His
Fire, Spirit, and Exuberance of Imagination gave an Impetuosity
to his Pen: His Ideas flow'd from him in a Stream rapid, but not
turbulent; copious, but not ever overbearing its Shores. The Ease
and Sweetness of his Temper might not a little contribute to his
Facility in Writing; as his Employment, as a _Player_, gave him an
Advantage and Habit of fancying himself the very Character he meant
to delineate. He used the Helps of his Function in forming himself
to create and express that _Sublime_, which other Actors can only
copy, and throw out, in Action and graceful Attitude. But _Nullum
fine Venia placuit Ingenium_, says _Seneca_. The Genius, that
gives us the greatest Pleasure, sometimes stands in Need of our
Indulgence. Whenever this happens with regard to _Shakespeare_,
I would willingly impute it to a Vice of _his Times_. We see
Complaisance enough, in our own Days, paid to a _bad Taste_. His
_Clinches_, _false Wit_, and descending beneath himself, seem to
be a Deference paid to _reigning Barbarism_. He was a _Sampson_ in
Strength, but he suffer'd some such _Dalilah_ to give him up to the
_Philistines_.
As I have mention'd the Sweetness of his Disposition, I am tempted
to make a Reflexion or two on a Sentiment of his, which, I am
persuaded, came from the Heart.
The Man, that hath no Musick in himself,
Nor is not mov'd with Concord of sweet Sounds,
Is fit for Treasons, Stratagems, and Spoils:
The Motions of his Spirit are dull as Night,
And his Affections dark as _Erebus_:
Let no such Man be trusted.
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