is a natural consequence of this more artful arrangement of the story, that Dryden contents himself with the concluding scene of Antony’s history instead of introducing the incidents of the war with Cneius Pompey, the negociation with Lepidus, death of his first wife, and other circumstances, which, in Shakespeare, only tend to distract our attention from the main interest of the drama.  The union of time, as necessary as that of place to the intelligibility of the drama, has, in like manner, been happily attained; and an interesting event is placed before the audience with no other change of place, and no greater lapse of time, than can be readily adapted to an ordinary imagination.

But, having given Dryden the praise of superior address in managing the story, I fear he must be pronounced in most other respects inferior to his grand prototype.  Antony, the principal character in both plays, is incomparably grander in that of Shakespeare.  The majesty and generosity of the military hero is happily expressed by both poets; but the awful ruin of grandeur, undermined by passion, and tottering to its fall, is far more striking in the Antony of Shakespeare.  Love, it is true, is the predominant; but it is not the sole ingredient in his character.  It has usurped possession of his mind, but is assailed by his original passions, ambition of power, and thirst for military fame.  He is, therefore, often, and it should seem naturally represented, as feeling for the downfall of his glory and power, even so intensely as to withdraw his thoughts from Cleopatra, unless considered as the cause of his ruin.  Thus, in the scene in which he compares himself to “black Vesper’s pageants,” he runs on in a train of fantastic and melancholy similes, having relation only to his fallen state, till the mention of Egypt suddenly recalls the idea of Cleopatra.  But Dryden has taken a different view of Antony’s character, and more closely approaching to his title of “All for Love.”—­“He seems not now that awful Antony.”  His whole thoughts and being are dedicated to his fatal passion; and though a spark of resentment is occasionally struck out by the reproaches of Ventidius, he instantly relapses into love-sick melancholy.  The following beautiful speech exhibits the romance of despairing love, without the deep and mingled passion of a dishonoured soldier, and dethroned emperor: 

Ant. [Throwing himself down.] Lie there, thou shadow of an emperor; The place, thou pressest on thy mother earth, Is all thy empire now:  Now, it contains thee; Some few days hence, and then ’twill be too large, When thou’rt contracted in the narrow urn, Shrunk to a few cold ashes; then, Octavia, For Cleopatra will not live to see it, Octavia then will have thee all her own, And bear thee in her widowed hand to Caesar; Caesar will weep, the crocodile will weep, To see his rival of the universe Lie still and peaceful there.  I’ll think no more on’t.  Give me