* * * * * To-day we bring old gather’d herbs, ’tis true, But such as in sweet Shakespeare’s garden grew. And all his plants immortal you esteem, Your mouths are never out of taste with him. JOHN CROWNE (_d._ 1703?). Prologue to _Henry the Sixth, the First Part_. Adapted from Shakespeare’s _1 Henry VI._ 1681. Sig. A2. * * * * * Shakespeare (whom you and every playhouse bill Style the divine, the matchless, what you will) For gain, not glory, wing’d his roving flight, And grew immortal in his own despite. ALEXANDER POPE (1688-1744). _Imitations of Horace._ Bk. II. ch. i. ll. 69-72. 1737. * * * * * Thrice happy! could we catch great Shakespeare’s art, To trace the deep recesses of the heart; His simple plain sublime, to which is given To strike the soul with darted flame from heaven. JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748). Prologue to _Tancred and Sigismundâ_. 1745. Sig. A4. * * * * * Let others seek a monumental fame, And leave for one short age a pompous name; Thou dost not e’en this little tomb require, Shakespeare can only with the world expire. Epitaph on a Tombstone of Shakespeare. _Gentleman’s Magazine._ June 1767, vol. xxvii. p. 324. * * * * * Shakespeare came out of Nature’s hand like Pallas out of Jove’s head, at full growth and mature. GEORGE COLMAN (1733-1794), before 1767.