hed from tragedy. There is not much nearer approach to unity of
action in the tragedy of _Antony and Cleopatra_, than in the history of
_Richard the Second_. But a history might be continued through many plays;
as it had no plan, it had no limits.

Through all these denominations of the drama, Shakespeare's mode of
composition is the same; an interchange of seriousness and merriment, by
which the mind is softened at one time, and exhilarated at another. But
whatever be his purpose, whether to gladden or depress, or to conduct the
story, without vehemence or emotion, through tracts of easy and familiar
dialogue, he never fails to attain his purpose; as he commands us, we
laugh or mourn, or sit silent with quiet expectation, in tranquillity
without indifference.

When Shakespeare's plan is understood, most of the criticisms of Rhymer
and Voltaire vanish away. The play of _Hamlet_ is opened, without
impropriety, by two centinels; Iago bellows at Brabantio's window, without
injury to the scheme of the play, though in terms which a modern audience
would not easily endure; the character of Polonius is seasonable and
useful, and the Grave-diggers themselves may be heard with applause.

Shakespeare engaged in dramatick poetry with the world open before him;
the rules of the ancients were yet known to few; the publick judgment was
unformed; he had no example of such fame as might force him upon
imitation, nor criticks of such authority as might restrain his
extravagance: he therefore indulged his natural disposition, and his
disposition, as Rhymer has remarked, led him to comedy. In tragedy he
often writes with great appearance of toil and study, what is written at
last with little felicity; but in his comick scenes, he seems to produce
without labour, what no labour can improve. In tragedy he is always
struggling after some occasion to be comick, but in comedy he seems to
repose, or to luxuriate, as in a mode of thinking congenial to his nature.
In his tragick scenes there is always something wanting, but his comedy
often surpasses expectation or desire. His comedy pleases by the thoughts
and the language, and his tragedy for the greater part by incident and
action. His tragedy seems to be skill, his comedy to be instinct.

The force of his comick scenes has suffered little diminution from the
changes made by a century and a half, in manners or in words. As his
personages act upon principles arising from genuine passion, very