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O fons of sport and pleasure: 0 thou wretch
That weep'ít for jealous love, or the fore wounds
Of conscious guilt, or death's rapacious hand
Which left thee void of hope: Oye who roam
In exile; ye who through the embattled field
Seek bright renown; or who for nobler palms
Contend, the leaders of a public caule;
Approach: behold this marble. Know ye not
The features? Hath not oft his faithful tongue
Told you the fashion of your own estate,
The secrets of your bosom? Here then, round
His monument with reverence while you stand,
Say to each other : “ This was Shakespeare's form;
“ Who walk'd in every path of human life,
“ Felt every passion; and to all mankind
“ Doth now, will ever that experience yield
" Which his own genius only could acquire.”
From the same Author's Pleasures of Imagination, Book 3.
- when lightening fires
The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground,
When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,
And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,
Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky;
Amid the general uproar, while below
The nations tremble, Shakespeare looks abroad
From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys
The elemental war. -
For lofty sense,
Creative fancy, and inspection keen'
Through the deep windings of the human heart,
Is not wild Shakespeare thine and nature's boast?
When learning's triumph o'er her barb'rous foes First rear’d the stage, immortal Shakespeare rose; Each change of many-colour'd life he drew, Exbauited worlds, and then imagin'd new:
Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign,
And panting time toil'd after him in vain:
His pow’rful strokes presiding truth impress’d,
And unresisted passion storm'd the breast.
Prologue at the opening of Drury-Lane Theatre in 1747.
By Dr. Samuel Johnson
What are the lays of artful Addison,
Coldly correct, to Shakespeare's warblings wild?
Whom on the winding Avon's willow'd banks
Fair Fancy found, and bore the smiling babe
To a clofe cavern: (still the shepherds thew
The sacred place, whence with religious awe
They hear, returning from the field at eve,
Strange whisp’ring of sweet musick thro' the air)
Here, as with honey gathered from the rock,
She fed the little prattler, and with songs
Oft sooth'd his wond'ring ears, with deep delight
On her soft lap he fat, and caught the sounds.
The Enthusiast, or the Lover of Nature, a Poem, by the
Rev. Joseph Warton.
From the Rer. Thomas Warton's Address to the Queen on
Here, boldly mark'd with every living hue,
Nature's unbounded portrait Shakespeare drew:
But chief, the dreadful groupe of human woes
The daring artist's tragic pencil chose;
Explor’d the pangs that rend the royal breast,
Those wounds that lurk beneath the tissued vest.
Monody, written near Stratford upon Aron.
Avon, thy rural view's, thy pastures wild,
The willows that o'erhang thy twilight edge,
Their boughs entangling with th'embattled sedge;
Thy brink with watery foliage quaintly fring'd,
Thý surface with reflected verdure ting’d;
Sooth me with many a pensive pleasure mild.
But while I muse, that here the Bard Divine
Whose sacred dust yon high-arch'd ifles inclose,
Where the tall windows rise in stately rows,
Above th’embowering shade,
Here first, at Fancy's fairy-circled shrine,
Of daisies pied his infant offering made;
Here playful yet, in stripling years unripe,
Fram'd of thy reeds a shrill and artless pipe:
Sudden thy beauties, Avon, all are fled,
As at the waving of some magic wand;
An holy trance my charmed spirit wings,
And aweful shapes of leaders and of kings,
People the busy mead,
Like spectres swarming to the wisard's hall;
And slowly pace, and point with trembling hand
The wounds ill-cover'd by the purple pall.
Before me Pity seems to stand
A weeping mourner, smote with anguish sore,
To see Misfortune rend in frantic mood
His robe, with regal woes embroider'd o'er.
Pale Terror leads the visionary band,
And sternly shakes his sceptre, dropping blood.
By the fame.
Far from the sun and summer gale,
In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon stray'd,
To him the mighty mother did unveil
Her awful face: The dauntless child
Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smil'd.
This pencil take (she said) whose colours clear
Richly paint the vernal year:
Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy!
This can unlock the gates of joy;
Of horror that, and thrilling fears,
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.
Gray's Ode on the Progress of Poesya
Next Shakespeare fat, irregularly great,
And in his hand a magick rod did hold,
Which visionary beings did create,
And turn the foulest dross to purest gold:
Whatever spirits rove in earth or air,
Or bad, or good, obey his dread command;
To his behelts these willingly repair,
Those aw'd by terrors of his magic wand,
The which not all their powers united might withstand.
Lloyd's Progress of Envy, 1751.
Oh, where's the bard, who at one view
Could look the whole creation through,
Who travers'd all the human heart,
Without recourse to Grecian art?
He scorn'd the rules of imitation,
Of altering, pilfering, and translation,
Nor painted horror, grief, or rage,
From models of a former age;
The bright original he took,
And tore the leaf from nature's book.
'Tis Shakespeare -
Lloyd's Shakespeare, a Poem.
In the first seat, in robe of various dyes,
A noble wildness faihing from his eyes,
Sat Shakespeare. - In one hand a wand he bore,
For mighty wonders fam'd in days of yore;
The other held a globe, which to his will
Obedient turn’d, and own'd a master's ikill:
Things of the noblest kind his genius crew,
And look'd through nature at a single view:
A loose he gave to his unbounded foul,
And taught new lands to rise, new feas to roll;
Calld into being scenes unknown before,
And, passing nature's bounds, was something more.
Names of the original Actors in the Plays of Shake
speare: From the Folio, 1623.
Robert Armin *.
Nathan. Field t.
It may appear singular that the name of the celebrated Alleyn (founder of Dulwich College) should not occur in this list of performers. But Alleyn was master of the Fortune playhouse, which he is said either to have built or re-built; and therefore might have no connection with other theatres where the plays of Shakespeare were exhibited. We learn however from Langbaine, that he had been “ an ornament to Black Friers.” John Wilson, who appears to have acted in our author's Much Ado about Nothing, is likewise excluded from this catalogue; though Meres, in the Second Part of his Wits' Common-wealth, 1598, praising several who were “ famous for extemporall verse,” says, “ Of our Tarlton, doctor Case that learned phylitian thus speaketh in the seventh book and feventeenth chapter of his Politikes; Aristoteles suum Theodoretum laudavit, quendam peritum tragoediarum aclorem; Cicero suum Roscium; nos Angli Tarletonum, in cujus voce & vultu omnes jocefi afiiElus, in cujus cerebrolo capite lepida facetia habitant. And so is our wittie WILSON, who, for learning and extemporall witte in this facultie, is without compare or compeere, &c.”
* Author of the Two Maids of Moorclacke, Com. 160g.
† Author of Amends for Ladies, Com. 1639, and Woman is a Weathercock, Com. 1612. Hc allo athited Mallinger in the Fatal