The ballad, however, must have made some noise at | sufficient to give celebrity to the founder of a new Sir Thomas's expense, as the author took care it should stage. It may be added, that his uncommon merit, be affixed to his park-gates, and liberally circulated among his neighbors. On his arrival in London, which was probably in 1586, when he was twenty-two years old, he is said to have made his first acquaintance in the play-house, to which idleness or taste may have directed him, and where his necessities, if tradition may be credited, obliged him to accept the office of call-boy, or prompter's attendant. This is a menial whose employment it is to give the performers notice to be ready to enter, as often as the business of the play requires their appearance on the stage. But in whatever situation he was first employed at the theatre, he appears to have soon discovered those talents which afterwards made him Th' applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! his candor, and good-nature, are supposed to have procured him the admiration and acquaintance of every person distinguished for such qualities. It is not difficult, indeed, to suppose, that Shakespeare was a man of humor, and a social companion, and probably excelled in that species of minor wit not ill adapted to conversation, of which it could have been wished he had been more sparing in his writings. How long he acted has not been discovered, but he During his continued to write till the year 1611. dramatic career he acquired a property in the theatre, which he must have disposed of when he retired, as no mention of it occurs in his will. His connection with Ben Jonson has been variously related. It is said, that when Jonson was unknown to the world, he offered a play to the theatre, which was rejected after a very careless perusal, but that Shakespeare having acci ion of it, and afterwards recommended Jonson and his an envious disrespect. Some distinction he probably first acquired as an actor, although Mr. Rowe has not been able to dis-dentally cast his eye on it, conceived a favorable opincover any character in which he appeared to more advantage than that of the ghost in Hamlet. The in-writings to the public. For this candor he was repaid structions given to the player in that tragedy, and by Jonson, when the latter became a poet of note, with other passages of his works, show an intimate acquaintance with the skill of acting, and such as is scarcely surpassed in our own days. He appears to have studied nature in acting as much as in writing. Mr. Rowe regrets that he cannot inform us which was the first play he wrote. More skilful research has since found, that Romeo and Juliet, and Richard II and III were printed in 1597, when he was thirty-three years old: there is also some reason to think that he commenced as a dramatic writer in 1592, and Mr. Malone even places his first play, "First part of Henry VI," in 1589. His plays, however, must have been not only popular, but approved by persons of the higher order, as we are certain that he enjoyed the gracious favor of Queen Elizabeth, who was very fond of the stage and the particular and affectionate patronage of the Earl of Southampton, to whom he dedicated his poems of "Venus and Adonis," and his "Tarquin and Lucrece." On Sir William Davenant's authority, it has been asserted, that this nobleman at one time gave him a thousand pounds to enable him to complete a purchase. At the conclusion of the advertisement prefixed to Lintot's edition of Shakespeare's poems, it is said, "That most learned prince, and great patron of learning, King James the First, was pleased, with his own hand, to write an amicable letter to Mr. Shakespeare; which letter, though now lost, remained long in the hands of Sir William D'Avenant, as a credible person now living can testify." Dr. Farmer with great probability supposes, that this letter was written by King James, in return for the compliment paid to him in Macbeth. The relater of this anecdote was Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham. These brief notices, meagre as they are, may show that our author enjoyed high favor in his day. Whatever we may think of King James as a "learned prince," his patronage, as well as that of his predecessor, was The latter part of Shakespeare's life was spent in case, retirement, and the conversation of his friends. He had accumulated considerable property, which Gildon stated to amount to £300 per annum, a sum at least equal to £1000 in our days; but Mr. Malone doubts whether all his property amounted to much more than £200 per annum, which yet was a considerable fortune in those times, and it is supposed that he might have derived £200 per annum from the theatre while he continued on the stage. He retired some years before his death to a house in Stratford, built by Sir Hugh Clopton, a younger brother of an ancient family in that neighborhood. The principal estate had been sold out of the Clopton family for above a century, at the time when Shakespeare became the purchaser; who having repaired and modelled it to his own mind, changed the name to New Place, which the mansion-house, afterwards erect ed in the room of the poet's house, retained for many years. The house and lands belonging to it continued in the possession of Shakespeare's descendants to the time of the Restoration, when they were re-purchased by the Clopton family. Here, in May, 1742, when Mr. Garrick, Mr. Macklin, and Mr. Delane, visited Stratford, they were hospitably entertained under Shakespeare's mulberry-tree by Sir Hugh Clopton. His executor, about the year 1752, sold New Place to the Rev. Mr. Gastrell, a man of large fortune, who resided in it but a few years, in consequence of a disagreement with the inhabitants of Stratford. As he resided part of the year at Litchfield, he thought he was assessed too highly in the monthly rate towards the maintenance of the poor; but being very properly compelled by the magistrates of Stratford to pay the whole of what was levied on him. on the principle that this house was occupied by his servants in his absence, he peevishly declared that that house should never be assessed | Earl of Burlington, Dr. Mead, Mr. Pope, and Mr. again; and soon afterwards pulled it down, sold the Martyn. It was the work of Scheemaker, (who rematerials, and left the town. He had some time before ceived £300 for it,) after a design of Kent, and was cut down Shakespeare's mulberry-tree, to save himself opened in January of that year. The performers of the trouble of showing it to those whose admiration of each of the London theatres gave a benefit to defray our great poet led them to visit the classic ground on the expenses, and the Dean and Chapter of Westminswhich it stood. That Shakespeare planted this tree ter took nothing for the ground. The money received appears to be sufficiently authenticated. Where New by the performers at Drury Lane theatre amounted to Place stood is now a garden. above £200, but the receipts at the Covent Garden did not exceed £100. During Shakespeare's abode in this house, his pleasurable wit, and good-nature, engaged him the acquaintance, and entitled him to the friendship, of the gentlemen of the neighborhood. Shakespeare, during his retirement, wrote the play of Twelfth Night. He died on his birthday, Tuesday, April 23, 1616, when he had exactly completed his fifty-second year, and was buried on the north side of the chancel, in the great church at Stratford, where a monument is placed in the wall, on which he is represented under an arch, in a sitting posture, a cushion spread before him, with a pen in his right hand, and his left rested on a scroll of paper. From these imperfect notices, which are all we have been able to collect from the labors of his biographers and commentators, our readers will perceive that less is known of Shakespeare than of almost any writer who has been considered as an object of laudable curiosity. Nothing could be more highly gratifying than an account of the early studies of this wonderful man, the progress of his pen, his moral and social qualities, his friendships, his failings, and whatever else constitutes personal history. Unfortunately, we know as little of his writings as of his personal history. The industry of his illustraOn his grave-stone, underneath, are these lines, in tors for the last thirty years has been such, as probaan uncouth mixture of small and capital letters: Y spares T-Es Stones T Y And curst be He moves my Bones. It is uncertain whether this request and imprecation were written by Shakespeare, or by one of his friends. They probably allude to the custom of removing skeletons after a certain time, and depositing them in charnel-houses; and similar execrations are found in many ancient Latin epitaphs. We have no account of the malady which, at no very advanced age, closed the life and labors of this unrivalled and incomparable genius. The only notice we have of his person is from Aubrey, who says, "he was a handsome well-shaped man;" and adds, "verie good company, and of a verie ready, and pleasant and smooth wit." His family consisted of two daughters, and a son named Hamnet, who died in 1596, in the twelfth year of his age. Susannah, the eldest daughter, and her father's favorite, was married to Dr. John Hall, died July 11, 1649, aged sixty-six. They left only one child, Elizabeth, born 1607-8, and married April 22, 1626, to Thomas Nashe, Esq., who died in 1647; and afterwards to Sir John Barnard, of Abington, in Northamptonshire; but died without issue by either husband. Judith, Shakespeare's youngest daughter, was married to a Mr. Thomas Quiney, and died February, 1561-62, in her seventy-seventh year. By Mr. Quiney she had three sons, Shakespeare, Richard, and Thomas, who all died unmarried. In the year 1741, a monument was erected to our poet in Westminster Abbey, by the direction of the bly never was surpassed in the annals of literary investigation; yet so far are we from information of the conclusive or satisfactory kind, that even the order in which his plays were written, rests principally on conjecture, and of some plays usually printed among his works, it is not yet determined whether he wrote the whole, or any part. With respect to himself, it does not appear that he printed any one of his plays, and only eleven of them were printed in his lifetime. The reason assigned for this is, that he wrote them for a particular theatre, sold them to the managers when only an actor, reserved them in manuscript when himself a manager, and when he disposed of his property in the theatre, they were still preserved in manuscript to prevent their being acted by the rival houses. Shakespeare died in 1616; and seven years afterwards appeared the first edition of his plays, published at the charges of four booksellers,—a circumstance from which Mr. Malone infers, "that no single publisher was at that time willing to risk his money on a complete collection of our author's plays." This edition was printed from the copies in the hands of his fellow-managers, Heminge and Condell, which had been in a series of years frequently altered through convenience, caprice, or ignorance. Of his POEMS, it is perhaps necessary that some notice should be taken, although they have never been favorites with the public, and have seldom been reprinted with his plays. Shortly after his death, a very incorrect impression of them was issued, which in every subsequent edition was implicitly followed, until Mr. Malone published a corrected edition in 1780 with illustrations, &c. SCENE I-On a Ship at Sea. A tempestuous noise of Thunder and Lightning heard. Master. Boatswain ! Mast. Good. Speak to the mariners: fall to't yarely, or we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir. [Exit. Enter Mariners. Boats. Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts! yare, vare. Take in the topsail; tend to the Master's whistle.-Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough! Enter ALONZO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND, Gon- Alon. Good boatswain, have a care. Where's the master? Play the men. Boats. I pray now, keep below. Ant. Where is the master, boatswain? |his hanging: make the rope of his destiny our cable, Re-enter Boatswain. Boats. Down with the top-mast: yare; lower, lower Bring her to try with main-course. [A cry within.| A plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather, or our office. Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO. Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o'er, and drown? Have you a mind to sink? Seb. A pox o' your throat, you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog! Boats. Work you, then. Ant. Hang, cur, hang! you whoreson, insolent noisemaker, we are less afraid to be drowned than thou art. Gon. I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched wench. Boats. Lay her a-hold, a-hold. Boats. Do you not hear him? You mar our labour. off to sea again; lay her off. Gm. Nay, good, be patient. Boats. When the sea is. Hence! What care these marers for the name of king? To cabin: silence! sable us not. Gon. Good; yet remember whom thou hast aboard. Set her two courses: Enter Mariners, wet. Mar. All lost! to prayers, to prayers! all lost! [Er. Boats. What! must our mouths be cold? [them. Gon. The king and prince at prayers! let us assist For our case is as theirs. Seb. I am out of patience. Ant. We are merely' cheated of our lives by drunkards. drowning, are a counsellor if you can command these elements Elence, and work the peace of the present, we will This wide-chapp'd rascal,―would, thou might'st lie not hand a rope more; use your authority: if you cannot, give thanks you have lived so long, and make The washing of ten tides ! yourself ready in your cabin for the mischance of the tour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good hearts!-Out of our " way, I say. [Exit. Gon. I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks, he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good fate, to Gon. We split, we split-Farewell, my wife and children!— Former editions: the sea with a ship. heard: not in f. e. 3 as on ship-board, etc.: not in f. e. Nimbly. from the cabin: not bie a: not in f. e. 7 Absolutely. Ant. Let's all sink with the king. Seb. Let's take leave of him. [Exit. That this lives in thy mind? What seest thou else [Exit. In the dark backward and abysm of time? Gon. Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground; long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death. [Exit. SCENE II.—The Island: before the cell of PROSPERO. Enter PROSPERO and MIRANDA. Mira. If by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them. The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch, It should the good ship so have swallow'd, and Did never meddle with my thoughts. Pro. [Lays down his robe. I have with such prevision in mine art So safely order'd, that there is no soul- Which thou heard'st cry, which thou saw'st sink. Sit down; For thou must now know farther. Mira. You have often Begun to tell me what I am; but stopp'd, And left me to a bootless inquisition, Concluding, "Stay, not yet." Pro. O! my heart bleeds To think o' the teen' that I have turn'd you to, Which is from my remembrance. Please you, farther I Pro. My brother, and thy uncle, call'd Antonio pray thee, mark me,—that a brother should Be so perfidious !—he whom, next thyself, Without a parallel: those being all my study, And to my state grew stranger, being transported Pro. Being once perfected how to grant suits, How to deny them, whom t'advance, and whom To trash" for over-topping, new created The creatures that were mine, I say, or chang'd them Or else new form'd them; having both the key Of officer and office, set all hearts i' the state To what tune pleas'd his ear; that now he was The ivy, which had hid my princely trunk, And suck'd my verdure out on't. Thou attend'st no Mira. O good sir! I do. Pro. I pray thee, mark me. The hour's now come, A falsehood, in its contrary as great The very minute bids thee ope thine ear; [Sits down. And rather like a dream, than an assurance That my remembrance warrants. Had I not Four or five women once, that tended me? As my trust was; which had, indeed, no limit, To credit his own lie,-he did believe He was indeed the duke; out o' the substitution, Mira. Your tale, sir, would cure deafnes Pro. To have no screen between this part he play' Pro. Thou hadst, and more, Miranda. But how is it, | And him he play'd it for, he needs will be provision: in f. e. Not in f. e. 1 cheek: in f. e. 2 creature: in f. e. 3 mantle in f. e. |