that came into his head. He was a student of Chaucer he beheld the living fame of Spenser ; and his fellow-dramatists did not help to restrain him. The players told Ben Jonson that Shakspeare never blotted a line; and Ben says he was thought invidious for observing, that he wished he had blotted a thousand. He sometimes, he says, required stopping. (Aliquando sufflaminandus erat.) Was this meant to apply to his conversation as well as writing? Did he manifest a like exuberance in company? Perhaps he would have done so, but for modesty and self-knowledge. To keep his eloquence altogether within bounds was hardly possible; and who could have wished it had been? Would that he had had a Boswell a hundred times as voluminous as Dr. Johnson's, to take all down! Bacon's Essays would have seemed like a drop out of his ocean. He would have swallowed dozens of Hobbeses by anticipation, like larks for his supper. If Shakspeare, instead of proving himself the greatest poet in the world, had written nothing but the fanciful scenes in this volume, he would still have obtained a high and singular reputation,-that of Poet of the Fairies. For he may be said to have invented the Fairies; that is to say, he was the first that turned them to poetical account; that bore them from clownish neighbourhoods to the richest soils of fancy and imagination. WHOLE STORY OF THE TEMPEST. ENCHANTMENT, MONSTROSITY, AND LOVE. The whole story of the Tempest is really contained in this scene. Mira. I pray you, sir, (For still 'tis beating in my mind) your reason For raising this sea-storm? Pro. Know thus far forth ; By accident, most strange, bountiful fortune, I find my zenith doth depend upon A most auspicious star; whose influence, If now I court not, but omit, my fortunes (Miranda sleeps.) Come away, servants, come; I am ready now; Enter ARIEL. Ari. All hail, great master! grave sir, hail! I come To answer thy best pleasure; be 't to fly, To swim, to dive into the fire, to ride On the curl'd clouds; to thy strong bidding, task Ariel, and all his quality. Perform'd to point the tempest that I bade thee? Ari. To every article. I boarded the king's ship; now on the beak, Now in the waist, the deck, in every cabin, I flam'd amazement. Sometimes, I'd divide, But felt a fever of the mind, and play'd Some tricks of desperation ; all, but mariners, On their sustaining garments not a blemish, The king's son have I landed by himself; Is the king's ship; in the nook, where once Thou call'dst me up at midnight to fetch dew Whom, with a charm join'd to their suffer'd labour, I have left asleep; and for the rest o' the fleet, Which I dispers'd, they all have met again; Bound sadly home for Naples; Supposing that they saw the king's ship wreck'd, Exactly is perform'd; but there's more work: What is the time o' the day? Pro. At least two glasses: the time 'twixt six and now, Must by us both be spent most preciously. Ari. Is there more toil? Since thou dost give me pains, Let me remember thee what thou hast promis'd, Which is not yet perform'd me. Remember, I have done thee worthy service; Told thee no lies, made no mistakings, serv'd Without or grudge or grumblings: thou didst promise A To do me business in the veins of the earth, When it is bak'd with frost. Pro. Thou liest, malignant thing! Hast thou forgot The foul witch Sycorax, who, with age and envy, Was grown into a hoop? Hast thou forgot her? Ari. No, sir. Pro. Thou hast where was she born? speak; tell me. Ari. Sir, in Argier. Pro. O, was she so? I must, Once in a month, recount what thou hast been, To enter human hearing from Argier, Thou know'st was banish'd; for one thing she did, Ari. Aye, sir. Pro. This blue-ey'd hag was hither brought with child, And here was left by the sailors: Thou, my slave, As thou report'st thyself, was then her servant: And, for thou wast a spirit too delicate To act her earthy and abhorr'd commands, Imprison'd, thou didst painfully remain A dozen years; within which space she died, And left thee there; where thou didst vent thy groans, As fast as mill-wheels strike: Then was this island (Save for the son which she did litter here, A freckled whelp, hag-born) not honour'd with Pro. Dull thing, I say so,-he, that Caliban, |