which interpretation of the word he might poſſibly be led by ſome ſignificant action of the pretended courtier, whoſe deſign it evidently was to profit as much as poſſible by their ignorance. On this ſuppoſition we ſee the ſhepherd is naturally led into the blunder of the pheaſant, which is otherwiſe not eaſily accounted for.

Vol. II. Page 360.

It muſt be confeſſed, indeed, that our editor's ſagacity is frequently at fault when a jeſt is in the wind. The bringing the hand to the buttery-bar, and letting it drink, is a proverbial phraſe among forward Abigails, to aſk at once for a kiſs and a preſent. Sir Andrew's ſlowneſs of comprehenſion in this particular, gave her a juſt ſuſpicion, at once, of his frigidity and avarice.—She therefore calls his hand dry: the moiſtneſs of the hand being a ſign of liberality, as well in matters of love as money. Thus Othello to Deſdemona,

Old Foreſight, in Love for Love, deſcribes his wife alſo as hav⯑ing a mole upon her lip, with a moiſt palm, and an open li⯑berality on the mount of Venus.—Dr. Johnſon need not, therefore, have expreſſed ſo much caution of ſuſpecting this to be the truth of the matter. There is one thing, how⯑ever, he ſhould have attended to; and this is, that the whole of this inſinuation is founded rather on the rules of palmiſtry than phyſiognomy: for, though the etymology of the latter word be known to the learned, who may admit of ſuch lati⯑tude of expreſſion, I do not remember ever to have ſeen phy⯑ſiognomy made uſe of before by an Engliſh writer to ſignify any information of this kind, but that which is acquired from the features of the face. So that Marian's finding out any thing from St. Andrew's palm, by the rules of phyſiognomy, muſt appear to an unlearned reader, as abſurd as if ſhe had read his folly in his phyz by the rules of palmiſtry.

To check the ſmile, however, of the unlearned reader, and to preſerve the veneration due to cramp words and crooked letters, he is to know that phyz doth not come from [...] but from a leſs ancient and honourable ſtock, the French vi⯑ſage, or the Italian viſo.

Vol. II. Page 362.

[96]I know not how many, or if all, the editions authorize this reading of ſink-a-pace. Our editor adopts it, and paſſes it over in ſilence, like the reſt of the commentators. I have ever looked upon it, however, as ſo vile a blot in this ad⯑mirable piece of raillery of Sir Toby's, that I cannot help imputing it to the interpolation of ſome tranſcriber, who ima⯑gined there was an excellent joke in making water into a SINK-A-PACE. The conceit, however, is ſo low and vile, that I cannot give into the notion that Shakeſpeare, fond as he ſeems of punning and playing upon words, was the author of it. I am confirmed in this opinion alſo by reflecting, that the attention of the reader is diverted from the real humour of the paſſage, by this horrid conundrum. Sir Toby, in car⯑rying his ridicule of poor Ague-cheek's dancing-accompliſh⯑ments to the higheſt pitch, proceeds ſo far as to tell him, he would not ſtand ſtill on the moſt neceſſary occaſion, even to make water; but that he might not betray himſelf, even to this fool, by talking of abſolute impoſſibilities, he fixes on a grave, flow, and even hobbling kind of dance, the cinque⯑pace, for this ſuſpicious occaſion ^*.

I could wiſh, therefore, the authority of the copies would bear me out in diſcarding this miſerable pun, and reſtoring the words to its genuine and original ſpelling.

Vol. II. Page 368.

Dr. Warburton hath a note on this paſſage, which our editor hath inſerted without any animadverſion, notwithſtanding it hath been ſufficiently expoſed and confuted by Mr. Ed⯑wards, as Dr. Johnſon appears to think by the pointing he hath adopted in the text, which is different both from that of Warburton and Theobald. Theobald points and reads thus,

Dr. Warburton's note runs thus.

‘'Tis a gentleman. HERE—] He had before ſaid it was a gentleman. He was aſked what gentleman? and he makes this reply; which, it is plain, is corrupt, and ſhould be read thus, ‘'Tis a gentleman-HEIR;’ i. e. ſome lady's eldeſt ſon juſt come out of the nurſery; for this was the appearance Viola made in men's cloaths.’

On this note Mr. Edwards obſerves, that gentleman-heir is a new and unneceſſary phraſe for a lady's eldeſt ſon: con⯑cluding that ‘Shakeſpeare hath no need of it; as any body will own, who conſiders that Sir Toby was drunk, and in⯑terrupted in his ſpeech by his pickled herrings.’ That is, by the pickled herrings he had been eating; and which, ri⯑ſing in his ſtomach, occaſioned him to belch, as Theobald has it.

Is it poſſible, after all this, to gueſs what induced our edi⯑tor to trouble his readers with Dr. Warburton's frivolous note, and to adopt Mr. Edwards's pointing, againſt that of Theo⯑bald, without mentioning a word of either of the two latter?

Vol. II. Page 467.

Why then did you adopt it? The author of the Reviſal affirms, that THIS revolt of MINE is the common reading, as appears from Mr. Pope's edition, and is plainly alluded to in Piſtol's reply. Thou art the Mars of male-contents. The Re⯑viſer charges both Dr. Warburton and Mr. Theobald alſo with having taken here an unwarrantable liberty with the text, without giving the leaſt hint to the reader of what they had done.

Yet, notwithſtanding all this, our editor hath admitted a futile note on this paſſage, by Mr. Steevens, into his ap⯑pendix; in which that gentleman unſucceſsfully endeavours, as Dr. Johnſon ſays on another occaſion, to elicit ſenſe by ſtrong agitation out of the text as it now ſtands.

Vol. II. Page 476.

Having charged Dr. Johnſon, among the other editors of Shakeſpeare, with paſſing over difficult paſſages, and diſplay⯑ing their ſagacity on thoſe which are obvious, I cannot paſs over an inſtance of the latter kind, on the paſſage before me. Our editor makes the following note, referred to from the word preſs.

[99] ‘Preſs is uſed ambiguouſly for a preſs to print, and a preſs to ſqueeze.’

The reader would certainly ſtand in need of a ghoſt to to come from the dead to tell him this. And yet Dr. John⯑ſon, when it was neceſſary to apologize for having done leſs than he ought, could plead that ‘the reader is ſeldom pleaſed to find his opinion anticipated; and that it is natural to de⯑light more in what we find or make, than in what we receive.’

Vol. II. Page 478.

Dr. Warburton hath a mighty whimſical note on this paſ⯑ſage, which our editor hath printed, though he condemns it, and hath ſilently adopted the reading of Mr. Edwards, who had ſufficiently expoſed the abſurdity of the Warburtonian emendation. See Canons of Criticiſm, page 115.

Vol. II. Page 482.

Dr. Warburton's note on this paſſage, printed without any animadverſion of our editor, runs thus;

‘Will you go AN HEIRS?] This nonſenſe is ſpoken to Shal⯑low. We ſhould read, Will you go ON, HERIS? i. e. Will you go on, Maſter? Heris, an old Scotch word for ma⯑ſter.’

What the preſent editor underſtands by this word, or whether he underſtands any thing by it, is not eaſily deter⯑mined, as he hath thought proper to leave it in this ſituation, doubtleſs for the reaſon given above; viz. its being natural for the reader to delight more in what he may find out of himſelf, than what the ſcholiaſt may tell him. For my part, however, I apprehend the mere Engliſh reader would be glad of ſome little aſſiſtance here, eſpecially as Dr. Johnſon does not ſeem to be ſatisfied with Dr. Warburton's note.—The author of the Reviſal appears alſo to be of the ſame opinion, [100] and therefore hath given his readers the following remarks on this controverted paſſage. ‘Will you go on, Heris? The nonſenſe of the former editions was, 'Will you go an heirs?' Mr. Warburton aſſures us, 'heris is an old Scotch word for maſter.' It may be ſo for ought I know. But as my ex⯑perience hath taught me ſome diſtruſt of this gentleman's poſitive aſſertions in matters of this nature, I muſt beg leave to doubt of it. Beſides, this word, according to this in⯑terpetation of it, is of the ſingular number, and yet is ad⯑dreſſed, not to Ford, but to Page and Shallow, as is evi⯑dent from what immediately follows. I ſee no reaſon neither why either Shakeſpeare, or mine hoſt of the Garter, ſhould chuſe to talk old Scotch, and therefore I ſhould rather ſup⯑poſe our poet might have written, 'Will you go on, hearts?' An expreſſion ſuited to the jovial character of mine hoſt, and not very different in appearance from the common reading, eſpecially when ſpelled as it anciently was, herts. Mr. Theobald's conjectures, 'Will you go on here?' or Will you go, mynheirs?' carry with them, in my opinion, very little probability.’

It is very juſtly obſerved by the Reviſer, that there is no ob⯑vious reaſon for mine hoſt of the Garter to ſpeak old Scotch; but if we conſider that he is a German, I do not ſee why the ſcholiaſt ſhould ſuppoſe Theobald's laſt emendation impro⯑bable. Nothing is more likely, I think, than for him now and then to drop a word of high or low Dutch. It is true that the word mynheirs is properly neither one nor the other: for neither the Dutch nor the German make the plural of heer or herr end in s. Add to this, that they ſeldom uſe the perſonal pronoun ſingular with the noun plural. When they accoſt a ſingle perſon with the title of my Lord or Sir, it is Mynheer or Mein herr; but when they addreſs more than one with the title of Lords or Gentlemen, the pronoun is generally dropped, and they ſay Heeren or Herren.

But I ſee no manner of impropriety in ſuppoſing our hoſt to be either above or below ſuch idiomatical and grammatical [101] niceties: in which caſe he might not only join the ſingular pronoun with the plural noun (as the Engliſh ſay my Lords, as well as my Lord) but alſo give the plural noun their common ending in Engliſh; ſo that if Theobald had ſubſtituted myn⯑heers, it might have paſted. But if it be inſiſted on, that our hoſt of the Garter ſhall ſpeak properly and elegantly, the paſ⯑ſage muſt ſtand thus. "Will you go on, heeren, or herren." The reader may take which he likes beſt, both meaning ſim⯑ply, Will you go on, gentlemen?—

I cannot help referring, on this occaſion, to a paſſage in our editor's preface; where, among other excuſes for doing ſo little, after having promiſed ſo much, he hath the follow⯑ing curious paſſage:

‘If my readings are of little value, they have not been oſtentatiouſly diſplayed, or importunately obtruded. I could have written longer notes; for the art of writing notes is not of difficult attainment. The work is performed, firſt by railing at the ſtupidity, negligence, ignorance, and aſi⯑nine taſteleſſneſs of the former editors, and ſhewing, from all that goes before, and all that follows, the inelegance and abſurdity of the old reading; then by propoſing ſome⯑thing, which, to ſuperficial readers, would ſeem ſpecious, but which the editor rejects with indignation; then by pro⯑ducing the true reading, with a long paraphraſe, and con⯑cluding with loud ^* acclamations on the diſcovery, and a ſober with for the advancement and proſperity of genuine criticiſm.’

We ſee here that Dr. Johnſon knew very well what was to be done, if he had but had abilities, induſtry, or good⯑will [102] will enough to do it. Indeed, he hath ſometimes ſucceeded pretty well in doing all that he hath here deſcribed, except in one little particular, and that is producing the true reading; this he hath done ſo very ſeldom, that we could very readily have excuſed him, if he had diſplayed even more oſtentation, had he given us but a proportionate quantity more of truth.

Vol. II. Page 482.

All the copies, ſays Dr. Warburton, read ſtand ſo firmly on his wife's FRAILTY: but to this reading, Mr. Theobald ob⯑jected. ‘No, ſurely; Page ſtood tightly to the opinion of her honeſty, and would not entertain a thought of her be⯑ing frail. I have therefore ventured to ſubſtitute a word correſpondent to the ſenſe required, and one which our poet frequently uſes to ſignify conjugal fidelity.’ —In reply to this note, Dr. Warburton ſays, ‘Mr. Theobald has no conception how any man could ſtand firmly on his wife's frailty. And why? Becauſe he had no conception how he could ſtand upon it, without knowing what it was. But if I tell a ſtranger that the bridge he is about to croſs is rotten, and he believes it not, but will go on, may I not ſay, when I ſee him upon it, that he ſtands firmly on a rotten plank? yet he has changed frailty for fealty, and the Oxford editor has followed him. But they took the phraſe, to ſtand firmly on, to ſignify to inſiſt upon; whereas it ſignifies to reſt upon; which the character of a ſecure fool, given to him, ſhews. So that the common reading has an elegance that would be loſt in the alteration.’

Notwithſtanding this fine reaſoning, however, of Dr. War⯑burton, the preſent editor hath judiciouſly ſtuck by Theobald's emendation in the text, though he is perfectly ſilent about it in his notes. It happens, nevertheleſs, very unluckily for Dr. Johnſon, that he hath quoted this very paſſage in his [103] dictionary, under the word frailty, as an authority for the uſe and meaning of that word. But of this I ſhall take proper notice in my Table of Errata ^* to that admired and truly won⯑derful Lexicon; the blunders of which I hope, God willing, to get through ſome time or other; although it is ſuch an Augean ſtable as requires, to cleanſe it properly, the applica⯑tion and abilities of an Hercules.

Vol. II. Page 540.

For boats we ſhould read boots. This may probably be an error in the printer; but editors, as I have obſerved before, whoſe taſk profeſſedly lies in regulating points and adjuſting true readings, are anſwerable for every ſlip of this kind, whereby the meaning of their author is obſcured or miſre⯑preſented.

Vol. II. Page 493.

In a note on this paſſage, our editor hath diſplayed his critical acumen moſt egregiouſly; as indeed moſt of Shakeſpeare's editors do, when they venture an inch beyond the ſervile bounds of verbal criticiſm. Our poet is univerſally allowed to be one of the greateſt maſters in deſcribing the effects, as well as the greateſt judge of the operation, of the paſſions, that ever exiſted. And yet is he here arraigned for an error, which affects him as an accurate obſerver of human nature, and a [104] juſt delineator of the actions of mankind, his moſt diſtin⯑guiſhing characteriſtics. The note here follows:

‘Eleven o'clock.] Ford ſhould rather have ſaid ten o'clock; the time was between ten and eleven; and his impatient ſuſpicion was not likely to ſtay beyond the time.’

No; Dr. Johnſon.—Ford ſhould neither be made to ſay ten nor eleven o'clock: he is not ſpeaking of the time, at which Falſtaff is to meet his wife; but of the time then preſent, which is ſeven o'clock, juſt three hours, as he expreſly obſerves, from the earlieſt time of the appointment. So that, ſo far is his impatient ſuſpicion from ſtaying beyond the time of their intended meeting, that it ſeems to urge him inſtantly to go about to defeat the ſuppoſed purpoſes of it.—I will about it—better THREE HOURS too ſoon than a minute too late.—Why ſhould he particularly mention three hours rather than any in⯑definite time, unleſs for the reaſon given? I know not how far the copies may authorize this reading; but the miſtake might eaſily be made by the firſt tranſcribers, and be ſucceſ⯑ſively tranſmitted through the preſs uncorrected, as the ſenſe was not very palpably affected by it. By reading ſeven for eleven, however, we deliver Shakeſpeare from the perſecution of his annotator, and give a beauty and propriety to the paſ⯑ſage, which at preſent is doubtleſs exceptionable. I would adviſe the actor alſo, who may perform this part for the fu⯑ture, to look at his watch, when he repeats this ſentence; for that was evidently the author's intention, as appears by the intimation of his having ſtill three hours good, in which to take proper meaſures to ſurpriſe the parties. He did not mean, as is plain by the ſequel, to prevent or hinder their meeting, but to be before-hand ^* with them in the means of [105] detection. Add to all this, that although, in his rage, he ſays, juſt before, the hour is fixt, yet no one particular hour was preciſely named for the intended rendezvous; it was not at ten, nor at eleven, but between ten and eleven; ſo that the reaſon Dr. Johnſon gives, why he ſhould not ſay eleven, is in itſelf ſufficient to prove he ſhould ſay neither.

Vol. III. Page 20.

Dr. Johnſon, however, without even deigning to adopt ^† any thing that might do the leaſt honour to Shakeſpeare's learning, takes upon him boldly to aſſure us, that ‘our au⯑thor had this line from Lilly, which I mention,’ ſays he, 'that it may not be brought as an argument of his learning.'

But pray, Dr. Johnſon, how can you take upon you to ſay that Shakeſpeare had this line from Lilly, and not from Terence? Is it becauſe the line is to be found in Lilly? And is this your whole authority?—You can have no other. It [106] appears by the application, however, that Shakeſpeare knew the meaning of this line; and, if he knew it in Lilly, why might he not know it in the original author from whom it was taken? Is it becauſe you have ſo often quoted words and paſ⯑ſages, in languages you do not underſtand, that you ſuſpect Shakeſpeare of a ſimilar practice? You ſhould never meaſure others' corn by your own buſhel. You have been already re⯑prehended in public, for miſrepreſenting in your preface the teſtimony of your predeceſſor Ben Johnſon; who tells us, that Shakeſpeare had ſmall LATIN and leſs GREEK. This you converted into ſmall Latin and NO Greek. The ingenious critic, who reminded you of this error, was candid enough to impute it to your quoting from memory only ^*; but, ſuppo⯑ſing that, in this caſe, ſuch a method of quotation was ex⯑cuſable, it appears, I think, too plainly, from your conſtant and repeated endeavours to depreciate both the natural and acquired abilities of Shakeſpeare, that this was not the caſe. Your perſeverance in theſe endeavours, at leaſt, give great reaſon to ſuſpect the miſtake was wilful; as the ſuppoſition of his having any Greek at all, would not have ſuited with your darling project, or anſwered your end, of invidiouſly repre⯑ſenting him as a varlet, one of the illiterate vulgar.

Vol. III. Page 25.

Dr. Warburton ſays, ‘this nonſenſe ſhould be read thus: ‘Where ſmall experience grows but in a mew,’ i. e. a confinement at home. And the meaning is, that no improvement is to be expected of thoſe who never look out of doors.’

[107]To this note, quoted from Dr. Warburton, the preſent editor adds the following:

‘Why this ſhould ſeem nonſenſe, I cannot perceive. In a few means the ſame as in ſhort, in few words.’

This piece of information, however, and the method of pointing adopted by Dr. Johnſon, might have been had long ago from Mr. Edward's Canons of Criticiſm; who, in ex⯑poſing the abſurdity of Dr. Warburton's emendation, quotes other paſſages from Shakeſpeare, where the ſame expreſſion is made uſe of.

Again, in HENRY V.

Vol. III. Page 45.

All the copies, it ſeems, concurred in reading ‘My land amounts not to ſo much in all:’ But, becauſe Dr. Warburton blunderingly conceived ſome⯑thing muſt be wrong in it, and wrote a plauſible note in juſti⯑fication of BUT, Dr. Johnſon hath not only inſerted the ſaid tedious note, but hath given his higheſt approbation to the pro⯑poſed emendation, by adopting it in the text.—The ſenſible author of the Reviſal, however, having expoſed the futility of the alteration, and ſufficiently explained the text, agree⯑able to the old reading, Dr. Johnſon hath thought proper, in his appendix, to recant his former opinion. A glaring in⯑ſtance this, among many others, of the little pains our editor took to examine into theſe matters himſelf!

Vol. III. Page 176.

‘—The gentleman is not in your books.] This is a phraſe uſed, I believe, by more than underſtand it.’ —Good lack! what a ſad thing it is to want Dr. Johnſon's underſtanding! You underſtand it, no doubt, Doctor!—Oh, yes, I ſee you tell us what it is.— ‘To be in one's books is to be in one's codiciis or will, to be among friends ſet down for le⯑gacies.’

But, among friends, now, Doctor, how do you know this? I know that, in your dictionary, by way of proving that to be in books, (as you vaguely term it) means to be held in kind remembrance, you quote the following paſſage from Addiſon. ‘I was ſo much in his books, that, at his deceaſe, he left me the lamp, by which he uſed to write his lucu⯑brations.’ —But do you, merely becauſe the phraſe is il⯑luſtrated by this paſſage, inſiſt upon the phraſe being literally applicable to the illuſtration. Or, have you a better reaſon? 'faith, I am apt to ſuſpect not; for ſurely, uncommunicative as you are, you would have told it us either in your dictio⯑nary, or in your edition of Shakeſpeare.—Shall I tell you, then, what I conceive to be the origin of this phraſe? not that I pertinaciouſly inſiſt upon being in the right, becauſe I think Dr. Johnſon is in the wrong. I have a mind to in⯑dulge myſelf, however, in a conjecture, if it ſo prove, on this occaſion.

It was an ancient cuſtom among the literati all over Eu⯑rope, and is ſtill kept up abroad, particularly in Holland and Germany, for men of letters to keep a book, which they call an album, ſo denominated from a ſimilar application of that word, among the ancient Romans, to a matricular regiſter or muſter-roll of names. This book, or books, contained in like manner a liſt of the names of the owner's friends, ad⯑mirers or acquaintance; who, in ſubſcribing their names in [109] his album, generally uſed to preface them with ſome compli⯑ment or device, in proſe or verſe, each after his own man⯑ner. It was very natural, therefore, for them to ſay, in ſpeak⯑ing of their favourites or friends, that they were in their books; and of their enemies, that they were not in their books, or out of their books. Nay, I know not if it would be at all unna⯑tural for reſentful perſons to ſtrike out the names of thoſe who might afterwards offend them, in order to ſhew their ſpleen, and at the ſame time that they would not be obliged to ſuch people for a compliment. I cannot help thinking alſo, that I diſcover a propriety in the meſſenger's uſing this phraſe to Beatrice, as he might intend ſarcaſtically to inſinu⯑ate that, he imagined, by the ſeverity of her raillery againſt Benedict, that he was one who had paid no compliment to her beauty. But whether this propriety be imaginary or not, there is not the leaſt room for ſuppoſing that he meant to ſay Beatrice had not, according to Dr. Johnſon's explication, re⯑membered Benedict in the codicil of her will. It is, indeed, a thouſand to one if the laſt will and teſtament of the buxom Beatrice was written; and a much greater chance if it had co⯑dicils annexed to it.

Vol. III. Page 199.

Dr. Johnſon's note. ‘What is it to go to the world? per⯑haps to enter, by marriage, into a ſettled ſtate: but why is the unmarried lady ſun-burnt? I believe we ſhould read, thus goes every one to the wood but I, and I am ſun-burnt. Thus does every one but I find a ſhelter, and I am left ex⯑poſed to wind and ſun. The neareſt way to the wood, is a phraſe for the readieſt means to any end. It is ſaid of a a woman, who accepts a worſe match than thoſe which ſhe had refuſed, that ſhe has paſſed through the wood, and at laſt taken a crooked ſtick. But conjectural criticiſm has al⯑ways [110] ſomething to abate its confidence. Shakeſpeare, in All's well that ends well, uſes the phraſe, to go to the world, for marriage. So that my emendation depends only on the oppoſition of wood to ſun-burnt.’

A very ſlight dependance, indeed, and by no means worthy ſo prolix an illuſtration! Our editor, ſurely, had loſt him⯑ſelf in a wood, or his wits were gone wool-gathering about the hedges while he penned it.—To go to the world, is to go into, to ſettle in, the world, which is uſually ſuppoſed to be done in marriage. Thus the clown, in All's well that ends well, aſks the Counteſs leave to marry Iſabel.—If I have your ladyſhip's good will to go to the world, Iſabel the woman and I will do as we may.—That a wood was neceſſary to give meaning to the word ſun-burnt, I cannot admit. It is evident that Beatrice here ſpeaks ironically, and, perhaps, a little ſarcaſtically and peeriſhly, on the occaſion of Hero's getting a huſband before her. For it ſeems that Hero was a brunette, and, in all probability, not ſo fair nor ſo fine a woman as Beatrice. At leaſt ſo it is, if we may take Signior Benedict's word for it, who, ſpeaking of Hero, ſays, ‘She is too low for an high praiſe, too brown for a fair praiſe, and too little for a great praiſe:’ whereas of her couſin Beatrice he ſpeaks in a dif⯑ferent manner, and this even before he is tricked into falling in love with her, and while he boaſts that ‘he can ſee with⯑out ſpectacles.’ Of her he ſays, after turning up his noſe, as it were, at the commendations given to the perſon of Hero, ‘There's her couſin, if ſhe were not poſſeſſed with ſuch a fury, exceeds her as much in beauty as the firſt of May doth the laſt of December.’ Now, though we ſhould ſuppoſe Benedict to be a little partial, as having a ſneaking kindneſs, though he will not own it, for this ami⯑able fury; yet it ſeems clear that ſhe was fairer than Hero. It was very natural for her, therefore, to ſay ironically on this occaſion, ‘Thus every one gets married but I.—Poor I am ſunburn'd; i. e. not fair enough to attract the notice of [111] the men, but muſt ſit in a corner and cry heigh-ho for a huſband.’

Vol. III. Page 234.

This paſſage, ſays our editor, ‘is a quotation from the Accidence;’ doubtleſs to remind us that Shakeſpeare's learn⯑ing did not reach higher than Lilly's Grammar, of which he had before taken notice; or perhaps to ſink the ſame of his erudition, if poſſible, ſtill lower, and to level it with that of Taylor, the water-poet, who

Vol. III. Page 237.

Didſt thou really expreſs thy fears or thy hopes, Dr. John⯑ſon, on this occaſion? Did you not mean to expreſs by this ſuggeſtion rather what you would have the reader believe, than what you yourſelf actually believed to be true?—You will aſk me, in your turn, probably, what right I have to catechiſe you?—It is very true, I am too young a catechiſer to queſtion, in general, ſuch a veteran of a catechumen. But I have un⯑dertaken the cauſe of Shakeſpeare, and muſt tell you it car⯑ries with it a very invidious appearance, and is by no means candid, to inſinuate any charge againſt him, couched in what⯑ever terms you pleaſe, that you cannot prove to be true. For my part, I ſhall think Shakeſpeare always innocent, till I can prove him guilty; and it had better become you, as his editor, to have done ſo too; and not to have cloathed thus [112] your injurious ſuſpicions in the ſpecious garb of tenderneſs and friendſhip.—Out with ſuch half-faced fellowſhip!

Vol III. Page 319.

It is whimſical enough that our editor, who thinks it ne⯑ceſſary, even in this very volume, to inform his readers, that ‘Oſtentation means ſhew, appearance, &c. that port ſignifies look, demeanour, carriage, &c. that to broke with, is to deal like brokers;’ with many other curious and learned pieces of information, of equal difficulty and importance, ſhould be as totally ſilent as the reſt of the commentators about the meaning of the word luſtick. Suppoſing he had not under⯑ſtood the meaning of it himſelf, could he have turned to none of the old Nederduitſchen Woorden-boeken that furniſhed him with etymologies for his dictionary? Some of them, I warrant him, would have told him that luſtig ſignifies hearty, chearful, &c. and is aptly ſpoken by Lafeu, at ſeeing the King ſo well reſtored to his health, and able, as he expreſſes it, to lead his female doctreſs a corranto.

Our commentators here put me in mind of the Scotch pedler, who, turning pedagogue, was now and then puzzled at his pupil's boggling at a hard word: on which occaſion he would always peeviſhly cry out, the deel tak thir laytin and grik; ſkip it, bearn, ſkip it.

Vol. III. Page 323.

[113]Dr. Warburton condemns the text here, and ſays it is cor⯑rupted into nonſenſe; he then gives us, as uſual, ſome worſe nonſenſe of his own; and Dr. Johnſon, as uſual, inſerts his annotation, confeſſing that he hath himſelf nothing, or very little better than nothing, to offer.—The former ſcholiaſt proceeds thus,

The text is here

Dr. Johnſon ſays,

The author of the Reviſal ſeems to underſtand the paſſage better than either of the doctorial critics juſt mentioned. He tells us the common reading is,

As to Dr. Johnſon's conjectural emendation, it ſerves to no other purpoſe than to betray how barren he is at conjectures. I conceive, nevertheleſs, that our editor hath reſtored the true pointing, though it differs from that of his rival ſcho⯑liaſt. But whether this be due to cunning or good luck, I cannot pretend to ſay, unleſs I knew to whom to attribute the honour of correcting the preſs, the editor or the printer. The meaning I think is obvious, and the paſſage may be pa⯑raphraſed thus: good by itſelf is good, and even ſo, if unadorned by titles, vileneſs were vileneſs.

I do not propoſe this improvement of the Reviſer's expla⯑nation with any great confidence, nor merely for the ſake of differing from that very ſenſible writer; but becauſe I think there is ſome little tautology in ſaying good by itſelf is good, and then to add without a name; for certainly if it was by it⯑ſelf, alone, it was without any thing elſe.

Vol. III. Page 330.

I know not how this quotation from Milton illuſtrates the text, unleſs we are to ſuppoſe that Bertram, or Shakeſpeare, had read Milton: or unleſs our editor meant to juſtify the [115] poetry of Shakeſpeare, by the authority of Milton. But not to inſiſt on Shakeſpeare's ſtanding in no need of ſuch ſuffrage, the alluſion of darkneſs to the gloom of diſcontent would be unexceptionable, even in the meaneſt of our minor poets. The whole line, however, hath, in my opinion, only a ge⯑neral alluſion to the common ſaying of a ſmoky houſe and a ſcolding wife; which, with a little alteration, and ſtill pre⯑ſerving an alliteration, Bertram converted to uſe on the pre⯑ſent occaſion.

Vol. III. Page 339.

The commentators ſeem to be ſadly puzzled to explain this letter; the meaning of which could not poſſibly be miſ⯑taken by any one who ſhould read the play quite through. Dr. Warburton's note runs thus:

‘When thou canſt get the ring upon my finger.] i. e. When thou canſt get the ring, which is on my finger, into thy poſſeſſion. The Oxford editor, who took it the other way, to ſignify, when thou canſt get it on upon my finger, very ſagaciouſly alters it to, When thou canſt get the ring from my finger.’

Dr. Warburton's explanation is undoubtedly as well founded as the Oxford editor's is ſtrange and inconſiſtent. Dr. John⯑ſon, indeed, ſays, that he thinks ‘Dr. Warburton's explana⯑tion ſufficient; but, continues he, I once read it thus, When thou canſt get the ring upon THY finger, which never ſhall come off MINE.’

Will the reader believe me, when I tell him, after this, that the meaning of the paſſage in diſpute is not only aſcer⯑tained [116] by the plot of the play, as above hinted; but is alſo expreſſed in the laſt act by words that admit of no equivoca⯑tion? Yet ſo it is; Helena, in the laſt ſcene, producing the letter, and addreſſing Bertram in theſe words,

If ſcholiaſts would but make themſelves maſters of the text, before they ſit down to write comments on it, they would be ſaved a world of trouble in puzzle and conjecture. It is true, they would not have ſuch frequent opportunities of diſ⯑playing their ingenuity; but then they would frequently avoid falling into abſurdity; ſo that, as our editor obſerves on ano⯑ther occaſion, they would gain on one ſide what they loſe on the other; for, as Merry Andrew critically remarks of his dancing pigs, what they now get by footing and caſting off, they loſe by ſetting corners and turning round.

Vol. III. Page 341.

Dr. Warburton, to whom Dr. Johnſon ſticks, like one of the conjuror's familiars, to the ſkirts of Trappolin, ſays, ‘the words are here oddly ſhuffled into nonſenſe. We ſhould read,’ ſays he,

‘i. e. pierce the air, which is in perpetual motion, and ſuf⯑fers no injury by piercing.’

[117]To this Dr. Johnſon adds nothing on the page before us; but tells us, in his appendix, that ‘for piercing air we ſhould read piecing air.’

This piecing air, it is true, is very much of a piece with the reſt of our editor's annotations; but what he means by it, I cannot conceive; any more than I can find out what Dr. Warburton means by the perpetual motion of the air, which prevents it from being injured by piercing. In my opinion, however, the meaning of Shakeſpeare in this paſſage is ob⯑vious. It is notorious that the epithet ſtill-piercing, or ſilently-piercing, is applicable to the air on more occaſions than one. A cold air is a piercing air; and indeed, whether the air be cold or hot, it ſilently pierces or penetrates into the inmoſt receſſes of place, and even the pores of many apparently ſolid bodies. It is likewiſe notorious, that a cannon or muſket⯑ball whizzes or whiſtles as it paſſes through or pierces the air; which being converted, poetica licentia, from the pa⯑tient to the agent, and vice verſa, may, with great propriety, be ſaid to ſing with piercing, i. e. with being pierced, though it pierces ſilently itſelf. And thus we ſee evidently the antitheſis intended by the poet, which hath eſcaped the penetrating looks and piercing eyes of his commentators.

Vol. III. Page 358.

I judged it expedient to make ſo large a quotation from the text, in order that the reader might form ſome judgment of his own, before he entered on the perplexing annotations; to which two or three of the above lines have given riſe.

Dr. Warburton's note, as quoted by Dr. Johnſon, is as follows:

This note of Dr. Warburton's, the argument of which is as falſe as the emendation propoſed is conſtrained and un⯑couth, is highly commended by the preſent editor. His an⯑notation is as follows:

‘This is an acute and excellent conjecture, and I have done it the due honour of exalting it to the text; yet, methinks, there is ſomething yet wanting. The following words, but take the High'ſt to witneſs, even though it be un⯑derſtood as an anticipation or aſſumption in this ſenſe,—but now ſuppoſe that you take the High'ſt to witneſs,—has not ſufficient relation to the antecedent ſentence, I will propoſe a reading nearer to the ſurface, and let it take its chance. BER.How have I ſworn! DIA.'Tis not the many oaths that make the truth:But the plain ſingle vow that is vow'd true. BER.What is not holy, that we ſwear not by,But take the High'ſt to witneſs. DIA.Then pray tell meIf I ſhould ſwear, &c. Bertram means to enfore his ſuit, by telling her, that he has bound himſelf to her, not by the petty proteſtations uſual among lovers, but by vows of greater ſolemnity. She then makes a proper and rational reply.’

Again, Dr. Johnſon conceives another part of the above quotation to be corrupt; which, as it may ſomething affect [120] the ſenſe of the whole, I chuſe to take notice of here, altho' the editor conſiders it in a diſtinct note.

This paſſage like⯑wiſe ‘appears to me corrupt. She ſwears not by him whom ſhe loves, but by Jupiter. I believe we may read to ſwear to him. There is, ſays ſhe, no holding, no conſiſtency, in ſwearing to one that I love him, when I ſwear it only to in⯑jure him.’

But farther, Dr. Johnſon, on reconſidering this paſſage, tells us, in his appendix, that ‘in the print of the old folio, it is doubtful whether it is Jove's or Love's, the characters being not diſtinguiſhable. If it is read Love's, perhaps it may be ſomething leſs difficult. I am ſtill at a loſs.’ —And ſo, by this time, I preſume, is the reader. But, as the poet ſays, ‘Who ſhall decide when doctors diſagree?’ Doubtleſs nobody leſs than he that has been dubb'd or capt twice; and he may authoritatively plead the ſame right of pre-eminence over a ſingle graduate, as two marrow-puddings have prerogatively over one ^*.

How far the author of the Reviſal may be qualified to de⯑termine this matter, I cannot pretend to ſay; being, to my regret, utterly unacquainted with the name and quality of that writer. But, as I think he hath explained this paſſage better than either of the graduated gentlemen above quoted, I ſhall not follow Dr. Johnſon's example, by cloathing his ſentiments in different words, and paſſing them off as my own.

[121]The Reviſer's remarks on the paſſage in queſtion, are as follow:

Mr. War⯑burton

—

The Reviſer is here very near the truth, but hath neither fully confuted Dr. Warburton, nor prevented the difficulties ſuggeſted by Dr. Johnſon. He is alſo miſtaken in ſuppoſing the words this has no holding to mean ſuch an oath is not binding; ſince, be other matters as they may, nothing I think is plainer than that ſhe means, as Dr. Johnſon ſays, There is no conſiſtency. And this explanation of thoſe words, though [122] it be our editor's own, is what militates againſt the alteration of by into to, as he propoſes; which alteration, however, is otherwiſe very plauſible, if the ſenſe of the paſſage had ab⯑ſolutely required it.

Let us ſee what we can make of it, without alteration.

Bertram tells Diana that he loves her, and he ſwears to it By love's own ſweet conſtraint. No, ſays Dr. Warburton, this is no oath; he only ſays he loves her by love's own ſweet con⯑ſtraint; having ſaid in the preceding line, ſpeaking of Helena,

But what is this but ſaying, ‘I was compelled to love Helena by my father, but I was compelled to love thee by Love him⯑ſelf.’ Thus we ſee, it is ſtill as Falſtaff ſays, upon com⯑pulſion; and if readings were as plenty as black-berries, I would adopt none of them upon compulſion. Beſides, it does not appear that Bertram loves Helena at all. It is very preſumable that Bertram ſwore, from Diana's taking him ſo roundly to taſk for the profanity of his oath. He ſaid thus;

i. e. I was forced to wed Helena, but thou art the woman I love.—She was my father's choice, thou art mine.—Yes, by all the powers of love, i. e. by that power which influ⯑enced my choice, thou art.—To which power, compared with the tyrannical authority of his father, he was very aptly and naturally induced to give the name of Love's own ſweet conſtraint.

But, ſuppoſing he did not mean to ſwear by the powers or power of love at this particular conjuncture, it appears, I think, pretty evident, that this was his uſual oath, or mode of vowing. Elſe, why ſhould he anſwer, after being ſo ſe⯑verely [123] ſchooled about his not ſwearing by the Higheſt, as the only holy object to ſwear by,

What then becomes of Dr. Warburton's acute and excellent conjecture, to which Dr. Johnſon hath done the due honour of exalting it to the text? Dr. Warburton ſays, that Diana is not accuſing Bertram for ſwearing by a Being not holy, but for ſwearing to an unholy purpoſe. Indeed, ſhe is accuſing him of both, and pleads the former as a proof of the latter. You cannot ſwear, ſays ſhe, with any good deſign, or to any good purpoſe, when you ſwear by ſuch profane objects. For, it is to be obſerved, that the words truth and true are not here con⯑fined to the mere veracity of the terms of the oath ^*. Diana did not doubt that Bertram had a love or a paſſion for her, according to the common acceptation of the term. It was to [124] the other part of his vow that ſhe alludes; for he not only tells her he loves her; but

To which ſhe anſwers,

To this Bertram eagerly replies, ‘How have I ſworn!’ To which Diana as ſhrewdly anſwers— ‘'Tis not the many oaths, &c.’ As much as if ſhe had ſaid, Ay, how indeed!—by a multi⯑plicity of vague and profane oaths: but what are theſe, when there is neither a moral poſſibility of your performing your promiſe, nor would there be any moral rectitude in it if you did? For you cannot, in ſuch caſe, take a ſingle formal oath, and call the HIGHEST to witneſs the truth of your promiſe, without making a mock of his great attributes; viz. goodneſs and truth.

What then becomes of Dr. Johnſon's firſt alteration; his ſuppoſed neceſſity of dividing this ſpeech between Bertram and Diana; an alteration that would totally pervert the mean⯑ing of the paſſage?

As to his latter alteration, though it be leſs exceptionable, it is equally unneceſſary. For, taking the meaning of the words in the ſenſe above-mentioned, the whole is perfectly intelligible and conſiſtent. If we take the High'ſt to witneſs, ſays Diana, (which, it is already obſerved, is done only when the intent of the oath is morally good) THEN, i. e. in that eaſe, pray tell me, ‘If I ſhould ſwear by Jove's great attributes,’ i. e. goodneſs and truth,

i. e. wickedly, immorally.

i. e. This is inconſiſtent to ſwear by the God of truth and holineſs, whom I proteſt to love, that I will act diſhoneſtly and wickedly. Nay, ſhould we even admit with Dr. War⯑burton and the Reviſer, that ‘—This has no holding’ means that the oath can never hold or is not binding; this will make no difference with regard to the alteration propoſed; the meaning of the lines, in that caſe, being only ſimilar to thoſe of Pandulph to King John:

But it may be aſked, why doth Diana proteſt that ſhe loves the ſupreme Being by whom ſhe ſuppoſes herſelf to ſwear?—If we reflect, however, that this proteſtation is nothing more than that of her love to virtue, it is by no means improperly introduced to check Bertram's illicit paſſion, by depriving him of all hopes of ſucceſs. For it is to be remarked, that though ſhe barely mention the ill conſequences to herſelf of being afterwards abandoned by Bertram, the point on which ſhe dwells upon moſt, and ſeems to lay the greateſt ſtreſs, is the immorality of the act. It may be added alſo, that, as Bertram hath not here made uſe of that very expreſſion, in his vows to Diana, it is not impoſſible that ſhe refers to ſome other converſation, in which he had not only ſworn by love's own ſweet conſtraint, but alſo by her own ſweet ſelf, in which caſe it is, with great propriety, ſhe introduces, by way of an⯑titheſis, the proteſtation of her love to the God of truth and [126] goodneſs, being oppoſed to any love ſhe can poſſibly entertain for him.—And this ſuppoſition is not ill-founded, if we re⯑flect on his calling her TITLED GODDESS, and his confeſſedly making uſe only of the oaths common to lovers.

As to the alteration, ſuggeſted in our editor's appendix, and founded on the bad print of the old folio, I am of a different opinion to Dr. Johnſon, and think that, inſtead of making the difficulty leſs, it would make it much greater. I give my vote, therefore, for having the text ſtand as it did, before either Dr. Warburton or Dr. Johnſon meddled with it;—except that the reader may, if he pleaſes, add a comma after HIM; ‘To ſwear by HIM, whom I proteſt to love.’

Vol. III. Page 372.

But why Parolles is like a cat, in reſpect to lighting upon his legs, I cannot, for the life of me, diſcover. Bertram had ſaid, on the diſcovery of Parolles to be a ſcoundrel, I could endure any thing before but a cat, and now he's a cat to me. On the expoſition of his farther baſeneſs, he ſays—he is more and more a cat; and at laſt, Pox on him, he's a cat ſtill. But, as Bertram gives no hint that he hates a cat for lighting upon her legs, I cannot conceive where Dr. Johnſon met with au⯑thority for his explanation.

It appears alſo, that one of our editor's friends was as much at a loſs as I am; I mean Mr. Steevens, whoſe objection to this illuſtration is inſerted in the appendix. ‘Bertram, ſays Mr. Steevens, means no ſuch thing. In a ſpeech or [127] two before, he declares his averſion to a cat, and now only continues of the ſame opinion, and ſays, he hates Parolles as much as a cat. The other meaning will not do, as Parolles could not be meant by the cat, which lights always on its legs, for he is now in a fair way to be totally diſconcerted.’

To this, however, Dr. Johnſon thinks proper to give no other anſwer than this; ‘I am ſtill of my former opinion.’

Well ſaid Doctor Johnſonius Obſtinatus! Let not looſe thy opinion. Thou haſt formed it; it is truly thy own conceit, and not a college of wit-crackers ſhould flout me out of my humour.—Thou haſt ſaid it.—It is enough.—Thou art too exalted to condeſcend ſo low as to explain thyſelf. What are paltry readers, and contemptible critics?—I would give no man ſatisfaction! I!—

Vol. III. Page 386.

Dr. Johnſon is highly offended at the poet, for making the King ſo ready to forgive his ſon Bertram. ‘Shakeſpeare, ſays he, is now haſtening to the end of the play, finds his matter ſufficient to fill up his remaining ſcenes, and there⯑fore, as on other ſuch occaſions, contracts his dialogue, and precipitates his action. Decency required that Ber⯑tram's double crime of cruelty and diſobedience, joined like⯑wiſe with ſome hypocriſy, ſhould raiſe more reſentment; and that, though his mother might eaſily forgive him, his king ſhould more pertinaciouſly vindicate his own authority, and [128] Helen's merit: of all this Shakeſpeare could not be igno⯑norant; but Shakeſpeare wanted to conclude his play.’

I ſhall not here undertake the defence of Shakeſpeare, as to the propriety of the King's readineſs to forgive Bertram, though I think it might eaſily be done, if we reflect that the match propoſed to the young prince was, in itſelf, very ab⯑ſurd and prepoſterous. The King laid the foundation for, and provoked, the act of diſobedience in his ſon, which was there⯑fore the more excuſable; for it will hardly be admitted, by any perſon in his right ſenſes, that the paternal authority of the King ought to have carried him ſo far as to degrade the heir apparent to his crown, by marrying him to the daugh⯑ter of a quack, merely becauſe ſhe had had the good luck, by one of her father's noſtrums, to cure his majeſty of a fiſtula in ano.

This circumſtance conſidered alſo, I think it ſhould have obtained ſome little favour for the character of Bertram in general, as well from our editor, as from the very ingenious authoreſs of Shakeſpeare Illuſtrated; for though he be on the whole a looſe, unprincipled fellow, yet I think the abſurdity and cruelty of this forced marriage affords a great palliation of his crimes.

But my reaſon for ſtopping at this paſſage, is to remark another inſtance of our editor's readineſs to cenſure Shake⯑ſpeare. Here, truly, Shakeſpeare hath done wrong in con⯑tracting his dialogue, becauſe he was in a hurry to finiſh his play: whereas, before the end of the play, Dr. Johnſon finds fault with him again for making his dialogue too long ^*. Our [129] editor's reaſons for theſe inconſiſtent cenſures, however, are ſufficiently evident. In the one caſe he had an opportunity of diſplaying the poet's precipitancy; and, in the other, of depreciating both his application and abilities.

Vol. III. Page 415.

On this paſſage Mr. Theobald hath a long, and, I think, ſatisfactory note: he ſuppoſes the word Baſiliſco, and the re⯑petition of Knight, Knight, to refer to an old ſtupid play called Soliman and Perſeda.—

Dr. Warburton tells us the beauty of the paſſage conſiſts in an alluſion to a fixed ſtar of the firſt magnitude in the conſtella⯑tion Leo. Having inſerted the notes of both theſe commen⯑tators at length, the preſent editor makes very ſhort work with his part of the buſineſs, by adding the following ſaga⯑cious animadverſion to the latter, ‘Could one have thought it!’

Could one have thought it, indeed! A mighty pretty way this, of writing annotations on Shakeſpeare! To copy two long notes from Theobald and Warburton, and then to ex⯑claim, concerning ſome conundrum of the latter, Could one have thought it!—Neither your ſubſcribers, nor your book⯑ſellers, I believe, Dr. Johnſon, thought you would have fobbed them off ſo ſhabbily. For, indeed, when a man pro⯑miſed ſo fair, Could one have thought it?—But, perhaps, this is another ſtroke of our editor's WIT.—It is.—ha!—like enough—but, could one have thought it?

We have in this play ſeveral other notes of ſimilar impor⯑tance. Thus page 421, after a long note from Theobald, our editor adds, ‘Mr. Theobald had the art of making the [130] moſt of his diſcoveries.’ But this remark, however true it ma [...] be in one ſenſe, is far from being ſo in another: for though Dr. Johnſon hath made very few diſcoveries of his own, he hath diſcovered the method of making more of Theobald's at ſecond hand, than ever the author could do, when they were ſpick and ſpan new.

Vol. III. Page 447.

In this paſſage our editor hath two notes from Theobald and Warburton; after which ne adopts the opinion of Mr. Edwards, who had expoſed the abſurdity of the latter, but without mentioning him, as uſual.—But I muſt not paſs over a word or two, which Dr. Johnſon hath dropt on this occa⯑ſion. A commentator, he ſays, ſhould be grave. But why, now, Doctor, ſhould a commentator be grave? You ſeem very angry, in your Preface, with Mr. Pope, for ſuppoſing that the taſk of an editor muſt neceſſarily be dull. Now, though there is ſome diſtinction of blood between dullneſs and gravity, they are near a-kin; and ſo nearly alike in the face, that you might take them for ſiſters; ay, twins, with but half-an-hour's difference in their age. I dare ſay now that many of your miſtaken readers have frequently thought even you dull, when I warrant you the Doctor was only grave. I do not think, therefore, a commentator ſhould wear ſo much gravity. It is good to guard againſt miſtakes, as they are frequently better prevented than amended. Not that I hold it decent for a ſcholiaſt to be always upon the broad grin; but if the author himſelf be chearful, or the abſurdities of a brother commentator ſet him a laughing, where is the crime of indulging himſelf in it?—After this, let us hear no more of the gravity of a commentator ^*.

Vol. III. Page 455.

The folio edition has it ſound ON; but our editor hath al⯑tered it either on the authority of Dr. Warburton, or his own, without giving any reaſon for ſuch alteration. His friend Mr. Steevens, however, thinks the old reading right, and conceives the meaning to be this; ‘if the midnight bell, by repeated ſtrokes, was to haſten away the race of beings that are buſy at that hour, or quicken night in its progreſs, the morning bell (that is the bell that ſtrikes one) could never properly be made the agent, for the bell has ceaſed to be in the ſervice of night when it proclaims the arrival of day. Sound ON has a particular propriety, becauſe, by the repeti⯑tion of the ſtrokes at twelve, it gives a much more forcible warning than when it only ſtrikes one.’ —This criticiſm is admitted by Dr. Johnſon into his appendix; but as he does not there retract his former judgment, we may ſuppoſe he ſtill coincides with Dr. Warburton: or perhaps his own opi⯑nion is ſuſpended between both. Mr. Steevens's note is in⯑genious enough indeed (as our editor expreſſes himſelf on an⯑other occaſion) to deſerve to be true; but if the ſingle autho⯑rity of the folio edition may be ſet aſide, I am afraid the double authority of two ſuch learned and tremendous critics as Dr. Johnſon and the Biſhop of Glouceſter, will go likely to involve Shakeſpeare in the abſurdity of ſuppoſing the clock ſtrikes but one to acquaint us of midnight. For that the laſt right reverend critic doth not think midnight merely a point of time, dividing night from morning, is evident from his comment on another paſſage of Shakeſpeare's, in the Mid-ſummer Night's Dream, where, inſtead of the third part of a minute, he would have us read the third part of the midnight. Now points of time, as well as points of ſpace, are unex⯑tended [132] and indiviſible; and yet the preſent editor makes no other objection to this propoſed amendment, than that of ſilently rejecting it: but as this rejection is founded on other rea⯑ſons than the impropriety here mentioned, we may very rea⯑ſonably ſuppoſe that Dr. Johnſon, as well as Dr. Warburton, hath found out that midnight is a determinate quantity of du⯑ration, comprehending at leaſt all that ſpace of time which elapſes between twelve at night and one in the morning! This admitted, it is no wonder that Mr. Steevens's note ſhould appear exceptionable; for if he, on the ſuppoſition that when night is paſt it muſt be morning, can with propriety call the bell which ſtrikes twelve a midnight bell, they might with ſtill more propriety, on their ſuppoſition, call that a midnight bell which ſtrikes one.

My readers will probably think I have here ſet the com⯑mentators together by the ears, only to perplex and confound both them and the poet.—Not at all.—The commentators were at odds before I meddled with them; and I have only brought them together, to ſhew my own critical dexterity in reconciling them to each other, and extricating Shakeſpeare out of the hands of both.—For inſtance, now—To you, Mr. Steevens, I attribute the honour or having illuſtrated the poet's meaning, on the ſuppoſition that he wrote ſtrike ON: but, Sir, I ſhall prove to your teeth, in ſavour of your opponents, that their reading of the text may be right; and this even from your own argument. You ſuppoſe that the bell, which ſtrikes one, is a morning bell—granted—it hath been ſo a full hour; ever ſince the hand came to the point, and the clapper ſtruck the firſt ſtroke of twelve. For you muſt not conceive that Time ſtands ſtock-ſtill till the clock hath done ſtriking the whole dozen: and if it does not, the bell muſt, according to you, be called a morning bell after the firſt ſtroke; ſo that we ſee there is even a phyſical impoſſibility of a midnight bell's ſtriking more than ONE. What then be⯑comes of your repeated ſtrokes, and your midnight bell's [133] ſtriking ON? Silence that dreadful bell, then, it diſturbs the text from its propriety.—EUGE, MAGNE.—Here was I going to congratulate myſelf on having topt all the commenta⯑tors, even in their own way, and on the wonderful acuteneſs diſplayed in adjuſting this nice diſpute; but recollecting the fate of poor Theobald, and how ſeverely he hath been handled for boaſting and making the moſt of his diſcoveries, I will wrap myſelf up in the buff doublet of my own ſuffi⯑ciency, and leave the world to do juſtice to merit, or let it alone, as it thinks proper.