, WN Me eRe / 
226 Shakespeare’s Character of Str John Fatstaff: 
ever last to execute them. The same 
Opportunities of indulgence recur, and 
slways find the same complying weak- 
ness. This is specifically exemplified 
where Sir Jolin makes a long parade of 
his penitence ; and, after he has finished, 
is asked by the Prince, “¢ Where shall 
we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?” and 
the hoary sinner answers, ‘ Where thou 
wilt lad, Dll make one; an I don’t, call 
me villain, and baffle me.” 
He has, however, in a manner, no un- 
necessary or superfluous vices. They 
are allthe natural excrescences of his 
character. We may be inclined to con- 
nive at his ‘ drinking old sack,” “ unbut- 
toning after supper,” "and « sleeping upon 
benches at noon,” because he tells us 
**he has more flesh, and therefore more 
frailty ;” and, we may allow him to ask, 
“ Shall I not take mine easein mine inn:’ 
but no indulgence must blind us to hie . 
real faults, and he must be reprobated 
for too often “leaving the fear of God 
upon the left hand;” in his dishonesty to 
Dame Quickly, Bebe Master Shallow; for 
his enormous lies and obscenities; and 
the vices consequent upon his avarice. 
Hence, the exInbition of such a charac- 
ter to a young person, should be attended 
always with an admonition to distinguish 
between the fascinations of poetry, and 
the depravity which it may seem t6 ex- 
tenuate, by the eae of the resem- 
blance to nature.* 
But, itis astonishing how much the 
attention is drawn aside from these dark 
parts of his character, by his wit and 
‘incessant humour. I before hinted to 
you, that there are persons who value 
his wit no morethan the_jests and scursi- 
lities of a buffoon; who Jook upon him 
as no better than the clowns in Twelfih 
Night, and As You like ié; and who con- 
ceive ‘that the same degree of talents 
would be requisite to personate tem all. 
To these Falstaff might answer in his 
own words: “Men of all sorts take a 
pride to gird at me; the brain of this 
foolish- compounded clay, man, is net 
able to. produce any thing that tends to 
laughter, more than 1 invent, or is in- 
vented on me. I am not only witty 
myself, but.the cause that wit is in other 
nen. Contrary to the fashion of 
Shakespeare’s age, Falstaff’s wit 1s, for 
* ylutarch gives tne same advice at greai- 
er length: De Audiendis Poetis. Sec. 11,12, 
13,14. Speakiag of subjects of this Hel 
he adds: ey 046, pourica, Ses rov veoy eOCecOar, 
Bragnarnevey Oty THY Wpaliy um EWawes, LEV, ig 
“yby We: 4 io) sac Me ahAL THY TEX, ai a 38 
TPIT VTS TO URGKEUAEIOY. 
(Oct 
the most part, pure and sterling; and often 
supported through a whole soliloguy. 
Few men can read half a dozen lines of 
any of them, without acknowledging ite 
If the definition of wit is just, that it 
discovers real congruities not before ap- 
parent, (and to me it appears a very just 
one,) the effusions of Falstaff are, in most 
instances, entitled to that name. It 
would be useless to demonstrate what is 
self-evident in every scene of his appear- 
ance. - Much of his wit so called, how. 
ever, 1s of another description, and arises 
from his < assigning wrong causes, which, 
from their seeming probability and rela- 
tion, produce the same effects as the 
bulls attributed to the Insh. 
The effects of wit upon the hearers, 
are generally favourable. In addition to 
its known influence upon the muscles, 
which are never so moved without a die 
gree of pleasure, it opens a, new source 
of gratification, by flattering our vanity. 
We feel almost as though we ourselves 
were the authors of it, when we give Oure 
selves the credit of understanding and 
experiencing its full force. It is, per- 
haps, from this cause likewise, that we 
lock with favour on the more objection- 
able parts and profligacies ef this “ grey 
iniquity,” SirJohn, The man who would 
win upon our affections, or rather our 
partiality, cannot do better than to ad- 
dress himself to our self-love. This kept 
alive the Prince’s affection for Falstaff; 
and continues to excite in us the same 
favourable sentiments. 
Having said thus ‘‘ much in behalf of, 
that Falstaff, ” I cannot help adverting 
to the prospect of a New Theatre. What- 
ever may be the intended plan of such 
an establishment, [ am sure the loyers of 
rational amusement (for if. it ceases to be 
rational, it had better cease altogether,) 
look forward to a long-wisbed-for refor- 
mation in theatrical representation. I 
ain far from thinking it fastidious pedan- 
try, to condemn, with very few exceptions, 
the whole mass of modern dramatic 
poetry. 
It has mistaken the plan, the means, 
and-the end, of suchcompositions, The 
plots, intrigues, and characters, of these 
plays, are either bad imitations of origi- 
nals unnecessarily neglected, grotesque 
transcripts from low life, or they are so 
unnatural and unmeaning, as to disgust 
even the critics of the gallery. As to 
the means, I believe no one ever thought 
of fixing in his memory a single line or 
sentunent of these plays, for the instruc- 
tion contained in them; and with regard 
t 
