are very good Expressions of Love in their Way.  In Twelfth-Night there is something singularly Ridiculous and Pleasant in the fantastical Steward Malvolio.  The Parasite and the Vain-glorious in Parolles, in All’s Well that ends Well is as good as any thing of that Kind in Plautus or Terence. Petruchio, in The Taming of the Shrew, is an uncommon Piece of Humour.  The Conversation of Benedick and Beatrice in Much ado about Nothing, and of Rosalind in As you like it, have much Wit and Sprightliness all along.  His Clowns, without which Character there was hardly any Play writ in that Time, are all very entertaining:  And, I believe, Thersites in Troilus and Cressida, and Apemantus in Timon, will be allow’d to be Master-Pieces of ill Nature, and satyrical Snarling.  To these I might add, that incomparable Character of Shylock the Jew, in The Merchant of Venice; but tho’ we have seen that Play Receiv’d and Acted as a Comedy, and the Part of the Jew perform’d by an Excellent Comedian, yet I cannot but think it was design’d Tragically by the Author.  There appears in it such a deadly Spirit of Revenge, such a savage Fierceness and Fellness, and such a bloody designation of Cruelty and Mischief, as cannot agree either with the Stile or Characters of Comedy.  The Play it self, take it all together, seems to me to be one of the most finish’d of any of Shakespear’s.  The Tale indeed, in that Part relating to the Caskets, and the extravagant and unusual kind of Bond given by Antonio, is a little too much remov’d from the Rules of Probability:  But taking the Fact for granted, we must allow it to be very beautifully written.  There is something in the Friendship of Antonio to Bassanio very Great, Generous and Tender.  The whole fourth Act, supposing, as I said, the Fact to be probable, is extremely Fine.  But there are two Passages that deserve a particular Notice.  The first is, what Portia says in praise of Mercy, pag. 577; and the other on the Power of Musick, pag. 587.  The Melancholy of Jacques, in As you like it, is as singular and odd as it is diverting.  And if what Horace says

    Difficile est proprie communia Dicere,

’Twill be a hard Task for any one to go beyond him in the Description of the several Degrees and Ages of Man’s Life, tho’ the Thought be old, and common enough.

      _—­All the World’s a Stage,
    And all the Men and Women meerly Players;
    They have their Exits and their Entrances,
    And one Man in his time plays many Parts,
    His Acts being seven Ages.  At first the Infant
    Mewling and puking in the Nurse’s Arms: 
    And then, the whining School-boy with his Satchel,
    And shining Morning-face, creeping like Snail
    Unwillingly to School.