He was corpulent and unwieldy in person, addicted to sensual indulgence, a boon companion, and a clever conversationalist. Lord Rochester said that "if Shadwell had burnt all he wrote, and printed all he spoke, he would have had more wit and humour than any other poet." His plays denote much observation of life, quickness in perceiving foibles, and skill in depicting them, the characters are well sustained, and they will even now amuse in the perusal.
Brady, in his funeral panegyric says of him, that "he was a man of great honesty and integrity, and inviolable fidelity and strictness in his word; an unalterable friendship wherever he professed it, and however the world might be mistaken in him, he had a much deeper sense of religion than many who pretended more to it. His natural and acquired abilities made him very amiable to all who conversed with him, a very few being equal in the becoming qualities which adorn and set off a complete gentleman: his very enemies, if he has now any left, will give him this character, at least if they knew him so thoroughly as I did."
We will conclude this memoir with the following extracts from the satires of Dryden; and the reverse of the medal from the epilogue to Shadwell's play of "The Volunteers," which came out after his death, leaving to the reader the task of adjusting the due proportions of blame and praise; premising, however, that all the talent is exerted in deepening the lines of the unfavourable side.
Flecnoe addressing Shadwell, says:
"Shadwell alone my perfect image bears,
Mature in dullness from his tender years;
Shadwell alone of all my sons is he,
Who stands confirmed in full stupidity,
The rest to some faint meaning make pretence,
O
