every man finds his mind more ſtrongly ſeized by the tragedies of Shakeſpeare than of any other writer; others pleaſe us by particular ſpeechcs, but he always makes us anxious for the events and has perhaps excelled all but Homer in ſecuring the firſt purpoſe of a writer, by exciting reſtleſs and unquenchable curioſity, and compelling him that reads his work to read it through.
The ſhows and buſtle with which his plays abound have the ſame original. As knowledge advances, pleafure paſſes from the eye to the ear, but returns, as it declines, from the ear to the eye. Thoſe to whom our author’s labours were exhibited had more ſkill in pomps or proceſſions than in poetical language, and perhaps wanted ſome viſible and diſcriminated events, as comments on the dialogue. He knew how he ſhould moſt pleaſe; and whether his practice is more agreeable to nature, or whether his example has prejudiced the nation, we ſtill find that on our ſtage ſomething muſt be done as well as ſaid, and inactive declamation is very coldly heard, however muſical or elegant, paſſionate or ſublime.
Voltaire expreſſes his wonder, that our author’s extravagancies are endured by a nation, which has ſeen the tragedy of Cato. Let him be anſwered, that Addiſon ſpeaks the language of poets, and Shakeſpeare, of men. We find in Cato innumerable beauties which enamour us of its author, but we ſee nothing that acquaints us with human ſentiments or human actions; we place it with the faireſt and the nobleſt progeny which judgment propagates by con-
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