nearly contemporary with Lopez de Vega, and he created, as it
were, the English theatre. Shakspeare boasted a strong fruitful genius.
He was natural and sublime, but had not so much as a single spark of good
taste, or knew one rule of the drama. I will now hazard a random, but,
at the same time, true reflection, which is, that the great merit of this
dramatic poet has been the ruin of the English stage. There are such
beautiful, such noble, such dreadful scenes in this writer's monstrous
farces, to which the name of tragedy is given, that they have always been
exhibited with great success. Time, which alone gives reputation to
writers, at last makes their very faults venerable. Most of the
whimsical gigantic images of this poet, have, through length of time (it
being a hundred and fifty years since they were first drawn) acquired a
right of passing for sublime. Most of the modern dramatic writers have
copied him; but the touches and descriptions which are applauded in
Shakspeare, are hissed at in these writers; and you will easily believe
that the veneration in which this author is held, increases in proportion
to the contempt which is shown to the moderns. Dramatic writers don't
consider that they should not imitate him; and the ill-success of
Shakspeare's imitators produces no other effect, than to make him be
considered as inimitable. You remember that in the tragedy of _Othello,
Moor of Venice_, a most tender piece, a man strangles his wife on the
stage, and that the poor woman, whilst she is strangling, cries aloud
that she dies very unjustly. You know that in _Hamlet, Prince of
Denmark_, two grave-diggers make a grave, and are all the time drinking,
singing ballads, and making humorous reflections (natural indeed enough
to persons of their profession) on the several skulls they throw up with
their spades; but a circumstance which will surprise you is, that this
ridiculous incident has been imitated. In the reign of King Charles II.,
which was that of politeness, and the Golden Age of the liberal arts;
Otway, in his _Venice Preserved_, introduces Antonio the senator, and
Naki, his courtesan, in the midst of the horrors of the Marquis of
Bedemar's conspiracy. Antonio, the superannuated senator plays, in his
mistress's presence, all the apish tricks of a lewd, impotent debauchee,
who is quite frantic and out of his senses. He mimics a bull and a dog,
and bites his mistress's legs, who kicks and whips him. H