cumulate upon him; while the reading was yet not rectified, nor his alluſions underſtood; yet then did Dryden pronounce, “that Shakeſpeare was the man, who, of all modern and perhaps ancient poets, had the largeſt and moſt comprehenſive ſoul. All the images of nature were ſtill preſent to him, and he drew them not laboriouſly, but luckily: when he deſcribes any thing, you more than ſee it, you feel it too. Thoſe, who accuſe him to have wanted learning, give him the greater commendation: he was naturally learned: he needed not the ſpectacles of books to read nature; he looked inwards, and found her there. I cannot ſay he is every where alike; were he ſo, I ſhould do him injury to compare him with the greateſt of mankind. He is many times flat and inſipid; his comick wit degenerating into clenches, his ſerious ſwelling into bombaſt. But he is always great, when ſome great occaſion is preſented to him: no man can ſay, he ever had a fit ſubject for his wit, and did not then raiſe himſelf as high above the reſt of poets,
“Quantum lenta ſolent inter viburna cupreſſi.”
It is to be lamented, that ſuch a writer ſhould want a commentary; that his language ſhould become obſolete, or his ſentiment obſcure. But it is vain to carry wiſhes beyond the condition of human things; that which muſt happen to all, has happened to Shakeſpeare, by accident and time; and more than has been ſuffered by any other writer ſince the uſe of types, has been ſuffered by him through his own negligence of fame, or perhaps by that ſupe-
riority
