arm to his sister Sycorax, a "fearsome dear" no doubt, but what
better could one expect in a misbegotten monster? Oh, the confounding
mysteries of self-degrading genius!

In the preface to "An Evening's Love; or, the Mock Astrologer," we again
meet with some criticism on Shakspeare. We learn from it that Dryden had
formed the ambitious design of writing on the difference betwixt the
plays of his own age and those of his predecessors on the English stage,
in order to show in what parts of "dramatic poesy we were excelled by
Ben Jonson--I mean, humour and contrivance of comedy; and _in what we
may justly claim precedence of Shakspeare and Fletcher_! namely, in
heroic plays." He had, moreover, proposed to treat "of the improvement
of our language since Fletcher's and Jonson's days, and, consequently,
of our refining the courtship, raillery, and conversation of plays." In
great attempts 'tis glorious even to fail; and assuredly had Dryden
essayed all this, his failure would have been complete. "I would," said
he, with his usual ignorance of his own and his age's worst sins and
defects, "have the characters well chosen, and kept distant from
interfering with each other, which is more than Fletcher _or Shakspeare
did_! * * I think there is no folly so great in any part of our age, as
the superfluity and waste of wit was in some of our predecessors,
particularly Fletcher _and Shakspeare_." Refining the courtship,
raillery, and conversation of plays! We cannot, perhaps, truly say very
much in praise of those qualities in Ben's comedies, admirable as they
are, and superior, in all respects, a thousand times over to the best of
Dryden's and of his contemporaries'; but wilfully blind indeed, or
worse, must the man who could thus write have been to the matchless
grace, vivacity, delicacy, prodigality, and poetry of Shakspeare's
comedy, which as far transcends all the happiest creations of other
men's wit, as the pervading pathos and sublimity of his tragedy all
their happiest inspirations from the holy fountain of ennobling or
pitying tears.

In its day, the following Epilogue caused a great hubbub--

"They, who have best succeeded on the stage,
Have still conform'd their genius to their age.
Thus Jonson did mechanic humours show,
When men were dull, and conversation low.
Then comedy was faultless, but 'twas coarse:
Cobb's tankard was a jest, and Otter's horse.
And, as their comedy, their love was mean;
Except