From the Remonftrance of SHAKSPEARE, Supposed to have been spoken at the TheatreRoyal, when the French Comedians were acting by subscription.

By the fame Author.

What though the footsteps of my devious muse The measur'd walks of Grecian art refuse? Or though the frankness of my hardy style Mock the nice touches of the critick's file? Yet what my age and climate held to view Impartial I survey'd, and fearless drew. And fay, ye skilful in the human heart, Who know to prize a poet's noblest part, What age, what clime, could e'er an ampler field For lofty thought, for daring fancy yield? I saw this England break the shameful bands Forg'd for the fouls of men by facred hands; I faw each groaning realm her aid implore; Her fons the heroes of each warlike shore; Her naval standard, (the dire Spaniard's bane,) Obey'd through all the circuit of the main. Then too great commerce, for a late-found world, Around your coast her eager fails unfurl'd: New hopes new paffions thence the bosom fir'd; New plans, new arts, the genius thence inspir'd; Thence every fscene which private fortune knows, In stronger life, with bolder spirit, rofe.

Disgrac'd I this full profpect which I drew? My colours languid, or my strokes untrue? Have not your sages, warriors, fwains, and kings, Confefs'd the living draught of men and things? What other bard in any clime appears, Alike the master of your smiles and tears? Yet have I deign'd your audience to entice With wretched bribes to luxury and vice?

Or have my various scenes a purpose known, Which freedom, virtue, glory, might not own?

When learning's triumph o'er her barb'rous foes First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakspeare rose; Each change of many-colour'd life he drew, Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd new : Existence faw him spurn her bounded reign, And panting time toil'd after him in vain : His pow'rful strokes prefiding truth impress'd, And unrefifted passion storm'd the breaft.

Prologue at the opening of Drury-lane Theatre in 1747. By Dr. Samuel Johnson.

Upon Shakspeare's Monument at Stratford-uponAvon.

Great Homer's birth seven rival cities claim;
Too mighty such monopoly of fame.
Yet not to birth alone did Homer owe

His wond'rous worth; what Egypt could bestow,
With all the schools of Greece and Afia join'd,
Enlarg'd the immenfe expansion of his mind :
Nor yet unrival'd the Mæonian strain;
The British Eagle and the Mantuan Swan
Tow'r equal heights. But, happier Stratford, thou
With incontested laurels deck thy brow;
Thy bard was thine unschool'd, and from thee

brought

More than all Egypt, Greece, or Asia taught; Not Homer's self such matchless laurels won; The Greek has rivals, but thy Shakspeare none.

From Mr. Collins's Epistle to Sir Thomas Hanmer on his edition of Shakspeare's works.

Hard was the lot those injur'd strains endur'd, Unown'd by science, and by years obfcur'd: Fair fancy wept; and echoing fighs confefs'd A fixt despair in every tuneful breaft. Not with more grief the afflicted swains appear, When wintry winds deform the plenteous year; When lingering frosts the ruin'd feats invade Where Peace reforted, and the Graces play'd.

Each rifing art, by just gradation moves, Toil builds on toil, and age on age improves : The mufe alone unequal dealt her rage, And grac'd with noblest pomp her earliest stage. Preferv'd through time, the speaking scenes im

part

Each changeful wish of Phædra's tortur'd heart; Or paint the curse, that mark'd the Theban's'

reign,

A bed incestuous, and a father flain.
With kind concern our pitying eyes o'erflow,
Trace the fad tale, and own another's woe.

To Rome remov'd, with wit secure to please,
The comick fifters kept their native ease.
With jealous fear declining Greece beheld
Her own Menander's art almost excell'd:
But every Mufse essay'd to raise in vain
Some labour'd rival of her tragick strain;
Illyffus' laurels, though transferr'd with toil,
Droop'd their fair leaves, nor knew th' unfriendly

As arts expir'd, refiftless Dullness rose; Goths, priests, or Vandals, all were learning's

foes.

Till Julius + first recall'd each exil'd maid,
And Cofmo own'd them in the Etrurian shade:
Then deeply skill'd in love's engaging theme,
The foft Provencial pass'd to Arno's stream:
With graceful ease the wanton lyre he strung;
Sweet flow'd the lays, but love was all he fung.
The gay defcription could not fail to move;
For, led by nature, all are friends to love.

But heaven, still various in its works, decreed
The perfect boast of time should last fucceed.
The beauteous union must appear at length,
Of Tufcan fancy, and Athenian strength:
One greater Muse Eliza's reign adorn,
And even a Shakspeare to her fame be born.

Yet ah! so bright her morning's opening ray, In vain our Britain hop'd an equal day. No fecond growth the western ifle could bear, At once exhausted with too rich a year. Too nicely Jonson knew the critick's part; Nature in him was almost loft in art. Of fofter mold the gentle Fletcher came, The next in order, as the next in name. With pleas'd attention 'midst his scenes we find Each glowing thought, that warms the female

mind;

Each melting figh, and every tender tear,
The lover's wishes, and the virgin's fear.
His every strain the Smiles and Graces own;
But stronger Shakspeare felt for man alone :

4 Julius II. the immediate predecessor of Leo X.

5 Their characters are thus distinguished by Mr. Dryden.

Drawn by his pen, our ruder passions stand
Th' unrivall'd picture of his early hand.

With gradual steps, and flow, exacter France
Saw Art's fair empire o'er her shores advance:
By length of toil a bright perfection knew,
Correctly bold, and just in all the drew:
Till late Corneille, with Lucan's spirit fir'd,
Breath'd the free strain, as Rome and He inspir'd;
And claffick judgment gain'd to sweet Racine
The temperate strength of Maro's chaster line.

But wilder far the British laurel spread,
And wreaths less artful crown our poet's head.
Yet He alone to every scene could give
The historian's truth, and bid the manners live.
Wak'd at his call I view, with glad furprize,
Majestick forms of mighty monarchs rise.
There Henry's trumpets spread their loud alarms,
And laurell'd Conquest waits her hero's arms.
Here gentler Edward claims a pitying figh,
Scarce born to honours, and fo foon to die!
Yet shall thy throne, unhappy infant, bring
No beam of comfort to the guilty king:
The time shall come, when Glofter's heart shall

bleed

In life's last hours, with horror of the deed:
When dreary visions shall at last present
Thy vengeful image in the midnight tent:

6 About the time of Shakspeare, the poet Hardy was in great repute in France. He wrote, according to Fontenelle, fix hundred plays. The French poets after him applied themselves in general to the correct improvement of the stage, which was almost totally difregarded by those of our own country, Jonfon excepted.

7 The favourite author of the elder Corneille.

• Turno tempus erit, magno cùm optaverit emptum Intactum Pallanta, &c.

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