ABSTRACT
I remember the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare that in his writing, whatsoever he penned, he never blotted out a line.1 My answer hath been, ‘Would he had blotted a thousand!’—which they thought a malevolent speech. I had not told posterity this, but for their ignorance, who choose that circumstance to commend their friend by, wherein he most faulted, and to justify mine own candour;2 for I loved the man, and do honour his memory-on this side idolatry-as much as any. He was indeed honest, and of an open and free nature; had an excellent fancy,3 brave notions,4 and gentle expressions, wherein he flowed with that facility that sometime it was necessary he should be stopped;…His wit was in his own power; would the rule of it had been so too!
