Shakespeare! "with all thy faults (and few have more) I love thee still," and still will con thee o'er. Heaven, in compassion to man's erring heart, Gave thee of virtue, then of vice a part, Lest we, in wonder here, should bow before thee, Break God's commandment, worship, and adore thee: But admiration now, and sorrow join; His works we reverence, while we pity thine.
