SOME

ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE, &c.,

OF

WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE:

WRITTEN BY MR. ROWE.

It seems to be a kind of respect due to the memory of excellent men, especially hose whom their wit and learning have made famous, to deliver some account ✔ thrives, as well as their works, to posterity. For this reason, how fond do wesome people of discovering any little personal story of the great men of

y! their families, the common accidents of their lives, and even their Snake, and features, have been the subject of critical inquiries. How soever this curiosity may seem to be, it is certainly very natural; and we badly satisfied with an account of any remarkable person, till we have heard described even to the very clothes he wears. As for what relates to men of , the knowledge of an author may sometimes conduce to the better underfing bis book; and though the works of Mr. Shakspeare may seem to many wast a comment, yet I fancy some little account of the man himself may be thought improper to go along with them. He was the son of Mr. John Shakspeare, and was born at Stratford-upon-Avon Warwickshire, in April 1564. His family, as appears by the register and public

p relating to that town, were of good figure and fashion there, and are haped as gentlemen. His father, who was a considerable dealer in wool, had large a family, ten children in all, that though he was his eldest son, he could him no better education than his own employment. He had bred him, it is for some time at a free-school, where, it is probable, he acquired what Latin for a master of: but the narrowness of his circumstances, and the want of his ance at home, forced his father to withdraw him from thence, and unhappily

ed his further proficiency in that language. It is without controversy, that werks we scarce find any traces of any thing that looks like an imitation ofdents. The delicacy of his taste, and the natural bent of his own great

equal, if not saperior, to some of the best of theirs,) would certainly have ed to read and study them with so much pleasure, that some of their fine wold naturally have insinuated themselves into, and been mixed with, his tags: so that his not copying at least something from them, may be an agment of his never having read them. Whether his ignorance of the ancients wide a disadvantage to him or no, may admit of a dispute: for though the know

of them might have made him more correct, yet it is not improbable but hat the regularity and deference for them, which would have attended that correness, might have restrained some of that fire, impetuosity, and even beautiful ragance, which we admire in Shakspeare: and I believe we are better pleased with those thoughts, altogether new and uncommon, which bis own ima

supplied him so abundantly with, than if he had given us the most beautif pages out of the Greek and Latin poets, and that in the most agreeable mauthat it was possible for a master of the English language to deliver them. pon his leaving school, he seems to have given entirely into that way of living Wad his father proposed to him; and in order to settle in the world after a y manner, he thought it to marry while he was yet very young. His wife Se daughter of one Hathaway, said to have been a substantial yeoman in the gerhood of Stratford. In this kind of settlement he continued for some than extravagance that he was guilty of forced him both out of his country, and that way of living which he had taken up; and though it seemed at firsto barmish upon his good manners, and a misfortune to him, yet it afterv ply proved the occasion of exerting one of the greatest geniuses t knows in dramatic poetry. He had by a misfortune, common c gfellows, fallen into ill company; and amongst them, some that in

LIFE OF SHAKSPEARE.

ROP SHAKS

quent practice of deer stealing, engaged him more than once in robbing a parts of belonged to Sir Thomas Lucy, of Charlecote, near Stratford. For this baby prosecuted by that gentleman, as he thought, somewhat too severely; and in to revenge that ill usage, he made a ballad upon him. And though this, pro the first essay of his poetry, be lost, yet it is said to have been so very bitter it redoubled the prosecution against him, to that degree that he was oblig leave his business and family in Warwickshire for some time, and shelter hi

in London.

their l

T

It is at this time, and upon this accident, that he is said to have made his acquaintance in the playhouse. He was received into the company then in b at first, in a very mean rank; but his admirable wit, and the natural turn of the stage, soon distinguished him, if not as au extraordinary actor, yet as al cellent writer. His name was printed as the custom was in those times, amo those of the other players, before some old plays, but without any partic account of what sort of parts he used to play; and though I have inquired, I n could meet with any further account of him this way, than that the top of his formance was the Ghost in his own Hamlet. I should have been much n pleased, to have learned from certain authority, which was the first play he wre it would be without doubt a pleasure to any man, curious in things of this kind see and know what was the first essay of a fancy like Shakspeare's. Perhaps are not to look for his beginnings, like those of other authors, among perfect writings; art had so little, and nature so large a share in what he did, t for aught I know, the performances of his youth, as they were the most vigoro and had the most fire and strength of imagination in them, were the best. I wo not be thought by this to mean, that his fancy was so loose and extravagant, as be independent on the rule and government of judgment; but that what he thoug was commonly so great, so justly and rightly conceived in itself, that it want little or no correction, and was immediately approved by an impartial judgment the first sight. But though the order of time in which the several pieces we written be generally uncertain, yet there are passages in some few of them whic seem to fix their dates. So the Chorus at the end of the fourth act of Henry t Fifth, by a compliment very handsomely turned to the earl of Essex, shows t play to have been written when that lord was general for the queen in Ireland and his elogy upon queen Elizabeth, and her successor king James, in the latte end of his Henry the Eighth, is a proof of that play's being written after th accession of the latter of those two princes to the crown of England. Whateve the particular times of his writing were, the people of his age, who began to grow wonderfully fond of diversions of this kind, could not but be highly pleased to se a genius arise amongst them of so pleasurable, so rich a vein, and so plentifully capable of furnishing their favourite entertainments. Besides the advantages o his wit, he was in himself a good-natured man, of great sweetness in his manners and a most agreeable companion; so that it is no wonder, if, with so many good qualities, he made himself acquainted with the best conversations of those times. Queen Elizabeth had several of his plays acted before her, and without doubt gave him many gracious marks of her favour; it is that maiden princess plainly, whom be intends by

a fair vestal, throned by the west,

A MIDSUMMER-NIGHT'S DREAM.

and that whole passage is a compliment very properly brought in, and very handsomely applied to her. She was so well pleased with that admirable character of Falstaff, in the two parts of Henry the Fourth, that she commanded him to continue it for one play more, and to show him in love. This is said to be the occasion of his writing The Merry Wives of Windsor. obeyed, the play itself is an admirable proof. Upon this occasion it may not be How well she was improper to observe, that this part of Falstaff is said to have been written originally under the name of Oldcastle: some of that family being then remaining, the queen was pleased to command him to alter it; upon which he made use of Falstaff. The present offence was indeed avoided; but I do not know whether the author may not have been somewhat to blame in his second choice, since it is certain that Sir John Falstaff, who was a knight of the garter, and a lieutenantgeneral, was a name of distinguished merit in the wars in France in Henry the Fifth's and Henry the Sixth's times. What grace soever the queen conferred apon him, it was not to her only he owed the fortune which the reputation of his wit made. He had the honour to meet with many great and uncommon marks of favour and friendship from the earl of Southampton, famous in the histories of that time, for his friendship to the unfortunate earl of Essex. hat he dedicated his poem of Venus and Adonis. It was to that noble lord There is one instance so

magnificence of this patron of Shakspeare's, that if I had not been story was handed down by Sir William D'Avenant, who was yell acquainted with his affairs, I should not have ventured to

my lord Southampton at one time gave him a thousand pounds, as go through with a purchase which he heard he had a mind to. great, and very rare at any time, and almost equal to that profuse Resent age has shown to French dancers and Italian singers.

er habitude or friendships he contracted with private men, I have to learn, more than that every one, who had a true taste of merit, Anguish men, had generally a just value and esteem for him. His ador and good nature must certainly have inclined all the gentler rld to love him, as the power of his wit obliged the men of the most redge and polite learning to admire him.

ance with Ben Jonson began with a remarkable piece of humanity e: Mr. Jonson, who was at that time altogether unknown to the fered one of his plays to the players, in order to have it acted; and do whose hands it was put, after having turned it carelessly and over, were just upon returning it to him with an ill-natured answer, be of no service to their company; when Shakspeare luckily cast his and found something so well in it, as to engage him first to read it afterwards to recommend Mr. Jonson and his writings to the public. certainly a very good scholas, and in that had the advantage of Shakat the same time I believe it must be allowed, that what nature was more than a balance for what books had given the former; ent of a great man upon this occasion was, I think, very just and conversation between Sir John Suckling, Sir William D'Avenant, Puter, Mr. Hales of Eton, and Ben Jonson, Sir John Suckling, who

admirer of Shakspeare, had undertaken his defence against Ben me warmth; Mr. Hales, who had sat still for some time, told them, Shakspeare had not read the ancients, he had likewise not stolen from them; and that if he would produce any one topic finely yone of them, he would undertake to shew something upon the at least as well written by Shakspeare.

part of his life was spent, as all men of good sense will wish theirs
, retirement, and the conversation of his friends. He had the good
her an estate equal to his occasion, and, in that, to his wish; and is
pent some years before his death at his native Stratford. His
tand good-nature engaged him in the acquaintance, and entitled him
of the gentlemen of the neighbourhood. Amongst them, it is a
remembered in that country that he had a particular intimacy
an old gentleman noted thereabouts for his wealth and usury: it
a pleasant conversation amongst their common friends, Mr.
speare in a langbing manner, that he fancied he intended to
if he happened to out-live him; and since he could not know
said of him when he was dead, he desired it might be done im-
which Shakspeare gave him these four verses:

"TEN IN THE HUNDRED lies here engraved;

Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not saved;
If any man ask, Who lies in this tomb?

Oh! oh! quoth the devil, 'tis my John-a-Combe."

Sharpness of the satire is said to have stung the man so severely, that he d in the sad year of his age, and was buried on the north side of the chan

great church at Stratford, where a monument is placed in the wall. On Fine anderocath is, gifs,

*Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear

To dig the dust enclosed here.

Blest be the man that spares these stones,

And earst be he that moves my bones."

We are danghters, of which two lived to be married; Judith, the elder, to Mr. Tam Quiney, by whom she had three sons, who all died without ; and Seanne, who was his favourite, to Dr. John Hall, a physician of estion in that country. She left one child only, a daughter, who wa to Thomas Nashe, Esq., and afterwards to Sir John Baruard bat died likewise without issue.

what I could learn of any note, either relating to himself or family

character of the man is best seen in his writings. But since Ben Jonson has a sort of an essay toward it in his Discoveries, I will give it in his words: "I remember the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakspe| that in writing (whatsoever he penned) he never blotted out a line. My ans hath been, Would he had blotted a thousand which they thought a maleve speech. I had not told posterity this, but for their ignorance, who chose that cumstance to commend their friend by, wherein he most faulted: and to ju mine own candour, for I loved the man, and do honour his memory, on this idolatry, as much as any. He was, indeed, honest, and of an open and free na had an excellent fancy, brave notions, and gentle expressions: wherein he f with that facility, that sometimes it was necessary he should be stopped: flaminandus erat, as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his own po would the rule of it had been so too! Many times he fell into those things w could not escape laughter; as when he said in the person of Cæsar, one spes to him, "Casar, thon dost me wrong.

"He replied:

"Cæsar did never wrong, but with just cause.

" and such like, which were ridiculous. But he redeemed his vices wit virtues: there was ever more in him to be praised than to be pardoned."

As for the passage which he mentions out of Shakspeare, there is some. like it in Julius Cesar, but without the absurdity; nor did I ever meet with any edition that I have seen, as quoted by Mr. Jonson.

Besides his plays in this edition, there are two or three ascribed to him by Langbaine, which I have never seen, and know nothing of. He writ lik Venus and Adonis, and Tarquin and Lucrece, in stanzas, which have printed in a late collection of poems. As to the character given of him by Jonson, there is a good deal trne in it: but I believe it may be as well express what Horace says of the first Romans, who wrote tragedy upon the Greek me (or indeed translated them,) in his epistle to Augustus:

-naturâ sublimis et acer:

Nam spirat tragicum satis, et feliciter audet,

Sed turpem putat in chartis metuitque lituram."

As I have not proposed to myself to enter into a large and complete crit upon Shakspeare's works, so I will only take the liberty, with all due submissi the judgment of others, to observe some of those things I have been pleased in looking him over.

His plays are properly to be distinguished only into comedies and trage Those which are called histories, and even some of his comedies, are n tragedies, with a run or mixture of comedy amongst them. That way of comedy was the common mistake of that age; and is, indeed, become so agre to the English taste, that though the severer critics among us cannot bear it, y generality of our audiences seem to be better pleased with it than with an tragedy. The Merry Wives of Windsor, The Comedy of Errors, and Taming of a Shrew, are all pure comedy; the rest, however they are ca have something of both kinds. It is not very easy to determine which wa writing he was most excellent in. There is certainly a great deal of entert ment in his comical humours; and, though they did not then strike at all r of people, as the satire of the present age has taken the liberty to do, yet there pleasing and a well-distinguished variety in those characters which he tho fit to meddle with. Falstaff is allowed by every body to be a master-pi the character is always well sustained, though drawn out into the length of t plays; and even the account of his death, given by his old landlady, 1 Quickly, in the first act of Henry the Fifth, though it be extremely nati is yet as diverting as any part of his life. If there be any fault in the draught has made of this lewd old fellow, it is that, though he has made him a th lying, cowardly, vain-glorious, and, in short, every way vicious, yet he has gi him so much wit as to make him almost too agreeable; and I do not kn whether some people have not, in remembrance of the diversion he formerly afforded them, been sorry to see his friend Hal use him so scurv when he comes to the crown in the end of The Second Part of Henry Fourth. Amongst other extravagancies, in The Merry Wives of Windsor has made him a deer-stealer, that he might at the same time remember Warwickshire prosecutor, under the name of Justice Shallow; he has given h very near the same court of arms which Dugdale, in his Antiquities of