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Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words;
Then, in despight of broad-ey'd watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But ah, I will not-yet I love thee well;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'it me well.

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The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heav'n,
And, as Imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shape, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

Midsummer Night's Dream.

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ON THE

PRÆTERNATURAL

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A

S the genius of Shakespear, through

the whole extent of the Poet's province, is the object of our enquiry, we should do him great injustice, if we did not attend to his peculiar felicity in those fictions and inventions, from which Poetry derives its highest distinction, and from whence it first assumed its pretensions to divine inspiration, and appeared the associate of Religion.

The ancient Poet was admitted into the fynod of the Gods: he discoursed of their natures, he repeated their counsels, and, without the charge of impiety or presumption, disclosed their dissensions, and published their vices: He peopled the woods with

Nymphs,

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