etensions to what they are not. This
gives rise to a corresponding style of comedy, the object of which is to
detect the disguises of self-love, and to make reprisals on these
preposterous assumptions of vanity, by marking the contrast between the
real and the affected character as severely as possible, and denying to
those, who would impose on us for what they are not, even the merit which
they have. This is the comedy of artificial life, of wit and satire, such
as we see it in Congreve, Wycherley, Vanburgh, etc. To this succeeds a
state of society from which the same sort of affectation and pretence are
banished by a greater knowledge of the world or by their successful
exposure on the stage; and which by neutralising the materials of comic
character, both natural and artificial, leaves no comedy at all--but _the
sentimental_. Such is our modern comedy. There is a period in the progress
of manners anterior to both these, in which the foibles and follies of
individuals are of nature's planting, not the growth of art or study; in
which they are therefore unconscious of them themselves, or care not who
knows them, if they can but have their whim out; and in which, as there is
no attempt at imposition, the spectators rather receive pleasure from
humouring the inclinations of the persons they laugh at, than wish to give
them pain by exposing their absurdity. This may be called the comedy of
nature, and it is the comedy which we generally find in
Shakspeare.--Whether the analysis here given be just or not, the spirit of
his comedies is evidently quite distinct from that of the authors above
mentioned, as it is in its essence the same with that of Cervantes, and
also very frequently of Moliere, though he was more systematic in his
extravagance than Shakspeare. Shakspeare's comedy is of a pastoral and
poetical cast. Folly is indigenous to the soil, and shoots out with
native, happy, unchecked luxuriance. Absurdity has every encouragement
afforded it; and nonsense has room to flourish in. Nothing is stunted by
the churlish, icy hand of indifference or severity. The poet runs riot in
a conceit, and idolises a quibble. His whole object is to turn the meanest
or rudest objects to a pleasurable account. The relish which he has of a
pun, or of the quaint humour of a low character, does not interfere with
the delight with which he describes a beautiful image, or the most refined
love. The Clown's forced jests do not spoil the sweetness