The deaths of the chief heroes of these dramas are revolting. No devout Puritan of Shakspere's time could have more assurance of going to heaven, or being one of the elect, than is exhibited by these brutal and abandoned characters. It cannot but beget indifference to religious discipline, when such villains are given confidence in everlasting bliss.

By

The warmest partizan of Shakspere's faith must allow that the character of Henry, as drawn in these three Parts, is eminently calculated to bring piety into contempt. He is weak, credulous, vacillating, and cowardly-without dignity, and without sense. He neither preserves his station, nor his authority, nor governs his people. He is justly despised by his Queen for his want of spirit to preserve the rights of his child. Henry being so much of a religious automaton, is the cause of the bloody strife between the two roses. proper vigour he might have nipped that contention in the bud, and saved his country from years of desolating civil war. His want of discretion cost him the loss of France; and he is pictured as standing by, repeating prayers, while his best friend, and the best nobleman of the age, is stifled in his bed. And at last Henry himself, without any profit from his religion, but a jest and a contempt to his nobles, is murdered by a deformed hypocrite. He who drew this character must have intended to insinuate, by a powerful example, the incompatibility of piety and manliness; or we must suppose him incapable of understanding either the force of words, or the force of character.

COMEDY OF ERRORS.

This performance being intended to amuse by situation, is little philosophical or speculative, but such allusions to religious matters as are found, are astonishingly daring.

The most pointed jests are upon the cross, the judgment day, and one of the parables of Christ. It may be all allowable diversion, but it is rather odd that our poet's diversion should frequently take this particular turn.

LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.

The evident tendency, if not specific object of this play, is to illustrate the potency of natural passion over spiritual

influences to show that human desires are not to be bound by the letter of books, or tenor of oaths.

In doing this our poet displays the freedom before noticed, in borrowing from sacred sources. This, on the occasion, may be held as indispensable; as piety is the great opponent of the carnal man, and must be mixed up in an argument, such as the poet enters upon. But whether the precise turn he gives to what he thus borrows is either indispensable, or devout, we may safely leave to the judgment of the

reader.

One of the finest passages of St. Paul, in general estimation, is appropriated to a secular purpose, and pointed with a heathen moral. The doctrine of necessity (a characteristic of our poet's philosophy) is often enforced in this play, and the inutility of oaths is attempted to be demonstrated on the ground of necessity.

If our author is held not to satirise certain Scriptural recommendations to men, it will not be disputed that he satirises Puritanical peculiarities. It will be said, in extenuation, that Shakspere set himself to attack only the abuses of religion, but it may be fearlessly urged that no truly 'reverential' man, as we are told Shakspere was, ever satirised the earnest faith of another; he may pronounce him to be in error, but he feels too much the solemnity of the question to write down sacred interpretations in burlesque.

Towards the end of the play, Biron's impious facetiousness is indulged to such an extent, that Shakspere is obliged to step in and act the part of his own censor, by way of allaying excited suspicion. In the mouth of Rosaline are put such rebukes of his religious freedoms, à la Voltaire, who intentionally trod on his readers' toes, and politely raised his hat to beg pardon for the offence, that we may be sure, were Shakspere to return to life now, no one would be more surprised than he at his commentators so lauding him for serious piety and unsuspicious philosophy.

HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK.

Had Shakspere never drawn but the character of Hamlet, as it now stands, and left all his other creations religious, he would have stamped himself as once a sceptic.

Hallam recognises in our author the ' censurer of mankind;' and it is not to be denied that he fulfils this office as the infidel, from time immemorial, has fulfilled it. But inasmuch as he tempers his satires with poetry and art, and garnishes them with philosophy, he has escaped the peculiar credit, which has fallen to the lot of others, who have essayed his functions.

The play of Hamlet combats the theory of Providence and the popular ideas of chance-subjects which seem always to have deeply engaged the attention of speculative freethinkers.

Shakspere's experience, as supposed by the judicious historian we have mentioned, and as corroborated by what we gather of his life and know of his plays, was precisely that which would produce a philosophical sceptic. It is this experience which he has embodied in Hamlet.

No theory of Shakspere reconciles so many contrarieties generally, as the one advanced in this Inquiry'—and it will be found that Hamlet is only intelligible upon the hypothesis maintained in the text-that of the Danish Prince being a sceptic.

We find that when Hamlet was produced before the Parisian public, in something like his true lineaments, this peculiarity was immediately recognised in him.

Those who are obliged to admit the freedom of Hamlet's speculations, will doubtless conclude that all is explained by what is termed the Prince's 'insanity.' But such should observe, that madness, like the creation of clowns in other plays, is the cloak wherewith our poet conceals his peculiar intention.

Could he be less than a sceptic who drew Hamlet with the weight of argument in his favour? His wit so pointed, his objections so subtle, his balances so determined. None could delineate such a character but he who understood it, and none would exalt it (as Shakspere does) but he who approved it.

Of Hamlet's scepticism, his famous soliloquy, beginning 'To be or not to be,' is a demonstrative proof. Nowhere in the whole range of literature are the pros and cons of life and death put with such perverse force. That there may

be an hereafter is the ancient position of the doubter. The Christian knows that there is a world to come. He is satisfied upon the point. He neither scruples, nor questions it. But Hamlet passes beyond mere doubt. He puts the moral disadvantages of the Christian belief. It makes calamity of so long life.' It makes us endure the proud man's contumely the whips and scorns of time' the oppressor's wrong and a thousand evils which the brave would trample under foot. He pursues the disparaging comparison farther. It makes cowards of us all'-' resolution' loses its native hue,' and 'enterprise is turned away' at its fell glance. Nothing bolder than this has been written on this theme. Language can no further go in favour of disbelief. Let those who please claim Hamlet for a religious character, but great 'purification' must be again instituted before it can be done successfully, or consistently.

If the reader bestows but common attention upon the speeches and peculiarities of our prince and his companions, there will be little necessity to press further upon his notice the full summary of their characteristics in our epitome.

One instance may be cited, from among many, of the credit our author derives from our conjecture respecting his unbelief. Who can read, without startling, the cool, calculating diabolism of Hamlet, who waits for his uncle to rise from prayer before he kills him, that he may have a fairer chance of sending him to hell? Nothing but our hypothesis-that Shakspere was a disbeliever in this doctrine-saves 'gentle Willie' from being set down as the author of one of the most savage and shocking sentiments on record.

We find Polonius, in Hamlet, like the countess, in All's Well that Ends Well, amending the precepts of the New Testament. Not only are we struck with the little purpose for which the Ghost visits Hamlet, who neglects to ask him the very information for which he was panting, but at the comic strain in which the prince addresses the solemn visitant as Truepenny,'-the man of eternal blazons' as the fellow in the cellarage,' as the old mole.' author, save Shakspere, would be retained in the niche of serious believers in the supernatural who had produced a scene of this kind.

No

The resurrection, or rather establishment, of Shakspere's present reputation, is entirely owing to the latitude that has been suffered to creep into the compositions of this age— the silence which is preserved by modern editors respecting the tenor of his religion and philosophy arises from a carelessness, or a weakness, it would be difficult appropriately to characterise.

RICHARD II.

Shakspere presents a somewhat fairer picture in this religious king than in the last he drew. But this character is not without strong suspicious traits.

Our exposition of this play cites some remarks of Mr. Knight, to the effect that Shakspere has been religionised by act of parliament a fact powerfully significant of the poet's taste, when his works needed such a revision. It is said, by the critic in question, that the habits of the times of Shakspere sanctioned the use of impious freedoms. But we are not to forget that real piety is the same in all ages, and always avoids the light employment of the sacred name' of God. Mr. Knight appears to regret that 'modern editors have not exercised this good taste in restoring [rendering] the readings of the earliest copies' of our dramatist. If this is to be tolerated, then farewell to every hope of learning the individual character and sentiments of Shakspere. If we may omit every profane passage just as it suits our taste, and judge the author only by what we leave, or alter, of course we may transform him into an Apostle. By the exercise of the same 'good' and convenient 'taste,' we may make Toland into a Christian, Rabelais into a saint, and canonise Voltaire.

This play opens with a series of brutal invectives between Bolingbroke and Norfolk. These nobles, in their quarrel, make mutual appeals to heaven in the worst possible taste.

In adversity Richard resigns his religion. He had been told that heaven would championise his safety-he had boasted that the earth would feel' for him-that the very 'stones' would rise on his behalf-that neither the elements, nor man, could ever depose the deputy elected by the Lord' but in the hour of danger he sits down to talk of