Don't imagine that I have tranſlated Shakeſpear in a ſervile Manner. Woe to the Writer who gives a literal Verſion; who by rendring every Word of his Original, by that very means enervates the Senſe, and extinguiſhes all the Fire of it. 'Tis on ſuch an Occaſion one may juſtly affirm, that the Letter kills, but the Spirit quickens.
Here follows another Paſſge copied from a celebrated Tragic Writer among the Engliſh. 'Tis Dryden, a Poet in the Reign of Charles the Second; a Writer whoſe Genius was too exuberant, and not accompanied with Judgment enough. Had he writ only a tenth Part of the Works he left behind him, his Character wou'd have been conſpicuous in every Part; but his great Fault is his having endeavour'd to be univerſal.
The Paſſage in Queſtion is as follows:
When I conſider Life, 'tis all a Cheat,
Yet fool'd by Hope, Men favour the Deceit;
