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Page 11
_But howsoever thou pursu'st this Act,
Taint not thy Mind; nor let thy Soul contrive
Against thy Mother ought; leave her to Heav'n,
And to those Thorns that in her Bosom lodge,
To prick and sting her._ Vol. V. p. 2386.
This is to distinguish rightly between _Horror_ and _Terror_. The latter
is a proper Passion of Tragedy, but the former ought always to be
carefully avoided. And certainly no Dramatick Writer ever succeeded
better in raising _Terror_ in the Minds of an Audience than _Shakespear_
has done. The whole Tragedy of _Macbeth_, but more especially the Scene
where the King is murder'd, in the second Act, as well as this Play, is
a noble Proof of that manly Spirit with which he writ; and both shew how
powerful he was, in giving the strongest Motions to our Souls that they
are capable of. I cannot leave _Hamlet_, without taking notice of the
Advantage with which we have seen this Master-piece of _Shakespear_
distinguish it self upon the Stage, by Mr. _Betterton_'s fine
Performance of that Part. A Man, who tho' he had no other good
Qualities, as he has a great many, must have made his way into the
Esteem of all Men of Letters, by this only Excellency. No Man is better
acquainted with _Shakespear_'s manner of Expression, and indeed he has
study'd him so well, and is so much a Master of him, that whatever Part
of his he performs he does it as if it had been written on purpose for
him, and that the Author had exactly conceiv'd it as he plays it. I must
own a particular Obligation to him, for the most considerable part of
the Passages relating to his Life, which I have here transmitted to the
Publick; his Veneration for the Memory of _Shakespear_ having engag'd
him to make a Journey into _Warwickshire_, on purpose to gather up what
Remains he could of a Name for which he had so great a Value. Since I
had at first resolv'd not to enter into any Critical Controversie, I
won't pretend to enquire into the Justness of Mr. _Rhymer_'s Remarks on
_Othello_; he has certainly pointed out some Faults very judiciously;
and indeed they are such as most People will agree, with him, to be
Faults: But I wish he would likewise have observ'd some of the Beauties
too; as I think it became an Exact and Equal Critique to do. It seems
strange that he should allow nothing Good in the whole: If the Fable and
Incidents are not to his Taste, yet the Thoughts are almost every where
very Noble, and the Diction manly and proper. These last, indeed, are
Parts of _Shakespear_'s Praise, which it would be very hard to Dispute
with him. His Sentiments and Images of Things are Great and Natural; and
his Expression (tho' perhaps in some Instances a little Irregular) just,
and rais'd in Proportion to his Subject and Occasion. It would be even
endless to mention the particular Instances that might be given of this
Kind: But his Book is in the Possession of the Publick, and 'twill be
hard to dip into any Part of it, without finding what I have said of him
made good.
The latter Part of his Life was spent, as all Men of good Sense will
wish theirs may be, in Ease, Retirement, and the Conversation of his
Friends. He had the good Fortune to gather an Estate equal to his
Occasion, and, in that, to his Wish; and is said to have spent some
Years before his Death at his native _Stratford_. His pleasurable Wit,
and good Nature, engag'd him in the Acquaintance, and entitled him to
the Friendship of the Gentlemen of the Neighbourhood. Amongst them, it
is a Story almost still remember'd in that Country, that he had a
particular Intimacy with Mr. _Combe_, an old Gentleman noted thereabouts
for his Wealth and Usury: It happen'd, that in a pleasant Conversation
amongst their common Friends, Mr. _Combe_ told _Shakespear_ in a
laughing manner, that he fancy'd, he intended to write his Epitaph, if
he happen'd to out-live him; and since he could not know what might be
said of him when he was dead, he desir'd it might be done immediately:
Upon which _Shakespear_ gave him these four Verses.
_Ten in the Hundred lies here ingrav'd,
'Tis a Hundred to Ten, his Soul is not sav'd:
If any Man ask, Who lies in this Tomb?
Oh! ho! quoth the Devil, 'tis my_ John-a-Combe.
But the Sharpness of the Satyr is said to have stung the Man so
severely, that he never forgave it.
He Dy'd in the 53d Year of his Age, and was bury'd on the North side of
the Chancel, in the Great Church at _Stratford_, where a Monument, as
engrav'd in the Plate, is plac'd in the Wall. On his Grave-Stone
underneath is,
_Good Friend, for Jesus sake, forbear
To dig the Dust inclosed here.
Blest be the Man that spares these Stones,
And Curst be he that moves my Bones._
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