English literature; Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 -- Appreciation
It is said of the ostrich, that she drops her egg at random, to be
disposed of as chance pleases; either brought up to maturity by
the sun’s kindly warmth, or else crushed by beasts and the feet of
passers-by: such, at least, is the account which naturalists have
given us of this extraordinary bird; and admitting it for a truth, she
is in this a fit emblem of almost every great genius: they conceive
and produce with ease those noble issues of human understanding; but
incubation, the dull work of putting them correctly upon paper and
afterwards publishing, is a task they cannot away with. If the original
state of all such authors’ writings, even from Homer downward, could
be inquired into and known, they would yield proof in abundance of the
justness of what is here asserted: but the author now before us shall
suffice for them all; being at once the greatest instance of genius
in producing noble things, and of negligence in providing for them
afterwards.
Preface to _Mr. William Shakespeare, his Comedies,
Histories, and Tragedies set out by himself in
quarto or by the Players his Fellows in folio,
and now faithfully republished from those
Editions in ten volumes octavo; with an
Introduction, etc._ 1760, vol. i. pp. 1-2.
Of this preface Dr. Johnson remarked: “If the man would have
come to me, I would have endeavoured to endow his purpose with
words, for as it is, he doth gabble monstrously.”—Boswell’s
_Life of Dr. Johnson_, iii. 251, 2nd ed.
CHARLES CHURCHILL, 1761
(1731-1764)
In the first seat, in robe of various dyes,
A noble wildness flashing from his eyes,
Sat Shakespeare.—In one hand a wand he bore,
For mighty wonders fam’d in days of yore;
The other held a globe, which to his will
Obedient turn’d, and own’d the master’s skill:
Things of the noblest kind his genius drew,
And look’d through Nature at a single view:
A loose he gave to his unbounded soul,
And taught new lands to rise, new seas to roll;
Call’d into being scenes unknown before,
And, passing Nature’s bounds, was something more.
_The Rosciad_, 1761, l. 259.
WILLIAM WHITEHEAD, 1762
(1715-1785)
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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