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THE WOEKS OF
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
By HICHARD GEANT "WHITE
BOSTON
LITTLE BROWN AND COMPANY
187 1
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BDtBreil, accor<IlD£ io Act uf Congnss, in Out yon 1366, by
KICHAKD GBAMT WHIl'E,
n Uie Clerk's Office of the lUstrict Coni't of the&iuUieni DlaliMof Nsa York,
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THOMAS P. BARTON, Esquike,
L UNEQUALLED IJ
IS DEDICATED,
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"^ -nj/s^:^
Hn c, Google
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PREFACE,
GOOD reasons only can justify the addition of a new
book to the enoiinous mass with which the world
is cumbei-ed. This is particularly true of a new edi-
tion of ShftkeBpeare's works, which, in its main pur-
pose, only professes to be a better presentation of that
which has been presented t«]erahly well before. There-
fore these words of preliminary explanataon.
The first object sought in the preparatioa of Ihii
edition has been a tpxt at nearly pure as possible,
and the reduction of the field of dr.ubt and con-
jecture in all directions to the narrowest attainable
limits ; the second, and last, to place the reader as
nearly as possible in the position of those for whom
these plays were wi-itten, and to give all accessible
information coacerning their ongin, and the circum-
stances under which, and the manner in which, they
were produced. The vicissitudes through which the
test has passed, and the time which has elapsed since
it was written, make the performance of these nflicea
necessary. The most perfect understanding and the
most satisfactory enjoyment of any authoi^'t, writings,
especially of a poet's, are attained by direct c
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viii PREFACE.
tion with tlie author's mind. An iinnece=^ary iuierme-
diar^ is always an intruder : a note thrust between a
poet and his reader which is not required for the full
comprehension of the poet's meaning is always an
offence. At best, an editor, like a physician or a
lawyer, is a necessary evil. Had Shakespeare superin-
tended the publication of his own plays, it is clear that
the office of their modern editor would have been lim-
ited to the explanation of a few obsolete words and
phrases, the illustration of passages alluding to by-gone
manners and customSf and perhaps an. attempt at the
literary history of each composition. But the text of
these plays was published with such corruption in ell
the early copies that not one of theia is continuously
readable until it has undergone some emendation and
regulation ; and in the case of certain plays, such ar«
the variations between those early copies, that the
text of no one of them can be accepted as sound and
satisfactory. In all the early texts, quarto and folio,
some entire scenes are found in the utmost confusion, —
a confiision which has not yet in all cases been reduced
to order. It is this deplorable condition of the authen-
tic and quasi authentic t«xts of Shakespeare's plays that
has made extended editorial labor upon tliem neces-
sary, and has given opportunity for it when it is not
necessary; so that a careful editor finds that it is his
duty not only to restore, but — such temptation is there
on the one hand, and such temerity on the other — to
defend what has been restored, and to protect against
the hand of sophisticating innovation that which needs
no restoration.
Failing an authentic text of Shakespeare's plays
from his own hand, the aulliority which goes with
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authenticity pertains to tkc folio edition pxililislied in
1623 by the care and labor of his friends and fel-
low-theatrical proprietors John Heminge and Henry
Condeil. They were bis literary executors — aelf-
appointed, it is true, and not so faithful aod pains-
taking as it behooved them to be ; but having some
right to, and (as play-publishing went in those days)
no little fitness for, the offtce which they assiimed.
Their edition is, indeed, so very far from being per-
fect, that the demand, which has been made in some
quarters, that its text should be published without
change for the use of the general reader, could only
have been made by persons entirely ignorant of its real
condition. la very many passages it is absolutely
unintelligible ; and, beside, it lacks some of the finest
passages of Shakespeare's poetry. But corruption,
although it impairs authority, cannot defeat anthen-
ticity ; and the incompleteness of the folio text, being
often manifestly the lesnlt of adaptation to stjige pur-
poses, is evidence of some weight in fa^or of the gen-
uineness of what IS given Foi s!\.teen of the thirty-
seven plays in this collection, the folio of 1623 is the
only authority. It is tJso important to staie that
every kind of coiruption which la found in the folio
is found in a greater degiee in the quaitos
For the reasons abo^e gnen, the text of the present
edition is founded exclusively upon that of the first
folio, and has been prepared, in the first instance, fa
if no other edition of authority had appeared since that
was published, although afterward the readings of
every edition, ancient and modern, and the sug^estiona
of every commenlator, have been carefully examined,
adopted when they appeared admissible, and recorded
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a: PRErACE.
wVn thoj rt lie deciiifd woitlij of pic»u\ation The
text ot the fiiat foho iloiie having the stamp of au-
thenticity, some bettei leason than the editoi's mere
opm:on or liis preference has heeu deemed necessaij to
justify aay essential deviation from that text in favor
ot the readings of editions of either aa eatliei ot a
latei date E\ident conuption ot that t«xt, with at
least highly piobable lestoration of what meie accident
destroyed, and the recovery of what had been omit-
ted, for stage purposes, from the copy furaished to the
printer, are the only reasons which have been regarded
as sufficient for snch deviation. The superior anti-
quity of the quarto texts of some of these plays is not
unfreqnently brought to the attention of the critical
reader of Shakespeare in support of a i-eading taken
from some one of those texts : — as if the age of a sur-
reptitiously printed edition could supply its lack of
authenticity ! But in many cases, at least, " the oldest
authority" seems to rival "the oldest inhabitant" in
foisting feeble nonsense upon credulity, and to rival in
trustworthiness that much-vaunted oracle. I am, how-
ever, no champion of the readings of the first folio, as
such. It seems to me plain, indeed, that the circum-
stances of its publication require us to assume that its
text is correct, except where it is manifestly corrupt or
imperfect. But in those cases it is to be corrected
boldly, and with none of the hesitation produced by
that superstitious reverence of mere antiquity which is
called consei-vatism.
It is not uncommon to hear true lovers of Shake-
speare, men of intelligence and no little acquaintance
with literature, remark with gravity that it is danger-
ous to disturb t)io text. TAe text ! what text? That
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PREFACE. xt
of the folio, whicli, in scores of passages, is absolutely
ttnintelligible, and in others deficient? That of the
qnartos, of which the same is true, though in a
greater degree, of all those plays which first appeared
in ihat form? The text of the Variorcra of 1821, and
read, for instance, as people read for twenty-five years,
" So much iincwrahle her garboib," instead of, " So
much uQciwfiable her garboils " ? Every reader will
reply, that, of course, he wishes the corrupted passages
of the folio and the quartos, and such as that just
quoted from Malone's Variorum, to be restored ; and
it win be found that when men talk apprehensively
about disturbing the text, and of their veneration for
the old text, they mean merely the text of tlie edition
which they have been accustomed to use, the peculiar
oldness of which may not reach to half a century, or
the care in its printing equal that taken in the office of
a country newspaper. I have aeen an intelligent man,
unacquainted with any other text of '■hake peare than
that of a London trade impres^iion beaiing the names
of Johnson and Steevens on its title page — which he
possessed in a miserable repiint with smudgy, careless
press-work p I y whity brown papei — as con-
servative a 1 as jf the proot sheets of hia
copy had b d by Sh kespeaie himself, the rea-
son of his s 1 d b n attachment to that text,
the conseqi. mil his familiarity with it and
his lack of q w th any other and also his
utter ignorance of the earliest foim of the test and its
subsequent vicissitudes. It does not take many years
to root error in minds inclined to this kind of conser-
vatism. The old priest of whom Camden tells us, who
read Mumpsimits, Domine, rejected the proposal to read
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ariV Pr^EPACE.
Sumpsimus, &c,, because he "had used Sfumpsimua
thirty years, and would not leave his old Mumpsimus
for their new Sumpsimus." Most of the tests which
some people are anxious to conserve are not more
venerable, or worthier of veneration.
The ti'uth is, that in deciding upon the purity of the
texts of the old copies, and in tlie restoration of their
corrupted and defective passages, there is occasion
for all the knowledge, the judgment, the taste, the
imagination, and the sympathetic appreciation of the
autlior tliat can be brought to this task by the most
giited aad accomplished editor. Constant vigiltnce,
also, on the part of competent scholars, repeated Lolhi-
tion with the text of the old copies, and exammalion
of the reasons assigned by modern ediiois tor the
changes which they have made in that text, are neces-
sary to the preservation of Shakespeare's mitings in
a state nearly approaching that in which they came
from his hand. The mere accidents of the be^tpimtmg-
ofUces — to say nothing of the oversights of editois —
are such that no edition is worth) of conhdence, oi,
indeed, to be called an edition, the text of which has
not been compared, word bv word, with that of the
folio of 1623 aud the piecedent quarto ((pics It
was very smart in Steevens to sneer at " the Nun
rods of i/s and ands ; " but we all know that the v.h-
sence or presence of apaitiUe oi t point will change
the meaning of a sentence The thief stiikes only
three letters out of the eighth commandment
For the reasons above givpu, a notice of even the
slightest deviation from the text of 1623 in this edition
has been deemed obligatnij , but a lik K-.pLot has
been paid to older or ta w. modfin tixt fi h "h i in
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the former case, the cteTJation is of some importance,
or, in the latter, the rejected reading has been approved
by some distingiiiahed editor. Very many instances
of variation from the text of the folio of 1G23 are
characleriaed as almost unworthy of mention in the
very notes in ■which they are brought fo the reader's
attention. A large proportion of these may be justly
regarded, indeed, as quite unworthy of notice, if we
consider their actual or their relative import ance. But
as a guarantee of accuracy the indication of these
trifling variations has its valne. A merchant notices
the discrepancy of one cent in the balance-sheet of
an account of millions, not for the value of the sum
in error, but for the importance of exactness. If the
error of a unit has passed the accountant's eye
there is no surety against the oversight of an error
of thousands.
Careful literal conformity to (he old test, except in
its corruptions and irregularities, has, however, a
greater value than this of being a guarantee of txact-
nesa. For instance, in theao passages in Hamlet, —
" yet once methought
It lifted up ji head, and did address
It self to motion" (Act I. Sc. 2) ;
"This doth betoken
The corse they follow did with desperate hand
Fordo U own life " (Act V. Sc. 2) ;
and in this in Lear, —
" The hedge-sparrow fed the eitckoo so long.
That it had it head bit off by it young," —
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xiv PltEPACE.
tlie use of ' it ' in tlie possossiYe sense is not only a
trait of the time, but, even if there were no other evi-
dence, is enough to show that SmUet and Lear were
written before Tlie Winter's Tale, in whicli we find
"■ii's folly and tf's tenclerneBS," and before Henry the
Eighth, in the first scene of which we have, " made
former wonders ita." The last passage affords the ear-
liest instance known, I believe, of the use of the neitter
possessive pronoun without the apostrophe. And yet
until the appearance of the present edition of Shake-
speare's works ' its ' was given indiscriminately
throughout the text of all editions.* The editors
probably thought that in printing its they were merely
correcting a typographical error ; whereas they were
desti'oying evidence of a change in the language which
took place during Shakespeare's career as a drama-
tist, and which the printers of the folio of 1623, with
all their negligence in other respects, carefully pre-
served.
A certain class of merely typographical errors in
the old copies must, however, be passed over, of
necessity, by even the most punctilious editor ; such,
for instance, as that in the following line in Julivs
Gciar, which appears thus in the folio ; —
" Then to answere euery man directly and breefely."
Here the unpractised eye will hardly detect hreesely,
printed for hriefiy, due to the mistake by the composi-
tor of an old-fashioned longs (f) for an/, or perhaps
to the mere accidental mutilation of the latter. When
such accidents affect tlie sense, even in the slightest
degree, and thus make a new reading, tliey have
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PREPACE. 'Ml
always been noticed in this edition ; but otkerwise they
have been passed over.
In the preparation of the text herewith presented
great care has been taken to give Shakespeare's words
as nearly as possible with syllabic faithfulness to the
form in which they were used by him and by his con-
temporaries. Only by a preservation of this form can
the rhythm of either Shakespeare's verse or prose be
preserved. Faithful conformity in this respect, how-
ever, does not require, it need hardly be said, the
preservation of the irregular spelling of the Elizabethan
era, except in those extremely rare instances in which
that spelling preserves an old form of a word, or, in
some cases, the rbythai of a verse. The following are,
1 believe, all tbe words in which the old spelling has
beea retained: lihhard (leopard), sgwre (square), p'H
(peel), spef (spat), mi&consters (misconstrues), com-
•mandem,fint, irwdvle (model), wrack (wreck), muHher
(murder) , /oAmt (fathom), egal (equal), paioch (pea-
cock), porpentins (porcupine), with certain plurals
and possessive oases in ea, as owles, njoojies, and Jewes.
It will be seen that these are not, except perhaps in
the ca^e of jitH, mere instances of irregular orthography,
lliat 11, not diifeient modes of expressing the same
sounds which aie expiessed by the naodern orthogra-
] lij of the words which convey the same ideas.
la continuation of this subject it may be remarked
thit too bttle attention his heietofore been paid to the
old usage in regard to the full or the contracted forms
of the past participle in ed, the second person singular
of the present tense in es(, the fusion of words, and
other traits of like character. The bad effect of a
disregard of the practice of Shakespeare's day in these
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particulars niiiy he gathered from t!ie examination of
a few examples. The following Hue —
" Th' unslaineti sword that you have used to bear,"
2 ITenry JY., V. 2 —
is printed in all otiier editions, I believe, " Tke un-
stained sword," &c., or "The unstain'd • . . " &c., (tho
profluneiation in eitber case " unataind"') and similar
contractions have been generally, if not universally,
disregarded. But this loses the accent which Shake-
speare intended ; requiring " The njistain'd," &c.,
instead of " Th' unsioiii-ed," &c. Shakespeare might
have written ^' The unstain'd ; " but, in accordance
■with the usage of his time, he preferred to preserve
the participial termination, and throw the accent upon
the radical syllable. So in Hamlet, Act 11. Sc. 2, he
writes " Th' unnerveii father flies," and not " The
xmnerv'd father," &c ; and in Henry the Fourth, —
" Then let him not be slandVed with revolt,"
I. 3,—
where all modern editiims but this give " Then let
him not be siaaderd," &c., thus disregarding a chai'-
aeteristie though minute trait of the pronunciation and
the prosody of the Elizabethan period. Numberless
like instances occur in these plays, a few of which
are remarked in the notes to this edition. The pro-
sodic importance of the participial termination is very
manifest in the following lines from a speech in Bomea
and Juliet : —
"Beguil'd, divorced, wronged, spited, slaiu."
" Bespis'd, distressed, hated, raartyr'd, kili'd."
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Here it disvegard of the contractions, and the pi'iutiug
of these lines thus, —
"Beguiled, divorced, wronged, spited, slain,"
"Despised, distressed, hated, naartyred, killed," —
would either destroy the rhythm or put the reader at
fault in that regard uufii he had examined them. And
in Love's Labour's Lost, Act IV. Sc. 2, how out of
character it would be for the pedant Holofernes to
speak in oar modern clipped way of Dull's exhibition of
his "uudress'd, unpoiish'd, uneducated, unprua'd, uu-
ti'ain'd, or rather, unletter'd, or ratherest, unconfirm'd
fashion," instead of " his tindresserf, wnpolished, un-
educated, unpruned, untrained, or rather, unletterei,
or ratherest, unconfirmed fashion " ! The passage is
prose ; but it is worthy of special remark that the old
■;opy makes these distinctions no less carefully in prose
than in verse, and that the folio is most cai'efuUy
printed in this respect. So in Troilns and Oressida,
Act II. Sc. 8, where Tkersites saya, according to the
old copy, " If I could have remembered a guilt coun-
terfeit thou would'sf not have slyd out of my contem-
plation," we may be sure that it is not by mere acci-
dent that we do not find ' reiaetabred,' or ' remem-
her'd,' ' wouldesi,' and ' slippeii.' Yet the indications
of the old copies in this instance, as in almost all of
like character in prose passages, have hitherto been
disregarded. And what is worse than a uniform dis-
regard, they have been observed in some instances
aud disregarded in others, even in the same passage.
Thus in JuUus Ccesor, Act I. Se. 2, the first part of
one of Caica's speeches is printed thus in the folio :
'■ Marry, before lie fell dowue, when he pcrceiv'd tlio
VOL. I. 2
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xvm PREFACE.
Cfimmou ilcai-d was glad lie refus'cl the Ci'owne, he
pliickt me open Lis doublet, and offei-'d them hia
Throat to cut." Here the contraction of ' perceived'
is observed iu tlie Variorum of 1821, aud by Mr. Col-
lier, but the others are disregarded, which is more
coafusing than the disregard of all in otlier editioQS.
The contraction of ed when it foOows a vowel, aa
ia ' sued ' and ' died,' has, I believe, been hitlierto
disregarded. But it was not disregarded in Shake-
epeare's time, or eTen by the careless printers of dra-
matic poetry in his day. And with good reason, as
will be seen by the following examples : —
" But he's a tried and a valiant soldier."
Julius G^soT, Act IV. Sc. 1.
"by which account
Our business vaiaed some twelve months hence."
1 Eenry the Fourth, Act III. Sc. 2.
" Lord Bassianus lies exahmed here."
Tikis Andronicus, Act II, Sc. 4,
In these passages, unless ' tried,' ' valued,' and ' em-
brued ' have their full participial pronunciafiou, the
first as a dissyUable, the last two as trisyllables, the
verse becomes prose. The particularity with which
this contraction was observed is shown in a passage
IB Othello, where ' learned,' which to this day we
pronounce, when it is a participial adjective, as a dis-
syllable, even colloquially, was contracted by Shake-
speare, for the nonce, iatu a monosyllable : —
" And knows all qualities with a learn'd spirit."
This, I believe, is the only instance of Shakespeare's
use of this word as a monosyllable ; and yet, although
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PREFACE. XIX
the folio misprints " qualities " " quantities " in the
same line, the contraction ie marked, witlt a careful-
neas which haa not been imitated by modern editors.
Quite as important aa the contraction of syllablea ia
the elision of final aad initial letters, by which two
worda are compressed into one ; and yet this has been
almost as generally disregarded as the other. When
Shakespeare wrote in one line oi Macbeth, —
" Boii thou first i' ih' charmed pot ; "
and in another, —
" In the cauldron boil and bubble ; "
in a prose passage, " fold it, write upon't, resvd it, after-
wards seal it ; " in Lear, ia two contiguous lines, —
" 0 Eegan, wilt thou take her hy the hand ?
Why not by th' hand, sir? How have I offended?"
and in Hamlet, —
" Sith not ill' exterior nor the inward man," —
he meant something by these diatinctiona. Yet they
are almost, if not quite, universally ignored by editors.
No one of these cases is in ilself of much importance ;
but the sura of all the cases of similar neglect in these
plays is of great importance. Perfect aecuiacy in this
respect is attainable only, if attainable at all, by the
minutest attention on. the part of the editor It will
not do to adopt a printing-ofiice rule in this matter ,
for Shakespeare used conlractions and eh&ions more
and more freely as he grew older ; and thus Ihey are
one of our guides ia delermining the date? at which
his plays were written.
The question has been seriously mooted whethei the
peculiar and irregular gi'ammaticai ioims of the old
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XX PREFACE.
test shouliJ be pre^er\'u-l, Biii it seems to me tliiil
there is no good ground iif dnuLt upon lliii subject.
I caB see no reason for printing Shakespeare's test,
either in this respect or in any other, as if it were
written yesterday. The variations of that text from
our present syntactical standard are minute and com-
paratively few ; but such as fhey are, they are char-
acteristic of the time when these plays were produced.
The very incongruities of the old text in this respect
are a trait of the period, indicating generally a transi-
tion stage in certain syntactical forms. Thus we have
in the Lord's Prayer, and in many other passages of
our English Bible, " Our Father which art in heaven,"
but elsewhere, for instance, " Hannah said unto Eli, I
am the woman wAo stood by thee here, praying unto the
Lord." And here the latter pronoun was consciously
introduced ; for Coverdale and the Genevan Bible both
have " the woman that," &c. Now, the attempt to
secure conformity to the prevailing syntax by read-
ing, " Our father who art," or uniformity, by reading,
" I am the woman which stood," would be unjiisti-
flable. Such peeuliarilies are subject to the same
rule which applies to the indiridnal irregularities of
a writer, which are as much a trait of his mental
character as any other peculiarity of style, and are
therefore to be carefully preserved. An editor's func-
tion is to think, not for, but with, his author. There-
fore such passages as the following have not been
regulated according to a modern, or even a uniform,
Btsmdard in this edition : — "Is crown'd so soon, and
broke his solemn oath ; " " His scandal of retire ; " " is
set him down to sleep ; " " those powers . . , have arriv'd
our coast ; " " the wind who woos," " my armed knees
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FicErAci;, Ml
who bowed;" "Earth hath swallowed all my hopes
but she ; " " All debta are cleared between yon and
I;'" "That fair for which love groaned for;" "la
what enormity is Mareus poor in '' " " Shall's [shall us]
to the Capitol?" "What he is, more suits you to con-
ceive than I to speak of." Such syntactical iiTegu-
larities as these are too thickly strewn through the
htentiire of the Ehzabethan peuod to be sli] n of the
pen, or pnntei's enoii
The evil* which maj reialt fiom one editoi s trusting
to inother m matter' of autkoiity aio gteat because,
however careful, we are all liable to enoi Examples
might be pomled out in the work of eien the most
competent editois Theiefore alirealinia md quota
tious m thii edition, %vifh exceedinglj rare exceptions,
have been given not at second hand — aol h'we found
IS too frequently the ea^e, — but from the oi igioils , the
excepled ca-ies being piiiagc in two of the earliei
quaitos and two or three extiemely laie books, copies
of which hive not jet floated oiei to n't m which
recourse has been had to the next best authority, the
careful leprmts oi these volumes undei the ejes oi
the most eminent Ehzibethia scbolais of Eajand,
compared with such collations as those of Capell and
Mr Dyce The copy of the tolio of 1633 which I
hne constantly used is that la the Astui Librtrj,
which js the well known copy formeilj in the collec
tion ot the Dake of Buckm'ham at Stowe But I
have also, whenever it seemed desirable, had the privi-
lege of examining the admirable copy of the first folio,
now in the noble SJiakespeariaa library of Mr. Thomas
P. Barton of New York, which entire collection, in-
deed, has at all times been open to me for consultation
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xxii PREFACE.
wlicii the limits of my own humbler shelves were
reached. But the kindiiesB Tvhicli I have received
from this distinguish eil collector and thorough and
accompliahed stndenf of Shakespeare, I luive endeav-
ored elsewhere more wortliily to acknowleiige. To
Mr. James I/enox my readera as well as my^olf aiso
owe mweli for tjia very generous and unreserved man-
ner in whicli he placed his collection of the early quar-
tos— the value of which is hardly known except to the
best informed bibliographers — entirely at my service.
In the notes upon the regulation of the text, 1 have
endeavored to assign each restoration of rmp d
passage to its author ; for I do not unde a d h w
gentlemea and scholars can claim an edi on a^ h
own, and then take no small proportion of 1
and of their notes from other editors wit a d
of acknowledgment. A similar course has b n p
sued with regard to quotations made in support of
conjecture or in elucidation of obscurity ; and these,
ioclnding conjectural emendations thought worthy of
notice, but not of a place in the text, beins; generally
given in the oi\ler of time, a concise history of every
restored or doiiblful passage is presented. The reader
of a critical edition of a great author's works has the
light to know upon what authority any reading, gloss,
or critical judgment is adopted. In every case, I
helieve, where no such credit is given for a restoration,
I am responsible for it ; and as much prominence need
not be given to claims of this sort, in those cases it is
merely remarked that hitherto the text has stood other-
wise. On revising my labors I find that the number
of such instances in these volumes is sufficitntly large
to give me some solicitude, even although I am coa-
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PKEPACE.
scions of the reverent spirit in wliieli tlie c
have been made, and the logical conditions to which I
lield myself bound, even after perception and judgment
had done their work. The tables of restored and
of corrupted readings indicate the textual points and
those relating to the history of the several plays ia
which this edition differs from those which have pre-
ceded it in the present century. They are given for
the purpose of presenting in a compact form, easy of
reference, a view of the principal peculiarities of the
edition in these respects. In the course of my work
I have often wished that previous editors had g^ven
such a synopsis of their dealings with the text. It
would have saved their successors much trouble. This
comparative view is limited by tlie present century,
not only because the acquaintance of the large major-
ity of even the more critical readers of f
with the individual labors of his editors and e
tators is confined to that period, but because the first
quarter of the century is marked by the appearance of
a new spirit of ci-iticism upon tliese plays, and the
introduction of new methods of editing them. The
efforts of the last century culminated in the BoswcU-
Malone Variorum, of 1821 ; and Mr. Singer's Chiswick
edition of 1826 is imbued with the spirit of the eigh-
teenth century, and is, in fact, but an abridgment of
the 1821 Variorum.
The causes of the great corruption of the old texts
of Shakespeare's plays are probably all included in the
following enumeration : incorrectness in the copies
made for stage purposes ; hasty and surreptitious pro-
curement of copies by short-hand writers at the per-
formances ; careless proof-reading, or none at all ; priul-
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txiv PREFACE.
ing by tie ear ; * sophistication, i. e., the inti'oduction
by copyist, compositor, or editor of what he supposed
was the author's word in a sound passage which he
regarded as corrupt because he did not apprehend its
meaning ; aud finally, carelessness, or even some obscu-
rity of thought, on tiie part of the poet himself. In the
regulation of the text of this edition it has not been
assnmed ihat Shakespeare, writing as a playwright for
the stage only, and not as a poet for the press, always
attained, or even strove to attain, faultless perspicuity
of expression and clear syntactical coherence, or that
he did not knowingly leave some verses imperfect.
The whole body of the dramatic literature of his time
anS JiiJiet, Act I. 3c. 4, tbe qunitoa of 1S9S and 1009, aad Hie Mlu of 162S,
bll bare the coUocatlou of letters phitom; wbicli Ibrm. no Ens^'^b word, and
nbich we vokoovD to tha limguago excBpt as a contrHAtloa uf ^PLUojuatb.^
Vet -abeii we tead, Id lUcroilio'i deaorlptlaa of Hmea Uab^ equipage, "the
Josh of plilloai,"' ws we tbat ttia cnmpositnr merBly pnt Id tj'pe a mleprouun-
ciadDD of ' filin,'j!IIun), Bometimes heard Dowadafs. The printing id the folio
ejBS and eai-s," la Cou iilalnly a piilUag of sound Instend of fDrm into type to
lie doubted by any intelligent reader. This Diistoke also sbows that wbere
■the' end an enaning Hyllable were made to nil Die place of one sellable, it
was dono not bj a quick, Ugbt pronnnclatiou of the two, aooording to modem
day Indicates. In the Brencli aceue at Sorry tlie FiftA "11 est apiwllo" Is
by tbe ear, ' eat ' being taJten for ' et,' A like instance of phoiiographj- appears
in Act IT. So. 4 of tbe same pliiy, where "a celts lienre ' iepiioted ••oMurt,"
1 know also of an Instance in «blch JfiWlf a eiolnniaHon in Bmri/ the
Iburlh, PartL Aot 11, Be. 4, "eoco signnm" appeared Li the second jii'oof
tlie second, soft; which sumo mi^taka was maiie In jipoor-rflociing bj the copj-
holder, nbo read aloud. It is difficult to aooonnt for eome eri-ors of another
kind. I linTB feoowu'olpjui^llon,' written in lettare as jilaJn as those u|>oa
this page, appear la a second proof as •' cMiiaation." Yet candid man of
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PRETACE. XXV
shows that, had his plays boea complete in the last
respect, they would have heefl as siogular iu that as
they are prelimiueQt ia all others. But assumiug
that there may be obaeuvity and imperfection in these
works, which are due to the manner in which and the
purpose for which they were written, and to the
facility and copiousness of word and thought noticed
in their author by his contemporaries, and which
therefore cannot, with safety, even if with propriety, be
oorreeted, every means at command has been used for
the restoration of corruptions attribwlable to the other
causes above named, I liave endeavored to guide
myself by fixed but not inflexible principles ; to weigh
latters ivill contetB that their onu averslghtB nre often correcled ij ibe rare
and altonlion of the printing^rfBce. I glndlj eoBfess inj obligfltionn in Ihls
leepect. 11 1b Eomotimes alglested totbe corroctlous of SbuluHpeere'a text CMt
ani tliB line, ivhiol
liare toe
.'a anions chanRO .if " a lahla of erssB fialda " to
<iak, the
o-Tn perusal, -idUH
sud Jnslif; DlmOBt any «iir«^o« of this niLtare.
tmCum
B'a SfOe Niilei of a Baoa^ wblch are less notes
than reyelatlang of
the poet
the rniiutd cililizaf
Egypt, a "loYe-dtu
nkeo poe
■aoath;
and these are the first hoes of hla song : -
The h
insnoi-a of tHy love-deei: eyes
Bloi^OT
ime."— p. 225.
BoubtleamRnjiir.
^sfler hai
( pnzalBd himself in ™in to dlecover the signifi-,
uoce of CUaC Easter
d phinse
" a traDlnce." Bat If the in be taken out of the
la the «
tnmed oyer, ive Bhall have fn; anfl bjplnclng
&ii tflfbre IhB nrlia
le na aha
11 hare, -
■ I miiw,
as in a Irmics, whene'er," it.
whkblamasiute
an in ha
i asked him i. -nhat wns wtlttou by tbo llomaclji;
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xxvi PREFACE,
carefully all the eiidenLe and every authoritj' ■which
beara upon each doubtful passage ; to keep constantly
in mind the customs, the manners, the cast of thought,
and the idioms pecuhftr to the poet's time ; to trace
thiou^h the chiiography and the printing of the
Ehzabethiin era the course of probable corruption ;
and ahoi e aU, to place myself, as neaily as possible, in
the position of a reader of Shakespeare's day, whose
mind was biought by Shakespeare's power into sym-
pathetic action with that of the great master. Having
come to my task in this spirit, and pursued it in this
mannei,! hive at times not hesitated to make hold
changes Should I therefore he charged with pre-
sumption and temeritV) I interpose between me and
mj censoi this shield furnished me by the greatest of
modein cnties and editors — Person. "Who shall
decide what leading is indubitably certain? The de-
cision must be m a great measure left to the discretion
of the editor ' What I ire we to give to every man
who sets up for a (rifie an unlimited right of eorrect-
mg ancient books at his pleasure ? ' Not at his pleas-
uie, hut in conformity to eei-tain laws well known and
established by the geneial consent of the learned. He
maytransgieis oi misapply those laws, but without dis-
owning then authority No critic in his senses ever
yet de lued his lesolution to put into the text what
he at the time thonght to be a wrong reading ; and if a
man, after pel using the works of his author perhaps tea
times IS otten as the generality of his readers, — after
diligently comparing MbS. and editions, — after exam-
ining what otheis have written relative to him pro-
fessedly oi accidentally, — after a constant perusal of
other authors with a "pecial view to the elucidation of
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PREFACE. (cxiM
his own, — if, after all tbit. lie muht not lie trusted
witli a diseretioniiry power over the text, he never
eould be qualified fo be ao ediior at all. Whatever
editor (one, we mean, who aspires to that title)
republishes a book from an old edition, when the text
might be improved from subsequent discoveries, while
he hopes to show his modesty and religion, only ex-
poses his indolence, his ignorance, or his supersti-
tion." * This bulwark is strong enough for lay pro-
tection. My right to stand behiml it can only be
eaiabliahed by the ensuing pages.
The editioa being designed fo meet the wants of all
readers, from those who open Shakespeare merely for
a moment's pleasure to those who wisii to study his
text critically, on the one hand comment has been
made upon many phrases and words which need no
elucidation to the well-read Engli&h scholar, and on
the other all old readings, i.e., variations of text which
involve a difference of meaning, whether from the
early quartos or the later folios, and al! readings from
modern editors and commentators, deemed, upon a
very catholic judgment, worthy of attention, have been
given in the notes, together with such comments upon
corrupted or obscure passages as were included by a
similar latitude of choice. Thus ample means are
afforded for the critical study of the text to all readers
whose purpose does not impel them to the laborious
collation of origiual editiim'i.
In the preparation of the Notes and Essays the pos-
seasioa of ordinary intelligence and knowledge of our
language and literature by the reader has been as-
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xamii PRE FACE.
aumed, but no special knowledge, or what may he
called purely literary acquirement. If there ho no
note upon any passage, it is because it was supposed
to be perfectly clear to any person possessing such a
degree of intelligence and Itnowleclge as has jast been
mentioned. On the other hand, a definition is some-
times given, or an illustrative passage quoted, Dot
wilh the notion of presenting a novel view or display-
ing recondite reading, but with an eye to the pleasure,
and perhaps the instruction, of readers (and I trust
they will be many) who have not at hand even such
books as Nares'a Glossary, or Halliwell's and Wright's
Archaic Dictionaries. Some notes have also been writ-
ten and some quotations made in support of readings
which are quite able to stand alone, because, comment
upon these plays being free to all, it seems desirable
to do whatever can be done within moderate compass
to prevent and meet beforehand foolish and feeble per-
versions, and doubts as to clear passages, which, being
broached and bandied about, win the attention of pre-
suming half-knowledge, and make thankless and ii'ri-
tating labor for the after-coming scholar.
It has been a point in the preparation of this work
to give results rather than processes, except when a
knowledge of the process is necessary to an apprecia-
tion of the result ; to make the notes as few and as
concise as possible, consistently with the attainment of
the end in view — the formation and maintenance of a
sound text, and the explanation of obsolete phrases and
customs ; and to resist all temptations to expressions
of individual admiration and to esthetic criticism.
Neither the Antony nor the Brutus of my hero, I come
neither to bury nor lo praise him. Therefore, except
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PREFACE. OXMX
in the first volume, I have confined my laboi's to tlio
text and to subjects directly connected with it. When,
to the hest of my ability and to tlie extent of my ac-
quaintance with the literature and the customs of
Shakespeare's tirae, I had furnished the reader with the
words of my author, and if it seemed necessary, with
an explaaation of those words, and in the Introductory
Remarks, with all the information within my reach as
to tlie origin, the history, and the textual condition of
each play, I deemed that my legitimate labors were at
an end. For like reasons, also, I did not feel justified
in obtruding upon the reader mere laudatory comment
from the works of any of Shakespeare's critics, how-
ever eminent — a department of Shakespearian lit-
erature, by the way, with which my acquaintance is
merely casual, and very limited. la the purely edito-
rial part of his work, it is, in my judgment, an editor's
business simply to enable the reader to possess and
understand his author. Nevertheless esthetics and
psychology are sometimes constrained to do hand-
maid's service to verbal criticism.
In the following pages there will be found, I think,
nothing at all of a certain kind of annotation which
Las filled a large space in many editions of this autlior,
the object of which is to explain Shakespeare's poetry
or to justify his use of language. No exercise of the
editorial function seems to me so superfiuous, I will
say so impertineut. That a recent commeatator
should complain, aa one, learned if not appreciative,
has complained, that in these passages —
" No ; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp.
And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee
"Where thrift may follow fawning ; "
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axcx PBEFAGS.
" and hia poor self
A dedicated beggar to the air j "
" The gi-ief is fine, full, perfect, that I taste.
And violeateth in a sense as strong
As that which causefh it" —
tl 1 h J i £ d by authority
d ID Sh k p f an lied,' 'preg-
t d d 1 1 d 1 t tb t me, simply
m St It tl h «11 fell na that
C 1 m Wilt tl u 1ft I Olympus?"
m w It h t mpt mp bl y? and that.
ti h Id pi b I f nt 1 Csesar," and
ip] t t h i to Csesar's bald-
d t II th h 1{ lena ays Parolles is
I ly w d h m that he is ^^ altogether
1 1 t tl dm of the opposite qual-
ty d d fi on of " ill-nurtured."
Ohrsdpt bpp tyf Boyei's most expressive
d Im 11 q 1 pi 0, I am stabb'd with
lb d m y p 1 and ink, and paper,
m th t CI d ong, " Done to death
by I d t killed by slanderous
toQjjUes, a d hat Si L p w s "justified "in using
the phrase because it had been used long before his time.
Why, if it bad never been used before this day, what
justification or what explanation would it require if it
wore to appear to-morrow in a poem or a leading article?
The extreme of this mode of annotation is reached by
one editor, who gravely assures the reader that when
Antony says that at Ccesar'i assassination Pompey's
statue " all the while ran blood," it " is not intended to
imply that the statue of Pompey shed blood in miracn-
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PHEFACE. cexxi
iou8 sympatliy ivitli Ciosar, as Ctesar was Im hitter enemy,
but that tlie blood of Cfflsar spurted out upon the Btalue
and trickled doivn it." "Whoever cannot understand,
without explanation, such a use of language as that of
which these passages are examples, had better lay down
Shakespeare, or any true poet, as a sealed book. To
explain such phrases is to insult the reader by implying
his incapacity of poetic apprehension ; while to go about
justifying them is to assume the right of depriving the
poet of part of his power as a " maker." Yet poets
themselves sometimes, in timidity, thus blot their own
pages. In Miss Ban-ett's Drama of Exile, Eve, gazing
at night upon the heavens and scanning the constella-
" But look off to those small humanities,
Which draw me tenderly across my fear, —
Lesser and fainter than my womanhood.
Or yet tliy manhood, — with strange innocence
Set in the misty lines of head and hand
They lean together ! "
The maiden poetess thereupon deliberately takes tho
life of the ehUd of her own imagination, by adding a
note in which she explains Eve's speech by saying that
" Her maternal instinct is excited by Gemini." And
Rogers, in his little poem "On a Tear," destroys the
effect of the last pretty stanza, which almost redeems
the prim platitude and tiewig-time sensibility of its five
predeeessoi-s, by deliberately informing his reader tliat
when he says that the veiy law which moulds » tear
and eaoses it to fall, is the same which preserves the
earth a sphere and guides the planets, he means " the
law of gr
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Kxnii PREFACE.
My text has, I believe, been punctuated with groat
cai^ ; and I snspect that this is the first time that that
by no means trifling task has ever been thoroughly per-
fornied for these works, except with regard to passages
which have been discnssecl as obscure, or which are
entirely deformed by the punctuation of the iirst folio.
Through all others, commas and colons appear to have
been scattered, at some remote period, with indiacrira-
inating hand, and not to have been dislurbcd till now.
Wllhhd thfrfml
f h ht Tl t 1 flit! 1
1 b 1 t If
ly f I pi I y fl 1 1 1 I t y
It t p p 1 1 1 I p
It t 1 by 1 dr 1 r p d
A f wl m SI k p t d ly
P 1 h B h 1 q t
it h h d t 1 1 SI k I
d i k 1 dg f tl I t fit
dhlb fl dl dm tt
t h t w th H th 1 d 11 tl
nti 1 blty h t h d b b h t tl nl
dthUtt fhdm lyhd yt
b dtdpjtl p pi p d
ly 1 f h h 11 t fy th g
mb f h 1 g d t 11 g t ead Th
tJ b I t 1 mp t f d t k tl pjl f
th t p I t If 1 ly p J
f d t f th t U H w
y i my f 11 w t d m h b 1 ly
t mft 1 H ipy I y 1 i h t e-
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PREFACE. axxiii
siglit, or whose indolence deferred them, from llie task !
However extended aad thorough his knowledge of
English literature, however intimate his acquaintance
■with the text of Shakespeare in all its shapes, no maa
can form any thing like a jost estimate of the time and
labor which must be given to the conscientious prep-
aratioa oi' a thorough critical edition of Shakespeare's
plays, until after he liaa performed the task himself.
And thus, with a very clear perception of the ideal at
which I was aiming, but with a very imperfect concep-
tion of the difficulties which lay in the way of attain-
ing it, I began the work of which the result is now
presented to the reader. Favorably as the bulk of it
has already been received, it would be unreasonable to
hope that others will find less fault with it than I do
myself. It has, at least, I trust, taught me charity
toward my fellow-editors. The man who honestly, and
with some capacity for his task, nndei-takes to reform
abuses and to rectify eiTors, will geaerally end by apol-
ogizing for some of the very faults which, at first, he
most strongly condenmed.
And now, the labors ended which have taxed others'
patience as well as mine, I lay down from a weary
hand the pen taken up blithely, and perhaps too confi-
dently, seven years ago, I can truly say that my task
has been performed as thoroughly as I expected to per-
form it, and even more minutely, if not so perfectly
or so easily. The very proofs have required more
time than I expected to give to the whole work. My
place must be among those who have not attained the
height of their endeayor, or even perhaps the extreme
of their capacity, because they found their endeavor
limited by circumstances unforeseen. Shakespearian
VOL. I. 3
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asmv PREFACE.
pursuits Lave not been, as some of my generous critics
and kind correspondents seem to have supposed tliey
were, my principal or even my continued occupation.
This work, whatever may be its value, is the fruit of
hours stolen from sleep, from recreation, from the
society of friends, and fi-om nearer and dearer com-
panionship. Begun when our country was strong and
happy in long-continued peace and prosperity, it waa
interrupted, near its close, by a bloody struggle which
has tried and proved that strength as no other nation's
strength was ever tried or proved, which threatened,
though but for a brief period, to shalie that prosperity
to its foundations, and which, involving lis all in its
excitement, absorbed the best energies of every gen-
erous soul; — it is finished as that strength seems to
be renewed and established more firmly than before,
and under the glad atsguries of a peaco and a pros-
perity which we may reasonably hope will aever again
be so interrupted.
Here is my peace-offering,
E. G. W.
New YoliK, April 23, 180S.
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SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES
AND CORRECTIONS.
p, H. " and aa leaky as an iinalanch'd v/endh" : — What
ia the meaning of 'unstanohed' here! Not, it ivouM
seem, except in way of pun, that undiaoussible one which
is the moat obvious. See,
" For who can lesae than, smile that sees jmstanch and
xiveled faees
To shelter ooyiie underneath Pannes, Tifiiiea, Maslts,
Anion's England, Chap. 101, p. 400, ed. 1S06.
p. 19, " From the atiU vex'd Beriaooehes." See Vol. XII.
p. 437.
p. 28. " Corirlsfd when jiou have, and kiss'd" : — The dashes
at the end of this line and the next should be removed.
"The -wild waves whist" is not parenthetical. As the
Cambridge editora have remarked, Ferdinasid says, —
" This music crept by me upon the waters.
Allaying both their furg and my passion."
p. 36. "Of «« own lc!nd":~- Bead, "Of rt own kind." So
the folio. See the Note on " it's folly, it's tendemeas,"
&c. Wintei's Tale, Act I. Sc. 2.
p. 41, " to keep tliem living" : — I now think that Ma-
lone was right in his conjectural reading, " to keep thee
p. 70. "And do the marlhti- &rst" : — The aaaeition m the
Note on tliis passage that mtiriher was (he uniform mode
of spelling this word was incsutioii'U it d fu^etfilly
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SUPPLEMENT All Y NOTES.
Two Geatkm^n of Verana,
'8. "Nod-ay? why, that's nod^" : — In support of my
reading and explanation of thia miict mooted passage,
which hsve been silently adopted by the Cambridge ed-
itors, see the following dialogue from Tito Woman turned
Bulig, 1675 : —
" Qood. Come hither, sirrah. Can you go to Mr.
Docket's and come again preseutty, and not play at
chuck farthing by the way f
Boy. ]bov}ing'\ Yes, foraooth, Madam,
Oood. Yet ifs no matter neither. — Is Truepenny
about the house ?
Boy. [SowiHj] Yes, Madam.
Good. Go, send him to me quickly.
So!j. [hawing] Yea, Madam."
Aot ni. So. 2, p. ii.
!6. " O, that shoe could speak now like an old woman" ; —
Is it at all probable that Theobald's reading, " a wood
woman," which appears in almost every subsequent edi-
tion, gives the true text ? For ' would ' could not be a
misprint by the ear for wrood ; because in ' would ' the /
1. "Yet let her be a pi-incipalitu" : — The Note on this
passage was written with too little consideration of the
subject; andacritiein the jliianiio magarine (Feb. 1859)
corrects me by saying " there were three orders of angels
above the principalities, the higheflt being the Seraphim."
It is difficult to find an authoritative marshalling of the
celestial hierarchy, and perhaps not less difficult to dis-
cover esactly what was meant by principalitiea or by
powers in that order. But I wonder at my mistake ; for
before making it I had read this passage in Diaytoii's
ilfa» iij the Mooas : —
" Those Hierarchies that Jove's great will supply,
"Whose orders formed in triplicitie,
Holding their places by the treble trine,
Make np that holy theolagike nine ;
Thrones, Cberubin and Seraphiii that rise.
As the first three; when Principalities,
With Dominations, Potestntes are plao'd
The second ! and file Ephionian last.
Which Vertuea, Angels, and Archangels bee.
iO. ' ' She is not to be fasting in respect of her breath " i —
It must be admitted that Rowe's reading "to he kissed
fasting" is more than pbiuaiblu. Tin; "to bu fasting,"
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SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES. xxjicii
though it has a plain and appropriste mpaning, is a very
aivkwftrd phrasE. Laimee's caution is of ancient date.
It occurB in. Ovid's Art of Love, in a passage thns trans-
lated by Congreve : —
" And you whose breath is touched this caution taltc,
Nor fasting, nor too near nnother speak."
Book ni.
>2. "By my haUilom" ; — In the Note on this passage
read, "from the Angio-Sason ItaUg = sacred, and dom:^^
13. "Madam, I pity mwch your gnevarmas" ; — This passage
is probablj^ corrupt by omission of a line, or perhaps by
a misprint in ' plac'd.'
The Meery Wives of Windsor.
5. n goat words " ; — Tlie folio has " good ivords,"
and the like often. But should snch irregularity in so
mcorrectly printed a boot as the first folio cause us to
doubt a moment that Shakespeare made Sir Hugh's Welsh-
English consistent throughout i
S. " he's a justice of peace in his country" : — There
can he no doubt as to the coirectncBS of 'country' in
this passage. It is used in like manner in New England
to this day.
!l. " there's pippins and cheese," &e. Eead " and
eeeae," as elsewhere.
" bully rooi." This cant phrase has been hitherto
spelled " bully iijoA," and explained, " slinrper, one who
lives by his wits," which makes it a very unfit and un-
likely epithet for the Hoitt to apply to Fahla^, his ',' Em-
peror. Ctesar, Keisar, and Pheazar," a guest who sits " at
ten poumia [ahout $300 with ua now] a week," and after-
wai'd to Mr. Justice Shallow. That the true signification
of the term is, a brave, dashing, overbearing fellow, seems
to me to be decided by these lines from the Prologue to
Sedley's Bellaniira, ito, 1637, which I have met ■n'ith since
the proofs of tliia play were corrected :
"What 0.... y' have met with, and what punks are sound.
Who are the BttUg-rooks, and who gives gyound"
The contraiBt here is evident. The bully rock is ihe man
who does not give ground, who, in our slang phrase,
" faces the music." This interpretation seems to he en-
tirely sustained by the following passages : —
" What do we fight for > — For pay, for pay, my iidl
roda." Shirley's Bonmia and Msamoii, 1B69.
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■iii SUPPLEMENTAEY NOTES.
" And ilGvillishly ere they tia'd when they meddle ivitli
a guard men oi: any of the Btilli/ Roeks indeed."
Tlie Smgtid Astrologer, 1668.
"He, poor soul, must be hectored till he likes 'em,
while ifts TBore stubborn JmUy-rock darama and is safe."
Shadwdl'p Stillea Lovers, 1068.
" Thou art mine oivn sweet Built/."
Thomas of Reading, ed. 1618, E 3.
In Rabelais, Book V. Chap. T, Urquhart translates
"Dieu de Batta&ss," " that bully-rook Mars." This use of
' bully ' has never entirely passed away in this country.
Of late it ia much heard among the boys, who Qse it just
as it is used in the passages above quoted. The spell-
ing 'buUyj'ooS,' a mere phonographic irregularity, doubt-
less led to the supposition that there was some conneetion
between this word and ' rook ' = sharper, cheat.
:0. "What, have I 'scap'd love letters?" — The folio
" for though love use reason for his precisian" : —
Dr. Johnson's eonjeeture that we should rend " his p%-
«£rfon " probably hits the truth. See the following line
in Sonnet 147: —
" My reason, the physician to my loTe."
18. "I, ay, Imyself," So in Seneca's Ten Ti'agedies, —
" And aith that I, I Caitife, I, abridged have Ihy life,"
(ed. 1681, fol. 73 b,) —
where we plainly should read, " I, ay, caitiff, I."
beauty which would grace higher fortunes, Falstaff
probably quotes here the burthen of an old song! "It
plays Fortune my foe as distinctly as may be." Lingua,
Sig. F a, ed. 1607. And see the fo
Lilly's Woman ia the Moone, Act 1. : —
"Use all these well, and Nature is, thy friend;
But use them ill, and Nature ia thy foe."
" the reek of a lime MU" : — Although both folio
and 4to read " lime-AiH," kiln is given in all modern
editions — the very Cambridge edition itself. See in
"Withal's Short Dietumarie, 15-, "A lyme-kjll — Foraaa;
ealcai-ia," and in Seneca's Ten Tragedies, —
""When up he [Heroules] stept on CEta mount, and gazed
on his kill.
Being layd aloft he brake the block, so heavy was; he
still." Ed, 1581, fol. 213.
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SUPPLEMENTAUY NOTES. axaiv
19. '■ a pouei of sack " : — See Supplementarj Note
oil " A good aherris sack." King Reiaij Foiot/i, Pnrt H.
'5, 'I — and the numbej-8 of the gsodeis" : — I haTe no
doubt that Shakespeare wrote " thy genders."
" yoaTaasthe prcechei" : — We should read, "be
preeched." Parson Evaiia's faults are not in grammar.
The text of the folio is probably the result of a mistake
of the final a.
16. " and in that Wi»".- — Eead "that iire," as the
Note on the passage plainly indicates,
VOL. m.
Measure for Measure,
p. 37. ''lit hatho/ciKferJiuiosmadrBam": — lamnotsura
that, strange and contradictory as the original reading,
"He hath biU as offoided," &e., seems to us, it is not
warranted by the iiKom of Shakespeare's day.
p. 38. " to fine the /oBffl"; — The folio, "faiUta."
p. 49. " 0/ the all-holdiii!/ law " .- — The critical canon referred
to in the Note on this passage is Tjrwhitt's, not The-
" It foa been sick for " : — Read, " 'hawe been sick
for." The folio has, " that longing have been sick for,"
there being an elision of the pronoun, which wtis not
uncommon in Shakespeare's day.
p, 84. " One of our orauenf " ; — Bead, " our coveni." So the
folio. This is on old form of the word, still preserved in
" Covent Garden."
Comcd'j of Errors.
p. 147. "Who/nffi% there to find his fellow forth": — Rend,
without a doubt, "Who failing there," &c. The two
drops are " in tlie ocean," and one seeks tJie otlier. It
does not fall into the ocean.
p. 160. 1 leai'n from Mr. HalUwell's folio Shakespeare that my
oonjeotuinl correction, "foreed fiiUacy," is found on the
mai'gins of the Dent folio,
p. 1S2. " eipect spoon meat, and bespeak a long spoon " ;
— Read, with Capell, " so bespeak," &c.
p. 184. " by my long ears" : — i. c, my long 'years.' Even
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SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES.
at the present day we hear so many Englishmen from the
old oouatry, of even higher giade thaii Dromio's, pro-
nounce 'ears' years, that there can be no doubt that
Shaltespeare mteiided the pun whieh the Cambridge ed-
itors first indicated,
Mvek Ado oiout Nothvig.
iS. " liito, Ue'j noimy, nonay " : — For the hitherto unsus-
pected signitieauce of tJiis strange burthen see Florio's
New World of Words, ed. 1611 : " Foua, a grave, a pit, a
trench. , . . Used also fbt a woman's pleaaure-pit,
nony-nony, or palace of pleasure."
18. "Let them he, in (lie hands of coxcomb" : — When the
Note on this passage was written, I had forgotten, or had
not observed, that Theobald made the same distribution
of the text. He, however', gave no reasons for his de-
Love's Labour's Lost.
a of opinion that we
- against gentility,"
p. 359, " until then, Sit do^va, Sorrmn " : — B.ead, "Sit
iAee down," &o.
p. 361. " for she had a green tail " .- — i. e., a green miJie,
ih having been pronounced as (, and a punning allusion
(hidierto urmoticed because of the ignorance of the pro-
nunciation of th) being made to the green withes with
which Delilah bound Samson, See Vol. XII. p. 431,
., apparitors, who were
in " : — As to the pro-
I. 423,
p. 391. "In love I Ptope" ; — The folio assigns tliis speech to
Longamlie with manifest error.
p. 397 Thoit f wh m Jove would swear " : — The author
f h ti m n his edition in the Atlantic magazine,
d n ng bv mpl ation that the quantity and accent
p p h hou' malts any addition to this line
p ft u say hat, if read as it is printed, " the effect
■w Id I m hmg of this kind: 'TbDu-ou for whom
J Id w a which would be like the 'bow-wow-
b h L d' of the counti-y choirs." Enjoying
the laugh at my own expense quite as heartily as my
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SUPPLEMENTAEY NOTES. xU
critic did, I do not see that his joke is fatal to my pros-
ody. Ha must know tliat the vowel Bound in ' thou ' is
a juactLoii of ah and oo, the Italian a and u, and that the
least prolongatiou of tjiis sound will, at a poet's need,
wake the diphthong in ' thou' fill the place of a disayl-
able juet as manifestly as it does in the following lines : —
" For in his male he had a pilwebere,
Which (as he said) was our Lady's veil "
Chanoer's Cante burj Tales Prol 1 696
p. 398. "Not you to me," &c I neslected to lemark that
the folio has, " Not you bj mt hut I betray d io you "
and that the transposition unpeiatively requiied nas
su^ested by Monck Mason
p. 402, " of theirsweetcotnple-vioncracJ — Click here
means not speak ofi talk, but boast in which sense it is
commonly enough used with us in. the phrase ' oiack np,'
Its use to mean 'gossip' la Lowland Scotch, ss in "a
crack v/V Monkhams." 7^ Aniiquai'i/. Aa to the use of
' sweet' here, instead of 'white' or 'fiiir,' it is to he no-
ticed that in Shakespeare's day and afterward complex-
ion meant, not the tint of the skin, but (See Vol. XI. 169,
197) the whole physical being, what we call now the or-
ganization ; and that it was to the repulaiveness of this
m the Ethiopian, and not to bis color only, that Shake-
speare makes the King allude.
p. 403. " Fbr ioAea loould yoti, my lord," &e.: — The most casual
reader must be struck by the repetitions and want of logi-
cal sequence in this speech ; and it is more than probable
that we have in the old copies both what Shakespeare
intended to strike out from the speech, as originally writ-
ten, and what he substituted. But as there is no guide,
except individual judgment, to determine which is the
old and which the new matter, the course pursued by
Cnpell and Mr. Dyee, who omit sii lines &om " For
when would you, my Lord," &c., and nine from "For
where is any author," &c., seems very unsafe, if not un-
warrantable.
p, 409. " rejiiemher ihi/ eoarlesy" : — Mr. Howard Staun-
ton is of opinion that ' remember thy courtesy ' was a con-
ventional phrase for 'pray you put on your hat.' To
sustain this interpretation he quotes three passages, of
which, upon examining the conteit of each, it seems to
me that only the following one is in point: "To me, sir]
"What do you mean f — Pray you, ivmen^er ymir eottr(»y.
[Reads.] ' To his most selected friend Master Edvrard
Knowell.' What might the gentleman's name he, sir,
that sent it ? ?>"ay. pray you be coset'd." Evei-y Man in
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idii SUPPLEMENTAEY NOTES.
Ma SHmOMf. Act I. Se. 1. It may be tJiat tliis gives the
correct interpretation of die passage whioh is the occasion
of the present Note ; and that also wiien Hanilet [Act V.
So. 2) says to Oai-ie, " But, I beaeeuh you, remember — "
and moves hini to put on liis lint, he was al)out to add,
" your courtesy." But by what mental process such a
pluase came to havs such a significance is past my con-
jecture ; for, bejond a doubt, taking off the hat was a
courtesy two hundred and flily years ago, as it is Tiow.
"Let us malie a lawe that no man put off his hat or
cap, &G., Sic. This is a kind of courtesy or ceremony
rather to be avoided than otherwise ai table," &e., &e,
Ploiio's Seamd Fi-mtea, 1591. Agam, in Greene's Tn
Quoqiie, Slaiiiei, who is teaching an Englishman Italian
manners, says, " Only, air, this I must condition you off:
in your affront or salute never to move your Hatte : But
here, here is your courtesie."
p. 410. " shall pass Pompei/ the Great"; — So the old
copies. The Cambridge editors conjecture, " shall pass
OS Pompey," So.
p. 437. "■■ ■ ■ my griefs arerfuK'*.- — Read, with the old copies,
" my grieis are double," i. e., heavy, strong. So, —
" a voice potential.
As double as the Duke's."
Otliello, Act I. Sc. 1.
p. 469. " which to annotmme." From Mr. Halliwell's
fblio edition I have learned that Mr. Knight has made
this correction. I was first directed to it by remarking
the pronuneintion of i/i as.i. See lutroduoljon to Mjiak
Ada cAoiit Nolhing {NoHits).
A Midsumimr-Nighea Dream.
!■ "[BBi-mia,] for Slight," &c.: — Bead, with the 4ti
"Ai/ me, for aught," &e.
" the choice of mej-ii" ; — Head, with the *lo, " tl
choice ot fnendsy My defence of the folio test is ovi
subtle.
I. "Or on the beached margent of the sea": — Iteai
" Or in the beaohcd margent," &e., with the old copie
' In ' has been too frequently changed to ' on ' in the;
plays. It was used as we use ' nn ; ' it is the Latin in =
upon. Christ's great esposition of his doctrine is " XI
Sermon in the Mount,"
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SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES. diU
p. 36. " The human mortals want," Sec. : — To whom I am
indebted for the suggestion, " The huiunii mortals elumt,"
&c., I do not remeinl>eT, In any case, I cannot regajd it
as having even the leaat plausibilit7.
p. 40. " I know a bank tohai's the wild thyme blows " ! — I
am now much inclined to doubt that Shakespeare could
use 'where' to fill the place of two Byllablea, the seamd
of which would be accented. ' Whereon ' might be well
received into the text.
p. il. "Lull'd in these bouisra" : — I yielded too leadily to
the plausibility of the reading found in Mr. Collier'a
folio of leaa. Read, with tlie old copies, "Lull'd in
these /ouiBra;" 'ia' having, of course, the sense of upon,
p. 49. " cmd let him hold his fingers," So, : — The ft.l!o,
"Di-lee,"&e.
p. 53. " I deaii'c you of more acquaintance, good Master
Mustard-seed": — Mr. Dyce, in his teoe t ed t on fi sC
pointed out Hiat the old copies accidentally om t ot i
this speech. See Bottom's two pveced „ peeches A
trifling change in the plate enables e to p ht b this
suggestion.
p. 67. " agaiuBt she doiA appear " : — Tie read „ she
do" &c., is from the 4tos.
p. 71. "So doth theMood6t«e,"&c. :— The e can he no do bt
that the names woodbine and honeysuckle wei'e applied
in Shakespeare's time, if indeed they are not now ap-
plied, to the same vine. But there are two kinds of
honeysuckle, veiy distinct, mentioned by Dodoens in his
Berhalt a translation of which was published in 1678.
Perhaps one was called, or has since come to be called,
'woodbine,' and the other, 'honeysuckle.' I certainly
have heard country folk thus distinguish them.
p. 78. "And/ifididSiiiusfollow":— ThefolioandBobarts'a
4to omit ■ he,' as well as ■ did."
p. 80. " what ahridgmeiii have yon ! " — The sn^estion
that here 'abridgment' means briefi though plausible, is
not sound. In Hianlet, Ast II. Sc. 2, the prince calls the
players his 'abridgment.' We have evidently lost the
meaning with this use of the word.
p. 88. "Now is the moraidown"; — The Note upon this
passage assumes too subtle a meaning. Mural is prob-
ably right ; or perhaps ' moral'' is a misprint for ■ iixiU.'
I'he Merchant of Venice.
p. 158, " fojirf-thievesandwiMei'-thieyEs":.
sight, I ntgkcttd to quute "Notable pii
- By an over-
.atc, thou salt
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aihv STTPrLElIENTAliY NOTES.
water thief," (TaclfWi Night, Act V, Sc. 1.) in support
of the rcanspaaicion macle heie, whleli I have s^xtce dis-
covered in the "List" of the oorroctioiis in Mi. Collier's
folio of 1833.
p. 176. "Will be worth a Jsima eye " : ■ — In. support of this
reading, add lo the Note the following passnges : —
"And 60 did bastoj'd Astcey, too, whose mother was
a Jew." Qoldhtg's Ovid, Book V. fol. 57 b. 1612.
"And after certain days, wh«Q Pells came with his
wife Drusilla, which waa a Jem,"
Alls xaiv. 24. Authorized translation, ed. 1611.
p. 203. " an egiml yoke of love"; — Head, "an csai
yoke," &c.
As Yon Like It.
p. 315. " Alolanla'fl iellei-part" .- — Some doubt lias heen ex-
pressed as to the interpretation of this passage given in
the Note upon it. But there should be none. Atalanta'e
legs are meant. The word ' parts ' was Bpeciully applied
to the lower limbs of women.
'■ And last of eJI (though eouered) stretched out her round
Supporter of that building brave, of beautious forme the
The rest (and better piut') lay hid. Yet what was to be
To malce one lose his liberty enough and more had
liortmir'a Academy, 1010, Part III. p. 97.
I have at hand a dozen more such examples in point.
p, 364. " which are pntr only prologues," &c, ! — Read,
with the old copies, " which are the only prologues," &o.
The old idiom was "the only" where we now say "only
The Tamhig of tlie Shrew.
p. 393. " Go bj, St. Jei'onimy" i — Mr. Keightley proposes to
read, " Sr. or Sk/iiior Jeronimy." There cau hardly he a
doubt that this is the correct reading.
p. 440. " lilie to moae in the ehine " : — Good reason why
I could not understand this phrase. It is corrupt. Read,
" mciuTi in the chine." See TTrquhart's translation of
Eabelais ! " In our Abbey we never study for fear of the
mumps, which disease in horses is called niovrni?!!/ in the
chine." Book I. Chap. 39.
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SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES.
AU'a WeU thai Ends WeB.
"You shall find o/ttB King a husband": — This can
hardly be diatinguisned as a French couBtmction. ' Of
waa used two or three eeiicuries ego very much in this
manuer by many English iviitera. In the Note, read,
" Vous (minwat de par le Boi," &c.
;. " This bis good, melancholy," &c. : — Read, —
" Let me not live —
T/iue his good melancholy oft beyaa," &o.
And perhaps, as Mi'. Staunton Bu^ests, in the next line
below, " When teii was out,"
I, " War is no strife":— .Read, '» Wars is," &c. See "ia
there not wai's ? " Seemd Pail Heni-y IV., Act I. So. 2.
I. " iKake rope'a ia evok a soaiTe" : — Since the Note
on this Ime (in wbieh Mr. Dyee reada, " make hopes in
Huch a oaae") ■was stereotyped, I have met with an im-
portant passage which confirms me in the opinion that
the test should not be disturbed, although it cannot be
explained. In the old play, lingua, or the Combat of tha
Tongue, in the first edition. Act 1. Se, 6, Si^. B, Tactiut,
having found Liiigiia'a crown and robe, which she lays
in his way, puts them on, assumes them as hia due, and
with them royal airs ; and he says, —
" Peasants I'le curb your head-strong impudence,
And make you tremble when the Lyon loai'es.
Yea [ye] eai'th-bred wormes, O for a looking glasse :
PoelB will write whole volumes of this maire,"
Now, here we have the same word, with exactly the same
spelling ; and in hath pEBaages the word refers to a etar-
tiing event or emergency. It seems quite impoBsible that
exactly the same arrangement of typea should have been
fortuitous in both instances. In Mr. Collier's edition of
Doddey's Old Plays, 1825, the line ia printed, " Poets
will write whole volumes of this e/Uenge," with a note by
him to the effect that, " ' Poeta will write whole volumes
of this scar ' was the reading of the edition of thia work
inlTSO; but it ia meieuousensci the true word has been
supplied from the old copies. C" Wbich " old copies "
furnished this reading does not appear : tha original edi-
tion, which only I possess, we have seen, was not among
them i and I cannot believe that had Mi. Collier con-
sulted the first edition, and remembered the obscure pas-
sage in AlTs Well that Ei>da WeU, he mould have been
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suppleme;jta
ides, not very
t bo accepted
in. the sense of emergencj, or a similac sense, the change
of 'rope's to 'hopes' is more than plausible.
I. " he Aas aworn to mai'iy me": — The original
leads, " he htid sworn," &0. — an error of the press hith-
erto vmnotioed. Bertram saja, earlier in the Scene, "How
ham I Bwom ; " and note in this speech Duma's declara-
tion, " therefore I mill lie," &c.
16. "Fiiid him, aad bring him hither" : — After this order
from the King, tliere should be a stage direction. Exit on
attendant, whith Mr. Dyce has added.
Twelfth Mgkt.
1. 198. " I'll get theni all three all ready " : — Mr. Dyoe
says, with great plausibility, "read 'all three j-eody.'"
The folio hsa, " all three atreadi/; " and it ia quite prob-
able, lliough not, I think, BufficieDtly certain for a change
in liie text, that the latter ' all,' or • al,' is a mere repeti-
tion of the Srst.
a. aoe. "Afyyellowstoekinga"; — The folio has, "TAy yellow
stockings." The emendation, which Lt Mr. W, N. Letf>
som's, appears imperative. For not only has Oliiiia " no
idea that Malvolio is quoting the letter," as Mr. Lettsom
remarks, but she is eatirely ignorant that he has received
any letter, and the pronoun in the second person addressed
to her, can to her mean only herself ; and therefore, when
Mabiiiio quotes, " Go to, thou art made," &c., she replies,
" Am I mads t " And then, too, the humor of the Scene,
which with the old misprint depends only on Malwlio'i
conceit, beoomea stupendoua by this' logical bringing in
of the Cotmteas'a supposition that her steward talks to her
about her stockings and /mc garters !
]. 311. " too unehary miT' v — Read, with Theobald,
" too unehary out." Olivia might lay her love, but not
her honor, upon a heart of stone. The misprint is an
easy one to be made.
p. 22a. " Nay, I am for all waters " : — There have been vari-
ous comments upon this passage, none of vhich have
been accepted as satisfactory. The Cloati'a meaning is
plain enough, without comment i but is not his allnsion
to the ' Waterologers,' who were the sovereign quacks in
the reigns of Slizabeth and James, and later, although
flieir absurd pretensions were made the subject of con-
stant ridicule i See the following passage in Uie Satire
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5TTPPLEMENTAE.Y NOTES. sriw
QQ the People's Physitian in Whitlock's Zootomia, or 01-
sei-vations on the Present Manners oftl-e English. London,
1634 ■ •' — or at moat, if his English Library can furnish
hiTn witli but the eonfused Notions of someDiseaBes, and
he can but discourse them, to fit all Waters, their Patient
is leady to admire and cry," Sio. P. 64.
The Winter's Tale.
p. 294. "Eyall theirm/Kences": — I tliink it more than prob-
able that the true text is, " By all their infiuejice." The
rhythm demands but three syllables, and ihe addition of
a superfluous » was common enough. See the Note on
" Servile to all the skyey influences." Measure for Meaa-
m-o, Actm. Sc. 1,
p. 300. "I'll keep my staHes," S:e. : — Mr. Staunton explains
this passage, ■' I'll festen, bar np my stables," saying that
the allOBion is to the unnatural passions of Semiramis,
The su^estion is very ingenious and plausible, but I
think over subtle and far-fetched. "Would Shakespeara
have made so remote an allusion so obBCurely? I am
inclined to doubt that he would. But ' keep" may well
be used in the sense of bai, defend ; and in that case is
not the allusion rather to these passages of Jeremiah i —
"They were fed as horses in the morning; every one
neighed after Ms neighbor's wife." Chap. v. 8. "I have
seen thy adnlteries and thy neighings." I doubt if Shake-
speare knew the whole story of Semiramia.
p. 316. " With what ^neoimter so imain'ent." &o. ! — ' Unour-
rent ' is the only difficult word in thia passage. May it
not be a misprint for ' oeeurrenl ' t " Another ridiculous
fbole of Venice thought his shoulders and bnttocks were
made of glasse, wherefore he shunned all oecwrents, and
never did sit downe to meat," &o. Optie Glasse of Hu-
Tnora, p. 133. Bacon itsed ■ oeeurrent ' in the sense of in-
cident. See Webster's Dielioitar^.
p. 32B. " a god OT a child " — St en ' d fi 'ti f
' child' = a girl, has bee d
oently published gloasari se
works have cited in supp d
only this very passage I If d
lowing lines, which furnish m k
to me in which ' child ' m p m d ti
"The gentlemen who.e title, jou ha e bought
l,Ci5L- ali thdr fiiOiors toil within a day,
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a SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES.
While Hob, your son, and Sib [Isabella], your nul
btowne a/iild
Are gentlefolks, and gentles Ei'e beguil'd."
Gi-eene'a Jamea the Fourth, p. 116, ed. Dyce.
Rnt notice here the rhyme needed for ' beguil'd,' and see
in the passage quoted below, fiom King Lear, son and
child both used to mean a man child, filius. In regard
to my rending in this passage, tlie Honorable Charles
Dalj, Chief Justice of the Superior Court of New York,
a careful and discriminating student of Shakespeare, said
to me, iu support of the old reading, that he had beeu
told by a "Waiwickshire man that in that county ' child'
■was used to mean a girl. But see that Greene, a War-
wickshire man m the tale makes the see! uig far Ihe pap
and Drying— acts common of com e to babes of both
sexes— unmistakable signs th it 111: ni n i T (hilde;"
and Warwickshire Shak i i V 1 1 Sc 2,
has thia passage Ihi i' under the
predisdon ; tliere a son \ i ilU fiom
bias of nature i theresf 1 I ild too,
is used iu thia play by tl II (h beiore
and after the passage lu que ti n ni the „ i lal senae of
infant. Would Shakespeare after haTing put the word
in this sense in the mouth of the peasant, hare used it
atlei'ward in another and a distmotive sense -nhen girl'
or 'wench' wonld hnye answered the purpose just aa
well, and when Qieene, in the passage which he was
diamatising, and which be had before him, used it merely
to mean an iiifent, a human child, iw rppoaed to " a little
god"? Iu the Promptarima Pan)uloiiim, 'child' is de-
fined, pnsr, infans. And flnally, in Wise's Giotiary of
Woi'ds aliS vied in WarmickaMre to be faimd in Ska6spere,
London, 1S61, Child =^ girl, does not appear, although
Childing = to bring forth a child, does. It would seem
that Steevens's hearsay and the Warwickshire man's tes-
timony must yield to Shakespeare, to Greene's novel
which Shakespeare was using, Wise'a Warwickshire
Glossaiij, and to the usage of all the ballad writers.
54, .< swo™, I think, to shew myself a glass " : — Mr,
Dyce lemarka, tliat the passage, with the reading ' sworn,"
cannot possibly mean that Perdita thinks floi-ixel, in don-
ning a swain's costume, to have sworn to show her a re-
flex of her own condition, beEEOse " the word ' myself'
at once refutes it," I eamiot but think that my honored
friend Mr. Dyce forgot, when he wrote this note, that 'my-
self' was and is continually used only as a strong • me.'
H. " break a ioalJajK " : — The Note upon this pas-
sage is inexact in saying that 'jape ' did not mean a jest.
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SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES. idix
It was used in tiint sense, but ■w-as by no means coiiflned
thereto. It ivns coarse slang of a -very wide aignifleation.
See Florio's Dialioniai/ in v. Foltere,
iS. " Biid admiring the rtnthini/ of it " : — i. e., ths
noting, &e,, such having been the pvonunciatitin of 'noth-
ing,' and a ptui being intended here, as in tlie name of
Mueh Alio oAoat Noihing,
7, « t\ioa lirtiio tall fellaw of thy /toads"! — In this
phrase, so common among oar early writers, I am now
convinced that my first impression was right, and that
' hands ' is put metaphorically for bodily strength.
Kinff John,
p. 45. " This loidoio'il lady " ; — When I wrote the Note upon
this passage I forgot the story of the "widow woman"
and her cruse of oil, told in the seventeenth chapter of tho
first book of Kings. The old reading must stand.
King Richard the Second.
I should have remarked that certain nnimportant vnria-
tjons of the 4to of Ifilfi are not mentioned m the Notes on
this play.
p. 210. " We at time of year " : — I am inclined to think that
the Hue reading is " at time of vere; " vere being ver =
spring. See Skelton's verses on Time ; —
" The ratys take theyr sap in lime of vere;
In time of somer, Sowers fresh and grene ;
In time of harvest men their oome shere ;
In time of winter the north wynde waseth kene.
So bytterly bytynge the flowres be not aene,"
But see the following passage in Andrew Borde's Boke of
the Intnxhietion of KiunBladge ! "In the Forest of St. Leon-
ardes in Southsex there dolhe never sing Nightingale,
although the Fcrcste lounde about in time of yea-re is re-
plenished with Nightingales." But might not the same
easy misprint have been made here !
King Senry the Fourth. Pin'l J.
p. 338. " Nor moody beffijars " ! — The 4tos of 1598 and 169B
have, " Nor maddy beggars," which may be the true text.
' Moody ' and • muddy ' were pronounced alilie.
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aUPPLEMENTAKY NOTES.
Jf% Henra the FouHh. Fart II.
p. 43 1. " 1 would I might never apil white again." : — Tho
following passage from Urquhnrt'a translation of Rabelaia
seems to show that ' to epit white,' meant to be thirsty ;
a -very appropriate eensB here : " — for every roaii found
himself bo altered and a-dry with drinking these flat
winea, that they did nothing but spit, and that as dry as
Maltha cotton ; saying, \Te have of the Pantagruel, and
our throats are salted." Book U. Chap. 7.
p. 464. "Sneak's noise ".- — i. e., Sneak's band of music.
' Noise ' was commonly used in this sense.
p. 496. "A good shen'is sack" .- — The following decision in
the Court of King's Bench was made A. D, 164B, a pe-
riod quite near enough to Shakespeare's day for the set-
tlement of the question as to what sack was. Pnrmenter
0. Cresy, Trinity Term, 28 Car. I, Befendant jiromised to
deliver to plaintiff bo many pipes of lack which he had
then lying in a cellar. Decided, ittter alia, that defendant
must show plaintiff the wine in the cellar, " to the intent
that he might make his choice, ahioh is not io be of the
species of Saai, viz., wAeiftw Canary or Shen-y, etestara, for
then indeed the Plaintiff should £i. e., would] have made
his choice before he could have requested deliTery, but
of the goodness of it." Aleyn's Select Cases in Banco
Begis, 22, 23, 24 Car. I. fol. London, IBSl. Plainly,
therefore, sack was not a " brewage," hut any kind of
dry wine, and was kept in pipes in cellars ; aiid, conse-
quently, Falstaff could not have requested Bai-dolph to
" ireio'' him a pottle for measure) of aaek. ' Sack,' al-
though strictly applicable to any kind of dry wine, seems
to have been generally applied only to sheny; just as
' corn,' which is a generic word appUcable to wheat, rye,
barley, or maize, is applied in Great Britain spedally to
wheat, the principal grain there ; hut in the United States
to mQi7.e, the groin which is most important to the people
there in their daily life.
VOL. Vll.
King Ilsnry the Hfth.
Pass our accept and peremptory answer" !
he no doubt that this, the old, reading ii
in Biowne's Pastoi-ais, —
•• Things worthy their aeoepi, otu: offering,"
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SUPPLEMENTAllY NOTES.
Kiiu/ Henry the Sw^A. Fart I.
2. " He ne'er lift up his liand but ooiiqueved " ; — Per-
haps it should have been noticed that this fovm of the
preterite was in common use in the EhzEibettiaii era.
" When Jesus then li/i up his eyes." John yi. 5 ; and so
the earlier translations.
Mng Henry the Sixih. Pari II.
p. 281. " our supplications hi the ^iH": — A corre-
spondent of the London Athemoan of February 37, 1864,
suggests that "in the quill" means together, ex canipacto
ogers; and supports lus gloss by a reference to Ains-
worth's Latm Dictionary, ed. 1773.
p. 377. "So lie thou there," &e.: — The 4to of 1619 has, "So
lie thou there, and titmhk in thy blood."
King Richard ihe Third.
0. " 0/ ijoii, and you, Lord Rivera, and of Doy
Read, according to the suggestion izi the Note, '■
Lord llivers, and, Dorset, of you."
King Henry the Eighth.
p. 336. "Must fetch Wm in he papers" : — This, the old, read-
ing is the true text.
" Set is the soveraigne Sunne did shine when, papet'd
last our )>enne."
Albion's England, Chap. 80, cd. lOOG.
5. " the store-house and the sh«p" :
meaning of ■ shop,' see these linos from
Soke of St. Albans,—
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Hi SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES.
•' Our Loi'de lliat shops both soiine and mone
'Ltiid U!i fcpeiiLliiig in our purse." Sig. e. 6.
' Workshop ' is a pleonasm,
p. 244, " Tent ui my cheeks " : — The following pasaaga from
a poet of the Elizabethan period, whose name I do uot
remember, (it has been torn off the bottom of my niem-
orandvuE,) strongly auppoi'ts the test and tlic explana-
tion. of it given in the Note : —
Carped and cared to have them lettered -,
But tJieir kind college from the (cat did teiit,
And forced them w^k before they weaned were."
Here ' tent ' plainly raeana take.
p. 275. " ill* ^ Sas » ui^Fit " : — Two half lines or more
seem to have been lose before these words.
" " Hath not a lomb so evidaii as a chair," &c. ; — The
greater port of the Note upon this passage is superfluous.
The passage is far from being so obscure as it appeared
to me whtn looked at through a eloud of commentary,
Aitfidiua is impreii^hig upon hla hearers the consequences
of Cariolanus's inRi^whle impi actioable nature He tells
them that our viitue he^ in the interpretation of the time
those around us as Kr « 1 1 i 11'
ity lies in the ear of hiiu fl
of him that makes it 1 1 i
power, self-sufficient an 1
so manifest, a grave as 'h i i
its deedn havi. raised It, ind «lmli ira m_i m nm, i ^o
tism. ie likely to u-e in such a mannei as to alienate thoae
to whom it owes its elevation
Kini/ Lear.
I have thought it desirable to notice mora of the Tari-
ous readings of the first two quarto copies of this play
(both published in the same year) than are mentioned in
the Notes. A careful collation of the originals with each
otliei ;uid with the folio has led me to Kuspect that no
(jthtr editor has had the opportunity or taken the trouble
of pcvfiiiming this laborious but interrating task with
tlioruuybiiess. The vBriations are very numerous, and
mofit of them are not very important. In the large ma-
jority of umtaiices they aie unimportant ; and the readings
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SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES. Uii
peculiar to the quartos arc aJmost invariably inferior to
those of the folio. Only those are mentioned which are
of Borne real signifieanee. The 4to which has no plao9
of sale mentioned upon the title page is called the second.
p. 207. ■' forgi«i!i<Msare50 weight.d":— The4tos, "fot
ejMoiiiies," &c.
p. 209. "Where natwre doth with muril challenge": — The
4toa, " Wliei'e mei'ii doth most challenge il."
" " [_Sir\ I am made of thai self metal as my sislBr " : —
The folio omits ' pSiV," The 4to3 have, " of (So self «iim»
metal that my aiater is."
p.aiO. "Thanthatom/OT-'rfonGoneril": — The4tos, "Than
that confirmed," &c.
p. 212. " O, vassal miscteant" : — The 4tos, " vassal Teci-eant."
p. 313. "Revoke thy giji" : — The 4toB, "lievoke thy doom."
" "Five days we do allot thee"; — The itos, "Four
days," &e. ; and in the next line, " on the fift.''
" " Weeiiom lives hence " : — The 4tos, " Friendship \iyes
hence ; " and in the next line, ' ' The gods to theit pro-
ieetion"
p. 315. " "When it is mingled with regoj-ds," &e. ! — The 4toa,
" When it is mingled with rejects''
p. 220. " and fathers declin'd, the father " : — The 4t03,
" and fathers deeUning, his fether."
p. 222. "Thai's mij fear ": — The itos, "That's my fear,
iroiher,"
p. 233. "To hold my catirse" : — The 4tos, perfecting the verse,
" To hold my ven/ cowsf,"
p. 330. " if I had a monopoly out, they would have part
on't, and loads too " ; — Read, " and ladies too." This is
the reading of the first 4to, and gives the true text, as the
whole contest shows. Ladies were as fond of speculat-
ing in monopolies in England in Shakespeare's time as in
South Sea stock in John Law's, or as nowadays the^ are
SBJ& lo be of taking shares in blockade runners. Besides,
see the last word in the sentence. This passage is not in
the folio i and editors say that " the old copies give loads
and lodes ; " Mr. Collier censuring those who read iacHes
" witiiout the slightest authority, . . . when the old
copies have not a word about ladies." But of Mr.
Lenox's copies of the two editions of 1608, the one with
the place of sale named in the imprint has, " and Ladies
too ; " the other, " and lodes too."
p. 235. "Let it he so : I have another daughter " ; — The Itos,
" Tea, is't cotae to this f Yet J have left a daughter."
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liv SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES.
p. 241, " iJie revengbig gods " : — The 4tos hnve " the n
ven^ivB gods."
" " Brii^Lng the ralir.tlieraTia eoicard" : — The 4to.
"murtherous caitiff."
" " would the rtposal" : — -The 4tos, '•coa/d the r.
p. 242. *' To have the expense and loasie of his r
The first 41o has, " the wasle and spogl," &e.
ond 4tO, "To have these — and waste of this his tf
p, 244. '• Good rfauimnj to thee, friend " : — The 4tos, •' Good
even," &c.
p. 248. "When he, compact": — The 4toS| 'i Whtn he, mm-
p. 253. " 7%al, sir, which seeks," &c. : — Kead, " That sir which
eeekE," Sic, without the commas,
p. 254. " IBbj are sick i they are weaiy ? " — RiMid, with the
itos, " TAe^re sick i they're weary f "
" "Fieryt what quality f " — The 4t08, " What Jisyy
quality ? "
p. 310. "I fear I am not in my perfect mi'nrf " .- — The jtos,
"perfect in my mind."
p, 317. "More than in your addition" : — The 4tos, "in your
3. "Nerer (O fiailtr) revealed myself": — The 4tos,
" Never (0 fatlier I) " &o., which may well be the true
text, snd which has a tonderness not found in the read-
ing of the folio.
YOL. XII.
Aniony and Cleopalra.
" And made their iiends adomings" .- — Rend, of course,
"And make their bends, adoring," as the Note lequires.
" lioiv honowahU" : — Read, "how honuwdbbj."
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MEMOIRS,
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MEMOIRS OF
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
ALTHOUGH W U m &1 1 1 ill
t 1 tl d tl fi I f m p
f d t t n 1 day f pait 1 f his p 1
1 f h m d t p tenty T d t and th
11 ft tnp f h vitltlm
fm grdtli dmhflill
to tl t 1 t n th t 11
B tte t h ted Sli k p ar t p! p b
bl tw 1670 nd 1675 f th p pui-p
f g h t 1 f h b h phy AU th h
1 Ti 1 p b biy b d d by N I 1 P th
tftbptlf llip d Rw d
tion, published in 1709. The laborious investigationa
of Malone and others during the succeeding century and a
half have added to our little stock of knowledge upon this
interesting subject. But what we know, what is prob-
able, and the poet's own worlta, may enable us to trace,
at least, the general course of his life's uneventful story.
Wanvick shire, in Old England, seems to bave been
the favorite haunt, if it were not the ancestral soil, of a
family whose name more than any other in our tongue
sounds of battle and tells of knightly origin. It is possi-
(iii)
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iy MEMOIRS or
ble, indeed, that Shakespeare is a corruption of some
name of more peaceful meaning, and therefore mayhap
(so bloody was ambition's very lowest step of old) of
humbler derivation ■ for in the hregular phonographic
spelL g
f tq t)
t pp
t rj iB}
and*?/
I B
P 1
t-u f d t t
isl dl)
f
t ba. d
bt
d th m t 1
ace t
d
to ft
th
g fth f
tee t]
y
y t ly
h th
Bpoi
h k
I; w
t
th t hi 1
nifl
11 hi
to th
k. p
k f h
Id K ty
t 1 t bl h d
the 1
firmly
th 1
dh Id f th ty
An Id
g te fth G Id fb
tA fK 11
W kh h
h 1
k f
140 1 th
am gm
}M k
p
h
t 1 11 th
hrol
d lat
Id
t
tl 1
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. v
there was a Prioress Isabella, whose soul was prayed for
in 1505 (did player William know it when lie wrote
Measwefor Measure'^) and a Lady (" Domina") Joan
h t h b h 1527 h t th ti
flgdtti tlhlthll b d
d t th }
L tl d t ii t th d t
fth '?1 k p h m Id th th
1 f h tt t h th y Id h b
i 1 f pp « d J t iSTi h p t 1 ^ 1
f h a t 1 k 1 t tl httl
d bt th h Ii h-ud Sh k p 1 f
tt fi Id lila^ 8t tf 1 \ Th
RhdShkpar te tfRltAd
tl f t f ly b t d te tat wh
1 d t \\ 1 t tl md ft &ti tf d d h
tU d i f hisi t oi 1 fl 11 1 1 t 1 t t
Ihlhbl Ik Ad hdb 11
K th g try iW Lh t 1
bi thCq tthhp dT hdldAil
1 arj «■ C t th t
h 1 -J d tra y) f 1\ k C tl Tl t mily
t k t f tl d 1 -J 11 1 4 d
\ d 1 1 1 m th th -n 1 t p t
f t! t ty f wh Ii t t m t! J h d mall
jt thirp Rb-tAl b hf
) f m ly h 1 1 1 d b te fi Id f ur b 1 t
1 t as th !y pait f h fift th t ity d h
htdhjptyth dt T
f th f milyl dh Idjl f h dp
bil ty m th h h Id f Ki H y VII S J 1
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Ti MEMOIRS OF
Aiden wlio wag sjime it the b h inl Jiis iiopl ew
Robeit who nd'i Jisc cf tin. bed cliambei to that
shiend and thiittj nionaich m nhose semoe tliej both
prospeied
Bobeit Arden, the page ot the bed ch'imbei ^aa
graiidfathei to the Robeit Aidea ■«ho let his Itnd to
Ricbaid '^hakespeaie — i tact m ishicb \ie maj be sine
that landlord and tenant t k n p d berauae, as
we shill see, it was so well mb d b) thcu giand
Bon. Of the family affa d f t n ol Richard
Shakespeare, iiothmg of i t t In ; but among
the Shakespeares of Snitt f Id to, Jolm and
Henry, who were of the ag hi h h is might be,
and who were brothers. There appears to have been
but one family of the name in the place, and there is
hardly room for doubt that they called him father.
Henry Shakespeai-e'a name will come up again ; but
our concern is with the fortunes of bia brother John,
who appears to have been a man of thrift and capacity,
and withal, as Buck men are apt to be, somewhat ambi-
tiouB. Robert Arden had no sou to inherit bis name,
his property, and his bed-chamber honors ; but he
had seven daughters. The youngest of these, Mary,
who Beema to have been her father's favorite, John
Shakespeai'e won to look on him witli liking ; and so he
married into the landlord's family, and allied his blood
lO that of the Ardens, with their high old Engbsh
pedigree, stretching past the Conqueror away beyond
the reign of the Confessor. And to us of English
race it is a matter of some interest to know that Shake-
speare came of pure English blood, and not upon his
mother's aide of Norman, as some have concluded
because of her gentle and ancient lineage, and because
to use the words of one of them, A,rden " sounds like
a Norman name." But Ardem, which became Ar-
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
den, is Celtic, and the name was given to the northern
part of Warwickshire by the ancient Britons. And
as there has ijeen even a book written to show that
Shakespeare was a Celt, it may bo well to say here, that
the Turchill* de Arden who is above mentioned was
the first of his family who assumed a surname. His
father's name was Alwin, which, like his own, was com-
mon enough of old. among the English. He called him-
self TurchiE de Ardern ; but the Normans called him
Turchil] de Warwick, because of the ofiiee which he held
under Edward the Confessor, and which the Conqueror
allowed him to retain in spite of his English blood,
because, like many other powerful Englishmen, he had
not helped Harold, and did not oppose Duke William's
title. For it should always be remembered that, ac-
cording to the loose dynastic notions of that day, the
Norman bastard had some claim to the throne of Eng-
land, and that it was the land of a divided people that
From this people who swal
( k h r to
he successfully Invided
d p h
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viii MEMOIRS OP
motives of John Shakespeare's choice, we cannot tell ;
because the wedding did not take place until after, and
probably not untU a full year after, the death of the
young lady's father, by which event she became the
inheritress of a pretty fortune in possession and in rever-
sion. Her father had bequeathed her a farm, of be-
tween fifty and Bixty acres, in Wilniecote, called Ashbies,
b 1
p p til g d
d £b 13
4; m J
hat ht w
I ft ft
Ig
d h h d Is
1
t t ff
1 th A hb
tp
th d w
S tt :fi 11 d
tl 1
1 tWl
t Ih 11 f y t d t th y
h (th 1 in th 1 h 1 It! h 1 m h
) t il 1 1 b fh t
y h d th ly t t i t 1
dlslw ylttl t t!m y t
ft 1 d by agn ilt 1 p pi f mp
t lyl g 1 R b t \tI d d 1 t th
It f D mb 1556 and th fit 1 11 t J L
Sh k p 1 M J A d I 1 1 1 S p
t b 15th 155S J h k p d 1
m th C3 h f th H b T t th p h
hlf&trfd A h hftl hdf
jaib ttld dhdb m j p
d ^Vh h th th d t
I b t h th d 1 1 11 H nl y
t 155 H 1 f p t t h
b th t f 1 f h tyl 1 Id
m t d J 1556 B t h 1 g ^ 1
h h diy d p y th th p f
th 19tl f X ml th J h b ght
a suit against Henry Field, who unjustly kept from him
eighteen quarters of barley. John Shakespeare's private
and public fortunes advanced steadily and rapidly for
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. is
twenty years from tlie time when he first appears in
Stratford. It is tnie that he could not write his name ;
but that was no disgrace, and little impediment, at a
time when men much above him in social position were
equally incapable. In 1556 he purchased the copy-
hold of two houses, one with a garden and croft, and
one — that in Henley Street — with a garden only. In
the course of the nest year he acquired other property
(how considerable for a man in his station, we have
already seen) by his marriage. In this year lie was
regarded as of sufficient substance and importance to be
marked as one of the jury of the court-leet, upon which
he se d ft w d d t tl d t ! aJ
appoi tdaJ t — fii fhh gp ft
humbl m th m ghtj pt f th t fl d
in oH E gl d t h m 1 th d t d
though pi t d th p q t pt.bl H
must h th b g f Str tf d t
speak weU of him over the liquor thtt they loved ■ for
in 1557 they elected lii o e of tl e r n ber a d they
were only fourteen. The etjeiJ savhn a con
stable, and also the father of the grl who a c 11 1
after him; and in 1559 he vis leelected one of the
keepers of the Q,ueeii's peace in '^tiatfoid Al t tl s
time he appears to have diopped his glovei s tiade. It
waa, indeed, quite inconsistent with the notions of pro-
priety in that day that the husband of an Arden. and an
heiress should be an artisan ; and this consideration
could not but have had its weight with the young bur-
gess, now that he had land and beeves. The year 1561
saw him made an affeeror in the spring, and before the
leaves began to fall, elected chamberlain. It was the
duty of an affeeror to impose fines upon ofienders who
were punisbable arbitrarily for misdemeanors to which
no express penalty was attached by statute — an office
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X MEMOIRS OF
only to be filled by a man of discretion and integrity ;
and as John Shakespeare, according to the date when
he is with good reason believed to have been born, was
at this time but thirty or thirty-one ye Id his
appointment to this office by the court i I t t
only soundness of character on his part, b t h t
unusual ripeness of judgment. He served bai b
Iain two years, in the second of which aiioth d ht
was born to him, who was caCed Margaret But II y
Arden's little family did not thrive like hei husband a
business. A few mouths lightened the young mother's
arms to lay a load upon her heart. Margaret as well
as Joan died in early infancy.
To the now childless couple there came consolation
and a welcome care in their first-horn Bon, whom, on
the 26th of April, 1564, they christened and called
William. The Reverend (or, as he was then called. Sir)
John Breechgirdle probably performed that office. Of
the day of William Shakespeare's birth there exists,
and probably there was made, no record. ^Vliy should
it have been otherwise ? He was only the son of a
Warwickshire yeoman, a burgess of a little rural toira.
And there were two score at least of children bom that
year in Stratford, who, in the eyes of their parents and
of the good towns folk, were of just as much importance,
and of whose appearance in the world no other note was
taken than such as teUs us of his advent — the entry of
their christening in the parish register. A y t t was
not the custom to record upon the blank la f tl
Bible the dates of life and death in humble f nil ad
had John Shakespeare owned a Bible, nc th h n
even his higher born wife could have writt n th d
to read which, if they had endured, men o 1 ! ha e
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. ^l
made a pilgiimige All unsuspecting what he ^\as
whom "ihe had horne and «hoin she chenslied in her
boaom, the mothei of William Shakespeare could h ^e
looked on liim only as the probable mlientoi of hia
fathei 8 little ■wealth the possible lecipitnt of hi^
fither's bttle honoi?, oi majhip m some moment of
high hope the occupant of a position like that of lii'.
mitenial grandfathpr \iid had he become a peer
matead of a plaj er, the da^ of his birth might have been
no less unceitain Tiidition a,iys it iias the 23d of
\prjl , and the old custom of chiistemng on the thud
dij after birth, though it was far from umyersal, if it
did not gne rumor a hmt gives tiadition some support
A LOi it roU tcUa is thit m 15o2 John '■hikp ppare
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di MEMOIRS or
i d H 1 b t d tl til ( 1 b 1 t!
1 1 Id t 1 th t tl t 1 6 tl U
pt tl Hlj&titll knw
b 1 g d to T li Sh k I th b hpl f b
11 t h 1 If b ca t d
th p 1 bil tj f til t tl t th t dit t t
11 t ts d pitrp t t ty N 1 t b 1
d b h 1 1 I this b t ti
b g mg ftbp t tryt 1^1 fl
blj It B t a. 1 t 1769 t 1 d
Rl f t If to b tb t Will m SI k
I %. b dp d b bildb d d h d 1
h wbi h w not only pretty and
p q b be and untiaually com-
m di n h station in th.e middle
b b n y F the reign of Elizabeth
h ts infancy. Something
b n n h h h comfort of noblemen
m n ta b it almost nothing for
h h m f h g mposed, in the words
Ag b h. er poverty nor riches,
but food convenient fiu them, and which now gives the
1 t t 1 hi pi ym t Old hb y p
d tly q t 1 d w!3 b lit
h 11 t kmg th pi f tk Id bl
aatl dUgsfth 1 dbt b
d tl J mbl farm h ill t It b It
th 1 ghty Sp 1 t tl g 1 El b th
f t k a d t th ddl tnc-
tuiPpl jdgpttth h
m dt,t Idwm tb<is hm
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1 h 1 d ft 1 t t b 1
,1 Google
[loverty.
the hands of
Shakespeare p
bknce to its fi
impossible. \
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
Ill
child, staid c
1564, or whether they fled to some uninfected place,
we do not know. But families did not move freely in
those days, or easily find house-room ; and on the
30th of August in that year John Shakespeare, aa the
Stratford register tells, was at a hall or meeting, held
in a garden, probably for fear of infection. On this
occasion he gave twelve pence for the relief of poor
Buffcrcrs. The highest sum given was seven shil-
,1 Google
siv MEMOIRS OF
lugs lid four jeice the lowest 'iix pei ce and
the e ^ c e but t o bui^esses who ^a\e n oie th-in
twelve pence In "leptemlei he ^a^ve sit pence noie
and in. Octobei eighteen pence It may be assume 1 is
quite ceitain then that the Shakespeares remained at
fetratfoid during the plague thus leivmct WiUiam lie
■uij other child n peiil of the pestilence Ihej pissed
tliioigh a penod of fearful trial The •^couige made
btiatfoid desolate In sis months one sixth of their
nei^hbois weie buned But althoua;h ^roind them
there was hardly a house m. which there was not one
dead theie ■was a chaim upon their thrc h Id and
T^illiam Shakcspeaie li\ed
In the next yeai the father n as chos n one f the
fourteen alleinen of the town and m loGS hp ia
made high bailiff which ofhce he filled one jedi Hl
continued to prospei and m 1570 1 e took undei his
cultivation yet othei lands a faim coEed In^to at the
then goollj rent of ±.8 The jeii 1571 biv, him chief
alderman and m 157o he boight two freehold houses
m Henley Stieet w th gardens and orchoids William
bhakespeare therefore at ten ye iis of a^e wj.a the son
of one of the most substantial and lespected men of
Stratford who was one of its fourteen buigesses and
who had rapidl> attained step by step the highest hon
oia m the gift of hi8 townsmen He was stjlcl 11a 11=
Shakespeare — a designation the mmly 'tjle of which
ne ha\e belittled into jf/s/i^ vjidinn it at the same
time of its honorable signitioance. As high badifF and
chief alderman he sat as justice of the peace, and thus
even became ' worshipful.' There has been much
dispute as to what was his occupation at this time ;
Ilia glover's trade having been before abandoned.
"Rowe, on Betterton's authority, says that he was '" a
considerable dealer in wool." John Aubrey the anti-
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xv
quarj'. or rather quid-tune, says that he wag a butcher ;
in a deed dated 1579, and in another Eeventeea years
later, he is called a yeoman ; and liis name appears in a
list of the gentlemen aod freeholders of Barliohway hun-
dred in 1580. One of his fellow-aldermen, who was
his predecessor in the office of bailiff, was a butch-
er ; hut with our knowledge of his laiji-' -d possessions
and his consequent agricultural occupation, we may be
pretty sure that hb nearest approach to that useful busi-
ness was in having his own cattle killed on Ms own
premises. Wool he might well have sold from the
backs of his own flocks without being properly a wool-
dealer. But what was his distinctive occupation is a
matter of very little consequence, except as it may have
affected the early occupation of Ms son, and of not
much, even in that regard. He was plainly in a
condition of life whicb secured that son the means of a
healthy physical and moral development, ar.d whicb, if
ho had lived in New England a century or a century
and a half later, would have made him regarded, if a
well-mannered man, as fit company for the squire and
the parson and the best people of the townsiiip, and
emboldened him perhaps to aspire to a seat in the Gen-
eral Court of the Colony. But the first that we hear of
Tohn Shakespeare is that in 1552 he and a certain Hum-
]h ei RcNnoIds and \iiian Quiney made a muck-heap
I Henley Stiect agimst the order of the Court; for
h ch dnty piece of business they were punished by a
hue as th(,y well deseived let nest year John Shake-
peaie anl Adrian Qiineyiepeated the rmsavory offence,
T 1 this time in compjnj with the bailiff himself. It is
jlam thit tt illiam SI akespeaie's father was not singn-
lir m the uneleaniiness of his habits in this respect.
Stiatford on Aion was a dirtv village ; yet not dirtier,
I e 1 ap-j tl an n o t V llages v^ ere three hundred years
a„ Out doQi cle^nl ness and order are amonf? the
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KVi MEMOIES OP
modern improvements upon foimcr ways of living ; and
even at the period referred to, the apartments in noble-
men's houses and in palaces were so neglected Chat they
became oftensi'se to the senses and perfumes were
turned m them a substitute — a very poor one — for
the use of broom ind soap and watej btratfoid
also like most countiy villages three centun*"; ago
WW eompospd chief!} of thatched cottages and small
farm houses the meaner oi which were n ithout chim
aejs and glazed windows, and most ot which vuuld
be pronounced iminhdhitdhle nowadays bi people of
the means and condition oi those by nhom they Mere
then inhabited But, after the fashion of those times in
the imdst of these hovels were a ftw fint man'iions and
a Idrge and beautiful stone church and o\er the feitile
gently rolling country lound weie scattered the stately
country houses of the gentry. A fine atone bridge of
fourteen arches had been built here across the Avon by
Sir Hugh Clopton, who also built the Great House, a
mansion afterward called New Place, and in which the
readers of these Memoirs are interested.
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEAKB.
II.
What was the education of William Shakespeare were
a question indeed of interest to all reasonable creatures,
and, to those who think that education makes gi'eat men,
of singular importance. But of his teachers we know
nothing, save of one — his father. What were his moth
er's tiaits of character, and whether by maternity and
training she had transmitted any of them to her son,
we cannot tell. In which ignorance thBre is a kind of
bliss to those people who have taken up the novel notion
of the day, that men of mark derive their mental and their
moral gifts, not from the father, but the mother.
Mary Arden may have been such a woman as it
would please us to imagine the mother of WLlliam
Shakespeare ; but the limits of our knowledge oblige us
to look upon him during childhood only under the tute-
lage of the father, whose good sense and strong charac-
ter are shown by his rapid and steady rise of fortune
and advancement among hb townsmen. His son was
taught, we may be sure, to fear God and honor the
Kmg,* and in the worils of the Catechisni, to learn and
Ubor truly to get his own living, and do his duty in
that state of life to which it had pleased God to call
liim ; for that was the sum and substance of the home-
teaching of our fciiefdthers. For book instruction,
there was the Free Gi'ammar School of Stratford, well
endowed by Thomas Jolj"ffe in the reign of Edward IV.,
— forever therefore let his name be honored ! — where,
unless it differed fiom all others of its kind, he could
have learned Latin and some Greek. Some English,
l«o ; but not much ; for English was held in scoin by
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xviii MEMOIRS OF
the Bcliolars of those da^ nd loi g f ei Th. 1\
qualificationn for admisaioa to this •^cKool were lesi
detlce in the town, seTen yeois of age a id abilitj to
read. That the sons of the chief alderm-in of Stnfford
■went there, there could have hai 11} been a doubt e\en
had not Betterton learned the tradition that %^ illiam
had heen hred there for some time The masteis of
the school between 1572 and 1580 weie Thoiia Hunt
the parson, of the neighboring village of Ludiiington
and Thomas Jenkms. Hid either the Englushman or
the Welshman known when they bieeched Shakespeare
primus that he would have his revenge in miking the
one sit for his portrait as ff>/ fe nes and the other 18
Sir Hugh Evans, they would doul tle'is have taken out
their satisfaction grievously lu adiance upoi the spot
Could any one have told them with poM er of convict on
upon his tongue, what he was whom they were flogging
they would have dropped the birch and fled the school
in awe unspeakable. Theie is better di'iciplme even
for a dull or a vicious bov than beating but aside
from question of the kind ot framing to whi h he
was subjected, it was well perhaps for W dli m Shake
Bpeaie that his masters knew only whit he then «as
Insight of the future wo ild not ill ays bung good
fortune.
At school Shakespeare acquired some knowledge of
Latin and of Greek. For not only dies Ben Tonso tell
us that he had a little of the foimer an 1 lets of tl e kt
ter, but his very frequent use oi Latin dernatives in
their radical sense shows a somen hat thoughtful and
observant study of that language and although he has
left fewer traces of his personal feel nga and expeiience
upon his works than any modei i wiiter he wiote one
passage hearing upon thi^ subject and telling a plam
story. Warwick, pleadint, to A j E j IJ m ex
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
tuHuatiou of the fondness of Prince Hal for wild s
" My gracious lord, you look beyond him quite.
The prince but studies his companions.
Like a strange toogue ; ivherein, to gain the
'Tis needful that the most immodest word
Be looked upon and leam'd ; wMch once attain'd,
Your highness knows, comes to no farther use,
Bttobk w dhtd
•) d P t / K g H i//FAtI\S 4
r d ttlft lr\m hhM
I If h h gh tt 1 ill tl f th
t fthtj gld l)g t] pt
h 1 th m b t th 1 J t p d
1 J ph mill L d 1 S3
Ckhb g Ujtk m g
t g fth fi t 1 th g t II fth d
b btffit myp Sd
Ed dBthrstBDmhmm thf <I
Ai h W 1 tl tl { T? I LI
b f 164C ) th t H h 1 1 tl kill
ILttg dl tlGl dd
th F h d m tt tl
D t h d J t ltd h ntj
■^^ 1 li d b f 11 mm f r ty C 11 g
Otlhhhlb gl ltd d
t) 1 t h Id V h p 1 L t t
I ttl d m h mj t t tl 1 f
11 b d t m i nl> 1 k w th
I d d 1 to h h 1 d J
1 1 1 p t! h t p f i to
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m !f Gi R
B
m J y P P > y
the study of Greek and Latin do the same, when college
exercises are driven out of mind bj the duties and
labors for which college studies are but discipline, and
turn laboriously from translation to oiiginal oaiy when
they wish to examine some particular passage closely !
When, in The Taming of the SJireto, Traniv quotes a
passage from Terence, he is iaacGurate, and gives it not
as it appears in the text of the Latin dramatist, but as
it is misquoted in the Latin Grammar of William Lilly ,
whose accidence was in common use among our fore-
fatherswhen Shakespearewas aboy.* But, even if this
showed that Shakespeare had not read Terence, which
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xsi
it does not, it surely does show that he had studied Mas-
ter liilly's book, which, he it remembered, is itself, not
in English, hut in, I.atin, after the strange, pedantic
fashion of the times when it was written. The scene
between Sir ffugh and WilUawi, in The Merry Wives of
Windsor, is as surely evidence of the writer's knowledge
□f the Latin grammar. " Singulariter, noimnativo
hid, hcec, hoc" docs not He verj' far over the threshold
of that elementary book ; hut the question which elicits
the declension, " What is he, William, that does lend
articles ? " by which the pragmatic parson tries to trip
the poor hoy up, shows an intelligent acqufuntance with
the rudiments of the Latin language.
Italian and French were not taught, we may be sure, at
Stratford Grammar School ; but this is the most con-
venient occa n h h t y th t Shak p e
appears to h 1 am 1 m tli ng f th n b f h
became too h a n n t t dy It j b bly n
his earlier L nd j ar B th tl In age nd
especially the i ml u ra ng he
cultivatedpe [l oftl t ^ n d 'sh k p w 1 k ly
to be thrown into the society of those who taught them
and their instructions he migiit well requite, if he weie
sparing of money, by orders of admission to the theatre,
which have been held to pay rainy a laiger debt in
later times. He has left several traces ot a knonl-
edge of ItaUan, which might be grext or imdll, scit-
tered through his plays ; but in two passages, there are
indications of an acquaintance w ith tno Itaban poets,
which, though hitherto passed by, cannot, I think, be
mistaken. ^Vhea Othello, in the diwmn^ ot his leal
ousy, eliides Desdemona for beinR without the hmdkpr
chief, his first love-token, he teUa her —
" There's magic in the « tb oi it.
A aibyl, that had numberd in the world
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xsu MEMOIRS OF
The Sim to course two hundred compasses.
In her prophetic fury, sewed the work."
The phrase " prophetic fury " is so striking, so pictu-
resque, andsoper.uliar, that in itself it excites remark, aad
remains upon the memory as the key-note of the pas-
sage ; but when we regard it as applied to mood in
which a web was woven or embroidered, all these char-
acteristics are much enhanced. Now, ia the Orlando
Furioio there is the following passage about a tent
which Cassandra gave to Hector, and which de-
scended through Cleopatra to Constantine, who gave it
to Melissa : —
" Eran de gli anni appresso che due milia
Che fu quel ricco padiglion trapunto.
Una donzeUa de 3a terra d' Hia
Ch' avea il furor profetioo congiunto,
Con studio di gran tempo e con vigilia.
Lo fece di sua
man, di tutto punto."
■ffl
Canto XLVI.
St. 80.
1 h d
t eal th {,ht d
1 Itl
th d t
1 d ^ I !l
I
It *
i h f
m b)l 1 h f
8 t Th
Ijl
h d
f .n t 1 i f
h i,h
t pil 1
th
tl d
It Id I
tl tl
bl th t
1 d
( th ht I
1 t d
g id b
1) d tl
1 h as
tr 1 t
1 tl 0 1 IF
E g
Slnca Ihic fair work wbb (Eulilnned iiy Uio Ic
Of Tmlsn main, HBtnied wilh propheUc hent !
Who -mid long tabot, and 'miiJ vIbH sow.
With hor QWP flngEiB ^1 tlie started ahest
r"
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxm
lish in Sli alt espe are's time than Sir John Harrington's,
published in 1591, and in that the phrase "prophetic
({try," or any one like it, does not occur.*
Again, when lago, distilling his poison into Olhdlo's
ears, utters the often quoted lines, —
" \VTio steals my purse, steals ti'ash ; 'tis something,
nothing ;
"i'waa mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands
But he that filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him.
And makes me poor indeed," —
he but repeats with little variation tills stanza of Bemi's
Orlando Innamorato, of which poem, to this day, there
is no English version ; —
" Chi ruba un corno un, cavallo un anello,
E simil cose, ha qualche disorezione,
E potrebbe chiamarsi ladroncello ;
Ma quel che ruba la reputazione,
K de r altrui fatiche si fa bello.
Si puo chiamare assassino e ladrone ;
E tanto pifi odio e pena H degno
Quanto pitl del dorer trapassa il segno." f
Canto LI. St. 1.
Xow, when we consider that the faculty and habit
« &10 narrinjIon'H Oi'fandO Fariim in Eogllsh. Cmto XLVJ. SI. 61. Ed.
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to OUieUo, Vol. XI. p
rea JUilamorphotit
, which was wi
dtlen " by J. M. Qanti laoo," tl
.eB,«hL.
bsTlngBwDl's
stadzalninliid,naturalljT6g,
Jon of H
of Othello [u qi
.tpW^u.
1 nriltsa befbn
itbedateOftiieSIS.:—
'Tbehigh
wayman that rob! one nt his pnraa
hurt ; naj, the
searetenHniuBwrsel
Ana in e,
ichango givB ol
Jloguy and sliarae."
.M.-Bllt
\es are, on
(he eotitrarj,
a manifest Imitation of Bern
!a.T0's: ant
[ifth«jha«a
,«, bearing at all npon the q,
ileorOiM!o.<"bi
i;b,lDmyoplD
ilon, Uiey have not,) thsj «ho
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WILLIAM SHAICESPEAHE. ssv
pi ichttse, but on account ot seiious eiabanassnient, is
shown by a concuiience of Bigmflcant events, all point
lag m the lattei direction In the s^me year when
hif. fellow aldeimen as'iessi.d themselves bs 8d each
ton aids the equipment of pikeraen billmen, and an
iichei he ifl set down as to pa^ only 8 s id Again
in that veil when the other aldermen paid 4 (7 each a
M pek foi the rehef of the poor it w as ordered that John
Shakespeare should not be taxed to pay any thing In
lliich, 157f, the inhabitants of Stiatford having heen
i=sessed lor the pujchaae of arms, he failed to contrih
ute his quota. In October, 1579, he sold his wife's
share in the Snitterfield property, and in 1580 a rever-
sionary interest in the same, the latter for forty pounds.
Sis years afterwards his little wealth had found such
wings tiat a distraint having been issued against him,
the return made upon it was, that he had nothing upon
which to distrain ; whereupon a writ of capias was
issued against his person ; he who as high bailiff had
but a short time before issued such wi'its agamst oth-
ers.* He seems even to have been in hiding about
this time; for the town records show that in 1586 he
was deprived of his alderman's office, the reason given
being that " Mr. Shaxpere dothe not come to the halles
when they be warned, nor hathe not done of longe
tyine;" and it appears, on the same authoilty, that he
had thus absented himself for seven years. But before
March of the next year he had been arrested, and
was imprisoned or in custody, doubtless for debt, ac-
cording to the cruel and foolish practice of which our
brethren in the mother country have not yet rid them-
selves. This we know by his suing out a writ of
habeas corpus in the Sti'atford Court of Kecord. Per-
,1 Google
xsTi MEMOIRS OF
hjl nith It tflkd
hbtlHybf tdh
h d 1 y bl It 1 m 1 1
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t 1 I 1> p 1 tl I d J li h k
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bib ferbabLy dSFlkG 11
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ty d h i M t d tb
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ard m 1 7J \ Edm d 1 80 R 5
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bf tl fth 1111 Itfhi 1
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxvii
has been diseoiered tl at m i ?. were paid, while other
children huricl in the same jear (1579) were honored
witli only half the eeiemrny the heE, at half the price ;
ivliich has heen accepted as evidence that John Shake-
speare had money to spaie So regarded he meant that
it should be and he deceived even postciiti As long
as funenl ceiemoniea are deemed impoitant tliey will
L( the last as to which povert) will compel retiench
ment In 1579 John Shakespeare had not aliandoned
the stiufr^le to keep up appearances Had his purie
been fullei oi 1-is pjbifmn loivei he ini%ht haie been
iiUmgto sue the fom pence But a few }ears htei
fa^e httle mouths to feed hie little backs to clothe
Heie qiite enoui^h to harass the po^i rmn who could
njt keep his o«n boij out of a debtoi s piison and to
ciiise him to abandon an; ambitious projects «hich he
might 1 avc formed for his eldest son and call him fiom
his studies to contiihiite something to his own =npport
ind perhaps to thit ut the familj The tsad t ons of
the townsfolk upon this subject were surely therefore m
the mam nell founded, though in then paiticulais they
^ere discoidant Rowe speaking foi Betterton sa^s
flat ' upon his leading school he seems to ha\e given
entiiely into thit wij of living which his fathei pro
posed to him which accoidm^ to the same authority
1 as that of a dealer in wool Gossiping John Aubrey
^llo sais that John bhakespeaie was a butcher, adds,
I halt been told heietofore by some of the neighbors
that "hen he nas a 1 o'^ he exercised his fathei s tiade ,
It «hcn he killd a calfe he nold doe it m a high style
1 id m ike a speecbe Aubrej who died about 1700
jiobabh leceiied this precious infoimation &om the
sime somce thiou^h which an old parish clerk of &trat
fold who "as hung m 169d and was then mjie than
eight! \eais oil leined i sinilai ston ti it -^1 aVe
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xxTUi MEMOIRS 03?
speare had been " bound appientice to a butcl er Au-
brey also records, on tte a.uthollt^ of an unl no mi Mr.
Beeston, that William Shakespeare "undcistode I-.atin
pretty well, for he had been manj jeui a schoolmaster
in the country." The only point upon -nhich these loose
traditions are of impoitince, is that upon \^hich they are
unanimous, that ^^ illiam Shakespeaie was obliged to
leave school early and earn hia living Isolated pissages
of the poet's works have been gatheied to^ethei and
gravely brought forward to sustain each of these traditions
as to hia early occupation, — surely a wise and penetrative
method of getting at the truth in such a matter. There ia
hardly a calling, from that of bishop or general to that of
pimp or serviug-man, which could not be fastened upon
him hy this process. Utterly ruined, however, as John
Shakespeare was, he seems never to have been driven
out of his house in Henley Sti-eet, or to have lost his
property in it ; though how this could be in the case of
a man as to whom the return upon an execution was " no
effects," it is not easy to conjecture.
But what was William Shakespeare doing in all
those years through which his father was descending
into the vale of poverty, whither we have followed him
to the lowest depth ? We have passed over thereby
some events of great importance to the son, whom
his father's trials seem not to have chastened into
sobriety. In estimating Shakespeare's character, the
fact that he left among his neighbors the reputation of
having been somewhat irregular in his youth cannot be
lightly set aside. Nor ia it at all strange that such a
reputation sho\ild have been attained in the early years
of a man of his lively fancy, healthy organization, and
breadth of moral sympathy. It is from tradition that
we learn that during his father's misfortunes he was
occasionally engaged in stealing deer ; but we know on
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxix
gf>od OTideuce that about that time ho also got himself
mai'iied in no very weditable fashion. While he was
sowing his wild oats in the fields round Stratford, he
naturally visited the cottage of Kichard Hathaway, a
substantial yeoman of Shottery, who seems to haye been
on terms of friendship with. John Shakespeare. This
Hichai'd Hathaway had, among other children, a daugh-
ter named Anne, who might have dandled William
Shakespeare in bis infancy upon her knee ; for she was
eight years old when he was born, in 1564. Whether
or no Anne Hatiiaway had a fair face and a \vinniag way
wliich spontaneously captivated William Shakespeare,
or whether he yielded to arts to which his inexperience
made him an easy victim, we cannot surely tell. But
we do know that she, though not vestally inclined, as
we shall see, remained unmanned until 1582, and that
then the woman of twenty-six took to husband the hoy
of eigbteen. They were manried upon once asking of the
banns ; and the bond given to the Bishop of Worcester
for his security in licensing this departm'e from custom,
was ^vei) in that year, on the 28tli day of November.*
•"NoTerlnt nuiversl perpvraBentes ntaHniconam SandEUsdeStraffor,! in
tenbi-f et firmltoT obllgjirl Bteardo Coeiu geoeroso, et Koljerlo Wurmstrj UDtn-
rio publlcit. in qnodrafjlDta libria bonis et loyallB mobulje An^lloj. ra>lv4?ni^, vls-
dflni Kicai-da et Ifubtii'to. hffirud. execuL Tel asalenat. sufjv, nA quam qTiidam
6r>]uciaiieDi telle et fldeJltcr ftwlend. obll^mos n« et ntnimque iLostriim por
" The CDndidon of this obllgadoii js Buche, that K heiatter then shall not
ippere My Inwrmi lett or Impeaiment, by reason of any preoontrmt, coimn-
-ui[ni]ee, aSluttis, orhj any other lawfull meaues wliataoever, Iml that WDl-
noi EliagHpere ona (liane parlie, and Anne nathicey of Slratibi'd la the dl»cw
uuie atterwardes lemalue and contlnaw Uhe Dum and wia^ Bccgrdlng nnta the
,1 Google
YTIX
MEMOIRS
OF
Ab t
th I )
th
gi 1
d
H th
J \ 11
1
d h
If
h h
t mi
h t
P dily
f
1
m nhs
fte t
ht
d
h
dl
d It
Ih 1
h
f,iat€
h
th ts
d git
f W 11
1 A
bh k
I
t d M } 2tiU 1583
Tl h h tptsttm--udtl h
b nn f tl f ts 1 th h t f Ann H th
away. Rut it is a stubborn and unwise idolatry which
resists such evidence as this, — aa idolatry which woidd
exempt Shakespeare, and not only liim, but all with
whom ke became connected, from human passion and
human frailty. That temperament is crue!, and that
morality pharisaic, which treats all cases of tMs kind
with inexorable and indis criminating severity, and that
judgment outrageously unjust which visits all the sin
upon the weaker and already suffering party. Yet if in
the present instance it must be that one of this couple
seduced the other into error, perhaps where a woman
of twenfj-six is involved witb. a hoy of eighteen, for
the honor of her sex the less that is said about the
matter the better. Besides, Anne Hathaway rests un-
der the implied reproach of both the men whose good
opinion was to her of gravest moment. Her father,
Impedime
VofBest&Tj imd hiB uBycets, for UceriBlTif; them tbe satcl
>6 Diorted Cogeiher nitli once aaklo^ of tho bumes ol
r. thnt then llie Boii BbOtradau to be voyd snil of Dona
le Bttaebad the mde marks at SandijUs and Richardson,
,1 Google
■WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xxsi
like Miij Alien In I died utout i yeu Lefoie het
mainage but whiJe Haiy Aiden had special legacie
and was assigned to the honorable position of esecutii\
by hei fathers will Anne Hithaway wds passed o^ei
even without mention by hei father wko ;et CitiefQll>
aad minutely remembeied all but one of hia other chil
dien And to look forward igain, — which we well
ma,) do for Stikespeaiea wife will oon pass entuelj
from oni sight — when hei husband was giving m
stiuctious foi ills will he left her onh his second best
bed the one thit piobalil> she slept upor It is tiue
dS Ml Knight has pointed out tbit she wis entitled to
dower and that so her livelihood was well provided foi
it IS true also ttat a bed with its furniture was m those
da'vs no uncommon bequest But William Shake
api.aies will was one oi greit particulaiitj makmg
little legacies to nephews and nieces and lea^mg
swoids ind rings as mementos to fiiends and icquaint
anrc md \ t lis «ites iidme is ouiittcil fiom the
,1 Google
MEMOIRS OF
g 1 f m \ ly IP bj
1
flu
tt th
b Udth dfd ylh
Id t h th th f h hildr t l
It th 11 1 k f y tt b q t tl n th
f m t f b b nib f 11 t m j
b tb lg>t b by tb t t h t n A
d I t b 1 m gbt fa 1 1 b t h t
bd b Ibttbgbt Ad Ibt
ifgood t 11 t b b n U th tb bt h h
Sbkp g hfth tl fb
vrtj^l lb b gdd Id d
b 1 n f D d p t th 1 ^1 1 tb
wm tltbl laadtbtt 1 gy f
p t n
Th tt b b A H tb J I d 1 11
p t d t Sh tt It t b d pi t
h bkjb-ibkp td bk
with gbly pit fi Tb 1 1
w m ted b gb k n I tl p pal b mbe
n m d h Tily I b I t 1 Tb ^b a
•ut d dbbtt 1 m irlbj
t nd d d tly f t 1 1 1 fa
b t t I y m 1 t i a El 1 tl d
18 p t q gl f tl dl f I t 1
Btt blkdp tltd by
It wl ghtly tarn t tl a d tb h m
lltt bntWlhnShlp —
db bbtUtl d fh
ftlf Ubtdbltt db ffg
f bbfilfri t p btlnhisply
d n t« 1 1 f 11 1 t th t d
mt dthl h tlffgtflbttl
t bl 1 d d f t H k f 11 f p
t t htfbtll lb 1 d
,1 Google
"WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. sxxiii
honored her, would have been gall and wormwood to
his soul ; nay, which, if he had loved and honored her,
he could not have written. But did the " flax- wench"
whom he uses for the moat degrading of all comparisons
do more " before her troth-plight" than the woman who
bore his name and whom his children called mother ?*
It is not a question whether his judgment was justifi-
able, but of wha,t he thought and felt.
And even if Anne Hathaway's fair fame, if indeed it
f m d t n h d h man g t
ght f ban ashbyhidp 1
1 ti dd t 1 t th t h t ra
pi t d N b g 1 m 11 t
t q f 1 m t f th
t to mm A J th h p 1 m
1 h nt 1 oift 1 m I 1 m th d 1
f t f 1 hb ) d 1 1 t d 1
il m l> t b t ft 1 y h
m d i f th b f h 1 Id
bUbdfth bd h
hn dgtb tinld thw
i d I im t t k d 1 u
tt ni 1 p d d ti 1 1 11
mkhthwlm tht tl t
mpl h d w an f tl 1 t wh h h h
n by ht f tl nd t 11 t t t 1 t
wh t thimUpts ptp
i p mpl trhfin ndhd t — p
t h nn t if 1 11-— k 1 I th
h d 11 th th q 1 b y li p
wh h pp ghth fi d b t 1 1
tact and a little time — so little ! — might easily have
dissipated : this case, so pitiable ! so pitiable for both
,1 Google
xxxiv ME MO I lis OF
parties, even moat pitiible for her, ne see too often
But add to all this that the man was William Shake-
Bpeare, and that he met his fate at onl^ eighteen jeara
of age, and that the woman iiho came to him ^vith a
stain upon her name was eight years his senioi, and
could we hnt think of their hfe and lea^e out the
world's interest in hira, -iliould we not wish thtt one of
them, even if it were he, had died betoie that ill stanpd
marriage? But chiefly for him we grieve, for a woman
of her age, who could so connect herself with a hoy of
his, w^ either too duU by nature or too callous by
e:iperience to share his feelings at thek false, uanatural
position. 'Wlio can believe that the well-known coun-
sel upon this subject which he put into the Dalce Or-
sino'a mouth in Twelfth Night was not a stifled ci-y
of anguish from his tormented, over-burdened soul,
though he had left his torment and his burden so far
behind him ? It is impossible ttat he could have wTit-
ten it without thinking of his own experience ; the
more, that the seeming lad to whom it is addressed is
about his years, and the man who utters it about Anne
Hathaway's, at the time when they were married.*
M^ life npDn% jiKiiig though thou atE, thhiu eyt
80 Bwiiys she lavel in her hiiabaud^fl heu^
Bor, Ixtj* bowevflr wg do praise oqraelvM.
One Guides are more elddf and i]n9rin,
Mom longing. wiLVeiIng, sooner loa( and worn,
Than Ttonieu'B ore.
Tin. I think it well, mr lord.
DiOie. Then lot thy 1ot» be younger Iban thyeeU
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. sxxv
After considering all that has been said, whicli is
quite all that can. leasonahly be said, ahout the custom
of troth-plight in mitigation of the circumstances of
Shakespeare's marriage, I cannot regard the case as
materially bettered. It has been iirged that Shalte-
apeare put a plea for his wife into the mouth of the
Priest in Twelfth Night, where the holy man says to
Olivia that there had passed between her aud Sebaa-
" A contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirm'd by mutual joinder of your hands.
Attested hy the holy close of lips,
Strengthen'd by interchangement of your rings ;
And all the ceremony of this compact
Seal'd in my function, by my testimony."
Act V. Sc. 1.
But what this was is shoivn by Olivia's language at the
time when it took place, in a passage which the apolo-
gists leave out of sight.
'' Blame not this haste of mine : If you mean well.
Now go with me, and with this holy man.
Into the chantry by : there, before him,
And underneath that consecrated roof.
Plight me the full assurance of your faith ;
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace : He shall conceal it,
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note ;
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth. — What do you say ? "
Act IV. Sc. 3.
'ITiis plainly was a private maiTJage, in church and by a
pricit ; indissoluble 'and perfect, except that it lacked
con'fnmmation, and celebration according to the lady's
,1 Google
xxxvi MEMOIllS OP
oirth. As to trotli plight its imp it depends entirely
upon tliat to wh ah troth is plij,hte I The closing
words of the binding declaiation m the Tmrriagc cere-
mony of the Church of Fngland are and thereto I
plight thee my troth
The marriage het^^een Wilhini Shakespeare and
Anne Hathaway took jlace m December 1582. The
ceremony was not performed in Stritford and no record
of it has been discovered But there i a tradition in
Luddingt rttl 11 e ot f off that t took pkee
there ; and th t ry d n m pp t f m th t t
that Tho H fell 1 P hit
curate of tl t p 1 S tl fi t ! Id b
this wedl k b ptiz d M y 6th 1163 dH
net and J d th t b pt d F b ar id
1581. ^^lU hkp dh fhd 1
children ; 1 ft th 1 t t th ir h
hold maw dlf mt ftdlm iibh
departure fhjtlfllbdf StflTh
eldest sof d jtdgiddf ffi
baring fo b t! d t j tl 1 m If
and a wif d th 1 Idi p h 1 d b f h
was twenty th n 1 f 1 im t
go, as he d d L d f 1 Id t m th
more rap dly th t St tf 1 B t t d t g
particular d h till
home. B tt t h ai 1 IE t U th t h f 11
into bad p y d h t m f h Id mp
ions, wh I fqtpt fd tig
drew him t th bb y f ] k b I gi t S
Thomas L ) f Ch 1 te f th 1 t
Howe's at 3 h p t d bj th k 1 1
revenge I i 1 h m b 11 d b tt th t th
prosecuti b a p t f 1 ty t! (
he was obi g d t fi tl tty ai d h Ite 1 If
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEAKE, sxxvii
1 Th wb t ay porhapa be accepted as
[ It tl ty f th esisteiice of this tradition.
E 1 W lb m F Im 1, an antiquary, who died
588 b q th 1 h script biograpiiical mem-
d t t! R d Richard Davies, rector of
) (1 t 1 u and archdeacon of Licli
h d d 1 OS I h
1 d SI k p b d
D mdl) ddtinshp p
I tl t \\ ill m S k p in I
II 1 k dp
b tl I D
} h 1 ard tl d b d inf;
I d t f 1 d th 1708 and that of Bettevton's
t t W w k ! 16 5 and Eowe's publication of
1 d t f 81 I p Works, 1709, it is not at
II p b hi t tl least, that the story had
I d I hd n (1 tly or indirectly through
1- E t C 1 11 t 11 us * that a Mr. Thomas
T 1 ! d 1 1 b k a few milea from Stratford,
i h d d I 1703 more than ninety years of
m mb d I ng ! d from old people at Strat-
l i I t J f SI k 1 re's i-obbing Sir Thomas
I J p 1 A d g Mr. Jones their story
d 1 tl t t II by K ve, ivith this addition —
1 1 1 p k upon the park gate, and
tl t i It dd d to I njury of the deer-stealing,
p k d 1 p t Mr. .Tones had written
,1 Google
■^MMiii MEMOIRS or
Qoii-n the first -tanza of this ballad, and it reached
Cipell thiou£,h his own grandfather, a contemporary of
Tones A simihr account of a very old man living near
Stratford, and remembering the deer-stealing story and
the ballad, is giien. bj Oldys, the antiquarian, in his
manuscript notet Oldys and Capell plainly derived
then: information fiom the same source, though possibly
through different ehanneh ; and the stanza of tlie ballad
IS gnen b} both of them in the same words, with the
exception of a single syllable. These are the lines ac-
cording to Oldys, with the addition of"0"iu the last
line, which appears in Capell's copy, and which plainly
belongs there : —
" A parlieniente member, a justice of peace.
At home a poor scare-crowe, at London an asse.
If lowsie is I.ucy, as some voike miscalle it.
Then Lucy is lowsie whatever befall it :
He thinks himself greate.
Yet an asae in his state
We allowe by his ears hut with asses to mate.
If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscalle it.
Sing 0 lowiie LuCy whatever befall it "
This storv ennchea with a loie touch of leal bfe our
fimt and meagie memonils of Shikespeaie Not suf
ficient!) l^eU established to be bevond the assaults of
those who think it scorn that thp author of Kmj Li'at
and 3a/mht should ha'^e stolen deei and written coatse
lampoons it jet may well he cherished and its eredibil
itj maintained by those who piize a tiait of chaiacter
and a ghmpse of personal experience above all question
of propriety. In Queen Bess s time dea--stealmg did not
rank with sheep-stealing ; and he who wrote, and was
praised for writing, T/ie Comedy of En-ors and Troilm
«wkJ Cressida when he was a man, may well be believed.
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
without any abatement of his dignity, to have written
thp Lucy ballad in his boyhood Maloiie thought th^t
!ic had exploded tlietiaJitioQ by showing that Sn rhomas
I ucj had no paik, and therefoie could hive no deer tu
1 L stolen , and the lampoon has been set aside as a tab-
ui-ition bi "ome miters, and regarded by ali with siispi
uira But it appeals that, vhetbei the knight had an
cnclosuie with formal paik piiMleges oi not the family
rertainlj had deer on then estate, which fulfils the only
cnndibon leqnisite for the truth of the story m that
lesjard * I thmk that there la a solution to the ques-
tion "Jomewhat different fiom any thit has yet been
bi ought iorword, and much more probable
Che fiist bceiie of 57(6 3Ierry Wiie-, of Wixr^o! cer-
tainly gives Btr g pj t t tl fee d 1^
in fact, that it 1 b pp 1 w th t
have been its o "a I th t 8
Justice Shallo ( h th
clodpate, or, as h Id j
justice) bear ad hi
of arms, which b g g
opportunity f or h p g j t th t tl d h t
louses do becom Id t U t Th L j b
punning coat-armor, thiee luces, kanant , and the allu-
sion is unmistakable. In that Scene, too, the country
gentleman who is so proud of the luces in his old coat.
Sh k
pk
wih ■
. ^rrton lepers, pp. aM, 361
critics have atfrlbutrd the <'
capHflitj of Engliah Bpteeh ; 1
,1 Google
xl MESIOIRS OF
1 ir'it'! ipn tie sUqe iinont \t FiM ff t i 1 ivins
killed 1 IS (leer No v m Shal e peare s d'ij -i" 1! is
loni, befoie kill ng a gentleman s deei was as common
a sport among wild loung men as robbini; a fiimers
on-haid anong boys Indeed it was looked upon as a
Sign of that pool semblance of manliness sometimes
called apint and was Tither a gentleman a misdemeanor
thm a yeomins one T\hich a peasant would not hiie
piesumed to commit except indeed at risk of his ears
tor I caching ■\t once upon the ^amp and the 8 n pre
series of his betters Noblemen engaged in it and
in daja gisne by the very first Prince of Wales had
been a deer stealer Among multitudinous passages
illustrative of this trait of manners a stoiy preserved
by Wood m his AtlercF Oxo len^'es fixes unmi takablj
the gt ide of the oflence It is there tol 1 on the
a ithonty of S mon Forman that his patrons I obe t
Pmkijev and John Ihomborough the litter of ^hom
wa*" admitted a member of Magdalen Collese m lo70
and became Bishop ol Biistol and W orcester sel
dom studied oi ga-ie tl em selves to then book" but
spent then time m fencing schools and dancing
schools in >iteahng deer and comes in hunting the
hare and wooing girls * In fact deer stealing then
sapphcd to the joung members of the piivileged classes
m Old England an excitement of i higher kind than
that affoided by beating watchmen and tearing ofi"
knockers and hell pulls to the generation but j i t
passed away A passage of Tit ird rm «« wnt
ten soon after Shakespeare reached London is here m
point Pnnce Uejietcius exclaims —
" What, hast thou not full often struck a doe.
And cleanly borne her past the keeper's nose ? "
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKEBPEARE. sll
Bit ] 1 th. the tluee lousen umpaiit on ] s cent
miket, miitli moie thin this oiFthfiff ■. affair He
niU bung it bciore the Council, he will make a Stai
chdmbei matter of it and ptonounces it a not And m
tact according to hia account Sw John was not con
tent with stealing his dcei but broke open his lodge
ail beat his men It seems then that m ■viriling this
p iHsagc Shakespeare had in mmd not only an actual
oicmionce m which Sii Thomas Lucy i^as concerned
but one of greater graMtj than a meie deer stealing
atfiii that haMng been made the occasion ot more
ser o IS outrage
Xqw Sir riiomas Lucy was a man of much considera
tioi m ^\ar«icksbire where he had come to a fine
estife m ! Dol at only nineteen yeivs of a^e He was
d her of pail anent t\ce flxtml51 nl next
f 0 a "^o en 1 584 to Mai h of tl e folio v g >e
before the e -y time he accord ng to all d ca
o 3 hhakesieare left Stratfo d '5 r Thomia -nas a
on e 1 at J o me t nen ber of tl e pur tan cal party
l^ea by vhat s know of h s pail anenta-y
□ se For nstance d nmg li s fiist te-m he ■n s
o of con n ttee api o nted pon defect o s n lel
^ o a tte s one obj ct of the move iS of wh cl w a
o I ui^e the Com on 1 aye Book a d free t fiom
erta n s pe st t ous ce emou es as s ng the s gn of
he OS mhaptsn &.c He ras on the otl e ha I
e n tke enfor ement an 1 jresc vat o of the ga e
p 1 e' of the nob 1 tj and gentry a d erve 1 o i
en tee to h cli a h U io th s purf ose va.. efer c 1
o 1 1 1 e aj peait. to have been ciia n an Tl
t k il ce in 1 3 last term 1584 to 1585 — tie t e
of h 3 alleged periec to of W 11 an SI akespea e lor
o 1 f 1 1 cot h eat be o ly th ee m e
fr S fo d and he b _ a ot au t _ht and
,1 Google
xlii'. MEMOIRS 01
position in tlie county, lie would naturally liiivo aorni!-
what close public relations with the towas-people and
their authorities. That such was the case the records
of the town and of thd county furnish ample evidence.
Whenever there was a commission appointed in relation
to affairs in that neighborhood he was sure to be on it ;
and the Chamberlain's accounts, as set forth by Mr.
Halliwell, show expenses at divers times to provide Sir
Thomas with sack and sugar, to expedite or smooth his
intercourse with the corporation. But in spite of mol-
lifying drinks, the relations of the Lucy family with the
Stratford folk were not always amicable. Mr. Halli-
well's investigations have shown that they were not
uufrequently engaged in disputes with the corporation
of that town. Records of one about common of pasture
in Henry VIII. 'a time are still preserved in the Chapter
House at London ; and among the papers at the Rolls'
House is one containing " the names of them that made
the ryot uppon Master Thomas Lucy esquier "
II U tl d t f y p tt par 1
4 1 Ap t il k
It f
y b t 1 f m 1)
[ t and h g
h m
h Itai d
t th th 8 tf 1 p
il b
t 1 f m
— bj t hi h th
)
Ik U f E I >
tob t
— ft
h -ing b 1ft t
fp 1 tf 1 y
ar
ltd d
a t ly ts to w 3 t
gth
t p 1 d ally
p Ih h las d
d
t aU h I t— tl
1 w Th t 1
ta p
ty d t! h
t I p t tl f ht
t m
t th 1
tl t th b t f tl
hit)
f th h
til I )
d
b dj f th too
I Uy th t d h k t ly t
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, sliii
d 1 I p li I 1 1 1 i t
p p 1 d wli hk !j t t k I t
t tl f tl f h fch b il ff li w 1
p ta d h 1 tl b t 1
h U 1 t d t t f m h d
tpbblyldp 1 dffialdsti t
th d dp 1 1 ii 1 buff f 1
h p fill BT g t ghb 1 lii. Ij to
t th 1 p V g W 11 Sh 1 p Ti
Id 1 dl h b tw ui Sti tf d h il I li
n tt tl t t til hj hm f h k h
m 1 dp 1 aj (I h b th j,h m ta
t b tt d 11 t d t th Ih t
g m 1 d t — tl t p-u f b II d
tte t th t f tl piirp f 1 p m^
S Th L J I tbmk b b d bt
11 tag [tfced t]. mt
11 t SI 1 p ai t I 1 1 t b 1
B t h t t t! if I h d t 1 any
It dmtt tSThmLy d
aft dn bj b t ir m t t
1 StrtfdfLd bb tdtiti
P t Id b t tti b t th
b 11 i t 1 d t th 1 b t
t tb t b 1 d 1 d p t d
uld b tl 1 1 lb t Sh k
p 1 1 p ft btr tf d d bt to S 11
CPU plainly apnriono to lie worthy of uottas. Tho story of Ibe flesMteslliig ie
bW by Mr. PuHom, in Ilia Jistorp of TfWiaM Sha!iespeare, lo bra couarmoil by
note, entared,BliDDll>5a,iii ■ imniuciipt peligiee of the Lnsy t^mlly. by&n
n Ms h&Tid>. BuC tbit data in nearly fifty y«us after tiie pnbllcstloa of Uie
M117 in Kowi.'e Ule, and bo is of little or no value. According to tbe same
,1 Google
sliv MEMOIllS OF
Lucy in tkat first Scene of The Merry Wives, and that
he did it with the memoiy of the riotous trespass upon
that gentleman's grounds, seem equally manifest. That
he had talcen part in the event which he commemo-
rated, there is not evidence which would be sufiicient in
a court of law, but quite enough for those who are
satisfied with the concun'eace of probability and tradi-
tion ; and I confess that I am of that number.
From 1584, when Shakespeare's twin children—-
Hamnct and Judith — were baptised, until 159:3, when
we know that he was rising rapidly to distinction as a
play-wright in London, no record of his life has been
discovered ; nor has tradition contiihuted any thing of
importance to fill the gap, except the story of the deer-
stealing and its consequences. What was he doing in
all those eight years ? and what before the former date ?
For he was not born to wealth and privilege, and so
coidd not, like the future Bishop of Bristol and Woi'ces-
ter, spend all his time in stealing deer and wooing girls.
Malone, noticing the frequency with which he uses law
terms, conjectured that he had passed some of bis ado-
lescent years in an attorney's office. In support of his
conjecture, Malone, himself a barrister, cited twenty-
four passages distinguished by the presence of law
phrases ; and to these he might have added many more.
But the use of such phrases is by no means peculiar to
Sbakespeare. The writings of the poets and play-
wrights of his period, Spenser, Drayton, Greene, Beau-
mont and Fletcher, Middleton, Donue, and many others
of less note, are thickly sprinkled with them. In fact,
the application of legal language to the ordinary affairs
of life was more common two hundred and fifty years
ago than it is now ; though even now-a-days the
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xlv
usage is far from uncommon in the rural disti'icts. There
law shares ivitfe agriculture the function of proTiding
those phrases of common conversation which, used fig-
uratively at first, and often with poetic feeling, soon, pass
into mere thought- saving formulas of speech.
There are reasons, however, for believing that Shalie-
speare had more than a layman's knowledge of the law.
Flay-going was the chief intellectual recreation of his day,
aiidtheiewas consequently an incessant demand for new
llayi — a demand winch joung men of education and fa-
1 ikaiity with the pen weie naturally tempted to supply,
lo plav ivnting thciefore the needy and gifLed young
Hi^Ki turnel his hand at that day, as he does now to
jjirmhsm and of those who had been successful in
then dramatic efioits how inevitable it was that many
would give themsehes up to pKy-^vtiting, and that thus
the language of thn plajs ot that time should show such
1 icmaikable infusion of la« phrases ! To what, then,
must we attnbufe the fact that of all the plays that
h \t suiM^ed of those \iiitten between 1580 and 1620
'ihil ei^peates are most noteworthy in this respect?
tor no diimatist of the time not even Beaumont, who
VII ^ joungei "ion of a Judge of the Common Ple^, and
ho after studying in the Inns of Court, abandoned law
f 1 the drama used legal phrases with Shakespeare's
leidiness and exactness And the significance of this
lact la heightened bv another — that it is only to the
1 nguage of the law that he exhibits this inclination,
ilie pliiaes pecuhai to other occupations serve him on
taic occaiicni by way of description, comparison, or
illustiition generally when something in the scene sug-
gests them , bat legal phiases fiow from Ms pen as part
of his vocabulary and parcel of his thought. The word
puichisc foi mitxncc "huh in ordinary use meant,
s nt it 1 an ti cqime b\ giving value, applies in
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xlvi MEMOIRS OP
law to all lCf,il modes of obtaining property except in
heritd ice or descent And m this peculiar sense the
woid occurs five times m Shake ipe die a thiity four
plaj= Ijiit only m a single passage m the fifty four
plays of Beaumont and Hetchei 4nd iii the fiist
scene of the Muhummer Ntghf s Dream the father of
Hejmia begs the ancient pmilege of Athens that he
mai diapoae of hia daughter either to Denetnus oi to
death —
" according to our law
Immediately provided in that case."
He pleads the statute: and the words run off his tongue
in heroic verse as if he were reading theto. from a paper.
As the courts of law in Shakespeare's time occupied
public attention much more than they do now — their
terras hgultdtl fLd
ety,* it h b t 1 th t t tt daji
upon thmththptlpl Igl blry Bt
this aupp t t ly f il to t f SIi k
speare's j Ji f 1 d tl i
that phr 1 — t doe t pi h m tl
way of 1 TO g h t h f b h
remark bl wl h t h h Id h h 1
at ordi aryp edgt pi bt h f
to the tenure or transfer of real property — " fine and
recovery," " statutes merchant," " purchase," " inden-
ture," " tenure," " double voucher," " fee simple." " fee
farm," " remainder," " reversion," " forfeiture," &c.
This conveyancer's jai^on could not have been picked
up by hanging round the courts of law in London two
hundred and fifty years ago, when suits as to the title to
real property were compwatively so rare. And beside,
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xlvii
Shakespeare uses his law just as freely in his early
plays, written in Ms first London years, as in those
produced at a later period.* Just as exactly too ; for
the correctness and propriety with which these terras
are introduced have compelled the admiration of a
Chief Justice and a Lord Chancellor,! Again, bearing
in mind that genius, althorigh it reveals general Inith,
and facilitates all acquirement, does not impart facts or
acquaintance with technical terms, how can ive account
fhfttlt ht thm p
f 3 g 1 vj t te pi y il y vr ht
If], hplj t j; hirp 1 gil t mp th n
pp [th Ijfl 'P *1
th t tl h t t th t mp th f th m
p! t d 1 f 1 p p ty M t hi that
thi h 1 tmg 1 d n w 1 1 pi y
t \ J t 1) by h g h t h I h
i \ aJkwld fthlw Ohll th
believe that the son of the late high bailiif oS Strattord,
a somewhat clever lad, and ambitious withal, was allowed
to commence his studies for a profession for which his
cleremess fitted him, and by which he might reasonaWy
• Thus, In fleHTK t/ic Sixth, Part K, Jacli (hde snys, " Men slioll hold of me
^eagUe: oud wacharsoBudcoioinand thnt Hlvas te a8^'ffiiisJieai(caHiD*i4
or tmgiiB can te/i " — nords which indlMto aoqiMiBtaoca wllh very ancient and
imcomnioa tenures of land. In the Omuds qfEn-ori, \ihto VTamia a! i}r-
DaCnrs," (Heic,0 BiKvlsnd I and ^i« eu, O Fhalon [) hli winter replies, " KtJ
Lie noc do it by^ns and reenters' f " Bins nnd raooverj was n proceffl by wUch,
tbrongh n flctitlaua enit^ a. triiusfer mm rania of the litis in an enMled esliiM,
In Low'! LabnuT'i Lost, elmoBt wlthoot n doubt the flist tomeiy that SbHke-
Rpeare nrote, on Boj/^eoasTiueto^iBa JUarta,{Aiit n.Sc.l,)ahedec]tnea the
flulnle^ nnd sayff, ^^ Ny llpe are no coninion, though sererai they bo.^^ Maria'i
t Thaae are Lord CMupbell's *irdf
coneCnnlly ulahing itiletakes as to Iho
Itanca, In Shakeepaire'G lav, htvUhlj
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xlviii MEMOIES OF
hope to iiae fit least to moderate ■wealth and di-.tiuctioii,
and that he continued these studies until his f ithei a
misfottunes, aided, perhaps, by some of those acts of
jouthful mdi^cietion which clever lads as «e]l as dull
ones sometimes will commit, thiew him ipon his oun
resources, — and that then, law failing to supplj his
piessing need, he tursed to the sti^e. on which he hod
townsmen and fiiends * One of these conclusions lo
m the faie of lea^on, fdct, and piobahility, the othei, m
accordance with them all
But the hare fact that Stakespeare iias in attorneys
cleik, e\en if indisputably established, though of some
interest, is of little real importance. It teaches us noth-
ing about the man, of what he did for himself, thought
for himself, liow he joyed, how he suffered, what he
was in his mere manhood. It has but a naked material
relation to the other fact, that he uses legal phrases
ofieiier, more freely, and more exactly than any other
in.
Somewhere, then, within tJie years 3585 and 1586,
Shakespeare went from Stratford to London, where we
next hear of him as an actor and a mender of old plays.
That he went with the intention of becoming an actor,
has been universally assumed : but perhaps too hastily.
For te had social ambition and high self-esteem ; and
in Ms day to become an actor was to cast the one of
these sentiments aside, and to tread the other under foot.
Betterton's story, told through Bowe, is, that Shake-
speare was "obliged to leave his business and family
for some time, and shelter himself In London." In so
far as this may be relied upon, it shows that ShaXe-
speai'e had business in Sti'atford, and that he sought only
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. slix
a t.fimporary refuge in the metropolis. Trobalily it was
with no very definite purpose tbat he left his native
place. Poverty, persecution, and perhaps a third Fury,
made Stratford too hot to hold him ; and he might well
flee, vaguely seeldng relief for the present and provision
for the future. He would naturally hope to live in
London by the buftiness which he had followed at
Stratford. Such is the way of ambitious jonng men
vl 0 go from rural districts to a metropolis. And, until
every otl er means of livelihood had failed him, it
vds not m this high-minded, sensitive, aspn-ing youth
to .I'l'j me voluntarily a profession then scorned of all
n n We may be sure that if he sought business as
attomej in London, he did nut at once obtain it.
si akesi eare although he was, no such miracle could be
o ght for htm ; nay, the less would it be wrought
lecau'se of his being Shakespeaie. He doubtless in
these first days hoped for a publisher ; and not improb-
ably this purpose was among those which led him up to
London. Let who will believe that he went that jour-
ney without a manuscript in his pocket. For to sup-
pose that a man of poetic power lives until his twenty-
first year without writing a poem, which he then rates
higher than he ever afterward will rate any of his work,
is to set aside the history of poetiy, and to silence those
years which are most affluent of fancy and most eager
for expression.
With Venus and Adonis written, if nothing else, — but
I thmk it not unhkely a play, — Shakespeare went to
London and sought a patron. For in those days a poet
needed a patron, even more than a pnblishei aa "ith
out the foimei he rarely or never got the laftei bhak''
speare lound a pitron; but not so soon, we mil be 'juie
as he had expected Meantime, while he waited tii
stage djo! stood i^a invitingly, and he was both t^mi t
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1 MEMOIRS OF
ed and impclleJ to enter. For that natural inclination
to poetry and acting which Auhrey tells ms he possessed
had been stimulated by the frequent visits of companies
of players to Stratford, at whose perfonnancea he could
not have failed to be a delighted and thoughtful specta-
tor. Indeed, as it was the custom for the mayor or
bailiff of a town visited hy a travelling company to
bespeak the play at their first exhibition, to reward
them for it himself, and to admit the audience gratis, it
may safely be assumed that the first theatrical perform-
ance in Stratford, of which there is any record, had
John Shatespeare for its patron. For it was given in
1569, the year in which he was high bailiff; and fhe
bailiff's son, although he was then only five yeara old,
we may be sure was present. Between 1569 and 1586
hardly a year passed without several performances by
one or more companies at Stratford. But natural incli-
nation and straitened means of living were not the only
influences which led Shakespeare to the theatre. Other
Stratford boys had gone up to London, and some of
them had become players. Thomas Greene, one of the
most eminent actors of the Elizabethan period, he who
gave his name to The City Gallant, which was known
and published as " Greene's Tu Qiioque," was in 1586
& member of the company known as " The Lord Cham-
berlain's Sei-vants," to which Shakespeare became per-
manently attached. Greene ivaa of a respectable family
at Stratford, one of which was an attorney, who had pro-
fessional connections in London, and who was Shake-
speare's kinsman. Bnrbadge, Sly, Heminge, and Pope,
who aU bore Warwickshire names, were on the London
stage at the time of Shakespeare's arrival at the metrop-
olis.* If Sliakespeai-e went to London relying upon the
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. i;
good offices of friends, we may be sure that lie looked
raore to hb townsman, Greene the attorney, than to his
other townsman, Greene the actor. But in that case,
considering how shy attorneys are apt to be of the sort
of young man who steals deer and writes verses, it is
not at all surprising that the player proved to be the
more serviceable acquaintance.
Many circumstances combine to show that it was in
1586 that William Shakespeare became connected with
the London stage ; a few months' variation — and there
cannot be more — in the date, one way or the other, is
of small importance. Betterton heard that " he was re-
ceived into the company at first in a very mean rank,"
and the octogenarian parish clerk of Stratford, before
mentioned, told Dowdall, in 1693, that he "was received
into the play-house as a aerviture." These stories hare
an air of truth. What claim had this raw Stratford
striplijig to put his foot higlier than the first round of
the ladder ? In those days that round was apprentice-
ship to some well-established actor ; and as such a ser-
■vitor William Shakespeare probably began his theatrical
career. There is a story that his first occupation in Lon-
don was holding horses at the play-house door ; but it
ivas not heard of until the middle of the last century,
and is imworthy of serious attention. The river was the
usual thoroughfare in those days from one part of Lon-
don to the other, and, besides, gentlemen would hardly
leave then- horses in the care of boys during a whole
afternoon's performance. Shaliespeare, too, was, as we
have seen, not without means of access to employment
iiiside the tlieatre.
Tradition and the custom of the time concur in
assuring us that Shakespeare's first connection with the
stage was as an actor ; and an actor he continued to be
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lii MKMoiBs or
for twenty years B t 1 h 1 \ b j II
us that " he did a t 1 Hi t
have risen high thi p f B tt t p
haps Rowe, heard th t h t p f 1 [ f
the OhoKt in his o H dt \ Old; t 11 t h t
one of hia young hth ILdt ijt
being questioned t W II d th t h
hered having see 1 m th p rt f )
comedies, of a long b 111 j t Id 1
supported by anoth p t t hi 1 th y t
among other comp y f h m g If
this were true, Sh k j pi y 1 Jd 4 1
lAhe It. And it te t tl 11 tl t It f
him that he sho Id pi y h p t h d th
Ghost, which req udjd t d tUt,t dmg
rather thaa pass d I Ij m 1 t It t
probable that Shakes^ h Ihdf Ihth
could labor profit bly 1 p bl w Ik 1 1 U
ing, ever strove fdt ml |ly t
an actor. We k fi; f h nn t h b t
ter the conscious 1 1 p t w t h d
that he cursed th f rtun hi 1 h d g d 1 t
a pub! It If h h d Bif t t! t
m t I b pl ying k gly p t h h
n d t h th Im ID f
B t Itl h &i k p b g hid If
a pl y t p bl th t h h d 1 1 c;
ht tgftlt d hill
W th h t mpany h b fit t 1 th
nl t d bth -ultdmti jly
m t t h h w k th r
Marlowe, and Pe 1 f th T 1 f P I 1 jl
There are good re f b 1 tl t it
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. liii
witli one or more of these play-WTights, he labored on
Th-e Fir&t Part of the Contention hetvAxt the Two Famous
HouBe» of Yorlf, and Lancaster, The Title Tragedy of
Itichard Duke of York, A Pleasant Conceited History
of the Taming of a Shrew, tUics Andronious, an early
form of Borneo and Julid, of which there ate some
temaina in the quarto edition of 1597, and probably
some otiier pieces which have been lost.* It would
have been strange, indeed almost unprecedented, if a
young adventmer going up to London had immediately
found his true place, and taken firm root therein. But
little as we know of Shakespeare's period of trial and
vicissitude we do know that it was brief and that with
in about three jears fiom the time i^hcn he left his na
tive place he attaci ed himself to the Lord ChainbeiKm
Huasdon's compiny (previo laly known is the Eoil of
Leicester's) of \ hich the Bmbadges father and son
were promment membeis and that he became a shdie
holder in this companj and re na ned an aotne member
of it until he hntll; retued to Stritfoid
Shakespeare immediately shoved thit unmistakable
trait of a man oiginized foi sncces's in hte which is bo
frequently lacking in men who aie both gifted and m
dusti'iOKS, — the ahilitj to find his work and to settle
down quickly to it and take hold of it m earnest He
worked hard did eveiy thing that le coull turn his
hand to, — acted wrote helped others to wiite — and
seeing thiough men aad things as he did at i. qlanee
he was in those eaily veaisi somewhat oiei fiee of
his criticism and his advice and what was less endir
able by hia rivals too ready to illustrate his principles
of art successfully m piactice He came soon to be
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liv MEMOIRS or
regarded, by those wlio liked and needed h is a
most useful and excellent fellow, a very f a t t and
a man of great promise ; while those who d 11 d h n
and fourid Mm in their way, and whose ea a e e
wounded hy his praises, set him down as an offi o and
conceited upstart. Elation at Ha aucceas, and i pe ce|
t' f h d infl t d f bl f tl
di th g mthtmjtd t
Ittlgdtdll fhh £dt in
h k Th uld t b t h d th
jlyfh IBt y 1 dmd
t ff th tm t 1 > ted } th h
Ef db)
P
t d 11
Th t h
S! k p It aj t 1 it t
J t h
dly t f 0 f th ily It
h mh 1
d
h hf h h 1 dl d
d th wl
m
y thf 1 as t b b g h
tl 1 b
t 1
tithd thhdf b) Ih
d f h h t f tb h h d
ipl tedh
d h h Id ppl t bia
mp t f th t fe Tb d k
dbbPhtO dyi Ih bl 1
! ft h hi d him p mphl t w tte h d th b d,
and p bl h d ft h bun I It eil dAG ai
w -tl fWth ght with Mil T I" 1 t I
wbtt dth ts 1 tdtHy
Cb ttl p h bl PI d B t (j tl 1
p t t th tl p t i dil Is I t J
ar td-B t b d bttlth
CO Id t th t pt t f dl h mg f h
t ff g h I Paith h f t b b d 1 j and
m li 1 1 tb btll t J, t -v Sh k
I th 1 t d d t t f t th d fi 1
hp
d P 1 tb t th pi J h 1 d all
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WILLIAM SIIAKESPEAKE. Iv
been beholding to them as well as to hun, would fui
Bake them for a ceitain upstirt ciow, beautified with
tlieir feathers, who supposed that he was able to wiite
blank verse with the best of them and who being in
tiuth a Johannes F ictotiim, was m his oivii conceit the
only Shake-scene m the eountij '' Gneene was right,
as his survumg friends eie long discovered Their
sun had set , and it was ivell for them that they all
d ed soon afte They could not foigne Shakespeiie
1 s super o ty but he forgave one of them at lei^t
h 5 en fo ^vhen a lew veais iftei le wiott Is
louLI It he m de Tl i-be say of Mdilo ^ quot ng
a lu e fro n H^ 0 a I Lea iJt ■ — ■
Dal bhepherd now I find thy saw of might,
\\ ho ev 1 d that lov'd not at first sight ? ' "
Gi e e sa k uto h s g ave, his soul eaten up with envy
as his bo Ij tl I sease ; but he was spared the added
pan^ of fo esee n,, thit his own name would be pre-
se-ved in the orlls lemory only because of his iadi-
tect comiection with the man. at whom he sneered, and
that he would be cbiefly known as his slanderer. Had
he lived to see his hook published, he would have
enjoyed such base and pitiful satbfaction as can he
given by revenge. His little aiiow reached its mark,
and the wound smarted. As the venom of a sting oftea
inflicts more temporary anguish than the laceration of a
fatal hurt, such wounds always smart, but rarely injure ;
and few men are wise and sti'ong enough to bear their
suffering in dignity and silence. Whether, if Greene had
been alive, Shakespeai'e would have publicly noticed his
attack, can only be conjectured ; but I feel sure that
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Ivi MEMOIRS or
ho ivoulcl have been kept from open wrangle with sucTi
an assailant by his reticence and self-respect. Yet,
although he was above petty malice and reciiraination,
he was sore and indignant ; and he, and others for him,
protested against the wrong which had been done him
in Greene's pamphlet. He did not protest in vain ; for
CI ttl G n ' d'to Ith h h ti t 1 "tl g t
t pt bk mpl t f 1 I t n th p f
Ml h Gnhdal 1 dpl'ndt
Slkp ttndTIKdStD
hhhpbbldmditeljft d yi ht
alth gh h p Uy gi Itl f tb g h
■n yftl Ifiltldb h n
t 1 ff d ! urt g ft d d
h by hi -th n 1 h ab 1 1 Id a h gh
n th t f m i ] p k nd
t t G da d tb t mn f 15J2 nd
h p 1 hi t 1 Ch ttl b tl p bl 1 d m
tb J u Th Sh k 1 th n
yai fh Ijt i &ttfdf{,t In
tmldw dm f tipbb ptfim
his p d th q t h t f d
wh h h 1 f tt-u m th ^ d f
tb bb hiql jtn his
P S h
These two pregl^aIlt passages, which we owe to the
malice of a disappointed rival, are the &st public notice
of Shakespeare, and our earhest authentic record of bis
presence in London.f By this time he had produced, in
• Sea Chettle'a B|]olngy !n fnll and vorbiltiill iii the Easay OD liio AnthoiEhip
•aKing Hmru Oie Si=M, Vol, VIT. p. 410.
t In isas Mr. John Payne GilHai- puMishad b. smntl Yohinie aiitltlsd JKio
Htctt regavditiff iJii 1^ ^ Sha^-eipiafe, In vhlcb ho brongbt to noUce slK
dDoamantB tu b&riD^ been f(nm& at Bri^mitor nonso among the pupera of
UwdElleBmere, who -ma Cbnnrellor In tbe reigna of BUialletll and Jamaa 1. OnB
Of ftese flMnnientB mne an nns^od ootUtleate or manioraudnm, iotanaed ap-
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Ivil
addition to his contributions to partnersMp plays and to
old ones partly rewritten. The Comedy of Errors, Love's
parentlyforthaPrlvjCoi
maU, e..„lp,
iHnstbeplsrersat
had bean bruugiitaimliist
vhlrh stands
twcltlh on tha list.
"TliaBenratoeerdfla J
or right bon.
irftHle LI., thai hoi
JamsB BarSiilge Blchnrd
BurbidgaJol
BOD Joliu loTlor Antb. Wadwn The.
maa Popa GoorgB 1
lilipas Nidiolaa Towloy William BliokeBpoara William Ke.
Baplisle Ooodale and Bd
bert Armj-n
brfngaUorihan.
Fijers plBjBhouBB hane
neaargiTen
oansa of dlaplaaao
l™ighltmL,ll,airplaj«
,toBnflBaHgl,ni,T
Uiem or lo be prueiitad t
ipocfMMB ntJlhM
inati!iam,<.CSBi6
(uiisa of dlaplaaai
irB,lo
Ibi
It the? bam
,toBnflBaHgl,ni,Tofltti
a baadled bf
ipocfMMB ntJlhM
inati!iam,<.CSBil
WherefotB,
good bshau-
llPEtoy*e1dooba.
"Nov. 1689."
nntll WMiiUj tbia mamoranduiinfoa rsceived as ganuioe; and were it so, it
man in the Lord Chjtnilwilaln'a conipanj' to Uiatot n Bharar io tbereceipta of Iho
De» of thp dDcamenta hrongbt tOmarrt 1>; Ur, Culllai bavlng ba«ii exdtod,
raphlsW in London, anmo of them lioliing higli offlolal positions, and all pro-
Donnced It a forgery. Thaftats in regard b> thalaveitlgsllonof ttioctumxttr
of tbaaa dacumenlf will ba found in Me. S. E. B. A. Ba.mi]tun'A Jhfu^, Sic^
4to., London, XSSO, Dr. ilauBRe\d Ingloby^ QrmpletA Visa qf&t Shaiiefpeare
Cbntntetrsy, Iiondnn, 1881, Mr. DiiffuB Ilardy'a Scniao rftAe Frami State of
Oit SlialiaipiariaB Omtnmeriy, London, ISflO, anil In The SftoAre^jmro Muslerg,
in tho-UJoflKcJfcfriWs.Sspt.ISel. Itl8poBtibl9,tboogllia]7improbablB,tb(i*
tbajndginont pronoiiDoodby suchhiebpalfaognipblcaulboritieaniQy beinoDi--
root ; bnt the docom^nts are put by tlila dai^slon out of gneBtion aa Dvidcnce
of the bare and mei^re fiietfi In SbakaapaaTo^a Win nblob tbey prof^Ba Lo ea-
InSpenaer^s Rarest Sis Nusai^tiikt&S la 1591, npaaao^ beginning wllb
tba lines —
" Anit bo the man wbom Natnro aell^ had raada
With Slndly counter nnder minilok ehaile.
Oar pleasant Willy, ah, is dead of late " —
lias been held 1k> refer loSbi^Bspeare; chieay, it noalcl seem, becanne of the
name, Willy. But that. Ilka " shopherd," nas not uDcommoDly used mai'aly
to niaao a poet, and vm distinctly applied to Sir Pliillp Sidney in an Bt^loene
ptaKsrved in DavidBon's Poetical Rlmpsody. pnbllshefl In 1009. And [ha Korei
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Iviil MEMOIRS OP
Labour's Lost, and The Tivo Gentlemen of Verona, his
earliest original productions. He was already tliriving,
ivitli prosperity in prospect. But he had literary ambi-
tion ivMch play-wtiting did not satisfy, {for that he did
as a conveyancer draws deeds, — as husiaess ;) and he
had a poem written ; so he still looked abowt for a pa-
tron. Now, there was at this time in London a noble-
man of high rank and large wealth, Henry Wriothealey,
Earl of Southampton, who had a genuine love of letters,
and who was just upon the threshold of a lordly life.
As yet he had not exhibited in any marked degree the
high spirit, the fine capacity of appreciation, the gra-
ciousness and the generosity which made him aftenvard
admired and loved of all men at the court of Queen
Elizabeth. For at the publication of Greene's pam-
phlet he was but nineteen years old, and Shakespeare
was nine years hia senior. Loving literature and the
society of men of letters, he had a special fondness for
the drama, and being a constant attendant upon the
theatre, be saw much of Shakespeare and his playa ;
and there can be no doubt that be was one of those
" divers of worship " whose respect for the poet's " up-
rightness of dealing" and admiration of his "facetious
grace in writing" Chettle assigns aa one reason for his
apology to a man whom, it is very easy to see, he did
not think it prudent to offend.* Shakespeare must have
svan tbfa otteiiHon, wore it do6 that mj readtre mlehl anppoae thnt T liafl
cnDorgefnsnpporCof it tUe feodar wc'E flQd io He. Knighted aad Mr. OotJier'B
^grapbieB of the poat.
vtrj gciiHrnlLy miBOnderalood, anS hy none moi'a eompletBly tlian bj WisB
Bacon, who resloil liev misapprebenBion of SlialsBspMve's ronlt onioiig bis coo-
sndisg cbango of easwi. But " bcstlont " bm lias no refbrence to tbat l^ht
,1 Google
WILLIAM aHAKlJSPEAllE. lis
had some acquaintance with. Southampton at this time,
and have felt that he was in his loxdship's favor. For
to him lie determined to dedicate hia Venus and Adonis,
although he had not asked permission to do so, as tiie
dedication shows ; and in those days, and long after,
without some knowledge of his man and some opportu-
nity of judging how he would receive the compliment,
a playei would not have ventured to take such a liberty
with the name of a nobleman, tn the next year (1593)
the closing of the London theatres on account of the
plague afforded a favorable occasion for the publication
of the poem, and it was printed by Richard Field, a
Stratford man. It immediately won its author a high
literary reputation. Before a year liad passed a new
edition was called for; a third was published in 1596,
and two others within nine years of its first appearance.
Southampton must have been a churl not to be gratified
at tlie homage of such a poet; and being a man whose
tank was the mere pedestal, and whose wealth the mere
adornment, of his real nobility, he acknowledged Shake-
speare's compliment in a manner both raunifieent and
considerate. Tradition tells ua the former ; a second
dedication, the latter. In dedicating the Vejni% and
Adonis, — and we must not forget that Shakespeare
regarded thif as his first appearance as an author, —
he esprpssed a fear that he might offend the young
Earl by cor.nectmg his name with the first heir of hia
invention ; but he promised that, if his patron were
only pleased, he would devote all the time that he
lofspesch towhiobit
Is now oiclnalyel)' ai>plletL II ws
"felMlouB" or "hnppj" Id regari
uaaaackville.EiirlafDi
an of letlaie, nho in b1
,1 Google
k SIEMOIliS OF
could steal from hia business of playing and play-writ-
ing to some graver labor in his honor. Suck a worlc, we
may be sure, he thea already had in mind ; for in the
very next year appeared the Lu i t a gra^e ind e^eu
tragic poem, showing much greiter mat ir ty of thought
and style than its piedece'i&or and dedicatpd dl^o to
Southampton. But the tone of the poet toward tlie
patron is now verj diffeient from what it was a )ear
before; although it la stiU tainted with th-^t defeience
of simple manhood to piivilege which in the time of
Elizabeth, English men of bhakespeaie s rank no mit
ter what their age, then abil ty or then chaiaetei mu'it
needs pay to English lads of Southampton s. How is it
now, except among those Englishmen who have never
bowed again under the yoke of privilege which their
ancestors cast off in the days when Milton was our
e and Cromwell our leader ?
3 evident ftom this dedication that the Earl had
done something more than seem pleased with its prede-
cessor. Shakespeare speaks in it of a warrant which
he had of his patron's honorable disposition that makes
him sure of acceptance, and adds, " What I have done
is yours ; what I have to do is yours ; being part
in all 1 have, devoted yours," This is not flattery, or
even deference : words of acknowledgment could not
be stronger. On this evidence alone it is plain that
something liad passed between Shakespeare and the
Earl which had bound the former entu'ely to the latter
by lasting ties of gratitude. Again circumstance and
tradition strengthen and eke out each other. A story
reached Rowe through Davenant (would that so es-
cellent a thing had been preserved in a cleaner ves-
sel!) that Southampton gave Shakespeare a thousand
pounds to make a pui-chase of importance. Now, it
so happened that m 1594 the Globe Theatre was built
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESrEAEE. Isi
by tlie company to wMcli Shakespeare belonged, ni all
the property of whicli we know that he became a
large oimer. The sum which the Earl is said to have
given to Shakespeare is so very large — being equal to
thirty thousand dollai^ at our present rate of value,
that wliile the world has willingly believed the auh-
stance of the story, many have doubted the conyctnesa
of its details. And yet, remembering the customs of
those times, the more we consider how splendid a fellow
young Southampton was, how munificent to men of
letters, how whole-hearted to his friends, the more we
shall be ready to receive the stoij of his generosity to
Shakespeare without abatement.
Between 1593 and 1596 Shakespeare produced, in
addition to his Lucreae, King Richard the Third, A
Miehummer-NigJit's Dream, The Merchant of Venice,
King RieJiard the Second, and some of his Sonnets,
probably also Monieo and Juliet and (with the name
"Love's LalDour's Won") ^;i's Well That Ends Well,ia
earlier forms than those in which they have come down
to na ; — works which, although none of them exhibited
his genius in its full height and power, effectually estab-
lished his supremacy among his contemporaries as a
poet and a dramatist. England now began to riog with
his praises. His brother dramatists made their lovers
long for his Venus and Adonis by which to court their
mistresses ; other poets made their chaste heroines com-
pare themselves to the Lucretia whom he had " revived
to live another age " ; they sung of his " hony-flowing
vein," and that he had given new immortality even to
the goddess of love and beauty ; and some of them paid
him the unequivocal compliment of plagiarism.* Even
,1 Google
Isii MEMOIRS OP
Spenser, then at the height of his fame and his court
favor, having in mind Shakespeare's two mixitial Listo-
ties and his name, generously paid the young poet thb
pretty compliment in Golin Clout's come Some again,
written in 1594 : —
" And there, though last not least, is .^tion ;
A gentler Shepheard may no where he found ;
Whose muse full of high thought's invention
Doth, like himselfe, heroically sound."*
Nay, in this interval Colin Clout's mistress, the im-
perial Elizabeth herself, distinguished him hy her favor,
•won, or acknowledged, hy the exquisite compliment in
A Midsvmmer-NigMs Dream. For we know upon
Ben Jonson's and Henry Chettie's testimony, and from
tradition, that she did delight in him ; and it is not iu
mortal woman, least of all was it in Elizabeth, to know
of such a compliment, and not to hear it and be cap-
tivated.f
Kin's Aeolastia his JJier«'ille,16an, Ini'Aleller from Enjriniidto her tbrou
DmigbterB," reprinled la Hie British SiMioffrapha; (Vol. I. p. 3T4-2S5,) mid
iThiDh forms the encond part of a. book otlled FrMmatUtia, pnbLlahe^ In 1995,
(here 1» a mnrslnai note, " AU praise ivoHhy Lncredo Sweeta Sbofceepeai-e."
• It may ba worth ivhUe to anj that if SJiakospeai'o's luiniB bnil been Sbut-
gpei or Sbalepere, sa some ivould hnre It, this complLnieat would bKve been
■f Tbese ncll-Imown llnM sre from JonBoii'H veraea In jnsmorj of Shakc-
,1 Google
\VILLIiAI SH\K"FSPFVRF km
Having (.ill eMdince of liia reputation and othei tf
an equally pleasing and satisfactory chiracter as to 1 is
mciease m wealth we can afford to lie ■veiy indifferent
m regal d to the trust w orthmess of a document about
which there has been much ado ^nd the onlj interest
of whiob coQ'iists in the fact that it enumerat s Shake
speare among the ouneis of the BHck fnais Ihuatre
and names bim fifth among ei^ht hut which aftei a
life of thitt) years i antiquanan glory has been done
to death by envioui tongies as spinous A like
*Th
19 doenoiBni
b eiiBls 1
LD tbe SlMe Paper Off
LCB at Westminster. (Lon
don.)
ItW»!
broBghtW
pibUo n
Qlics bj Mr. Collier 1
In hlaffis(ory«^a^K*ft
ihic
matio Foa.v, i'!.,
1SS1,<T,
.1.1. p. 297.) Itprafe,
Blmnco
brthtityli
QhBbltai
]t«oftlieUborIyoftheBUck-trinrs,"H>inei>f
>t tbe repHlrlnK of tha Black-tcliics Tbeatre. Tbe re
was ™id by Mr. C
oilier 10 bB " preserved in Ibe Stale Paper Offl
BRDtlQlMl
lerB. Tl,i,,^pl,ia,o
Btonlne in appearance 11
WOSgl'
im In f«o^<
:«„ by Mr. IfalilKell,
in his gtoftt folio edltlo
pearo's Wo
Iks, Bin
D vse one of the Brst to
pra-
purinns. It Is as Dillons ;
Ibe right 1
La tli8 Lords of lier
Mat" most hoaoralilo i
OranHa
i hiimb1« petlllon i
hard BurteadgBJobn Her
nfnp
AngBst
hiB PhLlllpi
iWLIIm
SHiJiBepeore TVitlim
lEempe ITlllIn, aiyo Nie
ternaiinlEto llie rieht tiouoiable thsL-Cban
" Shemetb moBl hnmily thst yor petitioners lire owoera nnd pi f
prinnte hoDne or [beater in tbe preeluct and lltoerCle of tlie Blsclir I rs v
msdies hl^tM-lss enlcrlndes snd pinyes. That tbe esme by reaso f b
bssns Boe long biiilthBlh (Bine inln great dBoaje and that beside lb rep
petitioners liaue all and echssftbem pntc donno sommM of mnn y ccord
to tlieir shares in the lalde thsater and nheb tbey baas jnstiy ud 1
estlle gained liy the exercise of their qunlltle of Stage-players but tb t cert
persons (sime of tliom oEh[>nDnr)iohabitan[i! of thoaoid preolnot a d lib i
of tlie Klackl^fets bavs ns yor petitioners ars enfannned beson^t y I
abloLpsuottoperuiItt thesaiHeprlnatehanES anle looEcr to rem I ]
lint hereafter to be shut rpp and dosed to the manirast and great injnrie
yor petitioners who baxe no other nieanes nherehy to maintaine their wl
their ne»o built house on the Bankalde eallde the Globe but tliat in the n
,1 Google
ixiv MEMoms or
fate has befaUen a memorandum whicli would otlicrwiae
show iia that at this time Shakespeare hved in the part
of London called Sonthwark. Malone speaks of a cer-
tain paper which ivas hefore him as he wrote, which
belonged to Edwai'd Alleyn, the player, and from which
it appeared tliat in 1596 Shakespeare lived in South-
wark, near the Bear Garden. Malone makes this state-
ment in his Inquiry into the Authenticity of Certain
Papers, which were forged by that scapegrace WUHam
Ireland ; and eminent palfeographers and Shakespeaiian
scholais will have it that theve was contammation in
the subject, and that the following brief memorandum,
whllo the wlQter sinJuifltb 1om9 the mPKnes whorebj tbaj- nowe eiippitl them
selniFS and tJielp rcLiDilles hot he vnatile to piwclae them BuUiei id aiiio player
or BTiterrndb when coiilQ ujton to parfnrme for the recreiLtlon nnd aoJBce of ]ier
Matio and bsr hanorabla Qnuit, aa tbof baro beeba heretofhro swnBtomed.
The hnmble pra^r of jar pedtionerA tberefhn f A that jtmr houble Lpawill
gmunt pei'mJablDQ to Anlelia tboreporatbDBandAltBratlonBtbnybavohe^nn^
and as joiir polilionota have hilliarlo beao noil ordrcd in their hehan-
i&nrsndjnstin tlieh'deaUDges that yor honorable I>p9wl)l not inhibit them
ths BkQkfi-iecB and yonr patllionera us in dntie most honndeu nlll erer praye
Bf JlajMly'a PriTy Coiintll, fto
mingB, Angnstine PUUlpa, \
Biye, Ifiobolaa Tooler, and o
int9 of lliB Ubcrty of the Bind
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Isv
whicli Mr. Collier brought forward as the paper to
which Maloae referred, is also spuiious.
owtliei'k as have complaned
tliis [o]f Jullj, 1596.
Mr. Msrkis
Mi. Tuppin
Mv. Lungorlh
Wilson the pyper
Mr. Earett
Mr. Shaksper
PhelUpes
Tomson
Mother Golden the baudo
Naggea
Fillpott and no moi-e uiid so.
!; well eiitled."
It y h th t this 11 d I b
tl) t d
If t b th °ai 1 b ted 1 ti p
11 th h
hdl h 11 p ) I I
I3 b 1
th t h ? g gl p f
Uif t
& I 1 I m 1 th t 1 th
ghb f Wil
Imbikp pnlml 1 tarhg
gl fll 1 h ) d h tyth b 1
1.1 yp h tmltl yt
nd f th Bl k f I Tap th t h Ij
whh t 11th gfVliI h
PI hJdth IL Inh d — Ih
Falfff^ di t— d h t ffFilli t h
such a round Amen of thankfulness. I mourn the lan
isbing Nagges, whom I think of as a humble kind of
Silence, or perhaps Goodman Verges, and am injured
at the assertion that Mother Golden — Mrs. Qaickh/ in
the flesh, and plenty of it — is a mjth; than ivliich
nothing could be more deplorable, except, indeed, that
she were vutHous.
The last five years of the sixteenth century are among
the most interesting and important in the history of
VOL. I, e
,1 Google
Isvi MEMOIRS OF
Shakespeare's life. He was then rapidly attaining the
independent position which he coveted, and for which
he labored ; while growth, culture, and experience were
uniting in the development of those transcendent powers
which reached their gi'and perfection in the next decade.
To those years may be confidently assigned the produc-
tion of Romeo and JuUel in its second and final form,
King John, Uie two Parts oiKing Bsnry the FouHh, the
first sketch of The Merry Wives of Winrhor, Much Ado
about Mothing, Twelfth Nigld, King Henry the Fifth,
As You Like It, and JSamlet. They were probably pro-
duced in this order, the first in 1596, tte last in 1600 *
The man who could put those plays upon the stage at a
time when play-going was the favorite amusement of all
the better and brighter part of the London public, gen-
tle and simple, was sure to grow rich, if he were but
prudent ; and Shakespeare was prudent, and even thrif-
ty. He knew the full worth of money. And he saw
that pecuniary independence is absolutely necessary to
him who is seeking, as he sought, a social position
higher than that to which he was born. Therefore he
looked much more carefully after his material interests
than his literary j t ti Tl hit f 1 1 f
shows that he 1 b d as pi y ht 1 ly h h
might obtain th f t, g b 1 St f 1 1
live the life of a md i d t tl H
now began tob isdbl dth aryt
maining records f tl th h h h 11
money, and liis willingness to take legal measures to
protect himself against small losses. It is not pleasant
to think of the author of The Merchant of Venice going
to law to compel the payment of a few pounds ster-
ling : it would be revolting, if the debtor's failure were
,1 Google
WILLIAM SlIAKESPEAKE. Isvii
bo ause ot po e tj Lut as e 1 d c o fa e tl ct
we nay fmd co fort n the certa ntj tl a a maaotthat
sweetness of d sj 03 t o o Id not have been lit gio s
ani m the p ohabil tv that he kne v too 1 nch of human
nat e and of thp ia to co n ne e a bu t unles to
protect h n If aga st f a 1 o to dec \e a legal 1 a
b hty He vbo so p Je sly pain ed J) ylo co ild
not but ha e felt the t uth of t e n<is ra Su nu j s
til al p ety nhappil a not ain ys a gn of gen
er s t3 of o 1 lor harl in stera ct el c ed to s and
selfish f end aie somet n es devoted sons but t s
plea nt i) re na 1 ng upo bhdke pe e s thi ft to re
CO d tl at o e of the ea hest us s of his p ospe ty aeema
toh b th 1 f flisf th fi th q
fm f t Ih Ittl t t t Alb p t M y
Ad h nta whi h h 1 b n m rtna d t lid
n d L mh 1578 h uld 1 h 1 d by
th ndit n 1 th m t g n tl 1 jm t f th
m t n J n b f tl 9th f b pt b
1 80 Tl n tg t nd d th y f ty
I fbtthj dLbt ndhhan
I dk ingJhnShkp bhty
tmuilwi fdt 1 Ahb 1
th Ih d bt f h ) t n t g tj
bh lal Et igJhShkp
nib t t dinthtnttjm^nd pn
f fJl 1 g 1 I 1 h t t mp 1
J 1 L h t th n d ! u- f El nl t t
h t t Th cub bl d bt th t th
my y t tl p dm d th p pt
gt mdtk t fn'WUmShkp
t d by fib 1 1 nd tta 1 nt t t 1 fl Ids
Previous to this date, — liow long v/e do not know, but
it was certainly surae months bofore October, 1596, —
,1 Google
Uriii
MEMOIRS OF
J ImShk p p]hdt tl H Id C U ( d
if
b I th ds f tl h t t )
f "T
t f by wk li h tl )
1^1 1 b
m g tlm S 1 ppl t
th t
manly m 1 bj m li 1 m 1 th 1
f ffi
tit t t tl 1 1 1 t y
rh
fgr td f 1 f thj
ffi 1
d lly ^ d -ffl t
t
1 t d g 1 h li t 1 tl y
gr td
q 1 t 1 tl t th
dt
1 bly to pp t It 1 b J ' d
th t J h
Sh k p m J th ppl t t tl
tl t
and tl th m — f tb b t
T —
tb wpp Ad'Wll
Shk p
ai h m If w 1 btl tl 1 m m
th t
T J bu SI 1 p m-m p t d U
If dtlt^pty p hdtc-
t Id t h b w tb h t t t m
p dtl Bttbipp 111 ted
th p f h ^bt f g t J d 1 11 m
tl ir h ta uidh b ht t d
t h li b d t 1 Th f , p b bly, as tb t
the grant was applied for in the Eame of the father, instead
of that of the player son ; whose profession, it must also
be remembered, would have been against him in the Her-
alds' College. Shakespeare knew well enough, as any
reader of The Wini^-'s Tale may see,*' the factitious
value of heraldic gentry. But it brought with it more
or less social consideration ; and it was for tbia social
consideration that he toiled aad schemed ; that he, the
Stratford fugitive, might return to bis native place and
meet Sir Thomas Lucy as a prosperous gentleman.
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
Slikc jeiio "13 no al k to t 1 e n iii i itint -itep
to vird establishing himself hand'^omely in his native
place In 1597 he boiij,ht the Gieat House or New
Place as it was c'dled in Stiatfoid biilt by hir Hii^h
Clopton th.e benefactor of the town It coat Shake
peare sixty pounds sterling (tqudl ti about $1500) a
small outlay for the dicllmg of a man ot its new pos
sessors meai s and capacity of enjoyment But we
know from the fine levied at the s'lle that the piem
laes included tlie Great House itself two barns two
gardens and two orchaids No lepresentation of tie
house is it was m Shikespeaie s time is known to
exist it tayi ig been altered liter his death yet its
size was not eulaiged and an existing icpiesentation
of it m its last condition shows that it was a goodlj
mansion But its new master took posses&ion bcieaved
and disvappomted The death, of his only son Himnet
m the twelfth vear of his age 1596 left him without a
descendant to whom he might tiansmit with his name
the bouses and lands and the arms which he had ob-
tained by such untuing laboi Shikespeare hiimg
money to mi est of course there was no ladt of appli
cants for the pleasure of pUeing it for him to his adv n
tage Of these w is one Master Abraliam Sturlei a
PintTii of the first watei He begins a long letter,
wiitten at Strattorl January 24th 15^9 to a friend in
London (piobably Richard Qumey whose son after
ward mairied Shakespeare s daughter) with a pois
ejaculation and then passes pioraptlj to business uig
ing his conespondent to quicken an intention which
Sbil eapeare was kno m to hiie to la^ out some of 1 la
S p rflio i. n on J in Sti tfoid piopcit^ aid esj^e lally
,1 Google
Isx MEMOIRS OF
t d to him p 1 f th t ti f '^ti t-
f J d h t! p 1 p fitabl t h If
1 h 1 t tl to 11 d !ik ly to li j
Ir d Tl d t as w 1 in ft
pp re t ii li d fl t lii til
Itteftl t wrtt IstL, hard Q >
wt li t b m t f ytr
t h 81 1 p t -Ajid til f t h t
kiDj, thbff or ptthttl lltt
d tly \&di 1 t Sh k p h h k to
t 1 1 ka 1 f i30 It f
HldQylittli t LI
disfll ftl yti tLl
full t bhak peai 1 t y
LogC y Imbll j fftd
craveinge yo" helpe w* sxs!^ , uppon M.' Bushells & my secury-
tce, or M' Myttena witli mc. M' Bosswell is uott come to Lon-
doa as yeate, & I liave espeeiall cawee. Yo" shall ffrende me
muche in helpeinge me out of all the debtts I oive in London, I
thanok god, and mucha qniet my mynde w"'' wolde uot be in-
deheted. I am now towaides the Cowrte, in hope of answer
for tli8 dispatche of my Buyseiies. To' shall nether loose
orcddytt nor monney by me, the Loi'de wyllinge ; & iiowe bntt
perawade yo" selfe soe, as I hope, & yo' shall nott need to
feare ; butt with all harlie thanckfuilnes I wyU holde ray tyrae
& content yo" fiend, & yf ive EBrgauie farther, yo* shal! be the
plidDB EDgllnho irti remeni-
• "Mo
atlovBlnga.
. In
the Lord, 4
but conif
.home. 1 1
,ral God aoDd n camtfrb
.Wil
ir Siithei'i moUoD. It wiuot)
nan, Mr.
Shikspete,
is wlLLlngB to dlsbiirs* e
bES.
49Ta him Uissreof, i by ths fteudM hs a.n
;i.9l™te.tl^anotimi».
iiLm In dMrte
1, ana wouia do ns mucb
ue nedigog, lioo enim
etxlt
>o opiu es9Bt exlmlae el j
i;lori9
t"Ta
'yo"bius8i
ivitli Wm.Sh or
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEAHE.
paie m' yo"' aelfe. My tyuie biddes me to hasten to an ende, &
SOB 1 comitt tliys [to] yo" core & Jiope of yo" helpo. 1 feare I
sliall iiott be backe this night fliom the Cowrte. ha^te. the
Lorde be w"' yo" & «-■*■ us all. amen. Prom the BeU in Carter
Lane, the 25 October ISBS.
.. YyT,.. jii all kyndenus,
"HyC. QUYSIiY."
This letter is folded and addressed as is shown, in the
following fac-simile ; the address being " To my Joveiog
good ffrend and counCreyman Mr. Wm. Shackespere delr
^ rv-'^fW^-
^M^f^ l^-ft^^j
It is impossible to disguise the fact that Quiney offers
an approved indorsed note to the author of Hamlet ;
but it is gratifying to observe that he applies to l>im as
a friend. The motive which he touches is not interest,
but the helping liim out of trouble ; and though the
sura, was a respectable one, — half the price of New
Place, — he plainly feels that Shakespeare liad both tiie
ability and tlie willingness to spare it. There is an-
,1 Google
Isxii MEMOIRS OP
other ktter of this period, dated No\omlei 4th Id98
addressed to the same Kichaid (Jmiiey by 4biahim
Stiirlev again The first pait, with whii,h onlj v-e have
concern be^ns "All heilth happmes« of suites and
wellfare he multiplied unto u and ur labouis m. God
ouj ffathei by Chiist our Lord, and ends mth no less
fervor " O ho«e can you make dowbt of monei who
wiU not beai xi,'^ tie oi xl s tonaides sutch a match' '
But its chiif mteieat to ua is, that the niitei < f these
beatitudes has heaid that "tur coimhiman Mr Vvm
Shak w ould procure ua monei, v-c I ■« ill like of ' It
13 pkiaant thus to seo that Shakespeaie s townsmen,
evea the staid and sober men among them, lespected
and looked up to hini, and leaned confidently upon the
suppoit of his influence and his puise ind this mar-
vellous " Ml Wm ishak ' then had real propertj in
London, as well as in Stiatfoid, besides his theatrical
possessions foi m October of l'i98 he -^as assessed
on piopeitv m the puish of M Helens Bishopsgite,
£5 lo' Id
In 1593 Ben Jonson's first and best comedy, Every
Man in his Sumour, was produced at the Black-fiiars,
and the author of King Henry the Fourth and Borneo
and Juliet might have been seen for two pence by any
London prentice who could command the coin, playiag
an inferior part, probably that of Kiiowdl, in the new
play. But, according to tradition, Shakespeare not only
played in Jonaon'a comedy, — he obtained Ben his firsi.
hearing before a London audience. The play had been
thrown aside at the Biack-friars with little consideration,
as the production of an unknown writer ; but Shake-
speare's attention having been drawn to it, he read it
through, admired and rreonimfiided it, and then and
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Isxiii
tliere ftc t ok paini to bnug the a itt or 3 -n oiks bef re
the pubhc Jonsou s honest love for SI akcspeiie may
well haie had its eprmg m gratitude for this great ser
vice wh ch having been performed by one diaraatic
author to anothei -(vho was his junior indicites hoth
kindness iiii magnan mitj of dispos tion
The leai 1596 \^aB one of gieat professional trnmph
to Shikespeaie In that year ^le may he sire lie 1 as
honored with a command fiom Queen Elizabeth to let
her see his Falata^ in love which he obejed hy pro
ducmg m a foitmght TU Mei y ^iies of \\m1 or in
its earhtst foim * In that year too the greatneia and
universahty of his genius received formil lecognition
at the hands of literarj cntici=m Francis Merea pub
hshed in 1598 a book called Palladts T m a ^^^ts
Treastry which was a collection of sententious com
pansons chiefii upon morals manners ind leh^ion
But one div sion or chapter is A con parative dia
course )f OUT English Poefs with the Gieeke Latine
and Itahan Poets Meres was a Master of Arts in
hoth Um\er8itie9 a theological wi tei iid the an
thor of poetrj which has been lost H s comparative
d SCO use mikes lio pretence to analysis or esthetic
judgn ent Indeed ace rdmg to the modern standaid
it can hardl) be regarded as criticism but it mav
be accepted as a record of the estimation m which
Shakespeaie was held hj intelligent and cuUnated peo
pie when he was thirty four years old and before he
had written his best plays In this book Shakespeare
IS awarded the h ghest place m Enghsh poetical and
diamati, hteiatur and is linked \ ith the great an
thors of the das ic lays of Gieecc and Lone It is
,1 Google
Isxiv MEMOIRS OF
true that other poets and diamitists are conij^icl by
Meres to Pindar, Escli'vlua and Arlstop^^l es to Oiid,
Plautus, and Horace vaA that like all who hiie judged
tlieir contemporaries he besloii^ high piaise upon men
whose works and names have perished fiom the woild's
memorj'. But in his compiehensive eilogy Shake-
speare has this distmction that while he shirei equally
all other praise, it is siid oi him that as Plautus and
Seneca are accounted the best lor co ledy and tiagedy
among the Latins so Shakeipeare among the English
is the most excellent in both kmds foi the stage." *
Euripcdes, JSsclijlne, Sophocles, Pinilnrus, EhjlofpLdm, and Arts lopbnnM ;
nud gorgeously invesUd In rare oiDtunentB b; hIf PUIIp gidne;, Silencer,
Daniol, BrnjWn, WKrnor, SbokcEpeiirB, Harlow, and Chapnuui."
" As tfia souls of Enphorliua ins (bought to Hue in Pjdiagoras, so the
Bueele «lttle soule of Onlil Hues In melMnous nndlinny-totieued gbekespeire ;
" As Plaulus SJia SenecH ore Ecconntod the best ftir Comedj nnd TraKMly
botb kinds for [he ataKe; for Comsdj-, iritnes his GCBaBlrfyBvna,biaS'
roi'Sj'hbiLoiie labors Jost, hi« Zoue lili>oitrs vKttni, his Sfidtummers night dreamej
& bis MnvJumi ijf Ymise ; tor TroBed j his Milord tAe a. SMarA (At S.
Henry tlie 4. King Inim, Ktai Andnmiciis and his Romet and MieL"
would speak Latin ; so I say the >i!usM wonCd apeatt with ShalieBpenre^e ^ne-
med pbrase, If tbe; wonld speit^ English."
"And OS Uoraoe solth uf big, Exef^ iDonnaiBntO nro pereuniu^ Regnliq;
srallyofan'hiUpSidnejB, SpflucerB, Daniels, DrftjtonB, ShBkeBpeareB, and
ton, Sbahenpeore, Bi'elto/'
"As theiw traglcke ]ioetH floniished in Greets, ^Bchylns, Euripides, Soplio-
doruB TnrKonHiB, Nlconiachus Phrjglue, ThesplB AttiruB,ima Timon Apollo-
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Isxv
There is ample evidence that fhia aiipreciation of
Shakespeare was general, and that although Iiis con-
temporaries could hardly have suspected, that his genius
would overshadow aU others in our literature, they re-
garded him as a poet and a dramatist beyond compari-
son among his countrymen. ShakeHpeare'fi plays fiUed
the theatre to overflowing when even Jonson's would
hardly pay expenses.* It was not until the moral and
literary decadence of the Restoration and the establish-
fluEund SeneQB! bo ths» om o™ best for trngaSie; Uia Lonl BnckhiirBt, Doclor
Leg of CoDibildgi-, Dr. Edes of Oxfiinl, Malalor Ednnii] fetils, the Aatiium:
of OiB mfrour ^ Moffli'lniia, MarJav, Feele, WHtsoti, Ktd, Slialieapenre,
Drayton, Chnpmnn, Doricr, and Bonlamtn lohnmn."
"The best poete for comofly amoBg ths Qreeks are these : Men4Piter, ArU-
taiibouos, Enpolls AtheiilenalB AUxIb, Terina, Hicostralna, Aoiipaioa Atheni-
oufiis, AacaSdiidcfl KliodLiiB, ATi£trmjiaaB, ArEblppus Atheoj^ls, nod Calllna
AlhoiiieuslB; and among Uie LaHnoa, PlantuB, Tsibdcs, Ifienlne, Beiit, Turpl-
Itna, Lloiiiins Imbrex, and TlrglUas Rsmnnui ; ao Uie IwH tar comedy nmongst
lie 1KB Ednard PJUOe ofOxfbrdu, nocCocGnger orOxforde, llnislei Rouley,
once B rare nohollor of learned Peoibmoka Hall [n CsinbrWKB, Maiater Bd-
wardw, one of licr Matosiisa Chsppcll, elor|nent and Bdttle John Lilly, Loflge,
Cheltle."
" As tliaee are fanioBB lunoiiB tta GraBka fiir olegla. Melanthns, MymnemB
OolopiLOnlM, Olyaipins MyeioB, Pnjtheiihia Sioesue, PlilletBB Cons, Iheogonea
MeEorenatB. and Plgrsa HatlcaniaBceiiB; Bud these among thBlnClnea, Mesb-
nae, Onld, Tibnllns, Propertfus, T. Vol j^iif , Oamiua aeoenm, andChJdliii Sabl-
perpleiftise of lone ; Henrie Howard Barte of Sni-rej, air Thomas Wjat Iho
elder, ^r FninB!B Brisn, sIf Philip Sidaey, elr Waller Kaivley, sir Ednerd
Syer, Spencar, Snoiel, Drnytoo, Bhaiiegpeare, WhelsCoue, GBecoyne, Saoiuel)
Page flomeUmos iol^one of Cnrpits Ohrtsti Ooliedge la Oxrurd, Gburobyard,
* gaa tlie Teraos of Leonard Dlgges, Vol. TI. p. jxnii. of this worlt.
In TAe Setttmfi'om FamasauA, a comedy acted t*r1ninly iiefore the deatb
of IJueen DlizabeCli i>y tlie students of St. John's College, Camhridss, hut the
naUve euperiorlty of ShnJteBpeare: —
"Semp. PewottheTnlnoreitypeH plales irell; they smell too mnoh of that
writer (Md, and that writer Uetamorphosla, and lalbe too mneh of Fi'oserplna
sod Jnplter. Why, hereaooriellnwShHlieBpeare piita tlieni all donne; land
,1 Google
Ixxvi MEMOIRS OF
ment of the exotic and artificial standards of the so-
called Augustan, age of English literature that he was
thought to have equals, and even superiors. In spite of
Shakespeare's manifest and generally acknowledged su-
periority, under ivhich Jonaon, coi^cious hoth of larger
learning and higher elahoratiou, fretted a little, there
waa warm fiiendship behveea the two men, which lasted
through Shakespeare's life, and the memory of which
inspired and softened gruff Ben when his friend had
passed away. There was aever more generous or moie
Dgy of one man by another than that in
ses which appeared among the preliminary
matter to the first folio,* and in the well-known passage
ill his Discoveries, written in his latter years, the crusty
critic, though he must carp at the poet, breaks out
into a hearty expression of admiration and cherished
love of the man.f
In 1599 Shakespeare received a not very welcome
tribute to his poetic eminence. A bookseller named
Jaggard, who, even in those days of estremest license
in his craft, waa diatinguiahed by his disregard of the
la PlnjaiB have often menllonei
My
Biiswer
balh
bsene, n-onid he Jiail
Molted a tl.oneand.
WWeh they
Uidit a mulBTOli
)Dt epercU. I lind not
. toM poslerilj tbia,
but tor their
Ign
orMice,\i
»s Hut clrcnmsWnco to eoinmend tbelr friei
3d' by, wbawin
t«&. AnAtoJneUaemlse oiri
1 cftndDT, (tot I loVd
ov.) Hee«4s
(in<
laad) boi
TO noaoi
L^Vd"
gentle BiproMionB; wf
lerahi hs floVd mtli that fkdlllj,
Iht.
(sometii
nn necMiniy he should he Btoj/il. Sifffoirtfl
URdu«vit,ue
itei'ins. Hlfl n-lt V(u li
ihliownepfwer, wo
Eld the rale of
Maa; dmsB bs fell 1
Into tbosoHiings,™
Bid not wcBpe
gl,tar. A
he said In fbe peraon o
fCs™ronaBpej.l<fDg
to him, C^^ar
. Heerepljea: Oaer.
iiilnanruraigbidj,
,iay«i«^,-
1 BUd, 111
«,; »h
ichwerertdlcnloui!. B
lit heo redeemed hia
vlues. with his
he prajsad, than to
■be patdoned."
DUamrta.
xhisAi-tiqfRetn/.li.
;. tol. 10W.P.9J.
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Ixsvii
rights of litrrai'j" prnjierty and literary imputation, print-
ed a volume of verses under the immeimLng title The
Passmioie I'ilgnm, upon the title-page of which he
impudently placed Shakespeare's name, althougli but
a pai-t of its meagre contents were from his pen, and
tiat part had beea surreptitiously obtained. Shake-
speare was much offended that Jaggard made so bold
with his name. This we know on tte testimony of
Heywood, who in a second edition saw two of his own
compositions also attributed to the favorite of the hour,
and who publicly claimed his own.* Shakespeare,
although offended at the personal liberty, seems to have
been careless of any possible injury to liia reputation.
No evidence of any public denial on his part is known
to exist ; and it was not until after the publication of
the third edition of the volume, in 1612, that his name
was taken &om the title-page. In 1600 he was made
for a time to father Sir John Oldcastle; but the pub-
lisher appears to have been speedily undeceived or
compelled to do justice ; for Shakespeare's name was
omitted from some part of the impression. We know
from Henslon s Diaij that Sir John Oldi-asile was
written by Monday, Drayton, Wilson, and Hathway,
jomtl} The lemoial of Shakespeare's name from the
title page was moie probably owing to their pride and
jealousy than to Shake>!peare's. An edition of Kivff
Hemy the Fifth was published in this year, which
shows fiom internal evidence that the bookseller was so
eagei to put this work of Shakespeare's before the
public that he used a version obtained by surreptitious
means, and so mangled as to be almost without connec-
,1 Google
Isxviii MEMOIKS OF
tion from page to page * A misfortune more seiiouih
regarded by bhakespeare than inj hbcitj iiith his ippii
tation fell upon him also in this jeir through the plot
which cost Essex hia head, and his friend and Shate
speares pation, Southampton, his liberty during the re-
mainder ol Elizabeth s reign
The Htter 'veais of John bhakespeaie i checkeied life
seem to haie been passed m tianquil though humble
ease, throiigh the filial caie of his diitm^uished son
He died in September, 1601, is ne know bi the recoid
of his burnl on the 8th of that month , hems; then
if we set him down as twenty one or twenty t«o yeui
old when we fix=t heai of him at Stratford, simewhat
more than seventy ■\eais of age His house in Henley
Street, and probably such other leal propeity as he
may have owned at the time of hi-, death descended
to William, who, though the posses'oi and occupier
of the Gicat House, which hid doubtless impressed
his youthful imagination by its mt gnitude and its ■vil
lage preemmence, tlung to the memones of hii Imra
bier home, and aln aj s kept it m his possession
During the next year hp added to his landed estate cne
hundred and se\en acres of land in the paiish of Old
Stratfoid which he bought fiom the brothers William and
John a Combe He also bought a cottage m Henley
Street from Walter Gettey ; and from Hercules Under-
bill, a messuage with two barns, two orchards, and
two gardens. He was not in Stratford at the time of
the completion of the first of these purchases, in which
lie was represented by his brother Gilbert. In this
year, while he was thus rapidly acquiring that landed
interest in his natiYC county without which no man in
his day could maintain a respectable position as a gen-
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Ixxix
tleman of family, the burgesses of Stratford passed an
ordinance forbidding the exhibitioa of plays of any kind
in the chamber, the guildhall, or any part of the house
or court — a proscription which was made more rigid in
1612. la it strange that under these eiixumstanees
Shakespeare did not show much solicitude about the
careful publication of his dramas and the perpetuation
of bis fame as a playwright ?
Th d tl f El b th 16) ] h ir 1
th t d f j-J f ly th t tyr d fi ly
1 g Ii h t tj an t1 f b]
d 11 t d h tr tr p th
s;ht f E gl hm ti b t d m ly t th f d
gfanEIl t ptb tmtpl I
h Shak p p f -d p t tl
t h h tl tl 7 1 1 th d }
0 fKgJm htiT Itlpy
1 1 E 1 d d th mi y f 1 ) h k
par mb HMjtynt d
t lib al J p fai d t th p
f thld^tht fLd Itb
wrrt&hkp mpp dL
Flth bgfit Ad th) t i
" ni^lit CTTuty and welbeloved CmiDKllor, we greets yon ^e\i, nnd nlU anil
Diadepntenta ^^ forma folLowing. JameB, by ths gmce of Oodi King of Bng-
Inna, Scclland, FrnoDce, aod Irlaad, dedndur of thelkltfa, &c. To all Justlc^a,
Ujuorfl, 3ta«TlS^, Gunsrablea, Hendbomuglies, nad Dtbiar oar offlcei'e mid luving
spears, BCchai'd Burbage, Augustine PbiEllppe^, John iTeunilagB, Jleai'ie Coa-
,1 Google
Ixsx MEMOIKS OF
we co\ilil be]ie^'c in tlie autlicntioity of a letter profess-
ing to be uTitteQ by the poet Daniel to Sir Thomas
Egerton, and ivhich Mr. Collier brought to light in
1835,* Shakespeare applied for the office of Master of
the Queen's Revels, which, through Sir Thomas Egerton's
influence, waa given to Daniel. The genuineness of
this letter, ia which the allusion to Shakespeare is alight
and incidental, has been disputed on purely palEeograph-
ical grounds ; hiit it may also be qnestioned whether
Shakespeare would have applied at this time for such aa
office as that of Master of the Queen's Revels, which
would have occupied much of his time and attention;
for he was now at the height of his reputation, and
was gathering a profit from his professional labors for
the loss of which the position of Master of the Queen's
Revels would not have been a recompense. If indeed he
did apply for it, the world has reason to be thankfid at
doll, WniiBiH Sly, Kobf
It Jtoijn, KicbBrd Oowlys,
and the
restofthalr
dats,'
rnouJty
oCplayln
BCoinsdtos,]
dies, !
[Ii«t[>riE«, Buterll
Ides, HotallB, PMBfl^lB, Sti
ogx plaiB,
sUlBttheihn™,
already studied or liei
reafter
, or Hindis B
r loTlug sntjwtg, es 1
lid »l».sil.o.
KB ah.
lU tbinlie good ti
ir plGBsnre. Ai
dJffl,a
■mgedlM, Ulnor
lei, Enttrliidci, Moralla, PaFtoralls.
JUG. to nhaw ft msrclBB pnlillauelj lo
tielr
inwliifo. "lie
o,.ctthepl«guo
HliaU dMreSHS, aa we]
tSis Globe, -wiUiii
iilMls-orotliEr
CnvEniBntplaCM-wil
hin III
BUtertiE,
U,«aB,orl«rcmgh«
hatlKii.
imlDlous. WilU.
of jou, na yoi
derofl
dIt to permit BDd i
fliroi heerin, withonl
«■ «.ld pi.
eaan™, bnl b
Jing or D«MI,iQ
: to tliem, 3* any «■
rong I
le to them oBerei. A
I tlieni Biicb £)rm>
,rcDurt«riei,ul.Bthi
giTento
men of their
what further KiToar)
■ousha
.Uil««-t..
tbeHsonrBBr
ir Bske, WQ f luill
talis hfiiillf St 7onT]
lands.
And tho
mm and disohai^ ii
Given nnde
agnel
snthdftjr
DfBIajtD thi
jereo
f our raljpia of England, Ecsuce, hbA
Iivlai
id, & of ScDilund Ihe
,1 Google
Wri,T.IAM SHAKESPEARE. Ixxxi
his disappointnient. For it is to tlie first ten jears
of the seventeenth, century that we owe the great
tragedies, TroUits and Oressida, Othello, King Lear,
Timon of Athens, Macbeth, Jidius Gwsar, Antony and
Oleopatra, and Coriolanua, with Cymheline, AlUs Well
thatHnds Well,^easur6foi Mhasuie and Shakeapeiie s
part in Fenclpt and The Tammg of ihi, &hre a of
wliich all hut PiTichs and The Tniniig of the Shew
were quite surelj writ en after 1603
la that lear Ben Jonsons Sejanus was pioduced at
the Black friaxa and the author of SamlH might have
been seen playing a bubordinate pait m it But about
this time he appears to have retired from the stage
where as we have seen he had gained but liftle dis
tinction at much Baciifice of fpelin^, and to hi\e cun
fined bis labors for tip tteitre to the moie congenial
occupation of play wiitmg Chettle it is tiue Ba^3
that Shakespeaie was excellent m tl e quality he pro
fe^sed but m that commendation quality mi; leftr
to play writing as well as to pliy ictm^ and mijhap
it refers with some vag icness to both \ccoidiii^ to
some contemporary veises of Davies (m The & Dupe
of Fdltf) which tave been pieiiously mentioned
Shakespeare played kmgh pH-ts and m so doing of
tended his new master and maned his fortunes The
veises are not clear as the reader will see
" To 0111 English Tetmce, Mi. ^^U Shalespeare.
" Some say, good Will, which I in sport do sijig,
Had'st thou not plaid some kingly parts in sport,
Thou had'st bin a companion for a king.
And beene a king among the meaner sort.
" Some others raile ; but raile as they thinke fit.
Thou hast no rayling, but a raigning wit:
And honesty thou sow'st, which they do reape,
e their stocke, which they do keepe."
/
,1 Google
Ixxsii MEMOIRS OP
It caimot be that Shakespeare in playing kiiiglj" parts
ventured to take off " God'a vicegerent npQu earth."
The temptation to do so must have been great ; but he
was too prudent to indulge in sport so expensive and so
dangerous. It is difficult to see how the mere deco-
rous pevlormance of kingly parts could have offended
James ; and yet we must remember that he was as
petty and capricious as he was tyrannical.* There is a
story which was first printed in Lintot'a edition of
Shakespeai'e's Poems, published in 1710, that King
James wrote with his own hand an amicable letter to
Shakespeare, which was once in the hands of I>avenaut,
as a creditable person then living could testify ; and
conjecture, ever ready, has made Mache.fh's prophetic
vision of Itings the occasion of the compliment. It
is well to have a more credible person than Dave-
nant to corroborate such a story ; and Oldys, in a
manuscript note to his copy of Fuller's WoHkies, says
that the Duke of Buckingham told Lintot that he had
seen this letter in Davenant's possession. If Oldj's
meant the last Duke of Buckingham, which is possi-
ble, he added not much to our security for the mere
existence ot such a letter , but if he meant the first Duke
of Buckmghamshne, which is also possible, we can
the more readily belie've that Da.'venant pioduced such a
letter as that m q^uestion, although eien then ne lick
impudently [n mMUnffo with liim [in naye of taxsoion) h) wliomi' thaj
and havLi in miuiner then ■MJ being." In this grovelling and bloit
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEAIIE. Ixsxiii
t f t J 1 ft D
tip pbl tliyfiijtojbt
8hkp 1 h ismpbbl
hai th h 1 pi SI k p ) 1 n
p J It a. h d f till 1 t th ht th
t 3 d t tl ff th tQ El b th h
tthtltr nigh Shkp w]l)
IB ku^, b d t 1 h 1 tl t H
llttnth lit btwt tlliart
1 t h h th im t t aJ
I t n f m I h t ght th
U ia>dl ddippdhgl
Slkpai d Ijpkdtp Ifllin
th } I Tirg hddtth ddig h tt
th liii t p h wh h h J t d 1 g
i ptlj d il tl t tl m d to h 1 g to
\ d tl 1 b t h h set b J
Yet stoop we to take up our cousin's glove."
The Queen it is said wa^ higl Ij pleased and co npb
mented hiii wport his idroitnesa ind hi3 comt s\ In
ju Ig ng the credibility of this itory it should be le
membeied that in Shakespeare s time the most distm
(flushed pait ot the audience went upon the stage
during the peribrmanoe in what must h^\e been a ■\cry
conlusmg manner but the anecdote ii plainlj one made
to meet the craving for personal details of Shakespe re s
hfe In iddition to its mheient improbability Shake
speare well kne v whit the a ithor of the verses seem^
not to have known — that kings cannot go on embassies
Empty compliment and his share of piyment to the
company for services rendei'ed seem to hi^e been all
the benefit that Shakespeare obtained fton roj'J fa or
There is not the least reason for hel eving th t ther
the strong-minded woman or the ^^■c In dei n n
,1 Google
Isssiv MEMOIRS OF
whose reigns he flourished recognized his superioritj
by special distinction or suhstantial reward,*
• Mr. Peler Cnnninjbam'B Extracts
Veota.
[No-.Mleoi.]
ThoSi
API»;
indny ffoUowlDge,
K)4.J
On at
tlie 1U
Blivana night fH
arMaenr. [Deo.
aeiii, leot]
QfErroi-9. [Deo. 23tll, H
Biiio
Ls,!.™.
dayaPlnyofLo^
rsLoBt. [1605.]
.«
On tliB 7 of Jannary was
the play of Hmrj the
m. [1G05.]
pbyrf
tl,8 M,
«VKundaj A pin; .
ircbautorYenH,
J«h. 1606.]
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESTEARE. Ixxxv
On the 5th f T me, 1607, Susanna Shakespeare, who
was her fithLi s favorite daughter, and who seems to
have been a snpeiior woman ^las manied to Di John
Hall a phjsii-iin of ^ood lepute in liis countj On
the 31st of Uecembei ot the t.ame yeai, Edmund
Shakespeoie v/\s bur ed m the paiisii of St Savioui s
faouth vark He was a player of no diatuiction who
piDbahly had followed his hiothei to Londoi aid ob
tamed a pUce m the BlacI li ais companj bj his m
The mduceiients pie'-cnted to Shokespcaie by his
Puiitan townsman Stutley a& eatly as the jeai 169" to
the purchase of titkes in his native place w eie iiisufii
citnt at the time or he had not the needful monej at
hand fn he then acquired no interest in them But
he Beoms to hue entertained the pi ject fnoiahlj and
to 1 a\e formed the design of making an m\e tment of
this kmd , for m IfOS he bought the moietj of a lea-^e,
granted in 1544, of all the tithes of Stratford, Old Strat-
ford, Bishopton, and Welcombe ; for which he paid down
in cash £440. This is the most important pm-chase he
is known to have made. The consideiafion was equal
to between eleven and twelve thousand dollars of our
money.
The natural desire of transmitting an honorable name
and a fair estate to descendants seems to have been strong
in Shakespeare, and hia hopes, sadly disappointed by
the early death of his only son, must have been a little
dashed again by the event which made him fii'st a
grandfather — the birth, in February, I60J, of a daugh-
ter to his daughter Susanna, the wife of Dr. Hall. She
brought her husband no other children. In September
following Mary Arden died, having survived her hus-
band seven years. Shakespeare's mother must have
been about seventy years old at her duath, probably
,1 Google
Ixxxvi JIEMOIILS OF
in the old home in Henley 'street to \hich ihe had
gone fifty itars hefore as John Shakespeaii s \iite ind
where the &un was bom to nhom =he doubtlesi oned
hei undistuihed residence in thit hou^e of hope and of
sad and ti,ndei memones ^ e do not know that he n as
present ■it her funeril , and he seems to ha^e set up no
stone to tell us where she oi his fithei Idj But the
same is true with regard to his son Hjmnet and it I'l
reasooible to luppo'se that his own deith presented the
completion of designs fot i tomb lor the tamilj Ihe
ue-s.tmonth October of this same j ear 1C08, iffoidsus,
though m the most ioimii and un^atistactoi) mannci oua
nearest appro j.imii,ion to a lecoid of i social gatheimg
at which he was present On the 16th he was sponsoi
at the baptism ot the son of Henry W alker, in alder-
man of Stiatfoid The boy was c^ed after hi" ^od
fithei i\ho lemembeied hun m his ■will bj a legacy
of ss s m |,old So that, aftei all as Shake^peaie a
mothei s funeral took place on tbe btb. ot the picviou?
moath we maj be pictty '■uie that he peifiimed for
hei the last ofhces and that he Taa remimmg at Str^t
ford m temporarj and much coveted sechisioa when he
was asked to be Williim Wilkti s godfathci
He had produced his gieat tiigtdj King Lear the
most woadious woik of human genius, in iiiOS when
he was ioity jeais old Oi this drama tht booksellei
obtuned a copy iii 1608 and m that jeai published
thiee editions of it the high leputation of its author,
as well as the pubhe admiration of this poitioulu woik
having been shoivn not onlj by the unusual demand
which the booltiellei wis called upon to supply but hv
the means which thi. kttei tcok to mike it cleii thit
this -was 'Ml "W 11 iin "ihakespcuo /is fiii; di ot
Eing Lear *
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■WIIJ.IAM SHAKESPEAHE. Isxsvii
Toi T.n'i.iouB 53 J': who aie coiiccined upon the siili-
ject of biiakespeiie s tases, there is a comfortable
memoiandum pieseived at Dulwich CoEege, which pro-
lesses to give the names of ill those «lio m ipnl, 1G09,
were lated and assessed for a weeklj piimeat to^nard
the relief of the pool of the Clmk Libeity iii South-
wark Among fiity -(even names lie tiioee of Philip
Hen^low, Edwaid Alleyn, and Mr Shakespeare, who
are each assessed weekly &tvjd But alas ' this mval
nable evideuce also is impea h d j dj dg
ing from the fac-simile of it 1 h h h | hi h d
it is certainly but a clumsy, d 1 u
tatiirn of 17th century writi) g B f th I h
is recompense in the authenti j f t d by
which we know tiat in Aug tl68Shkp d
John Addenbroke of Stratf dgt jdg tf£6
and £1 4s. coats, and that. Add b k b g tu d
non est invenUis, Shakesp d h b 1 Th
Hornby, the proceedings I t ng 1 Jnn 1C09
Four years before, Shakesp h d 1 Ph 1 p
Rogers in the Stratford Comt fR df £1 IS lOd
He had sold Rogers malt to the value of £1 19e. lOd.,
and had lent him 28., of wHcU the debtor had paid hut
6s. And so Shakespeare brought suit for what is called
in trade the balance of the account, which represented
about ^40 of our money. These stories grate- upon our
feelings ivith a discord as much harsher than that which
disturbs us when we hear of Addison suing poor Steele
for £100, as Shakespeare lives in our hearts the lovelier
as well as the greater man than Addison. But Addi-
son's case was aggravated by the fact that the debtor
was his long-time friend and fellow- laborer. Debts are
to be paid, and rogues who can pay and will not pay
must be made to pay ; but the pursuit of an impover-
ished man. fur tlie siike of imprisoning him and depriv-
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bsxviii MEJIOIES OF
ing him both of the power of paying his debt and
supporting himself and hii family, is an incident in.
Shakespeare's life which it requires the utmost allow-
ance aal consideration for the practice of the time aad
country to euahle us to contemplate with equanimity —
The biographer of Shakei-peare must record these
facts, because the literary antiquaries have unearthed,
produced, and pitilessly printed them as new particulars
of the life of Shakespeare. We hunger, and we receive
these husks ; we open our mouths for food, and we break
our teeth against these stones. What have these law-
papers, in the involved verbiage of which dead quarrels
lie embalmed, in hideous and grotesque semblance of
their living stapes, theii' life-blood dried that lent them
all their little dignity, their action, and their glow, ex-
haling only a faint and sickly odor of the venom that
has kept them from decay, — what have these to do with
the life of him whom his friends delighted to call sweet
and n d b n
d to Th p h b n
b qudnd guddrh
hh unmh b gh
3 (and ever successful) Mr. Collier produced
s at Bridgewater House a memoran-
dum which professes to state the value of Shakespeare's
property in the Black -friars. The reader will remember
the fiTjitless opposition of the Lord Mayor and Alder-
men of London to the establishment of this theatre.
Neither their animosity nor their efforts ceased witli
,1 Google
"WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Issxis
their firsL failure. They neglected no opportunity, no
means, to attain their end. Finally, in 1608, Sii- Henry
Montagu, the then Attorney- General, gave an opinion
that the jurisdiction of the corporation of London ex-
tended oyer the Liberty of the Black-fiiars, and there was
another attempt to dislodge Richard Burbadge, William
Shakespeare, and their fellows. Either through lack of
title or of influence, it was in vain. The players could
not be ousted. Then, if we could accept the evidence
of Mr. Collier's document, tlie Mayor and Aldermen
thought of bu)'ing out the men whom they could not
turn out, and had an estimate made of the value of the
Black-friars theatrical property, which proved to he Ln
thebulk worth £7000, of which sum Sliakeapeare's shares
and wai'drobe propertj' absorbed £1433 63. 8(7. Ac-
cording to this memorandum Shaltespeare's income from
his four shares was £133 6s. 8rf. ; the rent of a ward-
robe and properties set doivn as worth £500 could not
have been less than £50 ; which makes the Black-friars
income £183 Gs. 8d. Eeckoninga like return from the
Globe, we have £366 13s. id. ; and remembering that
Shakespeaie had other property, and also a productive
pen, Mr. Collier, whose calculation thb is, certainly
rather underrates than oveirates his income at £400 —
equal at least to $10,000 now — yeaily Biit, alas ! this
pipei, like so man} otheis brought to bght by the same
hand, and lilte the professed Southampton letter which
leftiB to the same cucumstancea, h'i'! been pronounced
spurious bj high, though peihiips not inlalhble, author-
ity ^ ^et the contlusionf, baaed upon it ai'e sustained
,1 Google
xc MEMOIRS OF
by a letter of unquestioned authenticity In the Staf«
Paper Office at London. Mr. John Chamberlain, writ-
■operUee-j
Mnio HB his Mio»efl Enrtidge nnd PlMcli
e>sd
"' '""'J
933 li 65 ai
JoBeph TajIoT oneeliara and nn lialfe
lonins one saare and an holfe
fonre mora playerfs «itl, one b..lfe ahore ui
iWecliel ^j^gj. jj^^
*<„„,.
tcali. 0166. 13. 4.
™v^, ll,« hirsd men ot .he 0™pan;e dmau
ponce tor Uioic gif ate loaeo ™d Uio Widgwsa
ai.d Or-
s of playorsi wlio are pnide by the Sliarei'3 a
tdiuere^ 7000 11"
andCIUBepsaltheleBBt
J
H ftomthsBameapui™,
t^ses til be A dranght or abridged liaiiBcrlpt of a wumiit, oppolnting BolieTt
DalboTDe, William SbukeBpeace and othsn liutcactoTBuf tl»C1indivnortba
Queen's Kev^^l^- Bai asirla ftom tha palfeograplrrc condemnnffon of the peper,
He ODDt^nts hnve been idiown by Nr. Halllvf4^1l (lb b!fi ^^frffu-f^to i^jSAa^r«ap«arf-
an Crttij^Hj p. 22) to be enth'ely iDODngmoiis with tbe olrcnmBtancea nndep
" Bight trnsty and velbelored, £0., Jamee, Ac, To an Mayori, ^arlE^ Jns-
plea.^nre and racreatlon nppolated her eervannts Itolierl Balbm'iia, £c. to pro-
vMd iuid bilng npp a convenient noniber at children, irho ehnll h« culled the
Children of her MajoBtJeBKerells, linowe ye tbat we haToappolntea and anttior-
l!Bd, and by these prasBnts dtw appoint and Bnthorbie the Bald Robert Dai-
borne, Tf IlllEim ShaJffispoai-e, Nalhnpiol Sield, and Bdxard Kirkhain, from tiniB
to lime to provide and bring npp a convenient noinher of children, sad them
to Iniftmct and exer^se in tho qnaUtj of playing Tragedies, Comodlea. Ac, by
the nameof Uie Children of the Bevolbi i^o the ftusene, witbln tba Hhickfrymi,
we will and rommand yon, ond everlB of you, to permit!^ ber Mid esrvannta ta
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xci
Lug to Sir Dudley Carleton at the Hague in 1619, men-
tions that the death of the Gueen hinders the players
from the exercbe of their calling, and adds, " One speciale
man. among them, Burbadge, is lately dead, and hath
left, they say, better than £300 land," Now, if Bur-
badge, ivho was but an actor, could acquire landed prop-
erty to the value of £300 yearly, surely Shakespeare
might well receive £100 more from all his sources
of income. A chancerj' suit upon which Shakespeare
was obliged to enter, apparently in 1612, for the pro-
tection of his interests in the tithes of Stratford and
knepe a couTealant numbDr of clifldreo, b; ths nnme of llie Cblldwa of tlie
Ketalls 10 tbe Queens, ond Uiein tooieFCisofn thequallUeof plttjlngaceoreiog
lo her rojil ploasure. PtoTlcled nlKsIee. fhal iiii pbtyes, So. shnIL bo bj them
Bl Vt ana globf
Wh Ft and pnriah
' and padah garden I ,„ . ,
I here ramarlt npon n hltberto ;
OoUlBT. It ii-lllbaab«srred tbat
idw2," AocoFdlngta the Eic-iilmlle mailebf aflKHlDilltsC of b
andon, tfaJa UbE Is la a single Itne, and bocnepn the title of tbe I
e word "Snyed'Mbere laablBnlc gphce abant two IHDhea wi
,e mpj of tbit papet given In Mr. CDlller^ Lib nf ghakenpo
'■K. BHii £"18 followed b^ tbe name of another play, " Mbrot
the duciiinaut ilBelf u !t appwrs Id tba DildganBlec MSS. t Ft
loiitbunpton latter above referred ti
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xcii aiEJIOIRS OF
neighboring paristea, shows us that his receipts from
that quBrtei- were £60 (aow full ^1500) yearly.* To
finish all that need be said about meie buaiuess transac-
tions, in March, 161f, Shakespeare, in connection with
" WUiiam Johnson citizein and ■vintner of London and
John Jackson and John Hemynge gentlemen " purchased
fi-om " Hem y Walker citizein andminstrell" a house and
tHe land attached, not in from the Black fiiaia theatre;
paying foi it £140, of which £G0 were left on bond and
moitga^e Mi Collier has reisonihl} conjpctuied that
Shakespeaie joined m this puichase to sene his fellow-
actor, Heminge , ind that Heminge and the two other
pui[,hdSi_ia not heini» able to dischaige the. amount
which he hod paid and assu.me the moitgoge, the prop-
erty fell to him The
deed of con^eyince has
■* peculiar inteicst as
beaimg one of the tour
certainly autlientic "sig-
natuics of Sbikespcare
It IS now piesriicd m
the libiaiyof the citi of
London, at Guildhall.
Shakespeare had been about eighteen years in Lon-
don, and with the approach of his fortieth year was
jd Lnn,lM, BDd of ell snmll nnd privy [jlbej, oblncii
r Iricrerudiig iu Old Stritfbrd, EieliDj;toa, and We]i>
M ot Stnitlbn], or nilLiJi tho nboll pnrieho of Stnil
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, sciii
attmimg the hti^tt of h imputation iihtn i club
visi established theie, which owes a wide celebrity mil
peipetual fame chiefly to him, dlthough there la no
evidence that he was one of its memheis It i^as
founded hj fan \^ alter Kolei^h, and met at the Mer-
mud — a f^ioiite tiiern in Biead Street Htre Ka-
leigh himself Jonaon, Beaumont, 1 letUier, Selden, Col-
ton Caiew, Donne, and others their chosen companions
met for social and convivial enjojment, and that they
did not admit Will Shakespeare of their cre«, who can
believe * 1 et our confidence that he sat with them
lound that board which Beaumont cckbiatts in his well-
known lines,* can onlj rest upon the moial impossi-
bility that he should have been absent Theie all
students of the literature and manneis of those days
ha^e reiionabij a^eed in placing the scene of the «it
combats betwpen &hakespeare and Jonson, the tame of
which had reached Ftdlei a time, and caused hira to
imagine the encounter of the tno like that between a
Spanish great g lUeon and an English man of war , Jon-
eon, like the foimei, built far highei in learning, and
Hohd but slow in his pertormances Shakespeaie, like
the latter, less m bulk, but lighter in movement, turning
and tacking nmibly, and taking everj advantage bj the
Of hi! dull life ; Iben when Ibsro hat!
Wit able BODugh to inaiiSy the lown
Tor tbree da;B past, wit that nilgbt m
Sar the wliDle dtf to talk tbollidilT
Till that were cancell'd, apd, whaii tlu
Wa lafl an a<r behind us nlilcb algne
Bbahl witty, Ihougli but duituilsbt fm
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xciv MEMOIES or
quickness of his ■« it and invention Tliis, however, is
only Fuller s iimgination W i have no testimony as to
the quabty or the style oi wit e\hibited hy either ot
these ledoubted combatauta ind all the pietended
specimens of their colloquial jests *nd lepartees that
have reached us are so pitiablj tame and forced thai
they are plainly foolish fahncdtious
Of Stikespenre s social lite duimg his long lesidence
in London w e have not even a tradition "Vt e can loini
an idea of it only upon surmise. But at twenty-eight
years of age he had won the respect of men very far
above him in social position ; and we may reasonably
believe that his intercourse with people of the higher
classes was not confined to casual meetings at the thea-
tre and at taverns. Men of his personal qualities, rating
him only at contemporary estimation, are too rare not to
be welcomed in any society, unless there are special rea-
sons for their exclusion. The very observable change in
his representations of female character after the produc-
t f h I t pi y h Id I b tl
t 1 It f as t h f h b
1 1 1 t f
t ail t St t! d
b- Th m J 11
h h 1 k d tt
1 It t!
th t
f th f
hi y
tl
dl
1
d t
I
t d
ppr tl
d th in
f
t 1
f
tt
t b t
h
<^
d f
1
t
h
It)
d t! bam
f
y
T
dt
til
th t
h
wker
h
1 ft h
f
1 hi
h
b
Th
t
h
ar f
11)
Id b
Ikl
tal
ty
f hi
wf
ft
,1 Google
WILLIA"\I SHAKESPEARE. SCV
at th(! Crown Tavern, which iws kppt hi John Dav-
enaiit, a gi^ve and melancholy citizen who had to wife
a beautiful and ehdrming woman Sir William Dav-
enant, who i\h3 born m icbiuarj, 160|f, was her son ;
and Shakespeare, it la said, wis his godfather And the
story goes that one day an old townsman, seeing Will
running homeward in great haste " to see his godfather
Shakespeare," toid him to be careful lest he tciok God's
name ia vain. This may all be true ; but a story essen-
tially the same ia not uncommon in yery old jest books.
Indeed the humorous quibble ia so apparent and so
inviting, that if the tale is not as old as the custom of
having fathers, it is only because it cannot be older than
that of having godfathers. Now Sir "WOliam Davenant
gave countenance to this report of his origin ; but what
credit shall be given to the testimony of a man who
would welcome an aspersion npon his mother's reputa-
tion for the sake of being believed to write, by in-
heritance, " with the very spirit of Shakespeare," as
he said he thought he did. Davenant was morally a
poor creature, and in this he only did his kind.
Another story is also told of Shakespeare's fortunes
with the sex. Having been long cmrent as a tradition,
it was afterwards found recorded in Manningham's diai'y
among the Ashmolean MSS., under the date March
13th, 1601. It is, that a woman, "a citizen," seeing
Richard Burbadge, the great actor of the day, play
Richard III., was so carried away by her admiration that
she asked him to visit her after the play — an invitation
to supper from ladies to favorite actors being then not un-
common. Shakespeare overheard the appointment, (the
custom of admitting spectators upon the stage during
the performance must again be remembered,) and, resolv-
ing to supplant his friend, went to the rendezvous before
mself as the crook-backed tyrant,
,1 Google
scvi MEMOIRS OF
and was as successful as his own hero in winning female
favor lioder adverse circumstances. Biirbadge arrived
soon after, and sending word that Richard III. was
at the door, received for answer, from a eource as to
which he could have had no douht, that " William tlie
Conqueror was before Richard III." But it was not by
adventures of this kind that a soul like Shakespeare's
could be satisfied ; nor could it have been under the
influence of women of this sort that with the advance
of years the striking change above mentioned took place
in tlie traits of his female characters.
We are as ignorant, upon direct evidence, of the exact
date at which Shakespeare at last withdrew from London
to live dt ease in Stratford, as we are of that at which he
fled from Stratford to enter upon a life of irksome toil
m London But all cu'cnmstances which bear upon this
question pomt to some time between 1610 and 1613.
He retued iiom active life a wealthier man than he
could reasonably have hoped to become when he en-
tered it He had achieved a fame and attained a social
standmg which must have been very far beyond his
c\pectations , and he hid won the favor and enjoyed
the Bocicti of men of hij,h rank and great public dis-
tincbon but yet eien to William Shakespeare, with
his surpissing genius, his worldly wisdom, his pi-udence
and his thrift, all culminating in a success which made
him the maik of en\j at the end, as he had been at the
beginning of his caieer * life was unsatisfying. He
returned to Stratioid a disappointed man.
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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. xcvii
Tl ir t 1 1 1 t 1 t f ily t tl
hldinb tt bhbf h fg
gijr t d bj tl 1 f tl ly b hia if h 1
b gbt hi H h d t b b t
hthppttgly hf dtbtb
th d ge tl mm t b 1 m Ij H d ht t
b m d t b I t fittei f 1
h h tl y 1 1 th b b gtt w
b) f tb p t t b b tb ir f tb b J d
1 IfH tb m dtblte 1ft
mpl ill g f Ik d b n 1 h If t pi
dij, tj~ Iplpbtjt mjb
ttltpgdtbt f gbih
ffl y t t tb q il Bjid OT
dtibti fm dpptt It b
b witb b tt f 1 tb t b 1 d PI
f b ! I f b th h d f f Ij kg
a th try f E 1 d
R w y th t tb 1 tt piit f b 1 f 1 t
who ap^okfif l3 a IiLghnayman nboLuLB paii] Bams BtroUerB40s. forplajlpg be-
inrs hijn, and attervsaa robbed Omm of Iholr fee. the nutlior wss probubly
thyself to p]qy his parts 7 my CDUoolt fa BuCh of lliee, th&t I dutst aLJ the muoey
ia my purse on thy liead to plnj Hamlet with him tor a "agar. There Ihou
ghgU leoroe to be friignl (liir players nere never so thrifty as they atq Don aboitl
LoDdon), aud to (iMd apon ail men ', to let none feed upon th?e ; to mnfce th;
hand a stmnger to thy pockol, thy heart slow to peiform Ihj loogue's promise ;
and nbeo tbouteelest tb; pncae nell Ihied, buy thee some place orloTlah^ptn
tbooonnlrj; tbnt, gro"ing weary of ptayins, thy money may there liringUiBB
lo dignity and repntatlon i then thon needesl caro for no mna ; do, not (Br
tbeui that befcre made thee pcond «ith epenting Ihelr [thy] words on the
stage. Sir, I thaixiL you (quoth tho player) tor this good council : 1 prouilae
you I will uiahe Dse of it^ fori have heard, Indeed, of some that have geoeio
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xcviii MEMOIRS OF
a* all men of good sense 1^ 11 «ish tl e is ma-v 1 e m
ea^is ictiicKici t and the conieisiton (i e the socie i
the interconrse) of his fiiends He adds that his
pleaauxahle wit and good nature engiged him in the
afquaintance and entitled h m to the friendship of the
gentlemen of the neig] hoihood And Jlr Fullom
tells us that the Lucjs have lately difco^eiel thit his
qiiirel with, their fimilj was made up and that he
lived on pleasant terms with Sii Thom'^s the son of hia
ancient enemy But this story thoug;h not lery im
prohable leits on ■vague and nntrustw orthv eMdence
Ihe veiy profession which had brought Shikespeaie his
wealth and his eminence although it might have given
him a cert m success in London would have opeiated
agamat him as a letiied gentleman in a ruril conmu
uity BO tinged with Puritanism as that m and abo it
Strattoid Agam I remjrk that it is to th s p eju
d ce and to Shakespeare a desire to stand w th the
world as a gentleman of substance and charactei and
not as ar ^ctor and playwright that we must attribute
1 13 net,lect of his diamas after they had dischai^ed
their double function of fllbng his pockets and giving
his braiit employment and his soul expiession Indif
ference to the hteraiy fate of their woiks was common
among the plajwtights of that ^,a^ but to this custom
was added in Shakespeare s case a motive The Rev
erend John W aid, who was made Vicar of &tratford m
1 662 recoids a tradition that &hakespeaie in his retne
ment supplied the stage with two plays every year, and
lived at the rate of £1000. This is quite surely but a
gross exaggeration of the facts, both as to the rate of
his expenditure and the amount of his dramatic labor.
We have seen that his income was about £400, though
it was rather over than under that then handsome sum ;
and only three of his plays, The Tempesl, The Winter's
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEAllE. xcix
Tale, and Henry the Eighth, were produced after hia
retirement to Stratford. The last of these waa brought
out at the Globe Theatre, as a spectacle piece, on the
29th. of June, 1613; and during its performance the
theatre took, fire from tbe dbcharge of the chambers
during one of the pageants, and was burned to the
groimd.* It is an interesting coincidence that the first
performance of tJie last play that came from Shake-
speare's pen was the occasion of the destruction of that
" wooden 0 " in which he had won so many of his im-
perishable laurels.
Shakespeare b said to have put his poetical powers to
use during his later Stratford years in writing epitaphs
for friends and neighbors. Such an employment of his
pen would be natural. The following verses upon the
tomb of Sir Thomas Stanley in Tonge Church are at-
tributed to him by Dugdale in his History of Warwick-
shire. It is possible that he wrote epitaphs no better.
" Written upon the east end of the Tomh.
"Ask who lies here, but do not weep ;
He is not dead, he doth but sleep.
This stony register is for his bones ;
His fame is more perpetual than these stones :
And his own goodness, with himself being gone.
Shall live when earthly monument is none.
" Written on the west end thereof.
" Not monumental stone preserves oui fame.
Nor sky-aspiring pyramids our name.
The memory of him for whom this stands
Shall out-live marble and defacers' hands.
When all to time's consumption shall be given,
Stanley, for whom this stands, shall stand in heaven."
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C MEMOIRS OF
Rowe tells us of a tradition that John a Combe, of
whose resilience and liabits something has been said in
the earlier part of these Memoirs, told Shakespeare
langhinglj' at a sociable gathering that he fancied he
meant to ivrite his epitaph if he happened to outlive
him, and begged the poet to perfonn his task imme-
diately. Upon which Shakespeare gave him these now
well-known verses: —
" Ten in the hundred lies here hi-grav'd ;
'Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not sav'd :
If any man ask, "Who lies in this tomb ?
Oh ho, quoth the Devil, 'tis my John a Combe."
Much the same story had reached Aubrey's ears, and
was of course duly recorded. But according to Aubrey
the epitaph was written at a tavern on occasion of tlie
funeral of its subject, and was in these words : —
" Ten in tlie hundred the Devil allows,
But Combe will have twelve, he swears and he vows.
If any one ask. Who lies in this tomb ?
Ho ! quoth the Devil, 'tis my John a Combe."
Rowe says that the sharpness of the satire so stung the
man that he never forgave it. This, at least, is untrue,
Shakespeare and bis wealthier neighbor of Stratford
College were good friends to the end of the latter's life.
John a Combe's will is extant, and in it Shakespeare is
remembered by a bequest of five pounds, and Shake-
speare himself left his sword to Thomas, John a Combe's
nephew. It must be remembered that in those times
all interest was called usury, i. e. money paid for the tise
of money, and John a Combe's will Is that of a man of
true benevolence and mindful friendship. He forgives
debts, makes wide and generous provision for the poor.
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, ci
and remembers with much, particulaiity a large circle of
friends among the knights, esquires, and gentlemen of
hia neighhorhood.* This jest, turning upon ten in the
hundred, (the usual interest at that time,) and a hundred
to ten in favor of the Devil, was an old and a common
one among our forefathers ; and consequently it has been
generally supposed that this epitaph is a fabrication
which was foisted upon Shakespeare, But I am inclined
to think that he did crack this innocent joke upon his
friend, using, as he would be likely to use, an old, well-
known jest, and giving it a new turn upon the money-
lender's name. For Shakespeare was not always writ-
ing SamUt. " 'Tis my John a Combe " involves of
course the sharp punning jest, 'tis my John ha' come-t
A project for the enclosing of some common lands
lear Stratford brings Shakespeare forward in 1614 as a
nan of weight and consideration in his neighborhood.
'""
iJiiAn
a™6e,ocoMfe«<
'^«
asydt Hilling fm his epitapM.
Hough, qnoH
t^lb'.
S".„...,
Ftnii
,.»
..
rfisto
"HmerehBl
John Catube
ivedji
cpiU,ph.
idge Dot.
aJJsi-«ji
'ighUs thi
Pints. W. ShttH."
,1 Google
Cil MEMOIRS OF
It touched his interests in his own acres and in his
tithes so closely, that he said to one of the numerous
Greenes of Stratford that " ho was not ahle to bear the
I ■ f W 1 b " H' k' G 1
t 1 1 k f Sti tf d 11 te
b k th Im t th dy p h f 'ih 1 j h h
has b th lata ly h d d d t Sh 1
p t 1 II p bl t h tl t
d t t d tl t °T t b
I d W Ih m K pi gl h pp t h
b n f th tl aff ur bj whi h th 1 t
t gi tmkgod dmg whi h th i m
m J by h p p ] I Tl rp
rat n f St tt d al pp d t th m ur
0>pp / a Sh jKore.
"Vic
dte Ostobrla, anno Itomlnl 1814. Articlas of agrMraont
madB[a
or Wail
rick gcDt on
boro»i
tUs Coonly
or Warniok gflot. od tlie oUisr pBrtia, tlia Haje and ymn
'*"/i™
BigllM,
nte and agiee to and ulih the saide William ^lackaveaie
hisliFi
>aad assign
assigns
nto hLm ths
109W, .
hinderanoa u he the »ud Wlllfom Shaekeapeai-s, bis
d oos ThoniaB Greaoe sent, shall or niaye be thoualit Id
bytb«
aid William
and William and their haires, and In default of the said
Wllllan,
od i«dge th
crearfngaoflhBjenr
andTh
Mnasdoajoy
tire or Beverallie hold and eiijoj in tha Haid fleldet or aoie
oftbeiD
bjreaB,.o»f
anle incloauro or dceaye of lyllaae there ment and intended
biftba
leplliichami anrt that the said William Eepllngbam and
liishel
ahtill procure sucli sufflctcnt securillo unto the Mid wrillam Shacks-
Bpeare
nd l.[< hsirc
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. ciil
alleging tliat it would press heavily upon tte poorer
da'ises, alreaJj- distressed by a destructive fire which
took place in that town in 1613, hut which seems to
have left Shakespeare's property imtouched. In the
autumn of 1614, Thomas Greene was in London about
thia husiness ; and by one of his memorandums we know
that Shakespeare arrived there on the 16th of November
of that year, probably upon the same errand. Greene's
memorandums show that he was in constant communi-
cation with his " cosen Shakespeare" upon this subject,
and that the corpoiation counted much upon their dis-
tinguished townsman's influence in the matter * He
remained in London until after the 33d ot December in
that year; we hear of him from the same authoiit> in
the negotiations of 1615, with regard to the sime affau,
which was not settled until 1618 ; and this is the last
known contemporary record of the hfc ol the gieat
poet of all time.
His younger daughter, Judith, was man led on the 11th
of February, 161|[, to Thomas Quiney, a vintner of Strat-
ford, and son of the Thomas Quiney who m 15D8 had
asked Shakespeare to lend him £30 On the 2Dth of
the following March he executed his will, which an
erased date shows that he had intended executing on
the 25th of the preceding January ; and on the 23d of
April, 1616, William Shakespeare, of Stratfoid on
Avon, in the county of Warwick, Gentleman, died
»'l
1611.
Jovis, ■
n No. Mj Msen f
*ah»p6
)ar eoi
iiyi
ig ycBlcrdj- to '
BnfMhltn thej
0 fUrtbui
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leou]
itralghtdeavj'lr
fBrt«i
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W tbe eiold)to Ih!
■pto
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Solislii
Id Aprtll to s
BtuXiQB;
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jh^an
11 MJ Ihej IbiBl
will *.
nyng dm
le at alL"
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alBiMl 1
nil Ibe CDUipnny's h:
indB 10
U,my
1 Bhshspear the coppjes of n'
'en jBUceo wol
d bappea bj the iDC
loBure.'
,1 Google
CIV MEMOIRS OF
Of til f h d tt ly k h t "\
"l^df dhd 1 tddmhlf t>
ft th t H t &h k 1 -u D y
t dP J hd mrrmtgaidt
IkthdfSlkp ddff
th t t d W h k fi m th th ght f h
1 f &h k p lif B t 1 1 b k p
th f 1 tm d 1 ally t vi 1 h h
tsdth dtqtt fvu dt 1
th 1 k h) 11 1 Id p th t
dm t th t d f f ft f t ty m ght 1
b 1 f t f J m M h g
b h I t i h t t th
f ilj f h h t y poo th t b f
f ed and p It drink p t hq
k dwinhmgb b Itf d t
tl t 11 A I Sp tell m h
Aied t th tl t f P p th t C wl y tl
ptdd ■Ward ybhkp didbtf
p t t m I th gh p h 1 t
h pf 1 mp } H and D &p t It w d
BhifPht hdb tgth Sp
t ghb f C 1 y h { li g
tothfk fthti)dtht 1
Th J d d t t t f h U h tit
t 1 Ihdd k dithtthyl) tmth
fi 1 1 11 ht Tl s C 1 y h f th t ai d
h m if rh p 1 till t Ik f th d k D
Ad tl Ch mb 1 t f St tf d M g
tlfqthgf klg Itdb
f h h pf 1 f Ik is F Ik G U d Su-
Thomas Lucy, and even Lady Lucy, is one m 1614 for
" on quart of sack and on quart of clarett wine geven to
a preacher at the New Place," Shakespeare's oivn house.
These considerations make the alleged excess at such a
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEAliE. cv
merry meeting of poets as that Ware! tells of, a venial
sin, and the sad consequences, though uncertain, not
improbable.
ShakeRpeare'a remains were inteired the second day
after his death, the 25th of April, in Stratford clnirch,
just before the chancel rail. Above his grave, on the
north wall of the church, a monument was erected, at
what exact date we do not know ; hut it was before
1623, as it is mentionec! by Leonard Di^es in his
verses prefised to the first folio edition of Shakespeare's
plays. '" The monument sliowf a bust of the poet in the
act of writing. Upon a tdhlet below the bust is the
following inscription :
The last line of tliis inscription, and a tradition un-
heard of until Oldys wrote his notes in Langhaine, have
raised the question whether Shatespeare died on the
same day of the month on which he is supposed to have
been bora. But what matter whether he liveii a day
more or less than fifty-two full years ? He had lived iui^g
,1 Google
ovi MEMOIRS OF
tiiough His vork was done, and he liiid ti'fted, niv.
hid dniiipd, life 'I cup of bittci sweet Dugdilp telh ua
that hiM monument iias the work of Geraid Johnson, an
eminent sculptor of the peiiod, others ha\e attributed
it to Thomas Stdnfon ind experti have supposed thit
the face was iiul Ik 1 ti nil i l ist tiktn ittLi deatli
"'^^z
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. cvii
Be this as it may, fhe Tjust must be "iccepted 'ss flie
most authentic likeness that we have of Shakespeare
It was oi'iginally colored after life. The eyes weie li^ht
hazel, the hair and beard auburn, the complexion fair,
the doublet was scarlet ; the tabard, or loose gown with-
out sleeves thrown over the doublet, black ; the neck
and wristbands white ; the upper side of the cushion
green, the under, crimson ; its cord and tassels, gilt.
The colors were renewed in 17i9 ; hut in 1793 Malone,
tastelessly and ignorantly classic, had the whole figure
painted white hy a house -painter. A flat stone covers
the grave. Upon it is the following strange inscription :
A Mr. Dowdall, in an existing letter to Mr. Edward
Southwell, dated April 10th, 1692, says that these lines
were written by the poet himself a little before his death.
Dowdall plainly records a tradition which possibly may
have been weU founded. It is more probable, however,
that to prevent the removal of Shakespeare's remains to
the charnel-house of the church, when time made other
demands upon the space they occupied, in compliance
with a custom of the day and place, some member of
his family, or some friend, had this rude, hearty curse
cut upon his tomb-stone. Tradition, not traceable
,1 Google
cviii MEMOinS OF
higher than 1693, says his wife and daughters earnestly
desired to be laid in the saine grave mth him, but that
" not one for fear of the curse above said dare touch his
gvave-stone." It has had one good effect, at least. It
has kept at Stratford those relics ivhich but for it would
probably have been removed to Westminster Abbey.
Shakespeare's wife and his two daughters — Susannah,
married to Dr. Hall, and Judith, married to Thomas
Quiney — survived him. His granddaughter, Elizabeth
Hall, who also was living at the time of his death, was
twice married ; fii'st, to Thomas Nash, an esquire of
Stratford, and afterward to Mr. John Barnard of Abing-
toa in Northamptonshire, who was knighted by Charles
II. in 1661; but she had no children. Judith had three
sons, who died unmarried ; and with Lady Barnard, who
died in 1669-70, Shakespeare's family became extinct.
His property was strictly entailed upon the male issue of
his daughter Susannah, which failed to appear. The en-
tail waa broken by legal contrivance ; and soon after the
death of Lady Barnard, the estate which he had gath-
ered with so much labor and solicitude was dispersed.
New Place, which was the home of his later years, was
distinguished, in Lady Barnard's time, hy the hrief resi-
dence there of Queen Henrietta Maria, during the
troubles of the Great Revolution. Mr. and Mrs. Nash
entertaiaed the Queen there for three weeks, in June,
1643, when, escorted by Prince Rupert and his troops,
she was on her progress to join King Charles at Oxford —
an incident which would have been well pleasing to Mis-
tress Nash's grandfather. Afterward, as we have already
seen. New Place fell into the hands of Sir Hugh Clopton,
a descendant of its builder, who renovated and altered
it ; and it was finally bought by the Reverend Francis
Gastrell as his residence. He lived there several years,
much annoyed by curious pilgrims to his house and to
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. cis
luegadn tKth nib t 11
d g t tl ti 1 1 n f th t *^li k p
plint dwthh wld ThB dgt! n
w w Ithy gh to ind Ig th t y p n
lurjllti &t!th 1 tn
t by ttin^ d n th n lb J t , d ft d,
in 1759, having quarrelled with the magistrates about
assessments, he razed bis bouse to the ground, and left
the place, a petty ecclesiastic Erostratus, hooted and ex-
ecrated by the Stratford people. Thus, within less than
one hundred and fifty years of his death, all trace of
Shakespeare had disappeared from Strafford, except his
birthplace and his tomb.
This is all that we know by authentic record, by tra-
dition, and by inference of him who stands alone in the
highest niche of literary fame. But this is much. It
seems little only bee luse of his greatness. Of many men
t b h gh f n mp vith him, we know
in 1 1 m h n 1 ti d ys, when every man
mlkPpytbh wB well, we are likely
tl Ilbtfmyh upy a place only
d t h kn mil The causes of our
gn f Sh k 1 If p-vrtly the Puritanism
wl 1 d 1 p d It n th n fher country during
hi!f ndtl q tplital convulsions which
ft h d h nil ted so loug ; partly
tl f 1 1 gi 11 t t f tlie literary and
h n t h ! 1 h n th the Eestoration,
and p Idf n tlnllfa ectury, and which
• ThB wmS of this trea "tur bonglit by n mtclimaker of Stratford, who niafla
,1 Google
CS MEMOIRS OF
ca 1 I ttl b t th w k d 1 1 t th 1 f f
W 11 '^h k p p tly J 1
I h p t h t i 11 1 t d p pi
fEgll tl-Pl Iff fr pM
tj F t tl ff t f I 11 1
n th tl lilt, f th diff n ! J p Id
m pplfllg 1 t mtil with
th 1 t h di 1 h nd d nl fifty to th
pnll t dptb fjtpt
rs tifi m I g llj f 11 p hi p
ns t m d ^ -nm t W k
f ish k p L th G k k i E hjl
tl f th f th 11 t g dj f 4 t ph-ffi th
f th f th dy t tiu f tl y d 1
P hi 1 t p t Uy p d th p -il h t J
f S il 1 f lar b ty Ot M 1 h
grttd t<nlfF hdi t t
th h t q 1 g d t k bl
thttpj,fh np k tb
te Tip IhtjfShkpai git
tmi yB wllkvnbthdhnt
b hkgAttyG ISF Bn
L i V il \ t '5t Alb d L d H gh
Ck n 11 f B. gl nd M t B m ght h t
tnh E 1 dwkd thisN mO
h ppy b d b ty d th w Id m ht 1
b gl to qiur ti rydylf nlyf
hddi dthth thgrttpll^l f
n d t Of Sh k p f 11 w ft
y t m t til f hi Of B m
d FI t h b th b rn n th k f g try h
f J Ig h th f B h 1 k 1 ttle
m th th t th J t tl pi y 1 h d m tb
t fth m t Ih t f th d J Ch p
m n B t and wlthddad d ly
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. cxi
by indirect collateral evidence ; but eminent as be was,
and highly esteemed as he appears to have been, nothing
is recorded of his personal history. We are obliged to
infer the year of his birth from the record of his age
upon his portrait ; and time has left us no guide-post to
his birthplace. The minor stars of the Elizabethan gal-
axy, the Greenes, Pedes, Marlowes, Webaters, Fords, and
such liie, left hardly a trace behind them which their own
pens had not written. Ben Jonson, who lived to see all
the poets of the Elizabethan period in their graves, and to
be an object of literary and almost antiquarian interest
to a new generation and a new school, left more mate-
riab for his memoirs than any coritemporary poet. But
it is only with his later years that we are thus acquaint-
ed. Of his youth and early manhood we are not less
ignorant than we are of Shakespeare's.
Unlike Dante, unlike Milton, unlike Goethe, unlike
the great poets and tragedians of Greece and Eome,
Shakespeare left no trace upon the political, or even the
social life of his era. Of his eminent countrymen
Raleigh, Sidney, Spenser, Bacon, Cecil, Walsingham,
Coke, Camden, Hook D k H bb I ? J
Herbert of Cherbur L d
P)
Walton, Wotton, and D
m > h
as his contempoiaii d
t th
whateiei that he w p
11} k
these men, oi to a y th
f 1
statesmen, schokis, 1!
d t
eept the tew of hi f 11
anee with him has b 1
aftsm
tf
H mpl & 11
P P b 1
1 th
Shakespeaie's chaiacter, entirelj fiee fiom those irregu-
larities which are nsualb, hut umeisonahlj, legardcd as
almost th" neceiisarY concomitants ot geniui, seems to
have been of singular completentss ind ol jierfccf bal-
,1 Google
CXU MEMOIRS OF
ance. Of his transcendent mental gifta, the results of
the daily labor by which ho first earned his hread and
then made his fortune remain as eYidence ; and what else
we know of him shows him to us, in the common busi-
ness and intercourse of life, upright, prudent, self-re-
specting; a man to be respected and relied upon. An
actor at a time when actors were held in the lowest pos-
sible esteem, he won the kind regard and consideration
of those who held high rank and station : a poet, he
was not only thrifty but provident. Though careful of
his own, he was not only juat, but generous, to others.
His integrity was early noticed ; and Jonson says " he
was indeed honest, and of an open ajid free nature."
Surpassing all his rivals, after the recoil of the iirst sur-
prise he was loved by all escept the meanest souls among
them ; and such men only love themselves. ' Sweet ' and
' gentle ' are the endearing epithets which they delighted
to apply to him. In his position, to have produced this
effect upon high and low, he must have united a native
dignity to a singular kindness of heart, evenness of tem-
per, and gfacionsness of manner. His ready wit and his
cheerfulness in social intercourse are particularly men-
tioned in tradition. To these quaUtiea it is plain that
he added a sympathy that was universal — a gift which
more than any other wins the love of all mankind. And,
indeed, it is to the effect of this moral quality that we
owe the complete and multitudinons manifestation of
his intellectual greatness. The Reverend Mr. Davies,
^vritiug after 1688, says that " he died a papist." If he
became a member of the Church of Kome, it must have
been after he wrote Borneo and JaUet, in which he
speaks of " evening mass ; " for the humblest member
of that church knows that there is no mass at vespers.
The expression used by Davits implies, indeed, that
Shakespeare died in a faith in which ke had not been
,1 Google
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. csiii
educated But his report la mprob^'ble Ii the over-
much righteousness of the puritinical penod in wliich
Shakespeare s last years were pasicd a moderate degree
of cheerfulness and Christ an charity to sjy nothing of
confoimity to the Chuich of Eiglind n i^ht easily have
brought the reproach of pipistiy up n men ks3 open to
suspicion than a rotiied pUyei Shakespeare although
he Bcems to haie been a man of smceie piety, seema
also to h\¥e been w thout religious conT ctions. His
woiks ire imbued ■« th a h gh and heiitfelt apprecia-
tion of the iital tiuths ot Christianity but nowhere
does he show a leaning towards any foim. of religious
obienanco or of chuich go^einment or toward any
theological tenet or dogma No church cin cliim him ;
no simple Chnstian soul but can claim his fellowship.
Such, as this imperfect record shows, was WiEiam Shake-
speare ; a man who adorned an inferior and dignified an
equivocal station in life md who raised himself from
po erty and obsc r ty to co [ etence and honorable posi-
t on b) labors h ch havu g their n otive not in desne
of fa e b t n d t and n nanly dependence, have
placed 1 n pon an en lu ng e inence to which in after
ages sane an b t o doe ot asp re
,1 Google
^^.
,1 Google
SHAKESPEARE'S WILL.
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SHAKESPEARE'S WILL.
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SHAKESPEABE'S WILL. cxvii
S^'3SS|jr.-«-4fc-||.a-s-s.9!!tJ5 ii
llllll-il'iallillijsi-f Ii
s-IKIi^srs^c-IJiii^i In
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ll--||^||j.||«||5i|;i|s III
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SHAKESPEAllE'S WILL.
E.||«S|
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mill i sill!- tills
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^g-a-SSMH
,1 Google
SHAKESPEARE'S WILL.
iii
1=4
-Us'
jM Skip
,1 Google
,1 Google
CHKOSOLOGICAL TABLE
OF SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS.
[The appearance of the title of a play between brackets indicates
the first form of a play afterward rewritten,]
Teuns and Adonis,
The PasaioBatt Klgrim,
[Pari I.of the Confsntion.i^.h'i
(The 3Yae Tragedy, ifo.J, I
The Two Gentlemen of Veronit,
Khig Henry theSixth.Fartl., -i
" « Partll,,
Sonnets,
[Romeo utu2 JaKet (.')],
KloJiard the T!ih^,
[AlVe WsU iluU Ends ffeiQ,
A MJdenmniei>-N^ht'B Dream,
The Merchat
Kichnrd the Second,
Romeo and Juliet,
KJogH
ty the Fonrth, Part I.,
" Psrtn.
{Troilmi and Creistdal),
[Tlie Merry Wives iff Wlrtdeor],
Much Ado Bbout tfothtng,
Twelftli Night,
Henry the Fifth,
\b Ton Like It,
Una
ramtag of the Shre'
1381-0,
169S,fl
lS84-«,
1609, 11
■1692,
IW-B,
(16M,
L Mer
15B3-B,
1698, a
1689,
1S98, J
lOeMO,
1698!:
16B0-91
fi6ai.fi
jieaa,:
15M?-16ft
?,]ii09;ii
ISW, '
1B94,:
WM, '
1533
1588,'
jsmIj,
1598,1
MM,
1697, fl
1506,
1598,
1596,
1598, fi
1598,8
1697-8,
1602!fS
1598-9,
1000,
J539,
1801,1
1599,
1600,
1699,
1600,
lOOD,
first quarto
>)
1598.
min.
Meres'B Pa!
Merea|fl "
first ft>!io.
first quarto,
first quarto.
Mnnningham'a
first qnarlo.
,1 Google
cxxii TABLE or
SHAKESPEARE'S WORKS.
PertotPB,
looa.
609, flrst quBrto.
The Merry Wives of WlaflBor,
JfiOS,
623, first folio.
l(30.=l-4.
801, Aoo't of Rer'la at Ct
All's Well that KndBWel
(K3, first folio.
A I^Vft'a Complaint,
16(»(f).
600, first quarto.
KlQg Lear,
1605,
Timon of Athene,
1005-7,
623, first folio.
10(13,
610, Fomian'a Diarf.
JuliBfl ciaar, ■,
r
623, first fbllo.
Autony and Cleopatra, I
leoo-s, J
(i03, Stationera' Kegbter
TroUus flua CreBSida, J
I
60B, first qnarto.
Cjmbellne,-,
023, first folio.
Corlolaou8,|
023, first folio.
L
621 (?), Stationers' Eeg.
Tho Winter's Talg,
1811,
6i:, Forniiin'a Diary.
The Tempest,
wu,
Maaty the Eighth,
MIS,
OiS, first foUo.
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NOTE ON THE PORTRAITS AND AUTOGRAPH
SIGNATURES OF SHAKESPEARE.
NO paintino is known which can be flcoepteii as an authentic
p f 'William Shakespeare. The number of pig-
n y P ti 113 of cotmtenanees, more or leas human,
f h h p n s to such honor, more or less unworthy
of n d he been set up, may he rtcltoned at some-
h b w n h and tlii'ee hundred, but only two of these
h uffi n 1 m upon attention to make them worthy of
p u! n These are the widely known, and for a long
time generally accepteiJ, Chandos portrait, and the Felton por-
trait, which, once in high favor, ha» for miny years been lost
sight of, except by Shakespeanan enthusiasts and collectors.
The former may be traced from its preeeiit place in the Bridge-
mater collection, np through the Chandoa collection, and the
hands of a Mr. Nicol, a Mr. Robert Keck, and Mrs. Barry the
actress, to the possession of Betterton the actor While it was
his property, an engraving was made from it by Vandergucht for
Rowe's edition of the poef a works, which was published in 1709.
So far its descent from the antiquity of more than a century
and a half as an accepted portrait of Shakespeare is well estab-
li-hed But its pedigree (so to speak ) like many others, feila
th m <^ P '' ^^ '^ the
h D p this picture
h rj b thentioity of
p d d p an eeled with the
g d h wh h k be reputed,
the evidence of Charles the Seconds Poet Laureate must be
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cxxiv NOTE ON THE FORTllAITS A.ND
regarded as of little value. Looking t th p tu taelf w
find ft notfihle absence of internal evide ty
For we are able to compare it with t ai h k
speare as to wMoh there is evidence that ga d
his iriends as faithful representBtions ir gr
These are h p fi m D esh ng g w h pp
on the tit p g f h fl th h
Bt Stratfo d 1 h h rm es B
Jonson b un ny g a^ wh m m
engraver d h g h if te
set up bet 111 S k p e an
of the pubU ti n h f 623 Bjid d
the surviving members of the poet's im d m T
ate the only authentic portraits of Shalt h prm
B hard, wooden, etaring thing, which ye h d com
pftrison with amilar publications of ita m d
lilcewise not the loveliest creation of the chisel. Yet the resem-
blance between the two is such that each supports the preten-
sions of the other. The print represents its subject as about
thirty or thirty-five years of age ; the bust has the appearance
of a man about fifty years old, and is supposed to have been
modelled from a cast taken after death. Unlike as these por-
traits are in their material, and in the means upon which they
depend for effect, the one bein«' in the round and the other flat
they evidently represent the sam m n Th d d
and the countenance as a wh p d as y p
traits by different artists are p d p y wh «
consider the different periods if h h er m
festly taken. To neither oh h d d es h Chand
portrait present other than th up fi la semb nee
no more, in fact, than migh w ts b ce h
"eiBgies" of hundreds of bald d d h k d m n
of the period. Did the print d h b is is m h
accept this stolid countenanc a^ Sh pea h oes
of men of genius not iinfreq y m p h m d
But the preservation of tbos h g p ti
makes it impossible for ns p h fu
bearded, heavy-eyed, simple-m h d b ted
is by a paiticle of evidence that eac es to w itb n thre quaitere
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AUTOGRAPH SIGNATUKES. cxxt
of a ccntur)- of the time at which it must liave been painted,
if it reallj- were authentic. In my judgment the Cliandoa
head lias no claim whaterer to be regarded as a contemporary
portrait of Shaknspenre.
Of the history of the Felton. head nothing whatever is
known before the year 1792. In that year it was exhibited at
the Eui'opean Museum, King Street, St. Jamea's Square, Lon-
don, as " a envious porti'ait of Shakespeare, painted in 1B97."
It was bought for five gniiieas by a Mr. Felton. He, making
inquiries concerning the history of the picture, was informed
by the Iteeper of the Museum that it " was pnrchaaed ont of an
old house known by the sign of the Boar, in, Eautehettp, Lon-
don, where Shakespeare fuid his fi'iends used to resort; and,
report says, was painted by a player of tha.1 time." This story
was plainly a shallow fabrication made to St the traditions that
Shakespeare used to frequent the Boar's Head Tavern in East-
cheap, -nhieh was buvned down in 1666, and that Burbage had
pamted hn portrait. Two years after, the same Museum man
ager — a Mr J, "Wilson — assured Steevens, who, with manj
other men of note, critics and painters of repute, was much
impressed by this picture, that it had been found, four or five
years before, '-at a broker's shop in the Minories, by a man of
fftshion whose name must be concealed," and that it was sold
as a part of that gentleman's collectiou to the Museum. Thia
story, which itself could give neither authenticity nor value to
the picture, was probably aa sheer a fabrication as the other.
The very period at which this head first came into public notice
casts Kuspicion upon it ; for Shakespearian forgery and fahrlea,-
tion then were rife. On the badt of the panel upon which this
head is painted is an inscription in black and white paint, the
style of the characters being that of the Elisabethan period.
This inscription was, by those who first brought the picture info
notice, and by the publisher of the first engraving fiom it, sup-
posed to be "Guil S/tattspewe 1697 R A'." i and it was not until
some years after that Mr. Abraham Trt^vell, a painter, having
rubbed some linseed oil upon the back of the picture to nourish
the decayed wood, brought out the ivriting more clearly, and
discovered that it was "Giil. Shakapear. !697. R B." Now, as
E B are the initials of BJchard Burbage, and E N those of no
one known as having had any connection with Shakespeare,
or as having bciin a painter in his day, it is at least worthy of
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cxxvi NOTE ON THE PORTRAITS. AND
note that if this in5eripKon were spurious, the fnbricafora
strangely failed to take any advantage of their invention. This,
however, is the only eicoumstsiioe connected with the knon-n
history of the piotui'e which affords any support (if, indeed, it
does afford any) to its claims to be accepted as an orighial por-
trait of Shakespeare.
The pictura itself presents this appearance : The hend almost
fills the ground Upon which it appears, because a piece of the
panel, on which was part of the ruff, had been split off on one
Bide before it attracted attention as a portrait of Shakespeare,
and what remained was cut down in proportion, that it might
be suitably framed.* The surface is, or was, " covered all over
with dark spots," which are supposed to have been the result
of its " being a long time in a damp place without varnish." f
The head presents remarkable lilieneas in form and feature both
to the Stratford bust and the Droeshout print, correspond-
ing in cut of beard and fashion of costume to the latter. The
height of the forehead is very much exaggerated; the distance
from the eyebrow to the top of the head being nearly as great
as thnt from the same line down to the chin.| This fault and
that of a long upper lip are common in portraits taken at the
time in question, A high forehead, or more properly a bald
brow, was then regarded as a beauty, as Shakespeare's own
works bear witness ; and the artists sought to flatter their
subjects. Hut neither this fault nor the very careless drawing
of the costume can detract f^om the intrinsic interest of this
pictura. The correspondence of the face both in general form
and particular feature to the two authenticated portraits is so
remarkable that it may be accepted in those respects at least as
truthful; while the expression is so peculiar and so suited to
the character of the man it professes to represent, and yet so
unlike that which a mere mercenary fabricator would have been
likely to give his work, that it seems as if one of two conclu-
sions must be accepted: — Either we have here a genuine por-
trait of Shakespeare painted fi'om the life, or the work of a man
of genius and insight who prostituted his powers to the fhbrica-
tion of a portrait and the forgeiy of a signature, and then let
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AUTOGRAPH SIQNAIURES cxxvu
his ■work go from bim, careless even of attaining the success
within the reach of a clever imposlor, 'ihis sweet grave sen
aitive face, with its serene, all-observant eye and ite mouth
almost sad, but to all perception capable of amile* as bnght as
snnlight, if it were not painted from ShakeBp''are a self yet
does express that self in a fashion which mere feature accu
racy being secured, leaves nothing to be desired For these
reasons this portrait has been engraved to accompany the
present edition. The forehead and the co'itume haie been
eoiTected by the Stratford bust and the Dioeshout piint b it
in all other respects the engraver has most fa thfully and eim
pathetically reproduced the traits and the eipres ion of the
original. The portrait is not presented a havmg considerable
claims to authenticity. Not improbably a fabrication based
upon the Droeshout print, it may yet posiibly be tbe onginal
from which Drooahout engraved. But in either cage it giies
us, with the same features whii:h the two authentic pjrtiaits
give, such a fitting espiession of the mind an 1 soul of Shake
speare, that, in fault of a better which is well authenticated it
matters little whether it is vsro or only hen trooato
The signature, a fac-simile of which accompanies this portrait
in the present edition, is in like manner utteily without evi
dence of its authenticity. The only aulhcnticated signatures
of Shakespeare known to exist are the thrte upon his will and
the one on a conveyance, of which taC'Similes are f^iven in the
foregoing pageg. But a fifth, above mentioned has been
accepted by eminent experts in paleograph} as gcnumt This
signature appears upon the title page of a co) j of tl e first
edition of Florio's translation of Montaigne s Essays published
in 1603. This volume was for sixty years in the possession of
the Reverend Edward Patteson of Smetbvnek near B rmmg
ham, England. In 1838 it was bought by the British Museum
for £100 ; that sum having been paid for it only because of the
signature m question. The purchase was made on the recom-
mendation of Sir Frederic Madden, Keeper of the Manuscripts
in the British Museum, who believes in the authenticity of the
signature, and who has published a pamphlet in its support.
Notliing is known of the whereabout of the volume previous
to the year 1779, a time when the interest in Shakespeare was
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csxviii PORTRAITS AND AUTOGRAPHS.
so great and the investigations of his personal history so recent
and so imperfcet that it was both tempting and propitious to
the fabricator. It is true that the well known passage in the
Tempest in which Goiisafo appropriates the words of Montaigne,*
and the fact that Plorio and Shakespeare were under the pro-
tection of the same patron, make it very probable that the latter
did at one time possess a copy of the former's veraon of Mon-
taigne. But for these very reasons that book would have been
selected by a fabricator of any sagacity for the introduction of
a spurious signature, and they therefore tell quite as much
against as for the gennineness of this one. In fact it9 claims to
authentioitj' have no support but mere opinion based upon its
style and general appearance, and it? resemblance to originals
of unquestionable genuineness — a position which it occupies
in common with the Felton portrait. Like that portrait, how-
ever, it is probably, whether genuine of a fabrication, the best
aecessiWe representation of that which it professes to be ; and,
like the portrait, it is given here, as it has been received into the
British Museum, not as supported by evidence of authenticity,
or even of high antiquity, but solely on aucount of its intrinsic
• See Vol. II, p. 88, of tbJs edition.
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THE ENGLISH DRAMA.
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AN ACCOUNT OF THE HISE AND PROGRESS OF
THE ENGLISH DRAMA
TO THE TIME OF SHAKESPEARE.
THE English drama, like the Greek, has a purely
religious origin. The same is tiutf of tlie drama
of every civilized people of modem, times. It is worthy
of paiticulat remark that the theati'e, denounced by
cbiiTchmcn and by laymen of eminently evangelical pro-
fession, as base, corrupting, and sinful, not in its abuse
and its degiadation, but in its very essence, should have
been planted and nourished by churchmen, haying priests
for its first authors and actors, and having been for cen-
turies the chief school of religion aud of morals to an
unlettered people. Theatrical representations have prob-
ably continued without interruption from the IJme of
.ffischylus. Even in the dark ages, which we look back
upon too exclusively as a period of gloom, tumult, and
hloodshedding, people bought and sold, and were mar-
ried and given in marriage, and feasted and amused
themselves as we do now ; and we may he sure that
among their amusements dramatic representations of
some sort were not lacking. The earliest dramatic per-
formances in the modern languages of Europe of which
we have any record or tradition were representations of
the most striking events recorded in the Hebrew Scrip-
tures and in the Christian Gospels, of sume of the sto-
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cxxsii RISE AND PKOGRESS
ries told in the Pseudo Evangelium, or Spunous Gospel,
or of legends of tte aaiata. On tbe contiaent these were
called Mysteries ; in England both Mysteries and Miracle-
plays. The ancient Hebrews had at least one play. It
was founded upoa the exodus of their people from Egypt.
Fragments of this play in Greek iambics have been pre-
served to modern times in the works of yarious authors.
The principal charaetera are Moses, Zipporah, and God in
the Bush. The author, one Ezekiel, is called by Scaliger
the tragic poet of the Jews. His work is referred by
oae critic to a date before the Christian era ; others sup-
pose that he was one of the Seventy Translators ; but
Warton, ray authority in this instance, supposes that he
wrote his play after the deslruction of Jei'usalem, hoping
by its means to warm the patriotism and revive the
hopes of his dejected countrymen.
The Eastern Empire long clung to all the glories to
which its name, its language, and its position gave it a
presumptive title ; and the tragedies of Sophocles and
Euripides were performed after some fashion at Constan-
tinople until the fourth century. At this period Gregory
Nazianzen, archbishop, patriarch, and one of the fathers
of the churcli, banished the pagan drama from the Greek
stage, and substituted plays founded on subjects taken,
from the Hebrew or the Christian Scriptures. 8t. Greg-
ory wrote many plays of this kind himself; and Warton
says that one of them, called X^tuTni ITucjiiuii', or Christ's
Passion, is still extant.* In this play, which, aecoi'ding
to the Prologue, was written in imitation of Euripides,
the Virgin Mary was inti-oduced upon the stage, making
then, as far as we know, her first appearance. St.
Gregory died about A. D. 390. His dramatic pro-
ductions more than rivalled his other theological writings
in the favor of the people ; for, as Warton also men-
* llistnry t^ ^.olUft Posti'v^ see- isaiv. vol. ii- 1>. 517, td- 1S40.
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OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA, cxssiii
tions, St. Chrysostom, who soon succeeded Gregory in
tte see of Constantinople, complained that in his day
people heard a comedian with much more pleasure than
a mimater of the gospel. St. Clirysoatoin held the see
of Constantinople from A. D. 398 to A.D. 404. lathis
quarter also another kind of dramatic representation —
that of mummery or maskmg — developed itself in a
Christian or a modem form It is known that miBj ol
the Christian festnals which have come down to us fiom
the dark ages wtre the fruits of a grafting of Christian
legends upon pagan ceremonies — a contrivance bv l^lllcll
the priests supposed that thej had circum\ented the
heathen, who would more easily give up then religion
than then feasts and their holidays And the inti )duc
tion of leligious mumming and masking b\ Theophjlact,
patiiarch of Con tantinople about the jeat 990 has
been reasonably attiibuted to a design of giving the
people a Christian peiformanoe which they could and
would substitute m pKce of the Bacchanalian levels
He is said by an histonan of the succeeding gentiition
to have " introduced the piactice wh ch prevails even at
this present day of scmdalizn? God and the memory
of his saints on the moat splendid and popular festivals
by indecent ^nd nlicilous songs and eniimous shout
ings, . . . d abohcal dances exclamations of rii aldrj and
ballads boiTowed Irom the streets and brothels The
Feast of Fools and the 'Feast of Asies — the litter of
which was instituted m honor of Balaam s beast — had
this origin. Such mingling of revelry and religion as
these Feasts, and of amusement and instruction in the
faith as the Mysteries, suited both the priestly and the
popular need of the time; and they soon found their
way westward, and particularly into France. There,
'not long after, the Feast of Asses was performed in this
manner : The clergy walked cm Christmas driy in pro-
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cxjTsiv lliSE AND PROGRESS
cession, hal)ited to represent Moses, David, the proph-
ets, other Hebrews, and Assyrians. Balaam, with an
immense pair of spurs, rodfi on a wooden ass, which
enclosed a speaker, Virgil was one of the procession,
■which moved on, chanting versicles and dialoguing in
character oa the birth of Christ, thiougb, the body of
the church, nntil it reached the choir.* The fairs of
those days, which were the great occasions of profit and
amusement, offered opportunities for the performance of
these " holy farces," or of the soberer mysteries or mir-
acle-plays, of which the priests ciid not fail to avail
themselves ; and thus this rude form of religious drama
spread gradually, but not slowly, throughout Europe.
s^Y --------
r t ndh dt P f
1th t 1
ply
p f m d It 1 t p
od J h
h
th E b Cr
mb th p
pi
th t thi bj
t pp d
f t
th ) m Ij
1 0 I t
t
d f th g tl p
fp f
Id
f It Ij t t n d f
I L
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t d b3 th f t th t
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gh th
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b
IP d th t th ii t u; 1 pi J p d d
I d
p f Tti d F 1 P bly this
Hi d 1 b m . b th t
! plays I
ioon received an English dress. For the mir.
s fflslory 0/ English J^OOn/. see. vi. vol. Ii. p. 2, ed. 1840.
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OF TKE ENGLISH DRAMA. Cxxxv
acle plaja weie used by the priesthood for the religious
insti notion, not (inly of those who could not read, —
among whom weie the Norman nobles who could under-
stand Fiench, — hut also, and chiefly, of the middle and
lonei classes, to whom French was ahnost as incompre-
h bl hLt hhthirp; w viai'
Ij bl d M 1 pi J m t h b
m tltthfrtltl midbl
d tl p t f tl R Clip tl d f
tl tti fthpilml trtbt
1 h tb hj d L 1 g P 1 par
pi fth tl t th t y h h h 1 f
th d y d f L t wa. tr'ui ltd mpl
fid d 11 t t 1 t yU b hym h h
1 t tl p pi b th p t S m pt
d 1 h h
ly b
ly , th h 1
1 tk
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fhl y dhb d dtlpl
w b h t t J p t 1119 Tl pi
f d d p th 1 d f bt C th tt
by Geoffrey, afterward Abbot of St. Albans, before he
became abbot, and was performed in Dunstable. So
says Matthew Paris in bis Lives of the Abbots, which
was written before 1240. Geoffrey, a Norman monk
and a member of the University of Paris, became Abbot
of St, Albans in 1119. But his miracle -play was no
novelty; for Budseus, the historian of the University of
Pai-is, tells us that it was at tbat ti
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cxxxvi RISE AND PROGRESS
teachers and scholars to get up these pei'fon
Fitz-Slephen, Thomas it Becket's contemporary and hiog-
rapher, abo records that in London., during the life or
soon after the death of that stiif-necked priest, who w<is
putto death in H 70, there were performed in London re-
ligious plays representing the miracles wrought by saints,
th ff- d tayfmtlTh
1 pi y my t 1 d th f h
f t h t 1 tl f 1 d I th OH tl N w
Ttmtthp Cplttbtdt^ dm
hm h t d t th y 1 t tl t It p
tel di pi y t p 1 p M d th
fthgtlyl htjbtl
g dcTnth mlilytt p td
dpiyt pmt li mtl ntfth
dm d t 11 th t t d f h
trhidt btatt dmtf
thi h Is 0 t h Id t m i.t 1
pi J t t h m j.t h ing h J 1 m t
f p t as Id 14 0 70 I th b
J t It 11 d Th PI f th 61 d b
mt Jdimt mu'l dth b
k d th f t f A g h ) 1461 b t
1 bd tl tl d t Id A g tl har t
CI t fi J hish p t Ch tl
h t d ph 1) 1 t 1 h
H t d 11 t t h J It fh th y
h U h m Ch t f th y fi d tl t 1 1 I
powers. To test its character, they stah it; it bleeds,
and one of them goes mad at the sight : one attempts
■to nail it to a post; he has his hand torn off: the phy-
ffiitorto VKivtrsilniis Hu-iiiHisii. BuUi nre dtod bj Mflrilond i
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OP THE EXGLISH DUAMA. csxxvii
11 I b t f m t d t
as q k Tt J til b il tl H t d th t
t m t bl 1 F 11 t! y 1 t m t
bl f wh th b t 1 d
fCliit bf hhthJ I t t
th ms 1 d b Ch tl tl 1 fb
lip f m p t 1 J h
ddd th ^ hhhgtld
H th mp tl ff 1 by tl m
pantom mlkjrfora pig hhis
iym d h I) triJi b t-m
Th h h tr p f It
EiddlEptthj. dhml
ply&tm Thfltifm
1 gy th fa t t ft Id I h th
p t d t 1 hi B 1 ! t
th th h b d d h p t
th t dl to p ty t p t I 1) th
pi th to k tl t 1 d p 1 t fa llj
fdt jtlbd hpfm th
lb bj th I gj Aft b ! f
th 1 ) 1 tk 1 t 1 y h tl p h
Ik d th h f tl p th d t lly
t k th pi f h p t I f th d h
p int d p k p 1
thm Iply 1 It t Elldfi
th hui 1 ts If i k th tr g 2^ IT I
D fDblkthtl hmliljfd
fitt f th h h d B t fin Oi f
b dd th 11 h U w 1 I t d w h p
tdp Tn>l if Id p thbw
d d th gh th t d t pp d f th p f
t p! d t d by t
mid t b f •V i ti 1 f
tl 1 ! f 11 Ij t h 1 d i 1 ]
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BISE AND PKOGllESS
the handicraftsmen became their actors; the memhera
of the various guilds nndertalting respectively certain
plays which they made for the time their speciality.
Thus the Shearmen, or Tailors, would represent one,
the Cappers another, and so with the Smiths, the Skin-
ners, the Fishmongers, and others. In the Chester
series Noah's Flood was very appropriately assigned to
the Water Dealers and Drawers of the Dee. It is almost
needless to remark that the female characters were
always played by striplings and young men. Women
did not appear npon the English stage until the middle
of the 17th century. It would seem that the priests
appeared only as amateurs, and that their performances
were gratuitous. But when the laymen, or at least
when the handicraftsmen, undertook the business, they
were paid, as we know by the memorandums of account
still existing.*
The oldest manuscript of an English miracle-play
known to exist is that of The Harrowivg of Hdl,
which is among the Harleian MSS. in the British Mu-
seum. This manuscript is believed to have been ivrit-
ten about 1350 ; but that date of course does not help
us to determine the period when the play was composed,
or give it priority in this respect to others which have
been preserved only in more modern writing. The
Harrowing of Hdl is supposed with probability to have
• Tdo fiillowrng ttems a! aewjuut ore Inkpn from one of mnny mciroran-
Md. pnyd to Ihe plajsrs f!ir corpus chrlsti dnye
Jlai Id CayphHS ilj' iifj*
ICmtoHeronds i(j' iiiji
liqiloPilnttis wjff ip
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OF THE ENnilsH DR \M 1 cxxxis
bee 1 01 e ot a sei ea "iiid its subject the descent of
Cbiist info iiell foi the purpose of bim^mg away thence
the saints and propheti h&i its pla^e in. collections or
series which, haie fiom their completeness greater inter-
est and i-nportance
The thiee most important set of miiacle-plays in
our lanjtua^p aie knjwn as thi, Itwnlcy the Coventry,
and the ( hester collections The To ^ nley collection is
supposed to hiie belonged to Widluk Abbey, and is
hence sometmes called the Widkiik collection. The
minuscnpt m the opinion of Mr Collier is of the
time of Henry VI.* The Coventry collection is so
called because there is reason to believe that it was tlie
property of the Gray Fiiais of Coventry, who were
famous fur the performance of miracle-plays at the feast
of Corpus Christi. The principal part of the manu-
script copy extant was written in the year 1468, as
appears by that date upon one page of the voIunie,|
I. TilB
Ctcnllun uud tlie li(ljclll..n of LucKt
[. 5l™:tai
Ho Aljol.
III. Pro-
■b and In
Prnpli.
<t,«L IS
clatlo. X.
anlula
.All
s aimud
ntn. ZIT. Pngatlo Joaephl et Uat
Is in Eglptu
. Magnn.
Harodi
irasBup
lista. X-
splmH
(. Plagollarto
. XXI.
Otnoi«
XX
. BBanfrectlo Domini, XXV, Porsi
srinL
XXVI
I. Amensio Somlnl. XXVIIL Jntlli
dam.
:. Lasa™
8. XXX.
8uai*r
i8io JndK.
t The Ooyentij HeriM con(ji!n» mny-fm, plays, ■
upon the
(mlJecM:
I. Tbe
The
neathotAljel. 1
IhsTen
711. The
Otneslogy of Christ. Vin. AnDn'B Prcenanoi.
IX. Mw/ in Hi
e Tfniple.
X. Ha
1 ani
XII. J»
K|ih2i Bctnm. Xlir. TbeTi^ttsBlJMbBth, XIT. MiaTrlBl
Mary. XV. The Blrlh of Christ. XVL The A*»atton of tie Shepherds.
XYII. Tbe AaoiBlion of Ihn Ma^ XVin. The Poriflcatlon. XIX. The
Blaughtai' of Iha Innooente. XX. Ohrtet cli«pnting in the Teinple. XXI.
The BnpHain of Christ XXIL The Temphitron. xxm. The Woman takpn
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csl RISE AND PllOGllESS
The Chester series, of wiicli there are three existing
manusca-ipt copies, the oldest only of the year 1600,
belonged to the city of Chester. Its author was one
Kandle, a moni. of Chester Abbey. They were played
upon Whitsunday by the tradesmen of that city, and
Mr. Markam, one of the earliest, and, ia the phrase of
his day, moat ingenious writers upon this subject, has
pretty clearly establbhed that they were first produced
in 1268, four years after the establishment of the feast
of Corpi s Chri'iti under the ai spices of Sir Jol n A nc
wa) major of Chester* A brief analysis of some of
the plajs of tne Coventiy leries will gne a coiTect
notion of the ci aracter of these qi eer compositions
A prologue in stanzas spoken alternntelj by three
TexiUatoia tells m detail the subjects of the foitj t^o
plays The hrst Tl e C real o is opened by God who
after decl ri ig in I itm that he is alpha ind omegi the
beginning and the end goes on m English to as'eit his
might ai d his tiune e'^istence and then anno inces his
cieatiie mtentions A chorus of angels thei sing m
Latin the T b^ omnes argeh &o ot the fe Deum
rf Christ, xxi:
S KinBHemd.
XXX. I
■helrtalotCliflsl. 5
CXX
LPlInW*
Wlft^B Brmm. .
XJCSn, Ihe Oi
■Dciaiipn.
liie D»i
»iit
Lirlal of Cliiist.
XVI. The
thrBs ilaiT^ J
S toM:
m-j
XIX. Th.
a AicsK
, XL. :
III of Ills
miyOhQrt. XI
* The ChwtM-
BBTleg CDntHlm Imt t«B
j^upon
tlia
ntj-fimt
1)!»
fbllowlug
■ubjects: 1. Tbe
ilflth.
DeMMB.
BtKl
<EbBM«1.,
«( n^lauiD PrcpJ
HlutHUone
VJI. Be
Pasturlhiu Orege
Keg
■nlali
ilins. IX.
Da Oblationo Tel
tinffl Rsgdin.
X.]>8 0cotolonal
jentlum.
XI.
. De Purl.
fl™iiQ..B Virgiuii
t. XH. Bb Te
Lep.
1. XVI. BePK
Blona Clirlatl. X^
Chilsti ad
x:
. XX. I>s Abcb
KHlone Da
mini. ;
XXn. lizeklBl.
xxm. He
Adventu
Antldi.
XXIV. IW Juilido
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or IlIJ r Ll^il 1U1M4 r-di
J u it r nest <ippears md ail s the ^i]j,l1s whetlier thej
':iTig thus m God s honor or in his, asserting that he la
t) c moat worthi The good ingela declire for God ,
tl e bad for Lucifer God then dooms him to fall fiom
h aven to Jiell Lucifei sibmits to his sentence with
nut murmuring and eipreases his emotion only in a
n inner nost bkely to deprive the scene of anj digmtj
it might othciwise ha\e e-^hibited The second play
r/p Fall of Man, opens with a speech hy Adam and a
1 ply by Eve in wliich they 'fet foith then happy condi
tun and the co nmand conoeining the tree of knowledge
of good and evil. The serpent then appears, and tempts
Eve to violate this command. The action, if action it
must be called, follows in the most servile manner, and
^nth no e'^pansion, the narrative in Genesis ; and Adam
and Eve are expelled from paradise.* It is clear that
the repiesentatives of the tj'pes of our race appeared
upon the stage innocently free from "the troublesome
disguises that we weai' ; " and that they afterwai'd faith-
fullj followed the Hebrew lawgiver's narrative in the
use of fig leaves.t In the third play. Gain and Ahel,
That svyr loKQlija I the tt^e ;
I ivena« as wreci'lie In vcUnoie nay,
In blAke baatbya my bonr^ xol ba.
Inpu-adyBiaplenFeDf playe.
The jntyE be mliet wllh Godja heye,
W,S husband ts lost bscinee nf ma.
iBTe apQivaa noiv than ftinda,
Now abouMe we on stalk nnd eton.
My wj-t sive J ia fro mo gon,
Wjylie on to ray necke bon
tVICb btuMDUEae of tbla bondx.
ierfe o«ii s/M'l ie not nilumeil." In tha Cove
im^lately Hft^r bo has oaten the a^pEO'
" Adavi dieet sia.
My fio&hy frend my fit I tsoii,
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cslii BISE AND PBOGRESS
the oiJy notes^'■orthy points are, first, that Cain speak*
very disrespectfully of Adam and his counsels, saying
that he cares not a hair if he ne^er sees him ; and nest
that, when Abel's oflering is accepted and consumed by
fire, Cain, biealfs out into abuse of him, calling him a
" stinking losel." * This, by the way, is one of the few
representations of contemporary manners furnished by
these miracle-plays. If we accept them as fj^ithfui in
this regard, we must credit om' forefathers with a ready
resort to foul language when they were angered. After-
ward, in the play on Noah's Flood, Lamech calls a
young man " a stinlting lurdaue," and in that on the
Woman taken in Adultery, the Scribes and Pharisees
call her forth to be taken to judgment in language more
pharisaio than decent. The Towneley mystery, which
represents the first fratricide, is even more grotesque and
1 SB lis nakyd tefcTB nud bBhyndB.
One lorfea wnra «oM wo not drede,
ThBriOm in be now cuytjyys uukjoaa.
On™ pore prBTjtM ffor to llcllH,
Somme fyBgsJevyB laya ivolile I fjndo
eor to h;de obi's ecbanie.
Aad wltti'llils leS 1 xti h^ds mo,
* O^n's spseeb. nTifch beie followa, will gi.o n nolinn of the InngntiBO snil
Uie action of the play at llie imlat of higlieet intcffwl.
" Oiym. Wlintl thou Jtyiikjng losel, and Is It eo !
Doth Ood Uie loie and liiitjlit me I
Tlion jalt be aed I snl the slo,
TbI lorf thl Sod thOB nalt neyyr sa I
TyUdng more salt thon neyyt do,
Wltli tbla cbavyl Ion I Hal »Aa the,
Tbl deth is, djbt, tld days bo go,
Onl of nijn hanays salt then iiot Ha,
Sow this boy Is aleyu and dede,
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0"F THE ENGLISH DRAMA. cxlni
indecent than that in the collection which we are exam-
ining. Cain comes upon the stage ■with, a plough and
team, and quarrels with his ploughboy for refusing to
drive the oxen, Ahel enters, bids speed tlie plough to
Cain, and in reply is told to do something quite unmen-
tionable. After Abel ia killed, the boy counsels flight
for fear of the bailiffs. Cain then makes a mock proc-
lamation, which his boy blunderingly repeats ; and after
this clownish foolery, Cain bids the audience farewell
before he goes to hell. The personages in the fourth
play, Noah's Flood, are God, Noak and his wife, his
three sons and their wives, an angei, Cain, Lainech, and
a young man. Noah and his family talk pharisaic mo-
rality for about the first third of fie play. God tiien
declares his displeasure, and that he " wol be vengyd ; "
to which end he will destroy aU the world, except !Noah
and his family. The angel announces the coming flood
to Noah, and bids him build a ship to save his house-
liold, and " of every kynds bestes a cowpyl." Noah and
his family go out to build the ship, and Lamech enters
blind and conducted by a young man. In spite of his
infirmity, at the suggestion of his guide, he shoots at a
supposed beast in a bush ; but, like another hapless
person known to rhyme who " bent his bow," he hits
what he did not shoot at, and kilb Cain, who mysteri-
ously happens to be in the bush. Aroused to ivrath,
and moved by fear of the fate predicted of him who
should slay Cain, Lamech kills the young maa who had
misled him into shooting at the beast. He goes out,
and Noah comes in with his ship — " et statim intrat Nos
cum navi cantanles [sic]." This ship, as we learn from
the direction in the corresponding play of the Chester
Mysteries, was customarily painted over with figures of
the beusfs supposed to be within, as if they had struck
through, and come out like an eruption. In ttiat play,
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cxliv RISE AND PROGRESS
too, and also in the corresponding Towneley play, Noali's
wife refuses to enter the ark. Indeed, in those plays
she is represented as an arrant scold. In the first scene
she berates Noah, who gives her as good as she sends,
and both swear roundly by the Virgin Mary ; and as to
going into the ark, the patriarct, " the seeunde fathyr,"
as he styles himself, edified tlie female part of the audi-
ence by fairly flogging his wife on board with a cart whip.
The flood comes on, (we have returned to the Coventry
plays ;) Noah and his wife speak thirty lines of dialogue,
and flien he says, —
"si" days and nightes hath lasted thys rayn.
And xl" days this grett flood begj-nnyth to slake ;
This crowe sal I sende out to seke sum playn.
Good tydynges to hrynge this message I make."
The crow does not return, and the dove is sent, " qua
redewnte cum ramo mride olivoi," as the stage direction
says, Noah and his family leave the ark, singing, "Mare
videt etfugit," &c.
The fourteenth play, which represents the Trial of
Joseph and Mary on accusations based upon the latter's
mysterious pregnancy, is opened by a crier, who sum-
mons the jurors and people who have causes to come
into court. Although the trial is supposed, of course, to
take place in Palestine before the Christian era, it is
presided over by " my locde the buschop," and the peo-
ple summoned are English folk of the lower class, whose
surnames have plainly been given to them on account
of their occnpation or their personal traits.* The crier
lets us into a judge's secret, by warning those who have
causes to be tried to put money in their purses, or their
cause may speed the worse. In the next play, which
« John Jnrdon, aeffrej Qilo, JMkin Mitkclokr, Stqrti(!n Sturdy, Snwtlot
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OF TI-IE ENGLISH DRAMA. cxh
repiL ieiits tlie Birlk of Christ, Mary, as she and Joseph
are on their way to Bethlehem, longs for cherries from a
tree which they pass. Joseph is old, lazy, and huffish,
and tells her that the tree is too high, and that he may
get her chemes who got her with child. Whereupon
Mary prays for the cherries, and the houghs bend down
to )ier ; at which Joseph repents. Plainly there were
properties, and even machinery, upon the stage at this
rude and early period ; and, indeed, the lists of prop-
erties (for they seem always to have been so called)
which have been preserved show that no small pains
were taken to portray the glories and the horrors of the
various scenes presented, and especially in the imita-
tions of such miraculous events as that of the bowing
down of the branches of the cherry tree. The seven-
teenth play. The Adoration of the Magi, introduces the
moac famous character in these dramas — Herod. He is
alwiiys represented in them not only as wiclied and
cruel, but as a tremendous braggart. He raves and
sw:igger3 and swears without stint ; his favorite oath
being by Mahound, i. e., Mohammed ; for in all respects
these miracle-plays set chronology at defiance. The
speeches put into hia mouth, more than any others, ai'e
written in the old Anglo-Saxon alliterative style, of
which Piers Ploughman's Vision is a well-known exam-
ple.* Herod, in spite of his heathenism, his cruelty,
3ef}de3 Rex. I I'y^a on my rowel ryche in my re^tie,
Popelys Bt pBptnwkes I jtal piitteD in pejne,
With HIT apen prevjn, pycheu, aad topende.
Tlie gnwya with goW oronnjB gate tht-i ner jt s^
To seke tho mltjs sondve kbI I aenda ;
Do hoivlotHioKtyn iwhai-d hejn,
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cslvi RISE AND PROGRESS
liis profanity, and hia braggadocio, — perhaps by reason
of them, — used to be a favorite character with young
men of spirit and parts who were stage-struck. Chau-
cer, it will be remembered, says, in the Miller's Tale, of
his " AhsoloQ, that joly was and gay," —
" Sometime to shew his lightness aad maistrie
He plaieth Herode on a skaffolde hie."
Thla sul liave lludj ble,
Aa& gjff hym m-
Linde)
wiylhoj
And k jll jth km
iBtytb he
ShewjthoQjourt
.chelriyso
Bcha^ybt amon^
;6a*6loh
OBlb, « »!
ibjrljng
DkyDgeil
.ttja,
TylcjbbyBbeh
Lets DO tiU'Do belE
TjlfttegBS«bl
6debeb<*.jsbaro,
nrsl.™.
A barn la bom I plygbles,
Woia difflbjii tyi
ngsandkj-Wh*,
tmylotdljlaj.
KnygbUs nj-se
Witli bjtt jr gnllo,
Be xiJIa dona Mle
My myBht to lialte
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OF THE ENGLISH DKAMA. cxlvii
But more thm h\ the indtcency, the ooareeness, the
bombiBt and the \apdit) of these miracle -plays, we are
flatonibhed and lepulsed hy the degrading familiarity
flith which tkey tie'it the most awful and most moving
mcidentf of the Gc^pel history. The Last Supper was
actually ilajed the frucifixion was actually played;
and e^en the Resurrection was not too sacred or myste-
rious a <rabject to lie represented. Conforming both to
the leligious apirit and the taste of the time, the clerical
dramatist spaied his audience the sight of no indignity,
of no torture suftered by Christ, but took delight in
representing all the ph3'Jical circumstances attending hia
death with gross and b dd particularity.* And as we
"TAan au£ th£i piilie Jtum out t^kis Gli/ihii, and le^/n them tugidtp-; and
Gan Otgi xid puU^ hym, doum a/nd liyrt aUmg on the erm, and aJUr QuU
naylifll hym ifisreon.
JVimas jHiKM. Coma on now Lore, we sal amy
Yf the CC09 foi' the be meta ;
lloiv luBB lal he Btniidyu ou his ffllaf
JWauiJ JiafKB!. Tills Is short, the detyl hym epeil,
SKUndui JildtBUS. ^Btoag.rop and paHe'bjBi long,
Aud 1 xal drsire the asemt
Spare we not Ibeao iupjs stmng,
Iho« ire hreet botU jwdi^ snd Tsj:
Terliis JuSrem. Drjve In the nayle anon, lets Be,
Quai-to! Jti'Imus. Tliat 1 granni, bo mote I the ',
Lo! thisnajlisdre.arytbivelau
Primm Jfiians. ff^st a roiie Ihad to hia foot,
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cxlyiii EISE AJfD PEOGHESS
close our esammation of tte miracle-plays, a lefloction
of tteir mingled childishness aisd temerity must be up-
permost in the mind of every reader. Had it not heen
done, it would seem almost impossible that such sub-
jects could be so unworthily treated hy men of sense
and education, which tlie better class of Roman Catho-
lic priesta were even in the daj's when these plays were
written. Here were the grandest themes handled by
authors to whom they were matters of religious faith
SJid supreme concern ; and all that was done was to
degrade, to belittle, and to make ridiculous. The rude-
ness of the people for whose instruction and pleasure
the miracle-plays were produced, and the gross and ma-
terial charactei' of religion in that day, account in a great
measure for this shocking contrast between subject and
treatment. But yet it would seem that, though rude and
simple, these compositions might ha^e preserved some
little of the spirit of the Hebrew writers from whom
their subjects were taken, and who themselves UTote for
people only a little advanced beyond the pale of semi-
barbarism. And one subject, by remarkable coiacidence,
was treated with a certain degree of simplicity and
pathos hy the wrriters of all of the three great coUectiona
h u 1 pi y Th
th
f Al
II And t
thy f 1
1 k
hj t f wh 1
tl t
P 1)
1 1 t th t p t f
h bj
q t n
hb t d p t 11
tl n
1 and a 1
d t n tl th
1 h
1 11 th
t ftl ir 1 h f
11 ff y
Her ills let S faim
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OF THE ENGLISH DEAMA- cslis
treatment of this incident ; which in itself, and in the
barest relation of it, is, if one caa repress an outbreali
of rebellious iadignation and disbelief, the most pathet-
ic and heait bieakmg told in all the Hebrew Scriptures.
With an extract fiom this composition, which I shall
put la modern ianguage, I shall close thia notice of
English miracle plays : —
" Isaac All leadj , father, evea at your will
And at your bidding I am yoa by.
With you to walk over dale and hill ;
At your calling I am ready.
To the father ever most comely
It behoTeth the child ever obedient to be ;
I will obey, full heartily.
To every thing that ye bid me.
Abraham. Now, son, in thy neck this fagot thou take,
And this fire bear in thy hand;
For we must now sacrifice go niLike,
Even after the will of God's commaad.
Take this burning brand
My sweet child, and let us go ;
There may no man that liveth upon land
Have m.ore sorrow than I have woe.
Isa. Father, father, you go right still;
I pray now, father, speak unto me.
Ahra. My good child, what is thy will?
Tell me thy heart, I pray to thee.
Isa. Father, fire and wood here is plenty ;
But I can see no sacrifice ;
What ye will offer fain would I see.
That it were done at best advice.
A}ira. God shall that ordain that is in heaven.
My sweet son. for this offering ;
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cl RISE AND PROGUESS
A doaror sacrifice may no inan name
Than this shaJl be, my dear dailing.
Jsa. Let be, dear father, yom' sad weeping ;
Your heavy looks agrieve me sore.
Tell me, father, your great mourning,
And I shall seet some help therefor.
Ahra. Alas, dear son, for needs must me
Even here thee kill, us God hath sent;
Thine own father thy death must be, —
Alas, that ever this how was beat !
With this fire bright thou must be brent;
An angel said to me right so ;
Alas, my child, thou shalt be shent !
Thy careful father must be thy foe,"
Isaac yields to what Abraham tells him is the divine
command, which yet he saj's makes his heait "cling
and cleave as clay."
" Jsa, Yet work God's will, father, I you pray.
And slay me here anon forthright;
And turn from me your face away
My licad when that you shall off smite.
Aira. Alas ! dear son, I may not choose,
I must needs here my sweet son lull;
My dear dailing now must me lose.
Mine own heart's blood now shall I spill.
Yet this deed ere I fulfil.
My sweet son, thy mouth I kiss.
Isa. All ready, father, even at your will
I do your bidding, as reason is.
Abra, Alas ! dear son, here is no grace.
But need is dead now must thou be.
With this kerchief I hide thy face ;
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OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA, cli
111 the time that I slay tlice,
Thy lovely visage would I not see.
Not for all this world's good."
It is true that the incident hei-e represented is in
itself the most touching that can be conceived ; but the
author of the play has amplified the very brief account
in Genesis, and worked it out in a dialogue, which, rude
although it he, is ful! of nature and simple pathos. The
conditions of the action are monstrous and incredible,
if we leave out the supernatural element; and the situ-
ation, unrelieved by the ever-present coasciousness that
the sacrifice is not to he made, would be too lieait-
tending for contemplation. But an unquestioning belief
in the supernatural, even to the literal acceptance of
the figurative style and extravagant phraseology of the
Orient, was assumed by the ivriters of miracle -plays.
The son's love, submission, and self-devotion, and the
father's anguish, are expressed with tenderness and truth.
Abraham's silent woe, as they walk together, is exhibited
with really dramatic power in Isaac's exclamation, " Fa-
ther, fathei', you go right still ; " and Abraham's reply,
" Tell me thy heart," and his after exclamation, " Alas,
that ever this bow was bent ! " aie fuU of pathos. And
when at last the child tells the father to work God's will,
yet begs him to turn away his face when he strikes, and
Abraham kisses his son, and hides from his oivn eyes
the boy's lovely visage, the interest is wrought up to
such a pitch that supernatural intervention is demanded
by the holiest instincts of that very nature which super-
natural intervention has so pitilessly outraged.
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RISE AND niOGBESS
h the miracle-plays,
drama; and from
g me slow, but never
den splendid luatu-
■eatry series, which
g iff from the Townelej
ctioii of allegorical
In the earlier mira-
ged to the religious
ten to teach ; and
putting of the scrip-
e form of dialogue
m Yivtuea, vices, and
impeisonated, and
caffold with p^tri-
T the eighth of the
' / Anna, is opened
in d orj chorus by Con-
hi h ppears m the series ;
d jitton the Virtues,
h T h P ty, and Justice, per-
h G k chorus. At last,
I Death (Mors) takes
he other plays im-
rs d C naolei'S also appear.
there is one foimed
ch is interesting in
fl e set ivhich repre-
P d is noteworthy that
m g characters, one is
,1 Google
OP THE ENGLISH DRAMA. clili
named Belial and the other Mercury ! The first is
instructed to enter thus : " Here to enter a Dyvel with
thunder and fyrs, and to avaunce hycn selfe sayiog as
folowyth; and his spech spoken to syt downe in a
chajTe." Wliilc he is thus making himself comfortably
at home in a devilish way, and complaining of the lack
of news, his attendant or messenger comes in, according
to tliis direction ; " Here shall entyre a nother devyll,
caild Mercury, with a fyering, coming in hast, cryeing
and roryng." After a consultation as to the bad way
tkeir friend Saul appears to be in, to wit, peril of salva-
tion, body and sou], fkey both " vanyshe away with a
fyrye ilame and a tempest." * The play on the lA/e of
Mary Magdalen, rather a late miracle-play, was intend-
ed to be a spectacle of unusual attraction. It requii'ed
four pageants or scaffolds. Tiberius, Herod, Pilate,
and the Devil — personages of apparently equal dramatic
dignity — had each, his own station before the audience ;
dtl t fhlt thdtdH
hi yr th prj idjUin tg ndhll
VI t a. t d g d t Id
Ipdfft thpfm fth 1
1.1 J I h b k f til I f th
C tyjlytl jh f thpy
mgfHhi gitfT Titthiljflfj
Magdalen : — a ship appears between the scaftblds ; the
mariners spy the castle of Mary, which the Devil and
the Seven Deadly Sins besiege and capture. Lechery
addresses the heroine in a speech, the following extract
from which will give a notion of the style of the compo-
sition : —
,1 Google
div IlISE AKD PROGBESS
" TIeyl, lady, most lawdabyl! of alyauns !
Heyl, orient as the sonne in his reflesite !
Much pepul be coinfortyd be your benignauut affyauns ;
Brighter than the honiyd is your bemya of bewte :
Most debonarious with your aungelly velycyte."
Th 1 p ce f th 8 D !ly S d f th
I g f t! W Id th n h d tl D 1 th
j! J t d t t h t t 1 rj
b t hj p t lid th t t f ur
Im hh tkhU Ifmfh 1
pi J Of 1 t i di ns
tl TO d pi th t !t t b
t d h ft h d Ily Th p g m
pthtg dd bdth 1 gingdry
tig fhirql 1 dlt
d th f m Ily th h th p 1 d t
p llftbm bit 1 dPtwh
11 g Ip bg^t Illy bjdd
th Ipljbybgal trf th and
dfy th 1 h dh t S pt t y d
1 h t 1 1 1 1 fi Uy tl p h t
wU b p t fl P t
h h ltd f t 1 m y
bod m t alt tely f h tal d t f th
) h t d f th I b 1 p
f th t d pi 1; p n d h 1
ta dp t h d f 1 gi t
m t tl 1 1 1 tf J 1 d ! t d
I ' 1 1 J P ^ ™P' ^ P
11 nib 1 m t f b t t d d th t f
hjl th f ratf Itth gidto
hm d Thbttd yb t
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OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA. civ
Justice, Mercy, Compassion ; or vices, as Avarice, Malice,
Falsehood ; or a state, condition, or mode of life, as
Youth, Old Age, PoTerty, Abominahle Living ; or an
embodiment of the human race, as in the cbavacter
Every Man in the moral-play of that name ; or of a part
of it, in the play of Lusty Juventus ; or of the end of all
men, for in these compositions Death itself is not unfre-
quenlly embodied. But there were two prominent, and,
so to speak, stock characters, which were as essential
to a moral-play as Harlequin and C 1 b t Id
pantomime. These were the Deyil d h ^ h
former being an inheritance from thm 111) ht
the latter a new creation. Exactly hj d h tl
personage came into being with th m 1 pi y d
not know ; but may it not have be th th p p
of having ever present an embodi d t tl t tl
motive of the play — morality ? Th th 1
rived from the nature of the chaiaet Id a
ifest without a word, were it not that h d f ta
tic derivations have been suggestel Ih D 1
represented as the hideous monster I d by tl n
hid religious imagination of the dark ages, iiavmg lioins,
at least one hoof, a tail, a shaggy body, and a visage
both frightful and ridiculous. The Vice wore generally,
if not always, the costume of the domestic fool, or jester,
of the period, which is now worn by clowns of the circus.
He was at first called the Vice ; but as the Vice became
ft distinct line of character, as much as walking gentle-
man on our stage, or pere nohle on the French, his name
and his functions were afterward those of Infidelity, Hy-
pocrisy, Desire, and so forth. Sometimes the part of a
gallant or bully was written for the Vice, and was named
accordingly; and sometimes be was called Iniquity-
nofSI,
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dvl RIHE AND PROGRESS
When lie bore this name he would seein to have been
not a mere bnffoon or clown, making meiTiment with
gibes and antics, but a sententious person, with all his
fun ; for Shakespeare makes the following descriptive
mention of this kind of Vice ; —
" Thu3, like the formal vice. Iniquity,
I moralize two meanings in one ivord."
Richard the Third, Act III. Sc, I.
But the Vice generally performed the mingled functions
of scamp, braggart, and practical joker. There was a
conventional make-up for his face. Bamaby Rich; in
Adventures of Srusamis, published 1692, says that a
certain personage had " his beard cut peecke a de-
vant, tunide uppc a little, like the Vice of a playe," He
was aimed with a dagger or sword of lath, with which
he beat the Devil ; that personage having his revenge
almost invariably, at the end of the play, by taking his
tormentor npon his back and running off with him into
" hellmougbt."
Moral-plays were first performed upon the pageants or
scaffolds from which tliGy were driving the miracle-plays.
But at last it was thought that people might better go to
the play than have the play go to them ; and it was found
that barns and great haUs were more convenient for
actors and audience than movable scaffolds. Vet later,
people discovered that best of all available places were inn
yards, where windows, and galleries, and verandas com-
manded a view of a court round which the house was
built. Sometimes moral-plays were written to be played
in tbe interval between a feast or dinner and a banquet ;
tbe banquet havuig corresponded to what we caU the
dessert, and having been usually served in another room.
Hence the name of interlude, which was frequently given
to these plays. Yet the name interlude came to be
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OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA. clvii
I t f d t kind of play shorter than a nioral-
pl y d th t llegorical characters or significance,
d b tt t 1 to the occasion for which it was
t d d T 1 H ywood was the master of this kind
f 1 1 y t g f ndeed he were not its iaventor ; hut
h p p pi a at a later period of our little
rh Id t E 1 h moral-play yet discovered exists in
m pt d ntltied TAe GasUe of Perscveratice.*
It tt a h 1 1450. The principal character is
H G an emhodiment of mankind, whose
m 1 h World, the Flesh, and the Deyii,
(M d C d Belial,) open the play by a confer-
h h h y boast of their powers. Mankind
{H m G ) then appears, and announces that he
h J t t the world naked ; and immediately
g 1 d b d ngel present themselves, and assert
th 1 t h onfidence. He gives himself tip to
th 1 tt h th igh the agency of the World, places
h m th hajid t Voluptuousness and Folly, (Vokptas
and S It — B t let it suffice to say that the charac-
ters have Latin names.) Backbiter then makes him ac-
quainted with Avarice and the other deadly sina, of
whom Luxury — ia these plays always a woman — be-
comes his lemaa. The good angel sends Confession to
him, who is told that he is come too soon, he having
then more agreeable matters in hand than the confessing
of sin. But at last, by the help of Penitence, Mankind
is reclaimed, and got off into the strong Castle of Ferse-
vei'ance in company with the seven Cardinal Virtues.
Belial and the Deadly Sins lay siege to the castle, the
leader having first berated and beaten his forces for
lis <!f the Sloge, VdI. II. jj,
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clviii KISB AND PROGRESS
having allowed kis prey to escape Mm.* Belial and the
Sins are defeated, chiefly by the aid of Charity and Pa-
tience, who pelt them with rosea from the battlements.
But Mankind hegins to grow old, and Avarice under-
mines the castle, and persuades him to leave it. Garcio
(a boy) claims all the goods which Mankind lias gath-
ered with the aid of Avarice, when Death and the Soul
appear, aj\d the latter caUa on Pity for help. But the
had angel takes the hero on his back, and sets off with
him hell-ward. The scene changes to heaven, where
I'ity, Peace, Justice, and Truth plead for him with God,
and we are left to infer that Mankind is saved. God
speaks the moralizing epilogue. A rude drawing on the
last leaf of the manuscript shows the castle with a bed
beneath it for Mankind, and five scaffolds for God, Be-
lial, the World, the Flesh, and Avarice. Mr, Collier is
of opinion that so carefully constructed and varied an
allegory " must have predecessors Ln the same kind ; "
but this supposition seems to me by no means necessary.
An allegorical purpose once formed, the miracle-plays
furnished all the necessary precedents for the develop-
ment of the idea. In another play in the same coUec-
tion, called Mind Wilt and Understanding, Anima, the
Soul, also appears, and, having been debauclied by
the three personages who give the play its name, she
Id w^kyth to «eiTe
Spreas luj
Jnattrjlt
1 tbr the Don undjr
Schapjth
joar iheldyB sbane
T0118 BkHllyd i
.krouls foe a alierrt
BuBkejei
, boys, beljve,
Btoi
,fl in mekjl BtryTO
Whjl Moi
ikiiidi8locl8i.e1jve,"
om vhnm 1
cop
yihcln,jqetly>^B
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OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA. clix
" apperythe in most horribul wyse, fowler than a fend,"
u 1 gives birtli to sis of the deadly sias according to this
directinn H re rennjt out from trndjr the horrybull
ini-ntjli- of the Soul six small boji m the Ijknes of dev
^Uji and ao letorne agejn tonsciou's of her degra
dition "jKl. goes out with her three seducers and it la
directed that m the going the Soule sjTigjth m the
mo^t lamentahuU wyse with diawtc. not:,9 is jt is
songyn m the passion wyke In the end Mind Will,
ind Understanding are converted from thur e\d wajs
to the great jo> of Anima
Tohn Skelton poet laureate to Henri MI in 1 his
=111 wrote two moral plajs The Net -nianrci and Mig-
1 flc 1 c A copy of the latter still exists and one of
tl e fom er was seen and described bi Collins although
it has since been lott The charicteia are iNecroman
ce the Devil a Notarj bimoni and Avdiice and the
iction IS merely the trial of the last two before the
Devil Ihe Necrommcer calls upon the Devil and
open's the court The prisoners are found guiltj and
lie sent straightway to hell The Devil abuses the con
J iier and disippears in flT.me and ^mcke This plai
nhchwas played before Kmg Hemj VII at^Vood
'itock on Palm Sundav was printed m loOi 'tt hen
Mafnificei ce was produced we do not know, as its title
page IS without date hut Skelton mentions it m a
poem printed in 1 523 Its purpose is to show the vanity
of migmiicence The hero Magnificence, — eaten out
if louse asd home b> a rift of friends called Faacy
ahia I -u^ess Counterfeit countenance Ciafty convey
an e Cloked collusion Courtly abusion and Folly, —
fills into the hands of Adiersity and Poiert) and final
ly IS taken possession ot bj Despair and Mischief who
persiale liim t) commit suicile which he i^ ibj t tj
do when fTOjd hope stija his hind a^d Pedress Cii
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cIs RISE AND PROGRESS
cumspoctioa, and Perseverance sober him down to a
humble frame of raind. The piece 13 intolerably long)
and much of it is written in that wearisome verse called
" Skeltonic." * To relieve it, some fun is introduced,
which is of the coarsest kind, but which was probably
more to the taste of all the poet's audience, high and
low, tlian his heavy moralizing, f Of pure moral-plays the
reader has probably had quite enough ; but two others
may well be noticed, on account of traits peculiar to them.
In one, called The longer thoit livest ike more Fooh thou
art, the chief character is Moros, a mischievous fool, who
enters upon this direction ; " Here enti'eth Moros, coun-
lerfaiting a vaine gesture and a foolisli comitenaunce,
synging the foote of many songes as fools were wont."
IsBtnolbyhymany
Tbiit CAtinnt DDnnler&t a Ij'e,
Swero and stars and byds Iborebjs,
A kna™ Bill mnnterfet now a YiojUxi,
A Imitayne IjkB a iQrila lo fyght,
A m joattall lyko a man of niyght,
Alappj-ateriykealadybrygbt.
Thus make I them wyCh thv.Tff to &ebt;
TIiiiK St tha lost I brjuee iij-m ryght
To Tyburno, wharo thaj hango on bjght."
tAnrorListo
ice, ths Mloning passage, quoted iiy Itr. Collier, In wbiel
illjwlnsawnB
'■[J
7e™/oIji muftrfft sanlla.'wnt to bOa a loarstfrom critfli/ cmiwaj
aiaux sliBiildcr]
Pa.,iC!, WI.«t
liasttlionfoDDdtbero?
JHi< BjBod,
alowBo
Cfi^-aiiaies
Bj cpck« bMta I ton thou Ijsie.
iUy By tie I
nnsae, « spaqyabs moglit with n gray Ijato
Hmcy Hk, hK,hii, ha,ha, hal
Graftycomia.
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OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA.
clxi
Tl b d Stake 3pe are's fools and clowns,
i 1 ) (, ig the foot of many songs ; and we
t! n 1 ng tl m do so was no device of his, but a
m f thi I P ng of the living models before him ;
th h tl Ij etness and the art and tlie wisdom
h h h p to their mouths were in most instances,
w m y b h s own. The other moral-play in
1 t a T! If -ge of Wit and Sdnnce* ia remark-
hl t 1) f t ery elahorate and ingenious, though
q ally d U and w ariaome, allegory, but for the fact
tl t t ul h divided into acta and scenes, which
IS not the case with even many of the early comedies
and tragedies by which the miraole-plays ^v
One of the Yery latest of the moral-p
Three Lords and Three Ladies of London, which was
written after 1588, and printed in 1590. But, as its
title would indicate, this is in reality a kind of comedy ;
and it is also remarkable as being written for the most
part in blank verse.
III.
As allegory had crept into the miracle-plays, and, by
introducing the impersonation of abstract qualities, had
worked a change in their structure and their purpose,
which finally produced the moral-play, so personages
intended as satire upon classes and individuals, and as
representations of the manners and customs of the day,
took, ycLir after year, more and more the place of the
cold and stiff abstractions which filled the stage in the
pure moral-play, until, at last, comedy, or the ideal rep-
resentation of human life, appeared in English drama.
'I'lins in Tom. Tyler and his Wife, which, according to
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cisii RISE AND PROGEESS
Ritson, was published in 1578, and which contains in-
ternal evidence that it was written about eight years
before that date, the personages are Tom Tyler, his good
woman, who is a gray mare of the most formidable kind,
Tom Tailor, his friend. Desire, Strife, Sturdy, Tipple,
Patience, and the Vice. In The Conflict of Conscience,
written at about the same date, among Conscience, Hy-
pocrisy, TjTunny, Avarice, Sensual-suggestion, and the
like, appear four historical personages — Francis Spiera,
an Italian lawyer, who is called Philologus, his two sons,
and Cardinal Eusebiua. Mr. Collier also mentions a
political moral-play written about 1565, called Albion
Knight, in which the hero, a knight named Albion, is a
personification of England, and the motive of which is
satire upon the oppression of the commons by the no-
bles. But before tliis date, and probably in the reign
of Edward VI., Bishop Bale had written his Ki/nge Johan,
a play the purpose of which was to further the Reforma-
tion, and which partook of t!ie characters of a moral-
play, and a dramatic chronicle- history. Indeed, neither
the reformers nor their opponents were slow to take ad-
vantage of the stage as a means of indoctrinating the
people with tlieir peculiar views ; and as the government
passed alternately into the hands of Papists and Protes-
tants, plays were suppressed, or dramatic performances
interdicted altogether, as the good of the ecclesiastical
party in power seemed to require. In the very first year
of Queen Mary's reign, 1558, a politico -religious moral-
play, called BespubUca, was produced, the purpose of
which was to check the Reformation. The kingdom of
England is impersonated as Respublica, and, by the au-
thor's own admission. Queen Mary herself figures as
Nemesis, the goddess of redress and correction.*
* Describacl in Colller-a edition of SbakeEpeace's Works. 1343, Vol. L
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OF THE ENGLISH DHAMA. ckiii
John Ileywood, whose interludes have been ah-eady
mentioned, produced hia first play before the year 1S21.
Yet, in turning our eyes back two generations to glance
at his compositions, we may obtain, perhaps, a
correct view of the gradual development of the I
drama tlian if we had examiaed them m the order of
time. Heywood waa attached to the court of Henry
VIII. as a singer and player upon the virginals. His
interludes were short pieces, about the length, of one act
of a modern comedy. Humorous in their motive, and
dependent for all then' interest upon their extravagant
butlesque of every-day life, upon the broadest jokes and
the coarsest satire, they were, indeed, but a kind of
farce. That which is regarded as Heywood's earliest
extant production is entitled A mery play between the
Fardoner and the Frere, ilie Curate and ncyhow PraUe.
The Pardoner and the Friar have got leave of the Curate
to use his church, the former to show his relics, the lat-
ter to preach; both having the same end in view —
money. They quarrel as to who shall have precedence,
and at last fight. The Curate, brought in by thb row
between his clerical brethren, attempts to separate and
pacify them ; but failing to accomplish this single-handed,
he calls the neighbors to his aid. In vain, however; for
the Pardoner and the Friar, like man and wife inter-
rupted in a quarrel, unite their forces, and beat the
interlopers soundly. After which they depart, and the
play ends. In The Four P's, another of Heywood's
interludes, the personages are the Palmer, the Pardoner,
the Poticary, and the Pedlar. In this play there is little
action ; and the four worthies, after gibing at each oth-
er's professions for a while, set out to see which can tell
the bluest lie. After much elaborate and ingenious
falsehood the Palmer beats by the simple assertion that
he never saw a woman out of patience in his life ; at
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clxiv IIISE AND TROGliESS
which his opponeata "come down" without anothei
word. The satire in these plays is found in the incon-
sistency between the characters of the personages and
their professions, and particularly in the absurd and
ridiculous pretensions of the clei^ymen as to their priestly
functions, and the nature of their relics. In Ths Par-
doner and the Friar, the Pardoner produces " the great
too of the holy tjynyte," and
" of our Ladye a relyke full good.
Her bongrace, which she ware with her French hode,
Whan she wente oute al wayea for sonne bornynge ; "
also, " of all halowes the blessed jaw bone ; " and in
The Four F's there is a " buttocke-bone of Pentecoste."
And yet Heywood was a stanch Romanist.
There are certain passages in Heywood's plays, which,
considering the period at which he wrote, ate remarka-
ble for genuine humor and descriptive power, as well as
for spirited and lively versification.* And coarse and
* Sea the Ibllowing deBcripa™ of an allegoa tIbII tn licll bj the Puiilonor
In rfi! fbw I'-s,—
" Thj-s ijeyjll md I iralliet arme in arrna
So tarn, tytt be bad bi-ougbt me Ih.rljier,
Where all the flyvells of hell togyUi"''
AslbcUiot day tbere IneKly fen.
Thoyt horata moll gyU, thojp clowefl full olene,
rhayr tayllea wel kempt, snd na r wane,
.TiiTSJ'Sd'i"
;rBckel.
haBde
' eoide a good ft're bniud
1 tbey played so pralely,
fer UinghMl meiulj :
le reaedew of the teenis
DiereotfnlwelUkerreei
■ ftoildo I aa.ne BO wb jt.
not exe for her le yet
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OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA. dxv
indecent as his prorluctions must be pronounced, they
exhibit more real dramatic power than appears in those
of any otlier playwright of the first half of the sixteenth
century.
Heywood founded no school, seems to have had no
imitators ; there is no line of succession between him
and the man who must be regarded as the first writer of
genuine English comedy. We have seen that plays in
which characters drawn from real life; mingled with the
aHegoricaJ personages proper to moral-plays, were writ-
ten as late as 1570. Such were Tom Tyler and his
Wife and The Conflict of Conncienoe, meationed above.
But as eai-Iy as the year 1551, Nicholas UdaU, who be-
came Master of Eton, and afterward of Westminster,
had ivritteu a play divided into acta and scenes, mth a
gradually developed action tending to a climax, and the
characters of which were all ideal representations of
actud life ; a play which was, in short, a comedy. The
H brought in
BlABliynga Ciio lycs I
jon obaioliiable
SB tlio urarthylj.
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clxvi RISE AND PROGRESS
play is namotl after its hero, Ralph Router Douter. The
scene is laid ia London, and Ralph, who is a conceited,
rattle-pated young fellow about town, and amoroua with-
al, fancies himself in love with Dame Custance, a gay
young widow with " a tocher," as he thinks, of a thou-
sand pounds and more. But upon this point Matthew
Merry-greek,* his poor kinsman and attendant, a shrewd,
miachievous, time-serving fellow, remarks to him, that
" An hundred pounde of marriage money doubtless.
Is ever thirtie pounde sterlyng or somewhat less ;
So that her thousande pounde yf she be tliriftie
Is much neere about two hundred and fiftie.
Howbeit wowers and widows are never poore."
Which shows that our ways, in this respect at least,
have not changed much in three hundred years from
those of our forefathei's. When the play opens, Cus-
tance is betrothed to Gamn Goodluck, a merchant who
is then at sea. But Merry-greek crams his master with
eagerly swallowed flattery, and puts him in heart by tell-
ing him that a man of his person and spirit can win any
woman. Ralph encounters three of Custance 's hand-
maids, old and young, and by flattering words and
caresses tries to bring them over to his side. He leaves
a letter with one of them for Custance, which is deliv-
ered, but not immediately opened. The nest day Dob-
inet Doughty, the merchant's servant, brings a ring and
token from Master Goodluck to Dame Custance ; but
Madge, having got a scolding for her pains in delivering
Ralph's letter, refuses to carry the ring and token. Other
servants entering, Dobinet introduces himself as a mes-
aVofiris ami Orasida, &
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OY THE ENGLISH DRAMA. clsvii
senger from tlie dame's betrothed husband ; and they,
especially one Tibbet Talk-a-pace, beiug delighted at the
idea of a wedding, and mistaking the man who is thus
to bless the household, fall out as to who is to deliver
Ralph's presents. But Tib triumphs by snatching the
souvenirs and running out with them to her mistress.
A reproof to Tib in her turn ends the second act. The
third opens with a visit by Merry-greek to Diime Ous-
tance, that he may find out if the ring and token have
worked well for his master's interest. But he only
leai'ns from Dame Custance that she is fast betrothed
to Goodluck, that she has not even opened Ralph's let-
ter, but knows tbat it must be .from him, —
" For no mon there is but a very dolte and lout
That to wowe a widowe would su go about."
Sho adds that Ealph shall never hme her for his \«fe
while he lues On receivmg this ne«i Ralph declares
that he sbiU then and there uicontm^ntlj die, when
Meirj grpek takf-i him at his woid, pietcnda to think
thit lie IS leally d>ing, and calls m a priest and four
as&istants to smg i mock requiem Rilph, howevei,
hke most disappointed lowers, concludes to live, and
Meiij gieek advioes liim to serenade Custance, and
boldlj ask her hand So done , but Custance '^nubs
htm, and pioduces his ■\et uniead letter, which Meiry
gieek K\Ai to the assembled companj with such defi-
ance o± the punctuation that the sense is perverted, and
all aie mo^ed to mirth except Ealph, who m wiath dis-
owns the composition Dame Custance retires, and
Meiiy giepk, again flattering his master, adMsPs him to
refram himseif awhile irom his lady loit, ind that th n
she Miil seek Lim for, as to women,
" "iVhon ye will they will not ; will not yc, then will
they."
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filxviii HIRE AND PROGRESS
Ralpt thruatena vengeance upon the scrivener wlio cop-
ied his letter ; bat when the penman reads it with the
proper pauses, he finds out who is the real culprit ; and
thus the third act ends. The fourth opens with the
entrance of another messenger from Goodluclt to Dame
Costance. While he is talking to the lady Ralph enters,
ostentatiously giving orders about making ready his
armor, takes great airs, calls Cuatance his spouse, and
tells Goodluck's messenger to tell his master that " hia
betters be in place now." The augei'ed Dame Cuatance
summons maid and man, and turns Ralph and Merry-
greek out of doors ; but the latter soon slips bank, and
teUa her that his only purpose is to make sport of Ralph,
who is about returaiug armed, " to pitch a field" with
hia female foes. Roister Bolster soon entera armed
with pot, pan, and popgun, and accompanied by three
or four assistants. But the comely dame, who seems to
be a tall woman of her liands, stands her ground, and,
aided by her maids, " pitches into " the enemy, and with
rnop and besom puts Mm to ignominious flight ; in which
squabble the knave Meri^-greek, pretending to fight for
his rich kinsman, manages to belabor him soundly. At
the beginning of the fifth act Garvin Goodluck makes
his appearance, and Sim Suresby tells him of what he
saw and heard at his visit to Dame Custance. Good-
luck is convinced of the lady's ficTileness. She arrives,
and would welcome him tenderly ; but of course there is
trouble. Finally, however, on the evidence of IVistram
Trusty, she is ireed from suspicion ; and Ralph, petition-
ing for pardon, is invited to the wedding supper, and the
play is at an end. It is rather a rude performance ; *
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OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA. clxis
but it coYitaina all tlis elements of a regular comedy of
tke romantic school ; and it must be confessed that many
a duller one has been presented to a modem audience.
Yet ruder and coarser than Salph Roister Doister, aad
Jfferri/-ffreeJc. Najt a''
E™(er.
Bj- EoLsMt 1)019181-9 flljlll, I will spoak, but in borfla.
Sure
Lot U3 bsarten them i sumswbaC Ihei'e ia, I fi'Jire il.
Bolstt,:
I will Bpenke out alondB, I aire not «ho beats It. —
Be maJe as bi'tght d(.« ss nliiiii I u'ag last In fleld,
Tor Eiclie Ehall I be but I woika BOiue fOIHe aarmwe.
Or us flolh n key newly come from the Binllb's Ibrge.
I noulde Hare my snorde and bnraesK to shine so bright
Tliat I mlghl therewith dimm. mina enimieB aight ;
I woulde bave It c™t beiuneB as Cast, I Isll joii pluyno,
As dotb the glittering ecasa after a sSowre of raine.
And 5M that, iu easa I rfionlde have to eomo to armings.
All Ihlnga may bs i™dy at e momeof b itarning.
Foi' suoh a channM may chaunw in an honre, do yo heirs
Now diaur ne neare to bir, and hears what elia.1 bs eayds.
Mrrs.
KoisHr.
Well toiinde, a»»le ™ife (I trust) for al this ysur soure lo,
WiCjl Why ™i ye me wife?
S<re.
Wife I this genre goalh aero
Jferry.
Kay Misdesis Ciinlnnce, 1 warrant yon our letter
la not as wo redde e'en nowe, bal much better:
For this same lattsr ye wyll love him nowe therefiirsi
nor It Is not this letter thongh ys were a queens
That sbonlde breake marriage betwesne you twalns, I wee
Then ye are content mo for your btiBbanfle to take.
Oust.
Ton for my husbands to take 1 Nothing lease trnely.
Mary.
And though T lio,ve here hia loiter of love .-iUi me,
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clss UISE AND PROGKEBS
less amusing, is (Jammer (? / V W h h tl
1818, was supposed tobett lit ttEbh
comedy, but which was not v) tt 1 1 b t th -ty
years lateir than Udall'a ply t gb fitp
formed, as Malone reaaonahly Id t CI t C 1
lege, Cambridge, in 1566. It t!i J 1 "at 11
afterward Bishop of Bath 1 W 11 h b -a
1548. The personages in b pi y oi 11 h t
three exceptions, rustics, and th I g Id
provincial dialect. The pi t turn p tl pi
oident of Gammer Gurton's 1 f 1 dl wl il h
is mending her servant Hod 11 SI i th
hunt tlirougli five acts afte t! df 1 ti t —
Hodge even pretending to h f h th
Devil upon the subject. B t th dl t f d
until Hodge, having on the mended garment, iS hit a
good blow on the buttocks " by the bailiff, whose services
have been called in ; when the cloivn discovers that
Gammer Gurton's needle, like Old Rapid's in the Boad
to Ruin, does not always stick in the right place. The
second act of this farrago of practical jokes and coarse
humor opens with that jolly old drinking song begin-
ning, —
" I cannot eat but little meat,
My stomach is not good,"
which maj' be found in many collections of lyric verse.
IV.
Whether it was that moral-plays satisfied for along
time our forefathers' desire for serious entertainment, and
furnished them sufficient occasion for that reflection npon
the graver interests and incidents of human Kfe which it
,1 Google
OF THE ENGL SH "DE lA lix
is tragedy's cMef fun ti t g t h tl !i
public, wearied by th t ti gi tj i tl m <d
plays, (which, howeve th th 1 1 ft ht
to reti-ieve by humo h t d d t ) d
manded, on the introd t f al hf t th d m
that only its light and yd hldbp td
it is certain that comedy te d p h L 1 h t g
much in advance of h 11 t It bai Ij j
hie that a play npon tl tyfi" d J I t^
perfoimed in London before the year 1562;* hut the
earliest tragedy extant in our language is Ferrex and
Porrex, or Gorboduc, all of which was probably written
by Thomas Sackville, Earl of Dorset, but to the first
three acts of which Thomas Norton has a disputed claim.
This play is founded on eyente in the fabulous chronicles
of Britain. The principal personages are Gorboduc,
King of Britain, about B. C. 600, Videna, his wife, and
FeiTes and Porrex, his sons. But nobles, councillors,
paiasites, a lady, and messengers make the personages
number thirteen. The first act is occupied with the
division of the Itingdom by Gorboduc to his sons, and
the talk thereupon. The second, with the fomenting of a
quarrel between the brothers for complete sovereignty.
The third, with the events of a civil war, in which, Porrex
kills Ferrex. In the fourth, the queen, who most loved
Ferres, kills Porrex while he is asleep at night in his
chamber ; the people nse in wrath and avenge this mur-
der by the death of both Videna and Gorboduc. The
fifth act is occupied by a bloody suppression of this
rebellion by the nobles, who, in their turn, fall into db-
sension ; and the land, without a rightful king, and rent
by civil strife, becomes desolate. This tragedy was writ-
ten for one of the Christmas festivals of the Inner Tern-
,1 Google
cksii RISE AND PROGRESS
pie, to be played, by the gentlemen of that society ; and
by desire of Queen Elizabeth it was performed by them
at White-hall oa the 18th of January, 1561. It is plain
that the author of thia play meant to he very elegant,
decorous, and classical ; and he succeeded. Of all the
stirring events upon which the tragedy ia built, not one
is represented ; all are told. Even FeiTex and Porres
are not brought together on the stage, and Videna does
not meet either of them before the audience after the
first act. Each act is introduced by a dumb show, in-
tended to be symbolical of what will follow — a common
device on our early stage which was ridiculed by Shake-
speare in the third act of Hamlet ; * and each act,
except the last, ia followed by a moralizing and explan-
atory chorus recited by " four ancient and sage men of
Britain."
Ferrex and Porrex is remarkable as being the first
English play extant in blank verse, and probably it was
the first 30 written. It is to he wondered that even in
this respect it was ever takea as a model. Eor although
Sir Philip Sidney in his Defence of Poesy, finding fault
with Ferrex and Porrex foe its violation of the unities
of time and place, admits that it is so " full of stately
speeches and well sounding phrases, climbing to the
tight of Senaca his stile, and full of notable morality,
•"ITn Order aiii 3lgnili'"il'>^ of ea Dornme S'cut ^fari ilie fiiurlii Act.
ilage, ai
itboust.ou(of1«ll,lh,
reefi.™
8,AlMlo,M=g
:cm,indOtl«i|,h-
1 black
e garniF]it«9 epilnklsd
iM, IhBii: boaies
Dakes,!
;hplr lisdii spred with
salnateado
f heii^e, Ibe ™e
haart*
PaaHcthootleraBlii
ip,=i.d(
He third abii
ruing Srebrandi
J bBf,.r.
B Uiem ■ king and «
qawDft
, Trtilob ninvi
Id bj 11.e rurlea
r iad
slalne ttalr owne chl
Idren.
Tie mm<« o
l-lhs kings »Dd
■re Ihess, TantalaB, Medea, A
Cbarnns,
Ino, Cnmblsi
aselhrl8e,th
eydepertta,ana
KBSBfl : hBKby was signifled 1
mnrde™ So 9)1-
itDB7
, Porres, l>]al..<i bj hi.
Lothn; imdp
Li,k[Iledbytl,elcown(
.™bj«.
,1 Google
or THE ENGLISH DRAMA. dxxiii
whicli it doth most delightfully teach," yet it may be
safely said that another piay so lifeless in moyement, so
commonplace in thought, so utterly nndramatic in motive,
80 oppressively didactic in language, so ahsolutely with-
out distinction of charactei- among its personages, can-
not be found in our dramatic literature. From Ferrex
and Forrex we turn even to the miracle-plays and moral-
plays with relief, if not with pleasure. Some notion of
its tediouaness may be gathered fi'om the fact that it
closes with a speech one hundred lines m length, and
that the first act is chiefly occupied with three speeches
by three councillors, which together make two hundred
and sixty verses.* This play demands notice because
.o™Wa«t«
mple of tlie et^koC this tilay: —
-JCBveHo.
Oil Bhere la rntb or whera le pltla linn- [
a™ they esllea aat of our stoB^ bteelm.
KoYor 10 mats retnnie t h all tho worW
Dconnad Id blood and mnke In cnieUle I
If not in woman mercy maj bo found
If not (Bins) »itbhi the malber'e brat
If rutlie be binishoil thenw, if pltin Uib™
May hav9 no jilaee, If thoro no gontls hart
Do livo and dwell, irhere ehonld we neOc It Bien f
fforioSw.
Madams (alas) »!,at mean. j«a,t wofull lale I
ManeUa.
0 Bllj nenian II wh, lo till, hanre
Have kinde and fijitme thna dofer™! mj breath,
TbsU should liTst-.«Bll.l« dolefollday'
Will ovM wight tolBYO that mob barfl hstt
Oonld rest witliin the cnuU moUior^ bmt,
With bar oitne banflo to slayo her only sonnet
Bat ont (alas) theSB eye. behelde the Mme,
They fiuw Che d.lery eighl, and are beeomo
Most ruthfull remrdea of flie bloody fiicC.
Ponei (alas) is by bis mother Blaine,
And wlUi her IipnS and wd[\.U thing to Ull;
White slnnihi Ing on Ills carefnil bed lie rasteB,
Hia hai^ gtalKle In with knilb la reft of 111^
0 Eubulus, oh draw Ihis sword of onra,
And peareo this hart with speed J 0 hateful llght^
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clsxiv RISE AND PEOGRESS
it is Qur first tragedy, our first play written in blank
verse, "but for no other reason. It Lad no perceptible
effect upon the English drama, and marks no stage
in its progress. In that regard it might as ivell have
been written in Greece and in Greek, or in ancient
British hy Gorhoduc himself ; for in either case its
motive and plan could not then have been more foreign
to the genius of English dramatic literature. And it is
now proper to say that translated plays adapted from
Gi'eek and Latin authors, of which tbere ivcre many per-
formed in the earlier part of Elizabeth's reign, are here
passed by without notice, not merely because they were
translations and adaptations, but because, not being an
outgrowth of the English character, they were entire-
ly without influence upon the development of the
English drama, in an account of which they have no
proper place. The Supposes translated from Aciosto
by George Gascoigne, and acted at Gray's Inn in 1566,
must be mentioned as the earliest extant play in English
prose. The fact is significant indeed, that none of the
many plays written especially for the court and for the
learned societies and the elegant people of that day have
left any traces even of a temporary influence upon our
stage. The English drama, unlike that of France, had
its germ in the instincts, and its growth with the growth,
of the whole English people.
Up to, and even past, the Elizabethan era, the English
drama was rude in style and in construction, gross in
sentiment and in language. Its personages had little chai-
,1 Google
ly THr rXCTISII DPV^Ii 1
id Th
p p
npiiealblUtKjB: tlien, In tbree
•ertfct aa tfaeir uarklnee tn<llaor««te ; not irujlni:, so ttie people Isngb,
ngU Ihej Imgli aiem (for their folllefl) to amrn. Wanjf tjnies, to jni.kn
rthOf rMy itiahe n dowpe Dorapjuilou witb aKio^: inth^TrgEnveOonncila
It Pliilip Bidnej, in a pUBHEe of blB ZHftw^l^ -n«^ Inilltsn about 1683)
folly [eacb, and so olitalns ths yorie end ofPoetie, jot in trnth it Jb very
derecUiJUB jp Ihe eirennistsnces, which griayes mo, becHnae it might nol rcmaina
B9 on eitct modul) nf all TrageilleB. For It In Anltj' In plHco and time, lbs two
naccRaat-ls i»mpa,niona of aU cerporall hcHode. for vliera the SlBge abould
Eilivay repreaent but one place, and the uttermost tlmo prosupposefl Id M,
Bhonid So buth bj Ailatotle* pi«cept and eommon t«iBon, tnt one day, tiiore ia
both many dayea and iiuidIb plnaES BitlBdally imagiota. But if it bee na In
an-Jmiurii, lioiT niuoh mors in all the rest, where you shali haie Ai<a of the
one side, and JfiiO: of the Dlher,Bna ao many other under kingdoms, that the
Player, vhen he comes In, must ever begin nllh telUng wbera he ia, or elae
the tale will not bo concelyed. Now you Bhall have lliree Indies walbe to
galiier flowers, and then we mnat believe the elega to he a garden. By and
l)j wB hear nones of a ahlpwrack in the same plaie; then we are lo blame If
,1 Google
tkxvi KISE AND PTIOGRKSS
rude, coarse and confused, there was yet an inherent
vitality. It was native to the Enghsh mind, and it
Bought to present even in tragedy an idealized picture of
1 rf h' h 1 d t heen attemptod
0 d d h gh t h d 1 ly
hdl tg fgrwh h ftd ip t
Idl tydtskty Idh b 1 t
w I t int t p t fh 1 1 y tiq y I
dd 1 t 1 m ly th b d b t t fl
t f b ty gl p I ft
t gl dd t I f m d t d h g Th
p d t) f h t ( t h g It It
Ikaglfrf t Initht ;
fmthtm h bbt^ljytid Ibj
E 1 h ti t lly h) f pl
It t hEglh glib mlltr
This hj^wb Itltbythg d
gttftldfd pfrm
■wh h II d I th VI f th th t 3 d
1 d tl t h Id dyp A wl f J g
Iftt?l djf LI Idg
ruthmflldhtht Int b t
pl \ th tai 1 d
d J t t 1) f h t f 1 tfl tl
dgt wth kfixfth h
1 d hardl) pt h ir w Id
SmaSei, and at till) littye the orflloBrlB plaje™ In flolfc -nil ddi
terrain . ..
islthra dm
Tragedios nar right OmnBfllM, mingling KingB and Ctowncs not
mottor BO carieth II, hnt thmsl In Ihe OIowiis by hfad nnd shoold
part la UsJ<»tloal oialtere nith nelthei' Asrtnde aiv (llscreliun ; >
ID ne neither
.Gir moiigrel
Tragicomedy ohtaiuod."
,1 Google
1 L II H TR 1 A I
hi k t d f p 1} 1 ) 1
1 t f th th Th y Th m Kjd J 1
L lly & g P 1 G Cli 1 R b t G
Ct ph M 1 w d Wll ra SI 1 i Ot
I th Id t li k TO t w 1
y th t 1 h d h m t
t M I Ij h tt y b t 1
Slkp 6;tt k Ld r; I If
H mg h p It t tl b f
h t J f y Id t Tl th
f bhtl-titetd thblt h
t p — h temp m i
th Th m f t th t h f If f th ra
1 i P 1 G d Marl th f t k f
1 m t te h -n 1 L d 1 t
pplytitltht It hpd
E gl h dr B fe, I 1 t ly t mi
ti h m g th y Id b j tly g 1 d
hpd lyhgb htdf
1 ool f h V h t di3 pi h h
hhdtblhd I Bhtd
t tl tl f th 1 tl H 1 tl
11 th gl pt f h 1 t 1 h
h f th tl f d "W h h
It th ill tr t 1 tl m
tl t h t m tl sa w ) Th t ra h d
come when it ivaa to he done, and the time brought tlie
men who were to do it, each according to his ability.
And not only were tiieii- aims identical, but there is the
best reason, short of competent contemporary testimony,
• Lillj WHS laiimboRt 1053, Peelo abont thssame yoor. Choianan in 1650,
firotsno ttljout 1360, Marlowe nlinm 1562, ShntsspKiro in 15C4. Tlio dote of
Ki-TH birlli cnn only bf u>i>jcrture(1.
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OlsKviii ItlSE AND PROGllESB
for beliefuig that four of them, including Shakespeare,
were colaborers upon still existing works.*
The exception to this unity of purpose was John Lilly,
the author of Evihaei Lilly is known in diamatii. lit
erature as the anthoi of eig t comtdies written to he
pei'formed at the coiiit of Elizabeth ^ Thej iie n all
respects opposed to the ge iius of the English drima
They do not eien pretend to be repieientatnn^ of
human life and Jiuiaai character but aie puie fantasj
pieces in which the personages aie a heterogeneous
TillyfO aagd dg ddesses and impo'jsible
11 cr t tl ubl ary names all thinking
w th n b n nd } k n w ith one ton^ le — the
tf 1 h tj h d the daintj well tiained
to g f J tf J h Lily Ihe^ aic all in
p b t t p tty fancit il ■\cr^es called
h h nlj 1 1 bpuit as the plajs m
h 1 th y pp Tl di itic From these plajs
SI 1 p h d f th ghts but they exercised
nmdfjgfl [nh genius, nor did they at
all f t th t f th E lish drama, upon which
tl 3 am oi t q scence. Chapman, one
f th Id d h tr g f the sis above named, is
n t k h th n part, of any play older
tl n h k p It] frmances. He probably
tip! tl p on at a somewhat later
p 1 n 1 f th n tl t the others ; and as a
d m tist 1 p p ly t b passed over in this place.
+ saimt, Ql pa pi SapTio and Tliam, GaU
Sadat, itnthcr Smiiie, Tla Womm in the Maaac, ana ima'i lletamnr^
The llaid^s atiiataorphosis, which was pnbllsheil nnnnjmously in ISO
been attnUnt«d to hirti, as bJbo has A WUniinff pv P'tir If^Tinen, whli
,1 Google
OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA, cLxxis
as not even having been Shakespeare's predecessor, lu the
mere order of time, by even that very brief period which
may be admitted in the cases of Peele, Greene, and Mar-
lowe. The styles of these three dramatists are com-
mented upon, and extracts from tlieir plays are given, in
the Essay upon the Authorship of King Henry the
Sixth, in another volume of this work, where they are
particularly considered ia their relation to Shakespeare.
I willj-howevei', notice here the opinion generally received,
that Marlowe's talents were very far superior to those of
either Greene or Peele — a judgment to which 1 cannot
entirely assent as fir as Peele is concerned Peele'a
plays, it is Ik f M I fi d f ;
hut they are al h m h f 1 f an Pis
characters 1 gly m d h It arl ;
but they ar d d ti g 1 m
my opinion, y q llj 11 d nrni 1 h h
that is little 1 VlIJclBhs]}/ a
play which fhg f flgf fr
the haimon f Mlwmghh hn
ghdtoown, d 2"/ Sal /A! is m h -Lme
funous, bloody vein with his Twinhv/rlaine, and equal, if
not superior, to it in sense and keeping. It is also note-
woithy that the Prologue to Peele's Arraignment of
Paris, which was published in 1584, when Marlowe was
but twenty years old, and before he had taken his Bach-
elor's degree at Cambridge, is, for its union of complete-
ness of measure with vaiiety of pause, unauipassed by
any dramatic blank verse, that of one play excepted,
which was written before the time of Shakespeare. The
critical reader who is familiar with Marlowe's works
must constantly remember that there is every reason
for believing that Edward the Second — his best play
in versification no less than in style, sentiment, and
character — was written after 15D0, and after the pro-
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clxxx EISE AND rnOGRESS
duction of The Firsi Pari of the Contention and The
True Tragedy.^
With legard to these dramatists there only remains to
be aoticed the claim which has been set up for one of
them, Marlowe,! *li^* ^^ "'^^ *1'S ^'■'^^ ™'^o used blank
verse upon our public stage, and " the first who harmon-
ized it with yariety of pause." As to which I will only
say, briefly, that although it is probably true tliat be in
his Tamburlaine made one of the earliest efforts to bring
til k ' t IT ■ pi w 'ttei for the general
pbl Itob t \ 11 flwtm d
hjthm f th f hi d t m f
hym d P tiy I d f It d
■w 11 ultur d I t ii d tl d
f g h th dt d t t
h 1 tl t h 1 b 1 t t Bl k
1 wt dhwrtgnlyfthg Ith
gi„pbl mljth dd ht
mp d t thhhf imlth
hd A gtldimtt hp IdMl
the use of blank verse on the public stage is one who, in
my judgment, wrote it with a spirit and a freedom which
Mailowe himseK hardly excelled. This dramatist is the
author of Jeronimo. A continuation of this play, called
The Spanish Ti-agedy, or Hieroitimo is mad again,
which we know, upon Thomas Heywood's testimony,
was written by Thomas Kyd, was one of the most pop-
ular plays of the Elizabethan era. Hitherto it has been
assumed that Kyd was also the author of Jeronimo. But
a comparison of the two plays shows them to be so unlike
liDElisb Dramallo Poetrj, fc, tuid by Mr
,1 Google
or THE ENGI.tSH DUASIA. clsx_\i
in all respt^cts — in versification, in language, in dramatic
characterization, and in all distinctive poetic traits — that
it seems very clear that the fact that Kyd did write The
Spanish Tragedy is conclusive evidence against his
avithorship of the elder play. It would be difficiilt for
two contemporary dramatic poets, in their treatment of
the same or a very similar subject, to produce two worlis
more unlike in all particulars. The Spanish Tragedy
had been written, as we know upon Ben Jonson's testi-
mony, long enough before 1587 to be then an old story.
We may be equally sure that tlie play of which it is a
continuation had preceded it some years. In structure
Jeronivio bears strong (races of the pre-Elizabethan era,
It opens with a dumb show explanatory of the situation
of the characters before the action commences ; the
action does not " grow to a point," and the play conse-
quently reads less like a tragedy than an episode of his-
tory dramatized with little art; quite one half of the
play is in rhyme ; and among its dramatis personce one is
allegorical — Revenge, This personage and the Ghost o£
Andrea, the slain lover who appears witli him in the last
scene of JeromTno, are also used by Kyd m TJu Span-
ish Tragedy, but m that they merely form a choru'^,
and neither mingle m noi influence the action The
traits of Jeronimo just mentioned, and particulailj the
first and last, are indicative of a peiiod eiiher than that
known as the Elizabethan era , while the veisification
and characterization belong to tLat era, and indeed would
disgi'ace none of its dramatists except Shakespeare him-
self, and are hardly unworthy of his prentice hand.
Dumb shows went out as Elizabethan dramatists began
to occupy the stage ; and allegory is the distinctive
trait of the period of the moral-plays, although, as we
have seen, it yielded place gradually to real life. The
use of dumb show, and espetiaOy the introduction of
,1 Google
cJs.x-\ii Kl.-iE AND PKOGRESS
an allegoncal ehaiactei among the ihamnln pci-.on<j: of
a tragedy of real life %\iitten in blank lei&e, ui mIiicIi
no other eiample is knowu to me, distmctl> maik the
transitioaal type of Jeiommo, wliich may be regaided
as a fine and characteristic example of Englist tragedy
in the stage of ita development immediatelj pieceding
that nhich pioduced Shakeipeaie And indeed this
pld) ind its contmiiatiOB, m spite of the crudeness of
both and the childishness of the lattei, seem to liave
teft stronger traces of influence upon feliakespeai'e b works
than any other, or than all others, written by liia pied-
ir his contemporaries.
The l^bglisli drama, and not tl e st ge ani the tl eitres,
before the time of Shakespeaie i" tl e lulject ot this
account ; but it may be fitly closed w th a \et} brief
description of the play-hou^ea and the theitrical man
agement of bis early years The gLneial u e of inn
yards as places of dramatic amusement has been alieadj
mentioned in the course of remarks upon the moiai
play; and when Shakespeare innedm London at least
three inns there — the Bull, the Cross Keys, and the
Bell Savage — were thus regularly occupied. But, by a
striking coincidence, with the Elizabethaa era of our
drama came theatres proper, buildings specially adapted
to the needs of actors and audiences. Shakespeaie
found three such in the metropolis, — four, if to The
Theatre, The Curtain, and Black-fi'iars, we aje to add
Paris Garden, where bear-baiting shared the boards
with comedy. All the theatres of Shakespeare's time
were probably built of wood and plaster. Of the three
above mentioned, tiie Blackfriars belonged to the class
called private theatres — weknownot why, unless because
the private theatres were entirely roofed in, while in the
,1 Google
OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA. clxsdii
others th.e pit was uncovered, and of course the stage
and the gallery exposed to the estemal air. A flag was
kept flying from a staff' on the roof during the perform-
ance- Inside there were the stage, the pit, the boxes
and galleries, much as we have them nowadays. In
the public theatres, the pit, separated from the stage by
paling, was called the yard, and was without seats. The
price of admission to the pit or yard varied, according to
the pretensions of the theatre, from twopence, and even
a penny, to sixpence ; that to the boxes or rooms fi'om a
shilling to two shillings, and even, on extraordinary
occasions, half a crown.
The performances usually commenced at three o'clock
in the afternoon ; but the theatre appeius to have been
always artificially lighted, in the body of the house by
cressets, and upon the stage by large rude chandeliers.
The small band of musicians sat, not in an orchesti'a in
front of the stage, but, it would seem, in a balcony pro-
jecting from the proacenium. People went early to the
theatre for the purpose of securing good places, and
while waiting for the play to begin, they read, gamed,
smoked, drank, and cracked nuts and jokes together.
Those who set np for wits, gallants, or critics, liked to
appear upon the stage itself, which they were allowed to
do all through the performance, lying npon the rushes
with which the stage was strewn, or sitting upon stools,
for which they paid an extra price.
Pickpockets, when detected at the theatre, seem to
have been put in an extempore pillory on the stage,
among the wits and gallants, at whose tongues, if not
whose hands, they doubtless suffered. Kempe, tiie actor,
in his Nine Daies' Wonder, A. D. 1600, compares a man
to " such a one as we tye to a poast on our stage for all
the people to wonder at when they are taken pilfering."
Certain very peculiar dramatic companies should not
,1 Google
clxxxiv RISE AND PKOOHESS
be passed by entirely without notice. They were com-
posed altogether of children. The boys of St. Paul's
clioir, those of Westminster school, and a special com-
pany called the Children of the Revels, were the most
important. The first two acted under the direction of
the Master of St. Paul's choir and of the school, the
last under that of the Master of the Revels. Their per-
formances were much admired, and the companies of
adult actors at the theatres were piqued, and perhaps
touched ill pocket, by the public favor of these youn-
kers. Shakespeare shows this by a speech which he
puts into Rosencranz's mouth. {Samlet, Act. II. Sc. 2.)
Their audiences were generally composed of the higher
classes, and they acted plays of established reputation
only. This appears from the following passage in Jach
Drum's Entertainmfnfs published in 1801, which was
itself played by the children of Paul's, as appeal's by
its title page: —
" Sir Ediuard. 1 sawe the Children of Pav^les last
And troth they pleas'd me prettie, pretfie well.
The Apes in time will do it handsomely.
Planet. T faith I like the Audience that frequenteth
thei'e.
With much applause. A man shall not be clioakte
With the stench of Garlicke, nor be pasted
To the barny lackett of a Beer-brewer.
Brabant, Jn. "I'm a good gentle audience, and I
hope the Boyes
Will come one day into the Courte of Requests.
Brabant, Sig. I, and they had good playes, hut they
produce
Such mustie fopperies of antiquitie
As do not sute the humorous ages backs
With cloiithes in fashion," ,>■ ti o t
big. XI, is o.
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or THE iiNGLISI^ DRAMA. clsxsv
The perfo a ce s a no need b li e flourishes
of trumpets At the tl 1 soundinf, tl e rtain, which
was divided n the n 1 He f on top to 1 ottom, and mn
upon rods, s dja anl aft the p ologie the actors
entered. The p olog e as B}oken by a [.erson who
wore a long blacl cloal a d a wre tl of bijs upon hia
bead. The rei on of ^\ 1 ch co n as th t prologues
were first s[ oken I y the autlio of i lays th nselves, who
wore the poetical costume of the middle ages, such aa
we see it in the old portraits of Ariosto, Tasso, and
others. Wheu the authors themselves no longer ap-
peared as prologue, the actors who were their proxies
assumed their professional habit. Poor Robert Greene,
the debauched playwright and poet, begged upon his
miserable death-bed that his coffin might be strewed
h b d h b if at whose house he
d d p d h gi g ivretched author to
h gh P h d fuMUed his last re-
q h p h Ehzabethaii era it was
mm h h to take parts in the
p y to p a d pass over the stage
b p m h Th s was a relic of the
d y f b. p d n oral-plaj's. In the
hpyh hp de clown would favor
d k mporaneous wit and
p k jr me-honored privilege
d b h to p k more than was set
d m nd d p e dialogue seems to
h b m d p ted from, the repre-
n n h te 8 eh stage directions
as the following fiom Greene s 2^ quoc[ue (A. D. 1614)
are not uncommon : " -Here they two tallce and rayle
what they list ; then Bash speahes to Staynes."
" Ali speake. Xld's foot dost thou stand by and do
Z9
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olxsxvi RISE AND PROGliESS
nothing ? come talke and drown her clamors. Here (hey
all tallce and Joyce gives over loeejAng and Exit."
Between the acts there was dancing and singing ; and
after the play, a jig, which was a kind of comic solo
Bung, said, acted, and danced by the clown to the
accompaniment of his own pipe and tahor. Each day's
exhibition was closed by a prayer for the Queen, offered
by all the actors kneeling.
The stage exhibited no niovahle scenery. It was
hung with painted cloths and arras ; when tragedy was
played, the hangings were sometimes, at least, sable ;
over the stage was a blue canopy, called " the heavens."
Although there was no proper scenery, there was ample
provision of rude properties, such as towers, tomhs,
dragons, painted pasteboard banquets, and the !ike.
Furniture was used, of course, and was, in many cases,
the only means of indicating a change of scene, which,
indeed, in most cases was left to the imagination of the
audience, helped, it might be, as Sir Philip Sidney says,
if the supposed scene were Thebes, by " seeing Tliebes
written in great letters on an old door." * Machinery
and trap-doors were freely used, and gods and goddesses
" Eala- Sabfita Ij/tng in chili ted iWWi /la- o'nH Ij/Sng tj/ lier."
HeywQDcl'a Golden Age, 1811.
" .Biter a thoemOvr sfUaig on He ifojre at tmrH. JenMni to him."
Greene's Cla»'ge-a-&reene, Itm.
Initio following pMBoge Ids audfence were evidently Mpcclefl lo "miike
" SAoeumtei; Come, sir, "ill ymi jo to the town's end now, sir f
JimMiij. Ay sir, come. — Now ive srs at tlie lown'send; nhnt anj joa
iaem,atmpra.
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OF THE ENGLISH DRAMA, dsxsvii
nere let down from and hoisted up to the heavens in chairs
moved by pulleys and tackle that creaked and groaned
in the most sublunary and mechanical manner. At the
back of the stage vas a balcony, which, like the furni-
ture in the Duke Aranza's cottage, served " a hundred
uses." It was inner room, upper room, window, bal-
coay battleiients hillside MomtOlnnius anyplace
in lact which was supposed to be ■^epaiated fiom and
above the iceiie of the miin action It was m thn
balcony foi instance that Slj and his attendants
sat ■« hile they witnessed the pei foi mance of 27 e
Tamitij of the Sh etw The wai Probes of the prm
cipal theatres were rich viried and costly It wis
ci>!tomary to buy for htBf,e use slightly worn couit
diesses and the goi^eous robes used at coiomtious
Neai the end of the lust century Steepens tells is,
theie v.aa ^<.t m the wardrobe of Covent Giiden
Theatre a iich suit of cl thes thit onee belonged to
Jinies I Steepens saw it worn by the performer of
Justice Greyly m M ss n^ei s N'/'v. Wiy lo pa i 017
Debts The Allen papers and Henslowes Diary*"
mfoim lis fulli u^on this point In the htter theie is
a memoiandum of the pajmcnt of £4 148 equal to
$120 foi a smglepair of hose and by the former lie see
that il6. equal to MOD, Mas the puce of one embioideie 1
velvet cloak, and £20 10s., equal to $512, that of another.
Costume of conventioua! significance was also worn ;
for Henslowe records the purchase at the large price of
£3 lOs, of " a robe for to goo invisibell."
A comparison of the prices paid for dresses, with those
paid for the plays in which they were worn, shows us that
the absence of scenery and of stage decoration, to which
it has been supposed we owe much of the rich imagery
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cl^^xxviii TUE ENGLISH DRAJIA.
in. the Elizabethan drama was due only to poverty of
d h h b h p bh
d q by h h j h
m p f h n Th
m H n we da ving b n p d by
mb 00 a Up apy £6— n
hfwt g a khmschhh
ui h w u £4 — n nu h h
h mh EGhtial
\ ti A h I lybyad
repute to £20, which, being equal to ®500 of the present
day, was perhaps quite as much as tJie proprietors could
afford, and was not an inadequate payment for such
plays as went to make up the bulk of the dramatic pro-
ductions of the day. Happily, nearly all of these have
perished ; and of those which have survived, the best
claim the attention of posterity only because Shakes-
peare lived when they were written.
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ESSAY ON SHAICESPEAEE'S GENIUS.
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AN ESSAY TOWARD THE EXPRESSION OF
SHAKESPEAUE'S GENIUS.
THE student of language, or th ni nt U nt
obseryer of the apeecli of iis 1 im t but
notice tow surely men supply then 1 tl a d
when one is needed. The new voc In m
made, but is generally found. A 1 k is f It nd tl
common instinct, vaguely stretchinf, t fs h d 1 y
hold of some common, or, mayhap, m h It f tt n
or rareJy-iised word, and, putting a nap p n t
converts it into current coin of 'an h d n m t n
a recognized representative of nei nt 11 t i al
Purists may fret at the perversion, d ph 1 1 g my
protest against tlie genuineness of th m ta^ b t
in vain. It answers the needs of tl wl n t nd
that is all that they require. The word ' talent,' in the
sense of mental faculty, affords ae. example both of the ap-
propriation and the perversion in question. Its appropri-
ation took place about three oeaturies ago ; but its per-
version has been gradually going on mthin the memory
of men yet living, and is perhaps hardly yet completed.
And there is this singularity in its history, that it was
taken at about the same time into the vocabulary not of
one language, but into those of several ; into all those,
in fact, which felt the influence of the Christian Scrip-
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cxcu AN ESSAY ON
tures it tlie time of the revival of leaining. Christ's
paiable of the seivants wKo received a different number
ot talents in trust during their master's absence, in wliich
the woid 13 used with its original meaning of a sum of
money but figuratively to signify those personal gifts
and advantages foi the use of which, each man is respon-
sible IS the oiigm of the word in the sense in which
it IS used m modern languages, it having been taken
into them, m its purely metaphorical signification. But
at first it was used to mean the natural bent of the mind ;
and in fact, until the present generation, it was synon-
ymous mtli ' genius,' a word wMch, in its application to
the mind or soid, is, in our tongue at least, of later
introduction. The earlier as well as the later Jesicogi'a-
phers of the English, French, and Italian languages give
definitions of these words which are really identical.
And Crabbe himself, although his function is that of
nice discriTOUiatioQ, can divide them no farther than by
saying that " genius is the particular bent of the intel-
lect which ia bom with a man," and that " talent is a
particular mude of intellect which qualifies its possessor
to do some thirds better than others ; " thus furnishiag
88 perfect an example as could be given of distinction
without difference. But since the author of the Syn-
onymes issued the last edition of his work, 1837, the
usage of intelligent people has been drawing a sharper
line of demarcation between these two woids O e
' genius,' has been raised, and the other has been le
graded, from their former common level. The next lex
icographer who does his work with nicety and thoiouj,h
ness must define 'genius' as original, creat e n ental
powei', and ' talent ' as that inferior and more co n on
though sometimes more expanded and more benefice t
faculty which puts to new use facts already kno ti \ in
ciples already discovered, methods of thought oi e\pres
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SHAKESPEAKE'S GENIUS. cxcui
sioa ali-ea 1 t t.! h d 1 h 1 t nd th
arts of de p lu by 1 b n 1 t t« tJ tK a
by new CO pt n G n a; b f h 1 f 1 w
order ;tal bgt mllGm myb
pestilent; t 1 tb fi t B tth f m n ts 1
grades is not approached in kind by tlie latter m its
larger development, any more than a poor diamond ia
rivalled by a fine quartz crystal, or a living spring, from
wtich. floiva but a thread of water, by a reservoir which
supplies the daily needs of millions. The apothegm,
Po^a nasoitiir, nonfii, is true only if by ' poet ' we mean
only the poet of rrenius. But so we do not mean ; and
tj g tyu
g Op
hi 0
ts ( p
B )H
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CMJv AN ESSAY ON
ccsoTS by artiflciJ modei of thought and forms of life,
himself a meie loice chmtmg an unconscious epic in
the dim twilight hcyond the faither verge of histoiv,
and telling the stoij of man s youth befoie his anxious
eje^ had been turned mward, belongs piei,minently to
the umveisil tjpe of genius, andtheieiore appeils di
lectlv to both instructed and unmitructed minds , whils
of those who found then inspiration m then onn eipe-
iience Dante, the chief, as much pohtician as poet,
making a hell foi his foes and a heaven foi his iiienda,
cannot be fully understood without some knowledge of
the peiiod md the coustiy m which he lived Hence
it IS tint even among his countiymen Danto lb, and
aJwiys must lemam, the poet of the mstiucttd few,
while unlearned men of ill bloods and all ages find m
the barrier of a foreign tongue then only hmdi mce to
perusmg, ■with a common delight, the ever ftesh and
living page of Homei But Shakespeaic picBont^d aa
simply and direotl) as Horaei to the nmveisal mind of
man the__perennial truth of uuehanging nature Ihis
seems to have been perceived by his \eiy contempoii
Ties Ben Jonson, m the only line of his euiogj of
Shakespeare which is geneiallj known, and which, con-
tinually cited is almost as often de&truetivelj misquoted,
ex-presses this appieciation of his beloved fiiend and
feEow. It will be recognized by nearly every reader in
these words : —
" He was not for an age, but for aU time."
But this was not what Jonson wrote. He said of Shake-
" He was not of an age, but for all time ; "
and the almost universal substitution of the one preposi-
tion for the other shows a failure to appreciate Joason'a
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS.
d ( d
ti h Sh k ? P
d h hg d p
d d h i da ^ H
both of his age and for all time. Only liis race could
haye produced him, — for a Celtic, a Scandinavian, or
even a German Shakespeare is inconceivable, — and that
race only at the time when he appeared. The English,
or so-called Auglo-Sason, race is distinguished by a sober
earnestness and downiigbtnesa of ehai'acter which man-
'if ^ "t If ' "t ar t d t" d p t al
It t anl g t t p t n al Ith gh
h mkdh Ifpllyirsly gh
dypilffaiyd t jtlbdd
hd f d t f E 1 h mm B 8! 1
p n 1 tb ^bt as E i,l km d p k
nEhhm d lytlytnl
Itii gb t d f h t J 1 h ly E gl h
bj tf d m t t — 1 tb gbt d I k dj
an Englishman could speak m the Ebzabethan era. His
plays could have been produced neither before the mid-
dle of the sixteenth century nor after the reign of Charles
the First. Yet bearing thus plainly the mark of the
time, as well as of the race, which produced them, these
writings have as their chief distinction, that whatever
they possess of beauty is beautiful, and whatever they
•ell of truth is true, to all mankind forever. The attempt
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to explain sucli an intellectual phenonienon seems indeed
presumptuous. We may rightly admire what we can-
not fully understand ; we may apprehend what we cannot
comprehend, and comprehend that which we cannot wor-
thily express ; and I own that I shrink back as I essay
to measure with my little line and fathom with, my puny
plummet the vast profound of Shakespeare's genius.
Individual organization determines preference ; but
organization and circumstances together determine
choice, which is preference moved by will, or pref-
erence in action. Happily both these joined to make a
dramatist of Shaliespeare. Circumstances took him to
London to earn his bread ; eircumsta.nee3 made the thea-
tre the aptest field for his labor ; and his organisation
fitted him supremely for the dramatic function. Yet,
had he been born in the present day, it may at least be
questioned whether he would have chosen the drama as
h- p f ■ H Id p b blv h {,ht ra
m t 1 p p d fi Id f 1 I tl
tltfthElihdmmthi tdj Btl
g th gn f El b tl 1 L d
b m t 1 t jl f L 1 d
X 1 h p dd t
1 tt
pi a. 1 p bl f fo t t 1
1 f t
f tk t 1 q 1 ty h 1 f
m t
t 1 P P P Add
) d
tl il ) f th p d d f Dyd
th t 1
Id S! V p di Y t
t ly
L d tl t th pi y Id h b
tU. L
d hlbtjtbf Ship
ly d
t p 1 1 p J f it 11
1 wl I
thr 1 t E 1 d A I ^ t
hui d d y
ft th t t th ty f 1
b f P 1
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS. cxcvii
raeiit was Ijetrayed "by his tongue ; but then tlie speech
of the cultivated people of Middlesex and its vicinity
had become, for all England, the undisputed standard-
Noithurabeiland, or Cornwall, or Lancashire might have
produced Shakespeare's mind ; but had he lived in any
t tl) t th 1 k th t
pi 1 Itjf raL 1 aid t f h
utJ lb t 1 f tb d f th Bl k
f 1 h Gl b th m fh 1 t> Uh
hit d hi birh t th
I t! Ig fh fi tt Mh b
t 1 p th t ) gl f 1 t [h 1
yHl wldh b llthh
mtndl bntr Itdtb d tdbj
m d E h h tl t5 1 i tb t h vy d
til aiw J paad t tl 1 k f tl h k
bt y b F f ft If
thppttyddiif fhip fmh
ppordt tppt p dfthht f
t ly t 1 git t t ] It
II 1 ht n A t 1 tl
tl fi d f t al nd h las t t
wh h h t d t d t p
f cab IaJ7 h h pt th 1 t f pi 1
ph) d h t 1 n t 11 1 g d
Tfi E I h 1 th E 1 h f L d
1th hCh dSp h d 1 t d d
then, in England itaelf, as imfit for the use of scholars ;
English literature held no admitted place in the realm
of letters ; and the English people were of small con-
sideration in Europe. We are accustomed to think of
London as the capital of a great kindred empire, which
is in lettei's, as well as in arms and commerce, one of
the five or sis great powers of civilized Christendom.
We measure its importance by the fact of its being the
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iJXCTiii AN ESSAY ON
time -honored literary metropolis of tte great kingdom
and the great republic ivliose tongue it speaks. But at
the time of Shakespeare's arrival there, although tliat
lime was the glorious reign of Queea Elizabeth, London
was only the chief city of the southern part of a little
island which then contained the whole English race —
a race which had not yet taken its appointed place
among the nations. Indeed, as a people, it was not
until the beginning of Elizabeth's reign that we attained
t th ftll -n turity of our English-hood. The great
1 w h ch involved three generations, though
It b t th ty years, and which ended by placing the
T I n th throne, were not only the expiring throes
f f d 1 n they were the pangs of a new biith ; and
t! t b th w the English nation. To the land made
n ly h nogeneous by the upturning and inter-
m 1 f ts elements in this long civil convulsion,
th 11 f m t n came, and completed the enfiranchise-
m t h h th destruction of feudalism had but partly
a pi h d The English character did not com-
pl I) tt t ideal type until after it had fi'eed itself
ir m th f tt rs of feudality, and cast off the yoke of
K D tl tybh ddhltt
t t m t h b p ly d b 1 t 1;
d h m tim isly d I3
E 1 h th th fl f p ty p ht ti t
I tetf teddmp dh tfil
t gfdlf f tyh jmtfdt
t b th t p d Th f tl p il th
t-fdthtddpfllth tdbj
p mthfitflh dtr thftpftl
1 k d t th p J fm 1
t 1 arm 1 m .< ! ht t
m 1 tat h p It t! p d
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS. cxcix
filled the greater part of it, and which extended from
about 1575 to 1625, which produced the men who
changed the position of the English people before the
world ; and chief among them, though not then reck-
oned of them, was William Shakespeare,
Not until the beginning of the nineteenth century did
Shakespeare's own race acknowledge, with one consent,
that the ruatic-bred playwright was the greatest of poets
and one of the wisest, if not the wisest, of men. It
b^nk us two hundred years to bring ourselves with una-
nimity to the simple acceptance of that miracle. We
literally brought ourselves to it ; for the professed schol-
ars and critics rather hindered than helped our progress
til that large appreciation in which they were ever behind
tl people In fact "ihikespeare a supieme populdiity
dates from his om day and in this le pect it was not
PXi-Lptional but conloimed to a lule which is almost
iniversal The j dgraent of postnitj may reiei e or
t may confirm enhance and diflu e the appoval of
contemporaries but m liteiatnre the man who f^ils to
J lease those to whom he addresses himself his failed
f eier We ha\e contempoiari teatiiionvto th fact
th t Shakespeare 8 plajs were resided hy the pihhc of
his own day as incomparably superior to those of al] his
rivals ; and it may be doubted whether a remarkable
appreciation of them which was printed in the book-
seller's Address to the Reader of Troilus and Gressida
in 1609 — that " they serve for the most common com-
mentaries of all the actions of oui- lives" — has been
more than decorated and illustrated, amplified and weak-
ened, by aU subsequent criticism. It was the demand
of succeeding generations for these dramas, the delight in
them which was constantly felt and expressed, broaden-
ing, deepening, strengthening steadily year by year, and
the moral and intellectual influence which they exerted.
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cc AN ESSAY ON
which compelled the critics to undertake to account for
this eKfcraoriiiiiary phenomenon in literature. The lit-
eyary history of the seventeenth century, during the first
sixteen years of which Shakespeare was alive, shows a
demand for hia plays by the reading puhlic nnapproached
in the case of any other author. The fondness grew.
It included all classes of readers, from the most thought-
ful to those who merely sought in books a momentary
pastime. In. the first half of the eighteenth century the
demand of the public for Shakespeare's plays was at
least fourfold greater than that for any other hook, not-
withstanding the great number already issued fi-om the
press, and in spite of the fact that the most admired and
elegant writer of the early part of that period had de-
voted his best powers to the diffusion of a taste for the
works of our great epic poet, while be hardly mentions
those of the greater dramatist. Yet the literary men of
his own day who praise Sliakespeaie, almost without
exception, leave his plays unnoticed, and limit their
eulogy to his Venus and Adonis and his Luorece; and
the critics of the eighteenth century, yielding, person-
ally, as we can see, to the spell of his genius, were yet
reluctant, doubtful, and troubled with many scruples
witen they came to account for all the admiration of
which they themselves and their labors were living wit-
nesses. True, one of them, himself a poet, Pope, passed
in happy phrase one of the most penetrative judgments
that has been uttered upon Mm when he said, " The
poetry of Shakespeare is inspiration indeed. He is not
so much an imitator, as an instrument, of Nature ; and
it is not so just to say that he speaks for her as that she
speaks through him." But he, like all his contempora-
ries and immediate successors, thought it necessary to
praise and blame with alternate breath, and to point out
deformities, manifold and monstrous, in this bewitching,
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS. cci
but untutored and half savage child nf nature. Yot, at
this very time, the intelligent love of Shakespeare was
so deeply rooted in tiie Knglish breast that his words
and thoughts pierced, like multitudinous fibres, the intel-
lectual life of the people ; and while these men, and their
little rhymes, and their bulbous sentences might have
lived or perished and no harm been done, and little no-
tice taken, he could not have been displaced without a dis-
turbance of the ivhole English nature, and a destmction
of no small part of the plii'aseology of common life. This
being true as to the relative position of our own critics to
our own spontaneous appreciation of Shakespeare, still
more is it true with regard to the relations of foreign crit-
ics to that appreciation. Some people, who ought to have
known better, have more than half admitted that the
German critics taught us to undeystaiid our own poet.
I am. unwilling to believe this of the English race in
Europe ; I know that it is not true of that part of it in
America. Here, at least, there is, and always has been,
a class of people so large and so diffused through soci-
ety that it cannot be rightly called a class, ivho do not
know that there are German critics, who have little ac-
quaintance with any criticism, to whom Schlegel is unre-
vealed, and Coleridge is but a name, and who yet read,
and understand, and love, and delight in Shakespeare,
and who would quietly smile at the notion that " at last "
we understand Shakespeare because some learned people
have said very profound sayings about his revelations of
the " inner life." We must be careful not to confound
perception with expression, or comprehension with power
of analysis. Newton saw no better, rejoiced no more in
the beauty of color, than other people because he ana-
lyzed the sunbeam. The ignorant monk, who would
have burned him as a sorcerer, illuminated missals with
un intuitive mastery of the harmouics of the prism, which
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ecu AN ESSAY ON
he could not have attained by all his experiments, oi
explained hy aU Mb theories. Shakespeare himself, who
seems to have seen and understood all mental relations
and conditions, saw thb, and, as if with an eye of favor
upon the millions who would read him with simple pleas-
ure, made Siroite say of the astronomers, —
" Thesa earthly godfathers of heaven's liglits.
That give a name to every fixed star.
Have no more profit of their shining nighta
Than those that walk and w t t h t tl ey e
That which first distinguished Shal p ai fi m the
little throng of dramatists amon wh. n and w h ome
of whom, he first labored, w ! e ha a t f lus
thought, and the language in wh h h d th d t — m
a word, his style. It is that whi h fi t k h atten
tion of tlie reader of the present day when he takes up
Shakespeare's works. It is that by which we are ena-
bled to distinguish his ivriting from that of other dram-
atists in the same play, as in the First and Second Parts
of King Henry the Simih, The Taming of the Shreta,
and Perides. The distinction can be made with a very
g tdgr f t't3h ny one qualified by nat-
1 g ft dp f 1 investigations, even with
d t bh k p It writing. It is not that
Sh I p IS all fi J, Id nd others are all dross ;
b t 1 a k w t! t f eral mines one produces
g Id hi I h r lead, and when we find
g Id d 1 1 nd 1 OSS, or lead and dross, or
g Id 1 1 nd 1 d t g ther, we need not be in
1 d bt t tl 1 t b t on of the ownership.
Pur ly E gh h &h k p e was in what we may call
th tml fh drmt art, he was in no respect
m h m h ty! In the earlier half of the
sixte th tury I h It tuve had begun to e
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS. ociii
liij g fi p th t f E land d p
ally p E 1 h 1 y S rr "ap d y
D IJ B tFlthDt Ml
U h til ff t f th fl In -ih k 1
ti d *PP ptpll h
tptlpmr d Ad IS B. y
t f f J t f Itah p 111
t H 1 1 It b bt tu — t h tni th
gr t t dti h ffi — b t w ly
f th m 1 ta f tiag d) Ik Othell
m dy Ik TI 31 J { fV H d bfl d
Ital 11 gh t t th 1 t th ly
Itil 1 t h t Ith gl th 1 t f th t
1 g ild t h t h m blj b 11
g d h d 1 t f tk ht t h 1
p p bl ff p his m tal t h t t
p ^ hia h f y H ft
frmth fi fth h frmtitflas
I t t tl t t t 1 1 IS g h th
gllyd td t fl dy H bulai
1 mtQ f! git dmdmf p
m ly th t f h tl th t h li d bj 3
d m t t I d by th tr 1 t t ui
B b! W t g f th g 1 p bb h d 1
Igg Id jh gtoh dt —
h m ihralgyftltp dBth
1 g h Itsptjfh \d
p f 11 m d f m d 11 i f
tl 1 1 II 1 J f t U th g f ph
1 ihy d tl htl tl t ta^iy t g
q U 1 h y th k t bt t 1 gu g
f sb tl ty t th t g d aad
fl bl tl t ff m y Ij to y t h d
mg t if gr f 11) d 1 VI gl to h t i t d h
diiintiest needs of woman, and capable of giving utter-
,1 Google
cdv AN ESSAY ON
atice to the most awful and impres'sive tlioughts in homelj
woids that come liom the hp- and {,0 to the he iit of
childhood ' It w ould seem aa il that !aagudj,e had been
preparing itself for centuiea to he the fit medium of
utti_r^nce for the world a greatest poet Hardl> more
than a gcneiation had passed since the English ton^e
had reached its perfect matuiitj — just time enough to
ha\e it well woiked into the unconscious usage of the
peopl — when Shikeapeare appealed toll) upon it i
burden of thought which would test its extiemeat capa
bibtT He could not exhaust, hut he fiiUy eihibited, all
the cipacities of the English tongie His distinction
wis not m the i\ords which he used but m the use to
which he put them No unimportant condition of his
snpre ne masterj oier expiessiou was his entire tieedom
from lestiamt it maj almost be said of consciousness,
in the choice of langudge He « as no piecisiau no
etjmologist no purist He was not pmpo eh writing
literature The only ciiticism that he feaied was thit
of his audience, which rcpieaented the English people
of all giades above the peasantrj These he wished
should not find his writing incorapieheneible or dull ,
If we except the translators of oar Bible Shakespeare
wiote the best En^liah that has let beea written 1 ut
they who speak of it as remaikabli pure, that is, is hi^
mg 1 ly mall d f R w d
m rr d m In th t tb
t y h p b bly R 1
f d Ih b 1 b th 1 ti B U
a d f -^h t p pi J h f ty p t f R
,1 Google
SHAKESPEARE'S OENITTS. ccv
maiic^ or Latin words, whicli, v/'iih the exception jusl
named, is probably a larger proportion than is now used
by our best writers, certainly larger than is heard from
those who speak their mother tongue with spontaneous
idiomatic correctness.* So many Latin words having
been adopted into the English language in the Eliza-
bstkan era, and English having been, up to that period,
Eilmost excluded froni literature, the Latin element tlien
retained much of its native character ; to which fact is
due, in some measure, Shakespeare's use of words of
Liitin origin in their radical signification. But although
he does this much more than any of his con temporaries,
we may be sure that it was the result of no yielding to
the constraints of scholarship. In brief, words were his
slaves, not he theirs ; and if one could serve his pur-
pose better than another, he did not stop to ask tlie
buthplace or to trace the lineage of his servant. He will
compose \erse after verse almost wholly of Anglo-Saxon
q Uy n p d p
n hir te d f th m
0 th th h nd h U
I n t pt p
mono )11 b]
d th
tive Ir t
d Iji
diss 1-u y t
m
mak L t
d
hap t
}il bl
1 1)
nf n
t th h g
h b
fll
feht
agm t fh bl 1 tu ) f h Chu h f E gl d 1
is thus manifest that Shakespeare was secure and thought-
less in his use of words, except as to their power to serve
ilia present purpose. So that there can be no more
futile objection to a reading in his plays than that the
doubtful word occurs in no other passage of his writing.
For if he had occasion to use a word but once, or, for
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CCVI AN ESSAY ON
that matter, to make it for his single need, he would
have used or mide it without hesitation. Yet his intu-
itive knowledge of the peculiar value of words of vari-
ous derivation is contiauoiisly manifest. That he was
keenly sensible of the ludicrous effect of long Latin
words in certain situations is manifest, not only from such
instances as Costard's conclusion that ' remuneration. '
is " the Latin word for three farthings," and Bardolph's
definition of ' accommodated,' " That is, when a man is,
aa they say, accommodated ; or when a man is — being
— whereby — he may be thought to be accommodated,
which is aa excellent thing," but from such usage as
that in Sir Tohy Belch's rejoinder to Maria's remon-
strance against his roistering behavior, " Tilly vally, am
I not consanguineous ? " where the use of the Latin
word and the abstract idea has a humor which would
have been lost had he said, " Am I not her kinsman ? "
Shakespeare's freedom in the use of words was but a
part of that conscious irresponsibility to critical rule
Avhich had such an important influence upon the devel-
opment of his whole dramatic style. To the working
of his genius under this entire unconsciousness of re-
straint we owe the grandest and the most delicate beau-
ties of his poetry, Ms most poignant expressions of emo-
tion, and his richest and subtlest passages of humor.
For the superiority of his work is just in proportion to
his irresponsibility to literary criticism. His poems, the
least excellent of his writings, were written for the lit-
erary world ; and it is upon them that his contempora-
ries, in passing literarj' judgment, found his reputation.
His sonnets, which occupy a middle place, were written
for himself or for his private friends, and were obtained
for publica,tion in some indirect way. His plays were
mere entertainments for th9 general public, written not
to be read, but spoken ; written as business, just as
,1 Google
SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS. ccvii
Rogers ivrote money circulars, or as Bryant niit''s Ipid-
ing articles. This freedom was suited to tlie unparal-
leled richness and spontaneouaneas of his thought, of
^I'hich it was, in fact, partly the result, and itself pirtlj
the condition. Ben Jonson had these traits of his
friend's genius in his mind when he ivrote that pissage
in which he tells us that he " had an excellent phantasy,
brare notions, and gentle expressions ; wherein hp flow e 1
^vith that facility that it was sometimes necessary he
fihould be stopped. Sufflaminand-ua erat, as Augustus
said of Haterius. His wit was in his own power ;
would the rule of it had been so too," We, with our
dictionaries, and our books of synonyraes, our thesau-
ruses of words and phrases, to facilitate literary compo-
sition, our Blaira and our Kameses, may think, some of
us, that we have smoothed the road to literary distinc-
tion, when we have but cumbered oiir movement and
distracted our attention. After all, the secret of the art
of writing is to have_somewhat to say, and to say just
that and no other. |\Ve think in words, and when we
lack fit words we lack fit thoughts.] When we strive to
write finely for the sake of doing so, we become bom-
bastic or inane. Oldisworth, quoted by Dr. Johnson in
his Lives of the Poets, says of Edmund Neale, (known
under the assumed name of Smith,) who had a great
reputation in his own day, " Writing with ease what
could easily be written moved his indignation. When
he was writin;? upon a subject he would seriously con-
sider what Demosthenes, Homer, Virgil, or Horace, if
alive, would say upon that occasion, which whetted him
to exceed himself as well as others." Which, I take it,
is one principal reason why, although the world yet
hears something of Demosthenes, of Homer, of Virgil,
and of Horace, it has long ceased to hear any thing: of
Noalo. It must not be supposed, however, that Shake-
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■xmi AN ESSAY ON
speare, in the composition of his plays, was giiided by
no written law because in Lis day, in England, no lit-
erary law had yet been written. In The Garden of
Eloquence, by Henry Peacham, published in 1577, there
ate forms and figures of speech described, and classified,
and named to the number of two hundred and more,
with apt rules to use them withal. But not seeking tit
square his work by these rules, ShakespBare wrote in
his marrellous fashion, because, if he wrote at all, it was
just as easy for him to write in that way as in any other.
When Lear says, —
"Down, thou climbing sorrow;
Thy element's below," —
the critics of the last century, walking through the
clipped verdure and formal alleys of the Garden of Elo-
quence, point out, with dignified complacency, that
" here is a most remarkable prosopopceia." So there
is, if they must have it so. But it comes from Shake-
speare's pen as a matter of course; as if no other thought,
no other words, could have occurred to him on that occa-
sion. And what cared he what Homer or what Virgil
■would have said? But it is always thus with him. Un-
like other great writers, he does not seem to scatter his
riches with a lavish hand ; they drop from him like fat-
ness from the clouds of heaven ; as if with the intel-
lectual riches of a god he had a godlike serenity in their
possession and their bestowal.
Notwithstandino- Sh4kespeare's copiousness of thou"ht
d ffl f fe r> m 1 p h tjl Id
b th th t ft 1 1 y h t
H t h d t p 1 1 If I h b
tt mpb dt gltlttp h pti
B t S! 1 p d 1 t 1 t t t p t tl h
th ght ds 1 tl t tt th f
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SHAKESPEABF/S GENIUS. ccix
otl ei \i ters wl en to dj so «ei e I hii p e-ient p r
p^se Examples aiP scattered dll through, his pli}s
In no reapect ■nas Shal espeare s art ckssical He
WW essentially a Goth and Ms stjie cnnesponded en
tireh to the character of h s mind English is a Gothic
h linage 1 et there can be dabsical English as we have
leeii shown by Addison ind Goldsmith In the foimer
oi theae eminent w liters we find the perf ction of ease
clearness harmonj and di^nitj So ne do m Shake
speare except that some pissB„es fiom compiession ol
n any thoughts fiom neglect of elaboration and some
times from, corruption, lack clearness. But it is not thus
that Shakespeai'e's style is to be defined. It is not to
be defined at aD: it is a mystery. Addison's sound
sense, the eminently graceful character of his mind, and
his lambent humor, were individual qualities ivliich
marked hU thought ; but as to his style, it can be
easily analyzed ; its elements can be detected, and their
proportions declared. But you cannot take certain
qiiahtiBS of style and combine them in certain propor-
tions, and by certain rules, and make your Shakespeare's
miKture. A nameless something — not grace, not har-
mony, not strength — which yet mingies with them all
in Shakespeare, would be lacking. Addison's perfect
.style has been perfectly imitated. There have been men,
there might be many men, who could produce not what
would propei'ly be called an imitation of it, but the
thing itself. But the man has never yet written, except
Shakespeare, who could produce ten lines having that
quality, which, for lack of other name, we call Shake-
spearian.
It is, however, not only in this nameless charm and
happy audacity that Shakespeare differs irom those
writers of our language whose style may be regarded as
models of correctness. He is ofttn undeniably incorrect,
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CCS AN ESSAY ON
in q p Uy f til ynt t 1 f 1
dyhilip m pthdtytt d
pi t 1 al 1 m tj t tl y pn pi th
gizd dptlfh s,ltt la
f Uy th t h h h il tl H I
li h t t tl f k 1 PI h
tpM hj tfd thp likh
n t f p id
Th li w a^ pa. ? f
•bhkp ptyhh attil dhkis
It f th h h t ait— a^, h k m ^
fi g ally f t hi lib b ht
tl d by b g di th h p tl 11
tx fGh d tpltSllp
ddtptyf tfidtpl Ctharlu
tc hhUlb tp d, 1 ht
1 13 d f hi f h 1 fi p
t hi bail d TAe D t d te tli f bl d p 1
yp hhh Imltlyd b Bt
&h k p 1 m t il b f 1 d th
mtmduptsinUth h]i tl Idu
til fft tjtd I lasdShU audhd
iIlLmlffirdfateddf 1 h
n th f h t ly 1 k S 1 11 t
I p th m 1 f tl i
tu tlfbtti h uid If 1
th b! h t 1£ 1
h th h t th n
m t
fi-monater ? Yet how much i
Sir E. BulttKf Li^Uun-t Ti-r
,1 Google
SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS
s; t 1 1 y tl d fi t d fi
m
p rp ly
d flm
t
H
1 d m
ii ff 1
f th k
dby
gul
f 1
*y
ii m
pli
h
!
y d
ly
t
d
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fiU
d d
th
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th
i
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h
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t!
P
h 1 p
IS
th t f
P 'i g
hyp bl
to
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b d
ty
fm t,i
ght
ph
d
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h
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d
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tly
tt t
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f
ht
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by li
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t h
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any th
aU th q
alt
f h
tyi
— TI
b d
F / H J tl F Ih — -pai, ^ hi
1 I 1 J t y t
by any other of his writing, and which, is
example at once of the vagueness, the mingling of met-
aphor, and the extravagance with which he could dare
to write, and splendidly succeed. NorihumbeTland, —
after several speeches, during which he, with rapidly
rising emotion, is led to the certain, knowledge of his
sou Hotspur's death, — enraged with grief, thus closes
his outbreak of wrath and sorrow : —
" Now hind my brows with iron, and approach
The ragged'st hoar that time and spite dare bring
To iiovra upon the enrag'd Northumberiand.
Let heaven kiss earth : now let not nature's hand
Keep the wild flood confin'd ; let order die :
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I AN ESSAY ON
And let tliis world no longei- be a stage.
To feed contention in a lingering act ;
But let one spirit of the first-born Cain
R" " lib mtht bbaitb"
O bl d h d y
Addk btib itldd
bib h f
Ci f ft d tl f n n I ttl b by
tt t tl t tl lit t
ga B t h d pt b f th
1 turj te npt d f i \
filh knp filthHst
1 !d b tk k I 1 f 1 t ti Id fl d
whicb nature keeps confined ! Who ever supposed that
Shakespeare meant that a stage could stiictly be said
to feed any thing, much more feed contention ! The
truth is, that in such passages as that in question, when
they are the work of a hand strong enough to carry the
reader with the ivriter, the mind does not take tlie per-
sonifying words in then" strict sense. That sense, as in
tke phrases " let heaven kiss earth," " let order die," " to
feed contention," is only suggested, and gives a certaia
color and intensity to expression. And, in Northumbei--
land's speech, the quick opposing changes of impersona-
tion pertujh the passage with a stir of words and clash
of thought which con'espouds to, and portrays the strong,
deep agitation of, the speaker's soul,
Siiakeapeare mixes not only metaphors, but metaphors
and plain language. He unites even the material and
,1 Google
SHAKESPEAllE'S GENIUS.
the spiritual; and yet his image loses Dnithei
nor beauty becau.se its head is of gold and i
clay. When Hamlet says,
Wliose blood and judgment are so well
That they are not a pipe for Fortune's flnger
To play what stop she please,"
what a union of ■weight and edge is given to the passage
by the welding of the physical idea of blood with the
moral idea of judgment ! Yet the rhetoricians have for-
bidden the banns of luch unions. But the period as a
whole, no 1 tb fh ta member of it, is obnoxious
to their den t on f he last half is as apparently
incongruous w h the fii t s the elements of the first
are with each otbe H n the commingling of blood
and judgment mak i p But Shalsespearo did not
(vrite for n a wlo 1 after this mole-eyed fashion.
Nor did he h n n h I lood and judgment made a
pipe. The bio d nd j dgment make the man, and the
man is then, mp-ir 1 to a ( ipe in the hands of Fortune.
This is not discoveied by an analysis, however lapid, but
apprehended at once by the under*: tan di'ig of e^ery
reader who can and does admit the entiance of moie
than, one idea into his mmd at tbe same time It is the
faculty of combining the expression of an impiessive
truth, or of a genuine human feeling, with fancies which
Id tr g t U at f Sh k
bill d f h g h m
byth
1
1
P
tyl
ts I
f U)
b h
t
th t f
t
b
hji bi
1
V
k
P
ii f
11 ,1
th
,1 Google
ocsiv AN ESSAY OS
of giving, by the reflected light of his intellect, beauty
to that which is in itself repulsive. Not only passion,
guilt, and woe, but even inhumanity and baseaeas, are
presented to us so tempered and elevated through the
medium of his genius that we are not wounded or re-
pelled by the picture, while we mourn over, or con-
demn, or even loathe that which it represents. We
may say of Ms genius as Laej-fea says of the crazed
" Thought and affliction, passion, hell itself.
She turns to favour and to prettiness."
Thus Shakespeare furnishes us with the very language
in which we can pass critical judgment upon himself; so
that it is possible that the best and completest expression
of his genius could be culled from the worlts which that
genius has produced.
Shakespeare, from the height to which he soars, can
overlook and disregard that which affronts lowlier eyes ;
or, by the universal solvent of his genius, he can compel
the union of elements whose natural repugnance resists
less potent alchemy. Yet, with no material detriment to
his fame, it may be admitted that precisians and purists,
and all who admire — as Samnon fought — only when
the law is on their side, can And a true bill of extrav-
agance against him For what was justly said of Plato
that f h h d t d 1 uld h d 1
q u a ppl hi to h gr at 1 amat p tat th
g eat ph 1 ph and tl all m y b n
abl) mad m th f Sh k p li 11
hahlod ifry ntkan nl
fl ght b ) d th b nd f n G i p o-
dd hnbtwhl 11 ddm
tin I th t ill 1 f
M h ra e bj t abl thin h a
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS. ccxv
that into wliich Shakespeare sometimes, though rarely,
fell, are the opposite faults of style, an elaboration of nice
conceit, and a proneness to verbal quibbling, into which
he was led by a confoi'mity to the taste of his period.
These triviid. blemishes, easily discernible, were just of the
kind to bring down the censure of the last century's critics,
who were never tired of packing at Shakespeare for the
readiness with which he sprang at an opportunity for a
pun ; and there can be no doubt that some fine passages
of his poetry are less purely beautiful than they would
have been were they not spotted with this labored use
of words in n. double sense. Of the kindred fault, which
did not take flie form of an absolute pun, but which
is hardly less offensive, the Lucrece furnishes the follow-
ing perfect specimen ; —
" Even here she sheathed in her harmless breast
A harmful knife, which thence her soul unsheath'd."
Conceits like this, which abound in all departments of the
literature of the Elizabethan age, are mere labored, verbal
antitheses corresponding to parallel antitheses of thought.
The humorous side of this conceit in style is a pun, in
which there is correspondence of words, but incongruity
of thought. The development of taste has taught us that
in serious writing these antitheses are impertinent ; but
the pleasing surprbe of a certain lack of pertinence,
which yet seems pertinent, forms no small ingredient in
our enjoyment of wit. Of this kind of wit, no less than
of that subtler comic quality which we call humor, Shake-
speare has shown himself in Falstaff the matchless mas-
ter. And thus we find hb most objectionable and most
noticeable fault neaily related to one of his most ex-
quisite and charming graces. It is interesting to know
that while he conformed to the fashion of his day in this
matter of conceits and quibbles, he saw how petty and
,1 Google
ccxvi AN ESSAY ON
injurious it was, and visited it with open conderanatioc.
In Ihvdftk J!fiffhf, after malting the C'loivn quibble for
three speeches, to Viola's bewilderment, upon two words,
he makes the same character exclaim, " To see this age !
A S3!itence is but a cheveril glove to a good wit. How
quickly the wrong side may be turned outward ! " To
wticli Viola replies, " Nay, that's certain : they that
dally nicely with words may quickly make them wan-
ton." This is one of the very few passages in his pUys
■which may safely be accepted as a mere exprtdssion of
But the fashion of his da^, at Shikcspeaie t, confoim
ity to which we must ohieflj rejoice, \\m that of usmg
blank verse instead of thyme m dianiatic composition
His choice, doubtless, went with his confoimitj but
that he yielded in this respect to fashion i"* plain liom
the facts that his earlier plijs abound in ihymed pas-
sages,— a great part of one of them, I'hc Com dy if
Errors, being in couplets oi alternate ihjme«, and that
he used blank verse only in hia pliys Blank veise had
beea slowly growing in fevor with our English poets ever
since Surrey used it for his translation of the fomth book
of the j5Eneid, forty years before Shakespeare enteied
upon his career. At Uie latter period it was coming
into vogue upon the stage, and Shakespeare, who in all
that lie wrote to set forth as poetry chose rhyme, soon
became, in his dramas, the greatest master of English
beroic measure. Not mnch can be said, and if there
could, not much need be said, in an attempt to appre-
ciate Shakespeare's genius, of the beauty of his versifl-
cation. Criticism can do no more than record its various
and surpassing beauty. The mere structure of verse is
mechanical. It can be, it has been, made perfect by
rule. Much good sense has been written in lines com-
posed of five feet of two syllables, with accent duly
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS. ccxvii
disposed ind tastefully an! correctly vaiied, which are
uneiccptiondhle verses, quite as perfect as any that
Shakespeare (.^a \iiote But they ai'e, most of them, a
weariness to the flesh while his delight our ears forever.
The leasoa of this diifeience it is impossible to set forth.
We can no more aay why it is than, we can say why, when
one composer writes a succession of notes which follow
each other in perfect conformity to the rules of music,
the canons of taste, as well as the laws of composition,
we say with Sly, " A very excellent piece of work : would
'twere done," and when Mozart writes, conforming to no
other laws, ke ravishes our souts with melody. The
power over sound, whether of words or mtjsicai notes, is
a personal gift, which, unlike other personal gifts, such
as wisdom, logical power, imagination, the mastery of
form, as in sculpture and architecture, or of color, as in
pointing and decoration, is exercised (wit)iin certain gen-
eral limits) purely according to the personal fancy, the
spontaneous and intuitive preference of the possessor.
The poot, in the sensuous expression of his verse, is
guided only hy his own sense of what is fit and beauti-
ful. We can see that he attains his purpose by the
variation of his pauses, the balance of liis sentences,
and his choice and arrangement of words in regard to
sound. But why and iiow he does this we cannot tell ;
nor could he tell himself. We can test one of Shake-
speare's characters by the laws of oui moral nature ; but
we have no laws, except those before mentioned, wliieh
refer to the rudiments and mechanism of the art, by
which we can test the sensuous beauties of his poetry.
Except in Hs songs, he wrote almost entirely in one
kind of verse ; and he wrote that as he willed ; his vari-
ations of style, in this respect, residting only fi:om the
greater or less freedom which he allowed himself, guided
only by iiis innate exquisite sonso of tiic beautiful. He
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ccsviii AN ESSAY ON
had no literary criticism to fear, (it cannot be too constantly
kept in mind ;) and the success of his plays was not
with a public who read, but with an audience who Us-
tened. Therefore he admitted hemistichs, defective and
redundant lines, the alternation of verse with prose, and
of rhymes with blank verse ; conscious that so long
as the dialogue ran easily and naturally on, the au-
dience would concern themselves with the story, the
situations, and the thoughts and feelings of the per-
sonages, indifferent to the niceties of versification, which
indeed only a reader could detect. la respect to the
strict laws of versification, the dramatic poet of the days
i>f Elizabeth was a chaitered libertine. Shakespeare
availed himself of this fieedom to the full ; and we can
see that as he grew older he allowed himself greater
licence, the effect of which relaxation was counterbal-
anced and modified by his greater mastery of the mate-
ri.il in nhich he worked, and his more refined percep-
tions of beauty. The plays which we know were his
latest productions, such as The Wtntei's Tale, Corio-
lanus, and Henry the Eighth, are notibly freer, free
almost to carelessness, when compared with The Two
Gentlemen of Veronn and King Biehard the Second,
for instance, which we know were of his early writing.
In some of the Koman plays, and in King Henry the
Eighth, he reaches the point of almost failing to mark
his verse by any ciPsural or final pause whatever ; very
often allowing the place of the last accent to be filled by
a syllable, frequently a monosyllabic word, which cannot
be accented. It is true that the rhythm of all modern
poetry depends merely upon accent, and that the English
language has among its happy distinctions that of con-
taining no word which is unfit for poetry. But the
facility given by these traits is shared in the first instance
by all modern poets, in the second by all English poets.
,1 Google
SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS
Yet f 11 E 1 h w 11 f 11 m
by ^ t f th b ty f b 1 f m
wo km tl mt th gh t
po f 1 p t f f t I t
Lk th I llt}dllt ft
op t t th f 1 ) f m 1 (1 fie, t
thtfl hh Dfjth &llpar
es f wh h m 1 t 1 ally b d
air iy F y 1 fi 1 bj J h th p
by h ch the n d fo n a to itself images of thmga per
sons or see es of be g and he giyei imagination as
ts synonyme and h st defln tioii , by Webster as the
faculty by v.h ch he n nd forms images or representa
tons of things at pleasu e; by "Woiceater as the
fae Ity of comb n g deas ' and some metaphysici-ins
attemj t ng to drdw ads inction between fancj and
mag ation hive attr buted to the formei faculty the
J o ve of f rm ng mages or representations of things m
the n d to the latt r that of combining and moditjing
them If tl eae defi t ons were correct and sufScient
fa cy CO Id ot be eons de ed ivith propriety as i tiait of
style , «hich is in poet, pamtei oi musician the mode-
of expression. It would beloi g to the sibstanie of -in
author's work, — that which st^k e->:iiesses But the
definitions in question, to which all others 1 nonn to me
conform without essential vaxiati n mi st be set as de s,s
expressing neither the idea of fancv which is presented hj
our best writers of any age, nor that which has det m ined
the general use of the word among intelligent people
This is not the place in which to go into extended
dissertation. Ti]ion the charactenstic trait ai d d ffere ccs
of fancy and imagination; b t it nia\ b bi efl> sad
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ccsx AN ESSAY ON
that if ' fancj'' were ever correctly used as a synonj'me
of ' imagination,' which is more tliau doubtful, or as
tte name of a ci'eatiTO, image-forming facultj', that
usage has long since passed away, and that the needs
of intelligent people have effected, a distinction hetwcen
the two words, similar in kind to that which has heen
made between 'talent' and 'genius.' Caj-Iyle, for in-
stance, is celebrated as a writer of n\id and powerful
imagination ; but no person of ordmary discrimination
would speak of fancy as one of his characteristic mental
traits. So the stjde of A Mtihi vimei -Nigkffs Dream is
peculiarly rich and brilliant m finoj , bnt except in the
personages of Puot and the clowns, it is not distinguished
among Shaieapeare's plays for imagination, which, as ex-
hibited in his works, finds its highest manifestation in
King Lear, Macbeth, and The Tempest. In brief, im-
agination is that creative faculty of the miud by which
images of men and things, and their relations, are con-
ceived and brought forth with seeming reality. It is
th If f f 'th r h ■ tl b ta f th-
hpdf dtl In tth'St I y
tlfUJhlltrt h dd
p th tmtffttthbys,
t p n nlby ttrb tedf t t
X ddntlltnl Ihqlnd^ th
bdl h fShkp fyH
pUlllnt laJltUl Gdll Id
dUthtmhdl dt ntbt tels
t hh t 1 — t f h th gh tl tth
tir fhmnknll mlbld d
trb t t 11 tl t h t g Th
1 tbl f f n J- fm bin taih m
p n ill tl tl p n t 1 lit
t ft uit m gl d tl t th t
b d 6 tl t! Ill h fh mb t n
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS. ccxxi
clearly aecn, and leaves a vivid impression upon th(;
mind — is tte great distinctive intellectual ti'ait of Shake-
p ' tjl I h' f 'mil 'm g y d iiaper-
t h 1 I t. p t h h th t f any other
pt tlis pt tb mjd nin the
w y f d g ti f t
Ilk th twl 1 fid
m 1 1 t f m 1 mp
ly p
to, but
k H
Ty rarely
1;
he word
p ts
'Jor does
t ph
he attii-
f 1
medium
1 t
t off his
li 1
formally
th
;ht, or a
11 t te hyth th H
f 1 g nl t tl Th not even
twi b t 1 b h th ht g I to image,
dm mh ii g th gl t Wh M Ito in a pas-
g f J tly 1 b t 11 tj Id h b the hash-
ftJness of a modest new-made wife, he makes Adam say,
" To the nuptial bower
I led her, blushing like the morn."
I makes Posthuraus say, that in like
S Imogen showed
" A p de icy so losy the sweet view on't
Might ell 1 a\e vaim'd old Saturn."
In the epic j oet tl re aic t 'o ideas, not only distinct,
but severed : the dra at st p eaents one, whicli suggests
two. Again JI Iton n d passage yet more beautiful
than the last quoted f on him, describing the dawn,
says,
" Now Morn, her rosy steps i' th' eastern clime.
Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl."
This is nearer, esponially in the rosy stops ; but still
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ccxxil AN ESSAY ON
there is a severance betiveen morn and the eastern
clime, hetweea mom and the pearl. Shakespeare,
describing the same event, says, in his compact v/a.y, —
" Mom, in russet mantle clad.
Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill."
This is the production of no acquired art, but of an
inborn faculty. Shakespeare displayed the fulness of
its stren^h in his earliest plays. Who has not already
thought of Eomeo's announcement of the dawn ? —
Night's candles are bnm'd out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top."
But this is mefe description of natural phenomena ;
Shakespeare's peculiar power in this respect is the vivid-
ness with which his fancy Dlustrates thought, action,
and emotion This highest exercise of that faculty ap-
pears m the follomnf, passage, which has never been
surpassed m the gi-indeur of its imagery, or the felicity
of its illustration Queen Margaret, taunting To'ih, after
the battle of '^and d Castle, with his disappointed am-
bition, says, —
" Come, make him stand upon this mole-hill here.
That raught at mountains with outstretched aims,
Yet parted but the shadow with his hand."
Yet this passage ia from a speech in The True Tragedy
of Richard Duke of Tork, which was ^vritten when
Shakespeare was but about twenty-five years of age,
and an unknown dramatist, working in company with
others. He transferred the speech bodUy to his Third
Part of Kivg Henry the Sixth. It is of his writing.
Its mere excellence does not alone stamp it as his ; but
no other poet has made such a use of imagerj-.
It has been already remarked that the richness of
; style is due in great measure to the variety
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS. ccxxiii
of his allusions, and the extended knowledge from which
he drawa his illustiations. Hia knowledge of niaii and
of nature was chiefly intuitive, although it was developed
and perfected by observation and reflection. But so in-
timate is t!ie acquaintance which he exhibits with cer-
tain arts and occupations, and certuin departments of
leaniing, that hence hypotheses have been framed and
supported by arsjument, that he passed some of his
early years in the professional acquirement of the knowl-
edge which he afterward put so dexterously to use — a
dangerous foundation for such a supposition in regard to
any author of quick observation and a lively fancy ;
mnst dangerous with regard to Shakespeare. Johnson's
dictum, that Nature gives no man knowledge, is, to say
tlie least, too general in its terms to be true in all ita
bearings. It is hardly less sa-fe to limit the power of
genius in expressing emotions by the bounds of indi-
vidual experience, than to assume that it cannot describe
actual occurrences which it has not witnessed, or places
which it has not seen. And although it is clear that
genius cannot furnish its possessor with knowledge of
facts, or with technical knowledge, men whose faculties
do not rise to the plane of genius may, by powers of
keen observation, quick perception, retentive memory,
and ready combination, acquire, Ln the oidinary inter-
course of life, without special study, a technical knowl-
ed'^e which up to a certain point shall be real, and, dex-
terously deployed, seem thorough. It is not derogatory
to Shakespeare's genius, but rather the reverse, to believe
that in his works much of what appears to be the fruit
of a special knowledge was acquired in this manner.
Of all men known to the history of literature, he seems
to have had the most subtle and sensitive intellectual
jpprcl I elision. What he casually heard, and what he
saw by aide glances, hp seems to have understood by iu-
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ccssiv AK ESSAY ON
tuition, and to have made thencefoctli a part of his intel-
lectual resources. As to book knowledge, it is certain
that, although he was not what scholars cal! a scholar, he
had 89 much learning as he had occasion to use, or even
more. His plays and poems teem with evidence that
he devoured books, and that he assimilated what he read
with raajvellons celerity and completeness. Even when
we can trace in his poetry the very passages of the
authoi-8 to whom he was indebted, they reappear from
the mysterious recesses of his brain, transmuted and glo-
rified. When we see what it was that he absorbed, and
how he produced it, we are reminded of ArieFs song, —
" Full fathom five tliy father lies ;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes ;
N thing f hir 1h t d th f d
B d h ff 1
I h a h 1 g
H
I
1 ly
I
ir fall
g K
f 11
1
classic
d d but a
I fi h f
d
d 1
h y were.
B
h
m 1
1 1 lb
h h b t : the
f 1
ft h
m h his n 1 gh
I o room
f
h
1 1 b
H mbb d
1 ] u'it of
G
1 dE m
anl
gh h te
h nelhe
d 1
gh h
m m VI 1 ted h nology
J f m
hardly
ly !>
h h
d Wh
n Plu-
1 P
h
1 W
e and
1
gh
I y f
m 1 hi h h
ed t^s
liomans so embodied as in
f>hakespeaie's
Roman plays ?
Where, even ia
Homer's song, the «ibtle wisdom of the
era
fty Ulysses, ■
the sullen selfi'.hue'.s and conscious mar-
tial
, might of broad Achilh
?s, the blunderii
ig courage of
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SHAKESPEABE'S GENIUS. cckxv
tliick-heanled Ajas, or the mingled gallantry and foppery
of Pafis, so viyidly portrayed as in Troilus and Cresaida ?
What matter is it that he committed such an error in
costume as to make Aufldiua say to Coriolanus, that he
joyed more at welcoming him a friend and ally of
Oorioli, tJian when he &st saw his wedded mistress
bestride his threshold — the fact having been that the
newly-married wife of Latin race was carefully lifted
over the threshold OH her first entrance to her husband's
house ? What that he made Hector cite Aristotle, who
lived eight hundred years after the siege of Troy ? He
did not care ; nor did his hearers ; and why should we
be troubled ? Must our little learning so cripple our
imagination ? Shakespeare's geniua could not have
taught him the relation which Greek literature bore to
that of Kome ; but he having acquired that knowledge,
bis intuitive percepiioH of higher relations taught him
what function the Greek language would perform for an
accomplished Eomau orator, statesman, and philosopher,
and his dramatic imagination of the scene, when Cassar
fell into a fit after having refused the crown, showed him
f iceio speikiDg Gieek, so that " those tliat undeistood
him amiled ^t one anothei, and shook then lieads '
Bat when, m Hemy the Fijili, the Bishon ot FxetT
mikos his compaiison of government to the suboidma-
tion and harmony of parts in mu^ic, —
" For government, though high, and low and lower.
Put into paits, doth keep in one (ouceit,
Congreemg in a full and natural cIobc
Like music," —
it is more than superfluous to seek, as some have sought,
in Cicero De Bepitblica the origin of this simile ; for
that book was lost to literature, and unknown, except hy
name, until Angelo Mai discovered it upon a palimpsest
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ccsxvi AN ESSAY ON
in the Vatican, and gave it to the world in 1822. Cicero
very probably borrowed the fancy from Plato ; but it
was not Shakespeare's way to go so far for that wliioh
lay near at hand. Music, and particularly vocal part-
mnsic, was much cultivated by our forefiithers in Shake-
speare's time ; and he seems to have been a proficient
in the art. The comparison is one that might well occur
to any thoughtful man who 13 also a musician ; but it is
not every such man who would use it with so much apt-
ness, and malie it with so much beauty.
No less noticeable than this display of knowledge
more or less recondite, yet no less easy to understand, is
Shakespeare's use in illustration of natural phenomena
which must have been beyond his personal observation.
Of all negative facta in regard to his life, none perhaps
is surer than that he never was at aea ; yet in Henry
the Eighth, describing the outboi-st of admiration and
loyalty of the multitude at sight of Anne BuUen, he
says, as if he had spent his life on shipboard, —
"Such a noise arose
As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest ;
As loud and to as many tunes."
We may be very sure that he made no special study of
geology ; certainly he could have had no instructor in a
science which dates its birth almost within the present
century. Yet in the foDowing lines from hia 64th
sonnet, an important geological fact serves him for
illustration : —
" When I Lave seen the hungry ocean gain
Advantage on the kingdom of the shore,
And the firm soil win of the wateiy main,
Increasing store with loss and loss with store," &c.
Where, and how, and why, had Shakespeare observed a
great operation of nature like this, which takes many
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS. ccxsvu
years to effect changes that are perceptible ? Yot we
may be sure that Shakespeare had this knowledge in no
miraculous way, though his possession of it might be
mysterious to the many who did not possess it them-
selves. For we find that his knowledge of that which
he could not learn of his own soul, which could teach
him every thing with regard to man, but nothing with
regai'd to material nature, was limited to what he tad
observed, and to the knowledge of his time, even in the
simplest matters. He knew that Cicero would be likely
to veil a sententious comment upon an important politi-
cal event in Greek ; he knew that the shrouds of a ship
howled dismally in a tempest ; he even knew that a
compensating loss and gain is going on between the
great waters and the continents ; but he did not know
what every lad fit to enter college now knows, and what
it would seem that any intelligent man, who considered
the subject, must have discovered for himself, that the
spM'ka produced by flint and steel are minute pieces of
steel struck off and heated to redness by friction. Like
all his contemporaries, he supposed that the fire was in
the flint. Thersites says that Ajas's wit " lies as coldly
in him as flre in a flint, which will not slieiv without
knocking." But the limits of Shakespeare's knowledge
did not mark the scope of his genius, and his ignorance
or his learning is of small account in estimating the
quality of his poetry or the truth and interest of hia
dramatic conceptions. Would either of two passages
from which lines have just been quoted have been more
impressive if Aufidius had spoken of his new-married
wife being lifted over his threshold, or if Shakespeare
had known that steel was burned by collision with
flint ? It matters little what naturalists and scholars
think of the material which Shakespeare used for the
illustration of his thought, and less whence those ma-
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ccsxviii AN ESSAY ON
terials were derived. Of no more imjiortince is it thit
he has transferred thoughts from forgotten MastLS to his
owtt blooming pages. What matter thjt he his taken
some fi-oiii Lilly? It is he alone who makes tho^e
thoughts admired. Those which he did not take the
world has quite forgotten. The glory is not m the
cloud, hut in the eternal light that fails upon the fleeting
exhalation. Even in regard to the special knowledge
which is most strikingly exhibited in Shakespeiie's ^nit
inga, — that of the law, — of how little real importance is
it to establish the bare fact that Shakespeare was aa attor-
ney's clerk before he was an actor ! Suppose it proved,
— what have we learned ? Nothing peculiar to Shake-
1 b t m ly h t tr f t mib of
th ; m hi t ] It 1 ked
m t lit t th th f t t! t 1 1 gal
pi f th y th di m t t i t but
w th hi 1 las p th g t q d gged
fmfl ti httdhte That
was his inborn mastery. Legal phrases did nothing for
him ; but he did much for them. Chance cast their un-
couth forms around him, and the golden overflow from
the fiirnace of his glowing thought fell upon, them, en-
shielding and glorifying them forever. The same for-
tune might have befallen the lumber of auy other craft ;
it did befall that of some others — the difference being
one of quantity, and not of kind. The certainty that
Shakespeare had been bred to the law, would it even
help ua to the knowledge of his life — of what he did
for himself, thought for himself, how he joyed, how he
Hufl'ered, what he was ? No more woiJd it help us to
understand his genius.
Whatever Shakespeare may have learned, he did not
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RHAKESPEARE-S GENIUS. ccxxis
ioarn his dramatic art, in which he had not only no in-
structor, but no model. By dramatic art ia not here
meant the principles which guided him in the construc-
tion of his pSays. In that he had teachers, who were
also his examples. The form and the action of all hia
dramas, whether comedies, histories, or tragedies, were
determined hy laws over which he had, or at least exer-
cised, no control. At the time of his arrival in London
tlie Eagliah drama had attained a recognized, if not an
established, form, which was not an imitation of an elder
type, or the invention of an individual, but an outjjrowth
of the national character. Not only was the form of
plays thus determined, but the manner of writing them.
It was the settled practice of the dramatic writers of
that day, most of whom were connected with one theatre
or another, either as actors or retained play-wrights, to
take plots wherever they could find them — from popular
novels, old plays, or weJl-lcno pas ag f hbt y
and to work these up as quickly p bl into f
fective play, which, by its story d t h Id
interest the public. Preferenc w g to th pi t
of old plays, or the stories of 1 wh h li d b d
a hold npoa popular iavor. T 11 tl i^, hi k
Bpeare conformed. It is worth hil t b g t m nd
these well-establbhed facts in gajd to bl 1 p
dramatic writing, because it is th f 1 f m t
to regard him as writing, like 8 ph I Eui p A
to a listening nation, conscious th t t fm paitly
imoh^d m his productions, th j dgm t f 1 1 w
woithy of the graie consideiat n f g a t d
beciuse much superfine subtlety ancl nge u ty 1 ave
been exhibited in tracing his purposes, a I n pro iing
him «ith ps) chological theories, according o h ch he
^i\e certain traits to ceitain (karicters, and led them
tiiiough such and such expLiience, when m fact he was
,1 Google
ccxxjc AN ESSAY ON
but following the old play or the old story to which he
had gone for the framework or the material of his drama.
Even his historical pieces, which all the evidence ehows
w 'tt 1 1 p haa d f g d tt ' d
1 1 t nly th tl p bh t t h b
1 inly I d t t tral d y 1 w th
fcral th f,ht 1 b p up as f Sh I i
m t in t g th t g h Id phil ph) f
hi to y w} h mi dcab trtdfmtl by
tl tl gl tful d f h m li b t ly b tl y
d 1 d i hi m httl f 1 lif A I h t
wdfliyll calkwldgh fbhk
p Ite tfdmthb gmj, F p
tl d f i; ^ t h this p
ppl t d by th p d t 1 i f ! t
h h th t ary f h I t t y
gdd grtfltth V h
t Btthtti Ihtij crt dl k
th t tl t f f fl t hip m ly
f 11 1 tl 1 d ti 1 t wl h h t f
1 jl t Th h f d th I t f i'
hi tl 1 f d h 11 ^ d h
p i F t Jil t dh d tgfB
ft 1 b 1 t w th h 1 t th d
Kiaag llfhhl b Idd qt
anl btl) d tl t f tl h h g d d
th y d Sh k p Id d btl h
t d tl m b t th tr th th t h f d th m 8
th tal h h 1 1 m t d d lid Oil 11 I
f md I g thh ftlhjt I
1 t p fl fl 1 h th d th ght
of which have been the occasion of so much profound
jisychological discussion. There is reason for believing
that the sudden changes in the feelings of lovers and
tyrants in some of Sliakeapeare's plays, and such unac-
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SIIAKESPEAEE'S GENIUS. ccxxsi
coiintdbk acts, foi mstdnce, as Itilentint ? willmfjness
to leaign Lia mistii-Siii to Pi</teus,'v,ould be accouuted
for, although, perhaps not explained, by the disf'i\ciy of
some lost play or novel In plays wiitten as daily
laboi, b3 a man whose sole object m i\iitiiig ■ms to
please a piomiscuous audience, by a pliy wiight nho
worked meiely as one of a companj or paitnerskip hia
pait of the business Iiemg to fmaish woids for others
to ipeak, ■nho composed so tu n j it author-
ship, and who worked over th Id m t nol which lay
ne irest to his hand, and was b t t d t his money-
maldufj purpose, always saving d tr hie as much
as possible, — in such plays, p d d hat foUy to
seek, as some have sought, t al th ght, a great
psychological motive ! From il tb t know of
Shakespeare and his cireumsta a d 11 that can be
extracted from hia plays with 1 1 t may he sure
that the great central thoughts and mnei motives whioli
have been sought out for his various dramas, by critics of
the German school, could he but come back and hear them,
would excite only his smiling wonder. In the mere
construction of his dramas, although, Shakespeare some-
times displays great skill, not only in the working of the
plot, but in the manner in which he conformed his
genius to the taste and the dramatic fashions of his day,
he exhibits nowhere a conformity to principles of art
unknown before his era
Every worthy reader of Sh 1 p aie m t that his
peculiar power as a dramati t 1 m h t atn at of
character. The interest wh h d t n 1 h plays,
as plays, from all others, is ti t w 1 h ntr s m th p r-
sonages, in their expression f th ugh and t n,
and in theiv motives and mod f a t n 57 his
dramatic ait, and this it wa 1 11 h d n tl er
teacher nor model. Foi at tl t 1 1 ote.
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ccxsxii AN ESSAY ON
character, properly so called, was almost, if not quite,
unTuiown to English literature, and but little more to
that of the Latin races. In English dramatic literature,
Marlowe alone had attempted character, but in a style
extremely coarse and rudimentary. The Italian and
French novelists who preceded Shakespeare, including
even Boccaccio himself, interest by mere story, by
incident and sentiment. Their personages have no
character'. They are indeed of different kinds, good
and bad, lovers, tyrants, intriguers, clowns, and gen-
tlemen, of whom some are grave aad others merry.
But they are mere human formulas, not either types or
individuals. It has been much disputed whether Shake-
speare's personages are types or individuals. They are
both. Those which are of his own creation are type indi-
viduals. So real are they in their individuality, so sharply
outlined and compactly construed, that the men and
women that we meet seem but shadows compared with
them ; and yet each one of them is so purged of the acci-
dental and non-essential, as to become typical, ideal. He
made them so by imiting and harmonizing in them a vari-
ety of traits, all subordinated to, yet overwhelmed by, one
cential and dommating trait and by so modifiing and
coloring the manifestation of this triit that of itselt it
has indi\iduabty Shakespeare s peisonages are thor
oughly human and theiefore not embodiments of sLogle
tiaits or simple impulses but com} licited michmea
and the hi^hei their type the more complex the i oigan
izition He combines in one individual and harmonizes
qualities apparently incongiuoui his genius reveahng
to him then affinities It is the consequent complication
of motive which causes the characters of Shakespcaie s
peisonagcs to be lead difieiently by difieient people
This virietv ot opinion upon them \(ithm ceitam wide
and v.e]l detei nined Iinit" " evid ncc of the tnthfui
,1 Google
SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS.
f tl 1 ters. Not only does their complex
g pportunity for a different appreciation
f h IT 1 1 ut, as in real life, tlie character, nay,
th y f th se who pass judgment upon them, ia
an 1 t I th reputation. Not only will two men
f q 1 t 1 opacity, and equally thoughtful, foiin
d ff t p f them, but the judgment of the same
II b d hed by his experience. TJuliiie the
p f th vorld around us, some of whom pass
1 m It 3)ile others come forward, and aU
1 tl tl 1 pse of time, those of Shakespeare's
by th conditions of their existence, remain
th m B t I'iew of them is enlarged and modi-
fi d by d g years. As we grow older we look
p th ra fr higher point, and tlie horizon of our
yn J thy w th th m broadens. We lose little, and we
g m h r lanhood's eye, ranging over its wider
I fi da tl t the eminences which were the boy's
b 1 f d ir t on, do not pass out of sight, but he-
rn p t f nder and more varied prospect, while
1 1 ishing their importance, casts upon
th th t d 1 ht of that happy memoij which ever
I p p and early pleasures. But as in real
If ga bh k peare's characters, during their mimic
t dpli ddlp hthth W
h th y tu lly 1 d p d Id d
Althitdpd d plfl
m t\ m t t t 3 1 t ts th ty
f bh k 1 u pi J g hi Hi
t t t q 111 1 8 =! t
1 H g t 1 t t q f
t D t w H 1 m <ni
llfll Itl btthy mth
tl t q 1 ty f fl h and blood which unites changeable-
! J 1 1) as a man's substance changes, and
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cexxxiv AN ESSAY ON
his soul grows older year by year, and yet he is the same
person. It is not only the story in Shakespeare's dramas
which makes progress, hut the characters of the per-
sonages. Li:ar, Romeo, Macbeth, Othello, are, as the
phrase is. not the same men at the end of the play
as at the beginning. Their experience has TOodifietl
their characters ; yet each is the same, though quanto
matatus! This it is which exhibits Shakespeare's su-
preme peculiar power. What he did, for instance, for
lago, was not to make him a villaia. but to provide the
ready-made villain with a soul. He worked out in
poetry a great psychological problem : — Given such and
such hellish deeds, what kind of man is he who does
them ? and how does he think, and feel, and act ? Shake-
speare made souls to his characters ; he did not give them
his ovvn. It is now the most commonly recognized truth
in regard to him, that he is a self-oblivious poet. But
this is not true of him without importitiit qualification.
In his sonnets, whether they were written in his own
person or in another's, he was not oblivious of self. On
the contrary, his own thoughts, his ovra feelings, con-
stantly appear. Ho pours out his own woes with a free-
dom in which he equals, but with a masiliness in which
he far surpasses, Byron. It is as a dramatist that he m
self-ohlivious ; and he is so to a degree too absolute, it
would seem, for the ever-oonscious p pi f th Id
to apprehend. Else we should not h t n
ually do hcai-, an opinion or a co f It
tained, with an air of triumph, by th t t f &1 1
speare's opinion in its favor. Fo tl 1 dly a
course of conduct, or aa opinion, p n m 1 |
tion, which cannot be thus supp d bh k p e
disappeared in his personages ; and t ti y ho
speak, and not their creator. The 1 n j tl y
meaning, of what his creatures sa; t ! d
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS, COXixv
b^ tlieu cliarictcis and the ciicumst infe undei nhich
it 13 spolvpn Attempts have been made on the one
} md to &how that 'ihake'speare was an infidEl, and on
tho other that he waa a Roman Catholic Both might
lave been equ illy successful A biahop hi^, by m
gcnious and claboiate collation of passages ot the
^lajer's ■Morkfl ^let foith certain lelij^ioiw pimciplea and
smtiments derived from fh.e Bible la bhikepeiic'J
Lut by a !ike procoa just the opposite might have
been shovyn with equal ceitimfy In this regard, is m
all otheis, what bhikespeare wiote vis the outgionthof
character and circumstance Heligious subjects could
not be treated with more solemnity than by some of his
personages as the reader of Heaiy the Eighth, Micha}d
tlf Second, ani 3Ieaiuri. for iKeas tire, will remember,
nor, on the other hand, could the most imposing dogmas
of divinity be touched with more daring or more disre-
spectful hands, than are laid upon them in King Henry
the Fourth, Cymbelme, Macbeth, and Much Ado about
Nothing.
It is thus upon every question. Because a usurper,
wishing to build up in himself a belief that he rules by
the grace of God, says, —
" There's such divinity doth hedge a king
That treason can but peep to what it would.
Acts little of his wiE," —
it no more follows that Shakespeare believed in the abso-
lute and divine right of kings, than because one of
Jack Gadis followers lays it down that the command,
Labor in thy vocation, " is as much to say as. Let the
magistrates be laboring men ; and therefore should we
be magisti'ates," it follows that he was a radical demo-
crat. For he made both the usurper and the demagogue.
It would seem as if, in all Shakespeare's thickly-
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ccsssvi AN ESSAY ON
peopled plays, we might find at least one character
which he meant ahouM represent his own. But the
longer and the closer our study of those plays, the more
clearly it appears that of all his creatures, none think
his thoughts or express his preferences, escept his Foola.
And perhaps the Fool in King Lear more nearly repre-
sents Shakespeare's tone of mind and view of life than
y li f h p g All Shakespeare's Fools
VL. h t th h lom enough to teach
pnd to m f th w Id d to set wp a college of
ph
1 ph
A g
f d
almost of melancholy,
te
p 11 th
11
f 1
t. He is as true as
K
f A t
d
C il Comparison to him
l^
t t
y th
man than Shakespeare.
H
t tl
J t
1 bt
a striking manner two
1 d ti t
f h k
I
method : one, the ease
h h h h
1 1 m ghty
d pt
1 hm
If to circumstances, and
b
t tl
1 ttle needs of his profes-
th th
th p
f
th which he poured out
tlS th gh
I th
mp t
Itywith which he be-
t
dh ib
H
er to have husbanded
h
tl h
k beneath his dignity,
pi ins of his tools ; and
It
P
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h
&h
k fi
hd]l I
d t, th
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tag
I
th
d thus essential to the
P
pd J f h
ply
h
m xed audience, instead
f
b llmg g
t
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g t this necessitj, made
h
th h 1
f 1
t
t his fancy, his practical
dm d
f h
I th
Sh k p
1
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ages, bnt no sighted
}
t 11
t
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s
h
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t or a simile that would
e
h t
s^
Id d lity to a royal procla-
Th
p
9 P
t tique of the pseudo-
1
F h
t
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llace in Shakespeare's
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SHAK-ESPBABE'S GENIUS, ccxxxvii
diaraa. Tliis completeness of his minor characters is
the more remarkable because he has wliole scenes which
were manifestly ivrittea merely to meet the exigencies
of stage management. Such, for instance, is the second
scene of Act III. of Othello. It consists of but six
lines, and merely gives a glimpse of Othello, as he goes
to walk upon the works. But it separates two others,
in both of which Gassio appears, at the end of the first
and the beginning of tlie second; and it tells us that
Ia(io is to meet Othdlo upon the works, from which they
afterward enter together, the latter already made a little
sensitive upon the subject of his lieutenant's nearness to
h's wife. And in 2Vie Merry Wives of Windsor, the first
Scene of Act IV., in which Sir Bugk Evann plays peda-
gogue to William, Page, has nothing whatever to do with
the plot, but it serves to separate the scene in which
Falstaff receives his second invitation from that which
exhibits the entertainment to which he is invited. These
are mere contrivances to preserve the appearance of
probability in action, which, when it has its formal
name, is called the unity of time and place. It would
have been well, for instance, in thia respect, if a scene
could have been thrown in between the first and second
scenes of Act I. of All's Well that Ends Well, which
present one of the most striking examples of Shake-
speare's disregard of that unity. For although one is at
Ronssillon and the other ftt Paris, Bertram and Farollea
ea ' ho 1 the 1 t er's entrance hef re tl e King in
p ace be g sepa t d b) only seven sho t speeches
I n Ise tatloss lion to accompany Le tram on
1 JO ej But of ho sn a 1 mpor an e s such dis-
epanc No Iramat c nte est s b oken by it, no
n ! p op etj olated It o Id be open to no
on n 1 s an 1 r "ar It t! eir o truction,
I s,l sh 1 a 3 do I t fa t. Shake-
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ccsxxviii
AN ESSAY ON
P h
th h
t to d 3 t
ti t ly
t 1 w kbi
J t p t t
b ft com.
It 1 tever
d t 1
t thf 1 t b
H went
b Id t like
K g Ih
W fW 1
t til w t
y P fl
J t d f h
b t k bl m
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1 t portant
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df h
t d b 11 aJw
y b d with
Pl
H lly 1 k b! th SI k p ^roua
1 d tyl f d tn t p t t tl nge of
h bj t d th ty f I hai tew He left
dp tfh ttdd Id he dra-
t 1 fi t 1 t t tb t 1 f t mpass.
The same hand that struck from it the «o_i,ol Lear
and the troubled harmonies of Hamlet's soul drew forth
also its most fantastic strains, and left us in The Comedy
of Errors a farce equally extravagant and jocular. No
other writer has so run through the scale of humanity.
In this respect it is safe to say, that Shakespeare will
never be surpassed, because he left no important type of
character untouched. From ffaialet to Abhorson, from
Imogen to Mistress Quicldy, what a descent! Yet be-
tween these extremes the full gradation is maintained.
Nay, tlie lower extreme is passed. CaUhan bridges the
gap between the burann creature and the brute ; and
Grah stands upon the otiier side with cur-like tbank-
lessnesa for a chai-acter as sharply drawn as his master's.
Whence did Shakespeare draw the characters of such
a multitude of various and ivell-defined personages ?
From models ? Did he. as some would have if, keep
watch upon the world around him, and seizing upon the
individuals that suited bis purposes, put them into his
dramas ? Gruat painters have thus filled their Ci
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SlI ilCrsPE iPE'S GPNIUS cc- it
id drdimtist? of h t,ii link hate raamfe'^fly diinn
til ir characters fiom people whom they saw around
th m Hence it is that «e find the samp face doing
1 itj for hke characters in the woik" of painters from
Ki.phael to Leech so that we recognize tteir pictuies
by tiaces of some loveli noman or some '.trongl
imrked man, whose tiaits hate leized upon tlieu iiii
^uiations Hence, that throughout Beaumont and
rktchera ind Jonf on s plajs, and much more ui those
ot mfenoi dramatists, tte men and women who fulfil
ccifam lunctioni, good or hid, kave in nnm stikible re
s mblanc But araons? Shikeapeaies personages there
!■■ nit this f^mlly likeness Theie is no likeneis what
eii.1 ewept m the stile cf tteir portrajal Thise aie
plainly from the same mint, hut do not, like those, seem
to have been struck with the same die. Gustave I>oii; is
the only painter who shows a similar fecundity. Had
Shakespeare, working, as he did merely to make money,
drawn his characters from models he surely must have
fallen into a habit which o Id hi e saved him much
labor, and have satisfied h s a 1 ence He would have
Iwd his stock of model a d the e orked into each
new plot as they were needed peal g his fancy, his
wisdom, his wit, and his h mo in 1 d e«sed in different
costume, would have fill d the eje nd ear of his public.
It is true that he must 1 a e obse -\ ed He was probably
the most observant of men ell as the most re-
fi r'five and his works had of necessity the advantage
of hii observation as well aa of his reflection and his
ma^mation Nor did the greatness of his mind absolve
it fi m the Kw of development and progress common to
huminiti Althoi gh wise in his youth, — and his eaily
I I It s sho \ wisdom — he must, by the very exercise of
1 i? fir It ai d the habit of introspection, have gi'owii
iMiei 1 h'' g ew cldc . But, if we may judgt' by tlie
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cexl AX ESSAY ON
nilmg sentiment of his plays, while lie seema eaily to
have understood the world, ho seems also to have long
retained the hope and trustfulness of youth. "Wlien we
consider that The Merry Wives of Windsor, King Heni-y
iht. Fifth, and Hamlet were written within two years,
Me shall see that it is difiicult, if not impossible, to
mark his peiiods b) sentiments, choke of subject, or
maimer of treatment It is only hy his literary or ex-
ternal stjle thit we trace his passage from youth to
maturity Otherwise Shakespeare seems to have had
moods not \ eriods Age, too, although it brings more
acquaintance i\ith minkind, does not necessarily bring
bcttei knowledge of human nature. That knowledge is
not an a^gr gation but a growth ; its germ is born, with
him who has it, and it spreads from mthin, Individnals
aie meie opportunities for its development, occasions
for its manifestation. That Shakespeare availed himself
of iill such opportunities and occasions, that he tested
his judgments by experiment, and his conceptions by
comparison, that he watched in the men and women
around him the operation of those laws to which his
creations must conform, cannot reasonably he doubted.
It is probable, too, that he found here and there a trait,
or even a character, which, though not a model, was a
su^estion. His women especially show the fruit of this
kind of study. That he did Jiot draw his personages
from life is manifest from the fact that all the principal
of them, those the creation of which made his fame
what it is, are such as he could not possibly have seen,
except in mental vision, and that the experiences through
which they pass, and by which their living prototypes
must have manifested their intellectual and moral traits
to him, are such as he could not have had the oppor-
tunity of observing. Did Shakespeare ever meet a mad
king, a king whose conscious kingliness is supreme
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SHAKESrEAKE-S GENIUS. ccxli
even in iiis madness, but whose dawning madness tinges
the first manifestations of his kingly power ? As well
suppose that he had met a Caliban. Shakespeare's
miud contained, but it had not received, his characters.
In that play so marvellously fiill of thought, Troilus and
Crossida, perhaps the most thoughtful of his works,
Ulysses rises to the full height of our idea of tiie wan-
dering Ithacan. Whence came this Ulysses ? Not
from Homer's brain ; for although Homer tells us that
the King of Ithaca was " divine'' and " spear-renowned,"
and " well skilled in various enterprise and counsel," the
deeds and words of the hero, as represented by the Greek
poet, hardly justify these epithets. Here we see that
Shakespeare was even wiser than the Homeric ideal
of human wisdom. For this Shakespeare made our
Ulijsses. It was but his name and his reputation that
had come down from antiquity. It was the charac-
ter that corresponded to and justified these that Shake-
speare supplied in this instauoe, as in many others. He
did not restore a limb, or even supply a head ; hut as if
catching and filling the outline of a shadow vanished for
ecnturies, he surmounted with the speaking substance
of that shadow an insci-ihed and empty pedestal.
Shakespeare thus used the skeletons of former life
that had drifted down to him upon the stream of time,
and were cast at his feet, a heap of mere dead matter.
But he clothed them with flesh and blood, and breathed
life into their nostrils ; and they lived and moved with
a life that was individual and seif-existent after he had
orce thrown it off from his own exuberant intellectual
^itdhtj He mide his plays no galleries of portraits of
his contemporiiie'f carefully seeking models through the
'iOLial scale firom kang to beggai-. His teeming brain
lied lowliei beggars and kingher kinga than all Europe
could have furnished as subjects for his portraiture. He
■VOL. I. p
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ccxlii AN ESSAY ON"
to m,l m his oun :-cnbfiou3ne s idt. K tl i, like ol -(il i h
foi beauty or detoimity, nuthm lie noi any otliei man
had ever looked upon lu his heait weie the motives
and the passions of all hunianitj , m his mmd the ci-
pahility if not the actuality, of all human thoiif,ht
Natuie, m foimmg him, alone of all the poets, had
Hid that touch upon his soul, which made it kin witli
the whole world, and which enabled him at will to hvt,
thioughout all time, among all peoples Capahlo thus
in his complete and s^mmetiical natuie, of (eehug
with and thinking for all mankind he tound m an
isolated and inomentaiy phase of his o«n eMstence
the law nhich govtrned the hfe of those to whom
that single phase wds thezi whole sphere Fiom the
geim within Imnself he pioduced thi peiiected mdivid-
ual as It had been or would have been developed fhe
eternal laws of human life weie his seiiants by his
Heaven-bestowed pieiosjative, and he v\ds jet then m
strument Conformed to them because instinct with,
them, obedient to, yet swavmg them, he used their
subtle and uneiTing power to «oik out fiom <ipemmglv
trivial and independent truths the vast piobleras of hn
mamty , and standing evei withm the limits of his on n
evpenence he lead and repioduced fht mnei lile of
those on the loftiest heights oi m the lowest depths tf
being V, ith the certainty ol the physiologiit, who liom
the study of his own oigamz^tion ncreates the monsteis
of the ante human woild, or of the asfionomer who
not moving from his nairow study announced the place
foim moyement, and condition of a planet then hiddeu
from parthly ejes m the ahjss of bpace
It IS a vam notion, put ioitk bj some who should
know better, that much study, reflection, and earnest
eadeavoi «e req^niied to understand Shakespeare nghtlj
Culture, i d disciplini., nd natii il [oweia of ai ilv>is
,1 Google
SilAKESPEAHE'S GEKIUS. ec\lui
are doubtless demanded fur the explanation of tlit
motives and characteristic traits of Shakespeare's per-
sonages, and for the imrayelling of some of hia involved
passages, (which are very few,) or the following of some
of his highest flights of fancy. But almost all of us
must have something of Shakespeare latent in our souls,
voiceless and tmespressed ; else we should he incapable
of that sympathetic comprehension of his thoughts and
liis characters, the existence of which among ever in-
creasing multitudes for many generations is the only
possible condition of his peculiar and enduring fame.
Some men, it is true, wil! never undei'staad him in some
passages ; and some — happily for the world, very few —
will not be able to understand him at all by any study or
reflection of which they aie capable This fiom no prone
ness of the poet to poridox or to eccenfiic or senti
mental views of life or to ovei subtktj of thouifht
For although of all poets he is most profo mdly psjcho
logical as \vell as most f'lnciful and most imaginative,
yet with Jim phLloioph\ fancy and imagination are
penetiated with the spirit of that unwiitten Ian of
reason which we speik of a if it neie a faculty — com
mon sense His philosoph( is practical anl his prac
tical views are fisedwith phdosophj and poetiy He is
withii the sage and the oiacle of this woild Subjects
which are essentiallv, and m othei hands would seem
prosaic and almost sordid aie laised by him into the
realms of pootiy and jet m language so cleiily ex
ptessive of then essential chaiatter as to be adopted as
shie vd maxims by the woildly wise
In this constant presence and rule of leason m hia
most e\alted flights we recognize agun a tiait of the
English origiri and char»ct*i of his genus — a trait
which 13 at the f ii latior of its erai ence e\en in the
lealm ot imiginit in I it ■it whi h otl i pe jlts oftui
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ccsliv AS EtSAY ON
jeer. Even in our passions we will ask, Why, and say.
Because. "Voila," cries the French maid in one of
the few passages of insight in Vanbrugh's Frovoked
Wife, " Voila mi vmi Anglais ! II est i
cependant il vevt j
"VI i\ }c [le li e r,i"ipn th iiiselves icii cm in
as to the n 01 1 infi ence ol Shikeij eiie S [iiJB and
crit C3 of gieat weight fulflllmg their function have
gone doivn fai and staid doirn long in the attempt
to fithom the profound moral puipose iihich they were
sure must be hidden m the depths of these giand com
positions Put the dnect noral influence of l^h^ke
speare is nothing and we may be sure that he wiote
with no moral purpose He sought only to present
life and the woild which he shows us like that in
which we live, teaches us moral lessons accoiding to out
will and oui capacity Johnson meaning censiie of
his first defect wrote Sh kespeare s highest praise la
this respect in sajin^ of him that he carries his per
sons mdiffeientli thriugh right or wiong and at the
close dismisses them without fuither cire and leaves
their example to opeiate by chince That woid "m
differently is Shakespeare s eulogy He gn es the
me^ns of &tttd) and leals insensibly to n-flection
Men resent or turn awaj fioni convict on at the Lps
of others which the) will receive and laj to heait if
thej hear it from the lips of the mw ord no iitoi And
eien cnildien see through and despise the shallow
device which makes goodness al va^3 lead to happiness
and flout the stones which coniuct them thriigh aiti
ficial paths to bung them oit upon a moral Man
howevei giittd can nevei teach moie than lite and
nature and among gifted men tbere has been only
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SIIAKESPEARE^S GENIUS. ccxlv
Slake j.eire ho c uU t("ic> is mucli The i lal
unity hIucIi distinguishes his jlajs i not as some
would have it especially among the Germans the
result of i m(ral purpose dcliberitclj jlanned and ivell
woiked out but of tte fact that tlio'^e dramatic poems
were the pontanious manifestation of one gieat sjm
metrical m\nd in complete and intimate accoriloiioe with
nature Shakespeare it, able to teach as much as n 1(1^9
— nay e\en more than unmitigated nature — foi t vo
reasons One is that he presents us sonethm^ nhich
IS not nature but is a peifect icflex of intuie It is
stiangp but tiue as stiange that imitation ahvajs intei
eits us moie thm reality ITie \erj leflection of a
bia itiful land'caj e m 3 ininoi wuii our attention nore
naj SLems more beautiful than the landscape itself
Sea m a Claude „la3s it becomes a picture a q a'l
worl of irt which y^e study over which «e muse and
to wliich we agdm and again lecur while the scene
itself if ive see it often may become to us an unnoticed
pait of our dailj lite like the rising of the 'lun tl at
daily miracle And so the mnror which folio vm^ his
own ma'^ini, bhikespeare holds up ta natuie is moia
studied by us than Nature herself and b} means of
it latuie IS better tindeistood The jhenomena are
brought by him withm the lange of oir nientaj vis on
Bedt ced m then dimtnaions but kept perfect m pro
portion and tiuc m coloi they aie tionsteiaed to and
fixed upon his pages and 1 e can take do«n fiom our
shelves these specimens of tliought and pabsion and
miiie and ponder over ihem at kisuie Ihis is meaettr
ably true of all imaginative writing ; but it is preemi-
nently true of Shakespeare's.
But the chief reason of Shakespeare's ability to teach
us as much as nature, is a breadth of moral sympathy,
a wide intelbctual chai'ity, ivhifih mulces him i^s impartial
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ccxlvi AN ESSAY OS
as nature. His mirror tinges with no color of its own
the scene which it reflects. The life-giving rain of his
genius falls equally upon tke just and the unjust ; and
as the sunshine and the shower develop both tares and
wheat according to their kind, so he never seeks to
modify the nature, or the seeming, of that which he
quickens into life , and he is nevci moie impaitial than
when he is most creati'i e
It was this quality of unnersil sjmpitli^ m bh<ike
speaie s mental coi^titufion which enaUed him to unite
to hij. Knowledge of man and of tiuth fhit knowledge
of men and of things which is called knowledge of the
woild He 'icems to have had this latter knowledge m
as gieat a degree is that moie ab-.tiact knowledge
■which made him a gieit diamatic and philosophical
poet and to have been the most peifect man of the
woild whose name appears upon the roll of liteiature
All that ne know of his life shows hmi in full pos
session of this gieat qualification of the peifect sociil
man, so raielj found in poets and his works are pei-
vaded with its exhibition Considei well such char
aeters as ii/elo Paiolle Tialconi ridgt, P loniiis,
Jaques, Fahtaff such gentlemen as Basianio, Meraiiio,
Pnnix Henry, Gatibio., Antony (m Juhwi Cwsar), and
see what knowledge not onlj of the human heart but of
society, of manners, of actual life, in short, — to return to
the accepted phrase, — of knowledge of the world, tliese
characters display. It is this knowledge, this tact,
which enables him .to walk so firmly and so delicately
upon the pei'ilous edge of essential decency, and not fall
into the foul slough helow, where the elegant dramatists
of the last century lie ivallowing. This he does notably,
for instance, in Faulconhridge and Fahtaff — Fahtaff,
a gentleman by birth and breeding, yet coarse, gross,
mean, and selfish, a degraded castaway, yet with con-
,1 Google
SHAKESPEARE'S GENIUS.
t t
11 d t I
1 t
ig 1 1 a 1 t 111 1 1
h p 1 1 1 ti 1
I h b b| d t til t f th pi 1
fShkpai md dttbg t fh
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th t d-Tddptn dft k
hg dhi h thhtfdul
Ti 1 IS b ht b) 1 d phil th p ts
f h n VI tt t 5 J t t! t t
ttlip bttllligd f ty
Sh k p Tlth h h th ht phi ih
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fth idbf tdU t,fh bt thgs
th ir t Ih h I i ) th h b d
m 1 t? TO t 1 -T^d d h 11
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t d 1 bi y t t f 1 g
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m m m d th t th h d 1 i 1 1 I 11
th d th t tl ir d tl 1 t 0 tl
htsthdt Idj Iddal
m m J f 1 t J t U t ^ t
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m d th t Ii th h J t It
busth Igm hthilbb 1
kUdbafc dh lib ftb h
mnthtth id dhm d
wh h h d 1 t tl d y f Q Eliz
b th Sb k p 1th b 1 1 t d th Id
asb wtas p ytftbg tby
nmiarf tm [ (H jjht
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th t! d ( d b 1 t h b
11
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1
,1 Google
in the piesent), 'IhakespeaTe did not hesitito to t 11
kmgs aiid nobles ill the truth, and eieu to put it into
then' o\\n mouths
The pci-,onal opinions and inchnations of tihake
speaie are so little tiice^ble m hia woiks, tlidt we cin
onlj judge of his feeling toward the wretched dnd op-
pressed by the intimate sympithj which he stows with
then pii\ations, their sufferings, and theu lowly pleas
uies In Kmj Li,ai, Ed<ja) s disgiiismg himself is an
Abiaham man, gwe Shakespeire an opportunitj, nhich
so thiifty a householdei as he ivas mis;ht well hire
seized, to hold up those tiampmg pests of our toie
fatheia to condemnition, or, at lo'ist, to ridicule But
his picture piesents the lufferei s side of the case, and
tells us hon he ' eaf>" the swimming fiog, the toad, the
tadpole, the will newt, and the watei, swallows the old
tat and the ditch dog diinks the green mantle of the
standing pool, who i^ whipped tiom tj thing to tj thing,
and stocked, punished and imprisoned" Shikespeaie
must haie well known the wajs of the begging impos
tor , but he chose to show us, in this most touchmjf
Kimnpr the dieadtul extiemities and suffciiu 's if tl '
vagiant ^mper
The little that lemains to be "jaid is of a gi nti \1 ndt up
Shaheipearc s lit was not simple, its manifestation
was not seiene "^imphcity aad seremty are the highest
ideal m the iits ot design The Gjeeks attamed it
in then sculptures and their temples, Itaphapl m his
Madonni'j , ind even m landscape art, the highest
style IS that w hifli nsing above the representation
of phenomenal eflccts, presents the ideal of Nature m
her wonted phases But this limitation does not hold
in literature, especially m diamatic htentute, m which
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SHAKESPEAHE'S GENITJS.
ccxlix
aftion, compile ition, intenaity, ind miety appi:o-\ching
inconguiitj aie compatible with, if not efsentiil to, the
dttdinmeiit oi the highest excellence Grecian aichitec-
ture IS simpk and seren", but not, therefore, the higbes
tjpe of architeotuie , and Shakespeare's genius maj he
well eompaxed — and, I belicie, the compaiison, is no
new — to 1 Gothic cathedral, vast, giand, and solemn ii
its general aspect, and single in its gencial impiession
jet on closer Yiew seen to bear the stamp of \an0u3
periods, and to be filled with auj, light, upspnngmg
columns, ind minutely decoiated "ith dehcate traceiy,
and with grotesque, fmmoious, md e\ea indecoious
detail's, correspondent to each ottiei, yet all unlike,
though seemmg like, and, to an eye capable of the gi
i\hole, blending into iich haimonj
But may not the time ai^rive when the world wUl s
"We have had enough, of Sliakespeai'e ? May not men
become pardonably weary of hearing of this one match-
less man, and so ostracize him for his very excellence ?
It might possibly be so if men lived forever ; but genera-
tion succeeds to genei'ation, and to each one he is
and so will be new as long as the tongue in which he
wrote is spoken. To each new reader Shakespeare
brings more than one life can exhaust, and those who
have studied him longest are they who ai'e best assured
that/no man ever laid his head so close upon the great
heart of Nature, and heard so clearly the thi'ob of her
deep pulses.
All that I have so inadequately said is true ; and j'et
it is no less ti'ue that Shakespeare revealed to the world
no new truth in ethics, iu polilics, or in philosophy. He
was not an intellectual discoverer. If the plague had
not spared him in his cradle, the great movements of
the world would have been deprived of no direct impulse
coming from his mind. They would, have gone on with-
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AN ESSAY
ON
h
1 tb mfl f
1 pit
Id I im t f 1
(I lllh h
h k d p
f tut
1 d m ml It
ght h b
tad d F m
If idh
b 7m 1
f tJ ! t f U
k h h ff d
U g t pt
t tt t dy f
tl b t fi Id
d h If t 1
h f h
t 11 t th
b til E
p d A
m d^
f tb t ■J 1
d tJ t
d th t 1 t I
t g b t IT
th p pi A
q te
d fimgtl
f d f
t t m ly
pt th t 1
b f n f tb 1 r
wl d
nt d b
fll
I wl t
pn 1 tblJi
f I f N tl ' Id t b b p d
Tl Itl h SI ! 1 d d t fl
upon tbe world's progress, tbat wbicb lie bas exercised
indirectly is lai^e, and is constantly increasing ; and it
will increase witb tbe diffusion of our race, its language,
and a knowledge of its literature.
It has been before remarlced that the dramatists of
Shakespeare's time, writing only to please the people,
had only to consult the genera) taste, and wore free from
any restraint, except tbat imposed by their own judg-
ment. Some of them did attempt to woi'k, measurably
at least, according to classical formulas ; and these failed
entirely to attain tbe ends which they bad in view —
popularity and profit. Of the rest, all, witb one or two ex-
ceptions, being without a trusty monitor, esternal or in-
ternal, fell into monstrous extravagance, coaraenesa, con-
ceit, aad triviality. But Shakespeare, save for bis con-
formity to mere outside fashion, was entirely uulike his
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SHAKESPEARE'S GENHJS. cfill
contempoianes He is among them bit not of thtni
Their minds run in tte swne chinnel, but do not inin(,le
The clear and powerful current of his thought flows
swiftlj and cleaily bide hj side nith then sliggish and
tuibid outpoiiingi lea\mg tbem behind, and taking no
tint or taint from its surroindinga To hini there wis
gain instead of los^ m the disicgord of foimnlis
Creatine genius is mostlj gtcaf not bv means of foi
mulas but m their despite Almost inevitablj it pro
voke^ cenauie by bital inf; thiough estabhshed lules —
a tiutb \riiich hta at la&t obtained such recognition thit
defiance of rule is sometimes ignoiantly set up as evi
deuce of geniuii of which only individuality, and in
hereat nt-^ity and strength are witnesses The so called
extravigances of genius establish its claims bj them
selves becoming formnlas foi mmds of lower rank ; and
thus schools are formed, of which no one is really gieat
except the founder. Yet poets of the highest oider of
the sei'aphs of the art, do not have followers, because
they soar too far in the empyrean for the manner of
their flight to be obsen-ed and Imildted. It is the
second-rate men, great yet second, who form schools.
Foi their way of working is discernible, comprehensible,
imitable. But the supremely di\-ine is ever a mystery,
y true of Shakespeare, As he worked
> school, so he founded none. He
adopted the old forms indeed, and he labored mth the
same artistic motive, as well as the same material objects
as his contemporaries and immediate predecessors and
successors. But this produced no living likeness be-
tween their offspring. The mistakes which have been
made upon this subject, by writers of mark, are so great
as to cast a doubt upon the soundness of ali critical
judgment. His plays and those of Marlowe, Jonsoii,
MiXssingcr, Marstoii, Middleton, Ford, and Field, have
,1 Google
t]i Lh d t p ti I t tl 1 ast
f m ly 1 k ft pt t ftl
d tj th f 1 t \ t 11 q 1 1 k f
p 1 t IS f th p d
M y tl Id p th Bb k I N t
I m p 1 t th ill h p
d d th bl 1 p si Id g SI 1
p kdtg th Hpgi t
1 t h 1 y f h h h h
mth )tl fl dt5ti"T Hp
p d t tl p d wl th E i h hai t 1 ly
f -m tL gh tu h d tarn d typ 1 d
Ipmt h hEglhl ghd md
f fi wh h t h t d bij f tl
t 11 h VI fi d t If ft m
h t tsffdl hlUdthmty
tr 1 d lai I I I p t p U
ttd tlhhdgrd fl A
SI k p ) b b t b t 1> til f t
f If H 1) n h
tilt t m 1 fi t h
d d fai t h t hi h 1 d lly
It mg dh 1^ has 1
h dtbhfitghlfth I f
ihl phy Idl) d w
f J p th t m t b th high d h m Ij
and w ast f th ^1 1 F 1 m f h
ikth Idl hdtsfU p Itmyb
d b d h th th d t ill th
Eld b fdflU 1 E t 1 ill th J b th
N t h y d h bl k
b t p tnpt d bl t pply tl d
winch she creates, will ptodiiee another bbakespedie,
because tlien, and not till then, another will be required.
,1 Google
HISTORICAL SKETCH OF
THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE.
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,1 Google
HISTORICAL SKETCH OF
THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE.
SHAEESPEARE'S care for the preservation of his
worka waa in. notably inverse proportion to their
merit. He gave liis Venus and Adonis and his
iwciece to the press himself; and we may be quite
sure that they were printed under his own immediate
supervision. His sonnets appear to have been placed
in tie publisher's hands with his consent, and by
some one who had access to the original manuacripta
for the correction of the text, even if the author him-
self did not read the proofs. But there is little room
for doubt that his plays were published in all cases
without his agency ; in most, there is good reason
for believing, without his consent; and in many,
without his knowledge. Eighteen of them — The
Merry Wives of Windsor, Much Ado about Noth-
ing, A Midswnmer Might's Dream, Love's Labow'e
Lost, The Merchant of Venice, King Richard II.,
The First Fwrt of King Henry IV., The Second
Part of King Henry IV., King Henry V., The
Second Fart of King Henry VL, The Third
Fart of King Henry VL, King Richard III.,
TroUus and Cressida, Titus Andronicus, Ferides,
King Lear, Romeo and Jidiet, and Hasnlet — were
printed separately during his lifetime.* The copies
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cdvi HI3T0HICAL SKliTCIi Of
t m t f (h il 1 I tl at prmt
Im t th ut 1 bt pt !) 1 1 m d
1 tl y ar t i t ly inf tl ty n
d te m g tl t t tt ffi b ing in ly
lijBtmfth ii gb d to
p rapt bkf tttkt t hhblik
p tt h 1 1 ft d ] 1 1 -a tl
p t hi py f li ti t th t It
i th il y ar f bigl th tj th th
In 162) seyen yeais after 'ihakes^ eiire s deith,
flie fiist collected edition of lu9 plajs was published
in fobo mdei the title Mi William Shike^pe ire's
Corned es Histotie's and Tiigedies Pubbshed ae-
oordmg to the liue Ortginall Copies Thif is
known m Shakei] eaiitn liteiatuie as the flist folio;
and it i*! the only luthentic foim m which the
text of his bamatic works hds reathel us It con-
tain's all his plays eicept one ninctc n wliich had
been surieptitiously oi caieie&ilj pimtcd beloie its
p bl t ( —OUn—h h 1 bl 1 d
in q t ft hit, d th) 1 t h h
pp ar d m t f th fii t t Th pi t
mild F 2 P ce f Tj dth
b J t d th th fusal f tk h Id f th
p ght f th t pi J to p t th t t t
th t p f 1 bl 1 t5 fl t t b 1
mi It m thaji p bl h th t m
tl as th un tfl d q t f
Shkp thhi TJ firtfl w pb
Ihdnnl tl dnt fJh H
HryCdUh Slkpir fidfl
low-actors, and joint theatrical proprietors. Their
ngsrded oi ou-Ly forms of the Secund and (Li Third Farts of Kivj Hainj T7.,
i-Jta. JijjHm ufAOitns, and TOxa Androaicm. Bee Vol. VII. pp. 402, 483.
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THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE, colvii
ArtdrCBS " to the great -variety of Readers,"* which is
a sort of preface, shows that they neiit the volume
to the press with a Ml consciousness of their respon-
sibility, and y/ith the intention of giving to the world
an authentic text of the woi'ks of their " worthy
friend and fellow." They were fully aware of the
existence of many incorrect and spurious copies of
his plays : and they did not fail to appreciate, or
hesitate to avow, the advantages which they pos-
sessed for the protection of their authoi''a fame. In-
deed, such is the authority given to this volume by
the auBpices imder which it appeared, that had it
been, thoroughly prepared for the press, and printed
with care, there would have been no appeal from its
text ; and editorial labor upon Shakespeare's plays,
except that of an historical or esegetieal nature,
would have been not only without justification, hut
without opportunity.
Heminge and Conctell. hoivever, seem to have done
little else for Shakespeare than furnish the publishers
with the copies of his plays which had been in use
on the stage of t!ie Globe Theatre ; and though this
insured the highest authenticity attainable in the ab-
sence of copies prepared for the press by the author's
own hand, in the ease of many plays it did not even
secure an immaculate text for the printer. For, as
I have already remarked, copies of some of the s«r-
reptitioiisly published single playa had been used as
prompter's hooka for the theatre. They necessarily
received some correction to make them serviceable
in their new function ; and, in part of them, the text
was subjected to modification, curtailment, and even
addition, — which we have no reason to doubt was the
,1 Google
cclviii HISTOllICAL SKETCH OT
w k t tl th bam If B t m \ \
th gh f Ittl p t p
a bl m k t t 1 d
y alldtnn dfth it t
a f 1 1 II) p t d ti p tmg f th
fi t f 1 And th t p 1 t If 1 k tl
qtdt fth glplj hhp ddt
dlk 1 th t bdyfthptdi
m f ts p I fill 1 tl t f It
B le m t5 t n f h 1 b
d m tr t m d to
b p t tTut b th d f h n
ttlm tipdntn t
b k n by f II p t t n d b) p t I 1 tt
d t tl t 1 th ir m mb d pi d
adnlla phbl f is
p int dp dp plllg
t bar t g t th d b t
all J hi t t t p ^Tr ph 1 d g t v
bfd th 1 tbarflpmtgf
w! 1 th ft Id b d 1 I t t
rh d f t nl >1 1 f U fa t f 1 m t
b tt b t d ly t th 1 k f 1 p d t -U
p f t g I tP ^ th t t
■n d^dtb fiattllf tdj Its
p IS p dtlg — qaltt tjh
dU tthi tm f'J Alhh
p hi h d t h gl } t t h q t
p 1 th I pi y m h b n
wbntl las hhfmbdbkby n
1 mptr tl ymllnddntl
p d f tl P t 1 1 h h t ght
abb IT t t pi f m d I
p t f 1 tl th dit t ly
h tdwtlnninyar d mb dmd
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THE TEXT OP SHAKESPEARE. cdis
tint a cc I folo (as p hUh I n ICa'' Tl "
second tolio IS in tact little moie than a repri t
pagp for pige of its predece-fsor ComparaliTtly few
oi the typographical eiiois of the lirat aie corrected m
the second and not onlj are the remainder exactly
repioduced but to them aie ad led others hirdlj leas
grave and conluiing Oa the ■verj po nts therefoie
ra which the text of the fir t f jlio is faulty that
of the ae onl is m ich mfenor It also ohoAs nu
meious traces of modernization and sophistic ition *
It is not Burpnsing that hhakespeare s plais were
not repnnted dirmj, the Commoiiivealth htm 1664
a thill folij wfs isswel cont'uniii^ m addition to
those which had appeared in its two piedeceswia
FiTt hs and sii. ipm ona pltjs Tshich had been pub
lished as " hy William Shakespeare," or " by W. 8."
during his life.f A fourth folio appeared in 1685.
Its contents are the same as those of the third.
n,™ 8li p]a
.ja sre The Limdon Prodigal, T/mnas Lard
JOha OldaislU, T.
'^l^traa«,Ar',
rhJiire TW«h%, and iWina
. Oflhs
flrel,
.fWra, .nd i
Lftb hod been pi
aF.bjW. B. Bi
It sogimtwas tbo Taipe ot
ShakeBF
8, 'and 60 =nli
e be«n his iDdlfTerence to liti
'tarjftm
intial, thet fa
f the thi
P plays which
bear it, is of no wi
1 tDr one or mors of a hundrei
ilothun
ffipbvj'il^Ta
all of Sliafcespeare^ sd(ton
(taclndin
plaj
the (!!« Clio] except Horn
inted whet he
' «iiind 111 ttia [aat folio edlllon. Eighteeo yeii
Tha
i-B'B death the
itofliVoJ-tearfBT
t be baud enllrel; npoa lute
rnal evidence. Some iost d'ra
mas also
bBBD
> Shatespeare.
Jo
■hn Warbnito
. and died <n
irea, had made £
.collection of old manusc.-ip
t plays,
mo9l
b lamentiibly
were destroj-ed.
A list of them In his own 1
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cclx HISTORICAL SKETCH OF
Neither of the last tiiree folios is of the slightest au-
thority in determining the text of Shakespeare ; and the
second is only of service in those instances in which
it coiTects the typographical errors of the first.
Up to this time Shakespeiie had gained oi suf
fered thiont^h no other edtng than the leij limitc 1
care ot his brother plajers In the seventeenth ccn
tury there was no collation or veibal criticism of his
te\t but his ityle and matter and the construction
of hi plajs were made the subjects jf incidental
comment an! discussion by Mr Thomas Eymer th
Ke\6iend Jeiemiah Collier* Mi John Dennis and
an anonymous opponent of Mr Collier f
tanry y let, by Will. SliaksapsBr and J
kf Uumphrey, Will. Shakeepen.
liny Ijy Will. Shttkespasr."
Of tta three -pUye above mentigned by John Warburlon, tlia fl
entered on the books of the London Statloaere' Company in lesS, and
ond in 1060. In the latter year ^ii and JarUhi, or a Marriage w
tttrlbnted to BbBkenpeare. (See WiwmpJto DramaU^a, Land. 1812.)
Ing f1» Is hnoan of tbese Are plnys. Otlier dnmatlo ntiUnge ha'
gnuBd Toy Shnkenpeiire^ m
lo appredate IB own great poet, and wboBe penetrsttoii. aljle (o c
thing in nny thins, ""da wonaartlil manifeitaaonB of Shulicspoai
the dnilwt and sllliffit of tbene flilw preti^nders.
Together with the sense of Antiquity npon lliia snbject. By .Ter
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THE TEXT OE SHAKESPEARE. cdxi
In the year 1709, Shakespeare's Pkys, "Revised
and CoiTGcted, wifli an account of his Life and Writ-
ings, by N. [icholas] Bowe," were published, in seyen
volumes octavo. This edition, beside all of the authen-
tic plays, contains the six which are accounted apoc-
ryphal, Shakespeare had now for the first time an
uditor, in the proper sense of the word. Rowe was
a poet of merit, & man of excellent sense, a scholar,
and, withal, a modest and somewhat pains-taking
editor. The fniit of his labors was a great improve-
ment in the text of Shakespeare, chiefly by the rec-
tification of a large proportion of the grosser typo-
graphical errors which deform the previous impres-
sions. Eowe first divided ail the plays into Acts
and Scenes, added many stage directions, and sup-
plied lists of the dramatis peraonfe.*
Rove was succeeded as an editor of Shakespeare
by Pope, who, in 1725, published a luxurious edition
in six volumes 4to. But the master of Twickenham,
though a subtle thinker, a keen epigrammatist, and
an exquisite versifier, made a very poor editor of the
works of that poet, who, beside all other superiority,
was a thinker so much subtler, an epigrammatist so
much keener, and a versifier so much more exquisite
than he. Pope used the quaitos somewhat to the
advantage, but more to the detriment of his author,
foisting into the text what Shakespeare never wrote, or,
having written, had rejected. He made a few good,
and several very pretty and plausible emendations of
typographical errors ; but he added to these a far
• A very couaiderBble noralier of Ito Btnge dirccUona whioh appear in Iho
moaBTn editions of ShakeBpetre'B playa vcre tasened by 14ov?e or Thwlulil-
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cchli IIISTOItlCAL SKETCH OF
greatei mimbci wlich wc e only e\pcn pi ts cf his
peiwnal conceit d.nd ot tint inknlitl est n itioii of
Shalt espeai e s s;eniua nhi Ji was ch mctcii'.tio tl his
age Pre'summg too to stake out of the text pas
sage*" which did not suit his tiste and beijing off a
many as a dozen speeches at a swoop he left Itii
edition both mutilated and coiriit so th t as a
whole it IS the poorest that was evei published
Theob Id — pool piddling Iheobald — the ftrst
heio of the Punciad who succeeded his satuist is
one of the best of Shakespeare s editors He was
the fiiit who did any remaihable sen ice by conject
ural emendation — Kowe s cowections of this kind
having been lather of the obvious sort, — and be
alio first laid the quittos under important \nd judi
Clous contribution But he had not snfticiently stud
led or m consequence justly ippieciited the text of
the first folio He isiued first a b jok devoted
almost entirely to the examination of the text of
Hamht, which was well entitled Shakespeare Ee
stored or a Specimen of the Many En jrs is well
committed as unamended in Pope s edition of this
Poet," 4to 1736 — a publication the unanswerable
strictures of which Pope never foigaie In 1733 bia
o^vn editnn of bhakespeare s woiks nas published in
seien octavo volumes It contained bl fir the best
text ol its author that had \et appealed A gieat
niimbei of its conjectural emend ataons ot conupted
passages remain undisturbed to this dai and have
passed, by the successive consent of geneiation after
geneiation, into the accepted te\t Of Theobalds
leadings, the gieater number which, haie he^n re-
jected -were intioduced hi him at the <!Ugf,estion of
Ills " ingenious friend Mi Warbuiton
After Theobald came Sir Thomas Hanmer, a baro
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THK TEXT OT SHAKESPEARE, cclxili
net w} o 1 1 Iished an edition masniiitent fui its
day in six lolunea 4to at Osford in 1"44 Han
mer was a man of ta te and an acconplished g^n
tleman He d d somewhat to bettei ^nd some hat
nnre to hirm tte text which TheoVald ha! produrefl
Ills labors were i cened with faioi hut he was m
d^hted for hn lepntation lather to fashion than to
y len aikahle n erit and hib edition full of iaults
ind mnovationa and marred by mutilition is raiely
coniulted the few receii ed or favoiabh regi ded
emendation which he proposed being peipctuited in
the te\t or m the notes of other editois*
Haaniers edition was f Ilowed vo. 1747 b7
Bishop "Warburtons This pielate not then n itied
as \erj learned vei^ able but he was equally
i-i uming and ajrogant in hia per'jonal demeanor and
le tieated ^hakespeaie a woik^ as he pi ol ably would
hire tie ted the player hiriself hid he been hi con
tcmporar} He set himself not sd much to eontctmg
tl e text as to improiin^ tie thoughts and anendm?
tl p stile of Shal espeaie His toie is that of ha ighty
fi ppancj Dues he find i passage in vhi h the thought
r the expiessioa of William Shakespeare is at vai anee
^ th the ju Igment of WiUiam "W dibuiton — he imme
diately alters it to s iit the taste of that distinguished
scholar and divme "lym? Without a doubt Shake
ipeire wiote or meant thus As for instance, of
t e til e bne m ffamlef —
Ol to take arms agaiast a sea of troubles —
'd tto/vrllier toil detm
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cclsiv HISTORICAL SKlJTCn OF
he ^^■i^'' \\ H ut question fell^ke3pea^e wiote
— against asia I of tioul leb
) e , assault
Tke leekleas editing of i\h ch tli"! i^ i chi atler
istic specimen soon bioifflit fomari defendeia of tie
mtegiity of Skakespeaie s text But it woull lie
strange indeed if in euch a flight of random shots
Shakespi,ate waid all had missed the nark and s
like all his predecessors and many of his succes^ora
Bishop "W 11 burton left amid his he^p") of elitoial
chaff some giaina of sense ivhich h^^e been cuetuU)
viinnowed out lot the Shakespeaiian gamei
In 1''45 appealed i duodecimo volume entitled
Misc llaneous Observations on the Tiagedy oi Mar-
beth vith Eeniaiks on "^ir T H s [Sn- Thomas
Haamei s] edition of Shakespeai to which is aflixed
pioposals foi a new edition of Shake'^ei with i
specimen It was initteii ah its lutl oi might hiie
said mth combined peiapicaitj of thought and } on
derosity of Unguage It was bj Simuel Johnson
then lapidly nsin^ to the highest position m the
woild ot letters and m 1765 an edition of Si ake
speare with the conections aid illustiations of
vaiious coramentators to which ire aided notes by
Samuel I hnson wa=i published la ei^ht octayo vol
umes It IS giving the Doctoi but little praise to
say that he was i better editor than his re'verenl
piedeceBSOi The majoritv of his emendations of thij
text weie nevertheless singularly unhappy and his
notes though often learned aod sometimes sensible
were geneially wintmg m just that kind ot learning
and of sense most needful for his tisk* The chief
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THE TEXT OP SHAKESPEARE. cclxv
1 I D Jol nso s u ] e CO s d t
one of a high o der appears to have bee an n
Cdp e ty of the aj n patl et c aj i rehens o of agu at ve
t tli nd be tj I tl he rep esented the per od
1 ch he 1 ved fo unl k he na ho wo ka
ante ook to ed t ad p eaumed to j t on ze he
ot n age and n 9 ot lor all tm e B t y1 en he
o e el Slak speaiea p gea even ha common sense
I i aa bee justly sty ed colosaal seema to have
lo saken him and hia c ndo n son e de^ ee b. have
f ilo ed it for he as umes tl e s ttle e t of d si ute
bo t va ous ead nj,s of tol os d d qua to and et
eaves nmiatakable ev deuce that he has ne^lecte I
h e\A 11 at o ad con j a i. on of those teits —
hat fir t and n ost laho out part of edito la! duty *
Ldwa d Cipell who nevt tlaims attentio a
o e of the n of,t learned and as duo s of tl e 1 tu s
H p bb hed n 17 9 a q a to olume enttlel
Notes an! va ous E ad ngs of Shake pe re n
ITbS he ued an ed t o of "ihake pea n te vol
nmes oi-tdio, and m 1779 his Notes and "\ aiious
Eeadings," with many additiona, and the " School of
BhaJl m' Ih' IssLHmate."
Ill's Doles Ej^qulu HI r)d!ini1iius as IhLsi bal men} apiiroarh il iu absurdity i
iii it Bhoivs wliat a tremendnus step DooseBse-nHid be could take when he
as Ki"8n up to hia owu ImagliiaUuna.
* Tor this ophiioD of Jahasoo as an edllor of Shakespeare, vhich "OS pnb.
ihed In Siaiei^eare's SAolar, (Mew York ; 186*,] 1 was gravely rebnkefl both
leu was to write thus, even It 1 Choi^ht thnsr upon such a subject. But
Bs willing to fltand hj this vei^cC that so eniSnent a ci^tlc as Loril Macaulay
99 since wrlttcQ tliDS ccnderning Johnson's Sbakospeore ; ^^ It wonkl be difficult
I name a mure slovenly and worlhleta edition of any great dessk. Iha
■alter may turn over play aflei' play withant findlnK one happy conjeotnral
■ es : Edinburgh, IBM. p. IIS.
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cdxvi KISTORICAL SKETCH OF
Sh ike 1 cw e n ere pubhshe 1 m thiee qudi to yol-
Times Ihe editor of Shdkeapeait, mi t hue these
books and ilas ' mist leal them Capellh words
are not w ithf ut kno« ledge but tbej often do as
mucb to datken counsel as those i tteied bj tbe
most ignorint of his co liboiers Much j atience and
close thmluug aie sometimes needed to diMne his
meanmg Tlie obscuiest passage m the authoi'
whom he stiives to elucilite is luminous as the sun
compared with the convoluted muikiae s of his page
and when sometimes he quotes the passage upon which
he comments as its clear mean ng flashes on the mmd
we mvoluntarily think of the people wi o sat in diik
ness and saw a gieat light And yet Cipell did som
what for the teit although the mass of hi3 labois is
thiujit aside, for rare eon'jultation upon the shehes
of t] e critical oi the curious He pieseived the
rhythm of Shakespeare s prose and a charactenstio
trait of the speech of his time, bv retaining caie
fully the contractions of the original His collo
cation of the \ irious readings of the old editions is
mraluible for reference
At al out this period Shakespeinan cnticism became
lampant Ihe pubbcation ot l^arbuitjns edition m
1747 had piovokel contjc^ersy and gi'seu new strniu
lus to investigation From thit da> commentaij tiod
up^n the heels of commentarj, and panting pamphlet
eers toiled aftei each other in the never ending stiug
gle to leach the true text of "^hike peaie with as
little hope of ittaining it as old Tune has of o\er
taking bhakes^care himself m Johnaons monstrous
person fication * The commentators w ere nearly all
ke opening fDrmn La
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THE TEXT or SHAKESPEARE, cclxvii
ot them scholais ind many were me i of ii uch criti-
cal acuteness But then lahors n ere almost iltugcther
fruitless y\ hen thc> di plj\ed most learning and
exeici&cd most ingenuitj tliej u^ed to be most at
fault when tiiey \eie successful it was often by
chance and generally upon some pomt which they
regaided as of little consequence To estimate tlieir
acrMcea to the teit complied with the harm the\ did
it la tno grains of wheat hid m two bushels of
chaff 13 to pasb a lenient ju^meut upon tl en labois
Iheie weie reasons lor all tins Critical Dogheiiys
that they weie they went not the waj to examme
Their pediiitiv and the aitificial taste of the daj
jomed to their own conceit and the want of a just
appieciation of the genius ot Shakespeaie led most
of them far astr j Thej did not recognise him
as their mastei at whose feet they ■«eie to sit and
learn Thej did not ^o to thtir task in a humble
docile sjiiit Milton had written —
— sweetest Shatespeaie Fa c^ « c! Id
Warbles bis native wood notes wild ■ —
a di U t f b Itth p tl I f wl h
hhldn h b Ig hdi t
at d 1 t by th t gr 11 ml i t jl m
wh h h ■Jls &h k J
D nlnmj°7tliirff
Btthht mm! d ththt kling
t m i th n dll f th 1 t t y d
Shkp was fidl mtttdgm
sadly mnedfp dt hn^
but pi t t d gst h t d
n t Id f th b 11 I t m d
io t 1 b 1 t 1 1 t tl 1 t-
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cclxviii HISTOEICAL SKETCH OF
fanciers of the day, would be meet entertainment fol
persons of quality — if thty wei-e not too exacting as
to the unities.* In editing his works for perusal, the
» Tliia eritLdsm, vihkh ivaa flrat niiule in Fiii7iam,'i Maga^air, May, IS63,
nnd aiturwBrdu enitM^dted In Siiaf-esp&'re^i ScJtolar, hn9 provoked much ceosori-
groDDdP ivhloh ebow, I think, iJiat tliey foil to AppreclHto the pHeniig^ In £'^t
Or s«eet«st Shukespeare, FincfB cMId,
That Biich W98 the univerj^al Apprehension of ths passn^ U shown hy the dot
lliiit this appreoiatton and comparbon Icfbsled Eogllsb lllcmtute until the bs-
^nolngorthe present i^entnrj. So Phtlltps, Milton's neplienHudpnpU,iD hie
Thealrmi Paslarum,, gIveB it as characteriBtio of Sliakpspeftre tliat " he pJeaBoth
Willi a certain wiMundnoliwiinwnce.'' Diydeo, in hia Bpiloguo to the Om-
aajs, — ^ ^ ^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^.^ ^^ ^
Could paas I "
IhuB plfdnly Indicating who was re^rd«l as the great and aJl-aeoomplished
And Warbnrton, deBoiililng T!ig Winter's Tale as "a homelj' and alinple,
thongii agreeohle, connliy tale," brings his chai-Bcterizatioa lu a fccns hy bay-
ing that Id telling thie coiiBti7 tale "Oar 'Sneetest Ehakeepeai-e, Fnoc^'s
cilld.wBcble!,' " 4o., 4o. In a Sonnet " To the Higlit Hon. Mr. ," wril-
Un bjMr.T.K., [Thomas Bransf] Hodalcy'e Colleotion, Vol. n. p, Sfla.Ed.
" Amia this ftast of Mind, when JUbojj'i eliild.
— ' ShaliBspeBr, Fancy's BwecleB
Warbles his aatiie wood-notes wild.'"
ord BbaltHibury is uIko kind enongh to say oT Shalie
anding his nalvral Stidrtuss, his imjioKiJi'd Style, bis
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THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE, cclxix
c 31 stint effDit w&s ntt to n b be his sjmt an!
touch hi= woik witli lu'verential h*nd but to make
h m conform as much la possible to the standard
T^hioh the critics had adopted No one of them
leemed to s ispect that Shakespeare could have been
a Ian unto himselt In putting his pla^s upon the
st ge a^et m)ie outiigeous desecration of J is genius
^ IS the lashion for neirlv a hmdred yeais The soul
ot Procrustes seemed to have migrited into e^erj
re. ee and Ornin eaU at llile k) d of W Itluf; yel by Iba
lMi>r<i1, the Aptneici of many of hla Deacil^Uoas sod tha pUJn a
withont a HngLs llciba ftonj Lujnrj or Vice," — Inoludlng, lat
myLordof Sbaftwbiiry.
" MStim. Aftor thu a»eet I am pn
I lift, and il fa opIj cWWi-en who bi
" JUaniel. Now for It. You "ore
«gBiitialli' ISeatical as this n-Jlli^Bin ia witli tbat ntiicli I taad ventured etgtit
n before Ols Con <iE>Tratkin lietneen Uariel sod Milton was pnbliFliBd, II ia
re than probable tbat Mr. Lsndor lias no knowled^ of either tbomaga^ne
.helHokin wiiicii tbo i^tmer bad tieeu pt'eviounly prlnr^ ; and T, at lenst^
y impo^'tant support wblcb It thus recoi^^B from the JudepBadent conuai*
ound a critle, and bo emin«u( an author ae MmBelf,
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cclxx HISTOEICAL SKETCH OV
pla\Mii;;ht ind sti^e mmager m En^lind fiom the
daj of tb.e Bestontion , and Shikeapeaic s pla^s
when the} ■^eie piei^ented at aC, were so ourttiled
distorted, patched Tamped and gaihled, that the
oiiginal w ork wis lost almost be^ ond recognition.
The shehes of the stage hbraij groan under heap=
of these abominations ind to tins daj ve ha^e not
escaped then balelul influence
The appearance of George Steeveii'* and Edmund
Malone m the field of Shakcpeari'ui hteratuie pro
duced g re iter and more permanent changes in the
te^t than had been ichie'ved by any if then prede-
ces*:orB, saie Theobald They were not co «oikeis
but at least, m the latter part of then ciiticil
careei-4, opponents Steevens reprinted the quartos,
and wrote note" ind comments upon the text, whuJi,
m 1773, were embodi d m an edition m ten octa'io
volumet, He i? one of the most acute and accom
plished oi Shakespeare s commentators , but rarely
have abilities and acquirements been moie abused
To shon his alihty to sugge'it "ingenious readings,
he wantonly lejected the obvious significance of the
text and perveited the authors meamng, or destroyed
the integrity of his \(ork He was intty, and not
onlv launched his shafts at his fellow commentators,
but tumpd them against hi>! author He had an
accuiate — meclianically accurate — t ar and lutli-
le-sly mutilated or patched up, Shakespeaie s lines
to a ■unifoim standard of ten sellable " Beside
all tliis, a mocking jeering style and an appaient
■ epithet gaml, Hhigh
,1 Google
rilE TEXT or SHAKESPEARE, cclsf
B t Ml t f d d 11 k
p t f d f A h t 1 gg h
pp h t ly t p fil f kun
Ml pblhl 180t Im t fe
t i p th t t t 1 ft by
J h d St d til m n Si k
p m tt 1 in 1790 pp d lii dit f
8h k ap ar 11 t d b t t! tt t th
t p d 1 h tt t 1 11
t t f t t t t h U d
J tl 1 1 gi 1 d f t pi
sejlt tSlkpar dj d t
t tttt ptf^ H J n 1
t -d t f th E gh h t g d t
Ti t fl J t d f tt w 1 ft Id f
St k p mq V d by th ! h f M
1 Th 1 t hi 1 Ij pl h d h f
11 f g 1 1 dj,!!! t d f t d y t
gdptlttfH ptt dftgbl
lb iL dh tlvdtdtoh kt ght
th gl y f t th t h — pt
f th 1 tt 1 d th f m -^i^ f
td thth mttdm Igit
bl d b t h d tt t t f 8t k p fr
Ubs diSBf ILsble." Steepens replied Ihol bi
SB of Msloae'x, and therefore ivendered :
'seentsd love he vonM IiRTa euded It wl
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cclsxii HISTORICAL SKETCH OP
■tt'ide and ruthless oaliage, and by painful and well-
directed iuYestigation into the literature and manners
contemporary with his author, cast new light upon his
pages. To Edmund Malone the readers of Skake-
speare, during the last decade of the last century and
the first quarter of this, were indebted for the presen-
tatioa of his woiks in a, condition more neirlj approach
ing their integrity than any other m which they tad
yet been exhibited
The next impoitant edition ti Malone s was pub
lished in tientj one octavo volumes m I8O3 and
aftcrwird in 18U It was based chiefly upon that of
JohniJon aad 'steevens with the corrections and ilius
tiations of vanouf. commentators all revised and aug
mented by Isaac Heed an editor qualified for his
task by pitience, accuracj and mucli reidmg of our
eaily diamatie literature Thw edition effected little
for the test of Shakespeare and was rathei leroaik-
dble for the copiousness and variety of its piolegom
ena notes and lilustrative e&says It is one of the
two most important of the Varioium editions
Malone had planned and neaily compkted a second
edition of bis work when he diel in 1812 The
mateuals which he left were prepared and supenn-
tendel throucth the press bj James Bos-nell Jr —
the son of Johnsons bioEcrapliei — who takmjr the
^allOllm of 1813 is his model pioduced an editi n
also in twentj one octavo volumes which w is published
m 1821, and which is a monument to the mdistiv
leseaich and good judgment ot its pnncipal editor
whose Ubois appear to best advantage when placed
beside those of his immediate piedeccssors and his
contemp varies This edition is usuallj spoken of as
eminently tie Variorum It is a rich stoiehouse of
Shakespearian litciaturc anl m addit on to Malone 1
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TJIE TEXT or SHAKESPEARE, cclsxiii
1 test ot and con c t co ta i o t of t) o
h h. appeared ts mmed ate predecess r En
t 3 p If, 1 of 1 e ps of an tt aattei ^h ch befoul
fl e 1 a^ 1 of tl e elder book lat ell 1 th the ii'in es
A nner a d Coll ns — pse lo yi es of Steevena an 1
E t on Boswell also played dustman, to a i s ot
not nlecent nonsense scrap d p by Reed altho a;!"
he 1 ft so ucl unto ch d
To be ed ons h ch have now bee n e to el
m St le Id I those of Ale auder Chain e s pub
1 bed n 180 a d several t es rep nel of the
ReeedWIlan Harness n 18 5 1 of ban el
Weller S ger at Ch sw ck n 18 6 thongh tie
te-^t of ne ther of tl e e as fo ned upo a colkt o
of the early ed t o s but pon an eclect e se of the
labors of j eced g editors The text of CI aim s a
ed t on a giett fa or te does not difler n ater allj
f on thit of Reeds ^ ar or n of 1803 and te nger
at f r hs te t to the eltons of Stee ens and
llalone w th n occis onal ref re ce to ai oil iol o
o qua to 'i nge « e 1 1 on vas h ghly pr i d aid
nt 1 th n a le V ye'ws ptat vas the f o te fo
ge eral read ng among c It ated people Th cau es
of th s favor e e t con e eat size the e^celle oe
of ts tyio^taply id ts f gal select on from the
no es of ^U the commentato a It wa fact an
ab dge 1 1 or n Its editor belonge 1 essent ally to
fl e old e ghtee th cent ry cl ool t d th gl labor
OS an 1 a gieat reider ot old books sho ed ne tl ex
real sch lar h p c tical ac men nor power of gener
al atio H teit vas fo-med w th mo e core tha
judgment but t presented a fe plaus ble emenda
tons \s nearly twentj years elapsed after the pub
i ca on of Mr & nger s vork w tl out a t j-t to
r dl or I 3 t c h e ov toll ned the t r
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HISTOEICAL SKETCH OF
tuaes of Siiakespe are's text down to tlie editions
which are properly of the present day.
Among the commentatora on Shakespeare who did
not become hia editors, the most noteworthy for the
purposes of this sketch are — John Upton, who in
1746 published hb " Critical Observations on Shake-
speare ; " Thomas Edwards, whose " Canons of Criti-
cism" first appeared in 1748; Benjamin Heath, who
published in 1765 "A E.evisal of Shakespear's Text,
wherein the alterations introduced into it by the
more modem editors and critics are particularly con-
Bidered ; " Thomas Tyrwhitt, the learned editor of
Chaucer, whose " Observations and Conjectures upon
some passages of Shakespeare" were put forth in
1766; Joseph Eitson, the eccentric and censorious
literary antiquary, whose " Remarks Critical and Il-
lustrative on the Text and Notes of the last [Stee-
vens's] Edition of Shakespeare" appeared in 1783;
John Monck Mason, who published Comments on the
same edition in 1785; Walter Wliiter, who in 1794
gave to this department of letters " A Specimen of
a Commentary on Shakespeare ; " E, H. Seymour,
whose two volumes of " Remarks, critical, conjec-
tural, and explanatory, [including also the notes of
Lord Chedworth,] upon tiie plays of Shakspeare,"
appeared in 1805 ; Henry James Pye, who came for-
ward in 1807 with his " Commentaries oq the Com-
mentators of Shakespeare ; " Francis Bouce, who issued
his " Illustrations of Shakespeai'e and of Ancient Man-
ners, &c." in 1809 ; Andrew Becket, who published in
1815 two volumes entitled " Shakspeare's himself
again, or the Language of the Poet asserted ; " and
Zachary Jackson, whose " Shakespeare's Genius Jus-
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THE TEST OP SHAKESPEAEB. cclxK^
tified bemg Restorations and lllubtiations of bevca
Hundred Pasaages m Shakspeare was given to the
isoild m 1819
Upton s scliolaily and sjstematic labors haie interest
and 'talue as cntical discussions and illuati ^tions of
ShakespL-aie s te\t They aie mstiucti'^e and e\en
suggestive but over subtle and often pedantic They
did little or nothing to\iards le&toration but something
for the prevention of wanton and ignoiant alteration
of the readings of the old copies Edwards s book
written m an ironical vem wai diiected chiefly
against "Warbuiton whose conceit airogance and
Ignorance of his authoi s language it thoroughlj and
most serMoeably exposed But Edwaidi did more
than demohsh W orburton His critical acumen hia
good taste and good sense and his quick and sure
appiehension of Shal espeare s thought gne bim a
conspicuous place among those who h*ie been ot
real service in the preiver* ition and elucidation of
Shake'ipeare a teit His Canons rem im e lotti erso,
undisputed to this dai and the volume in which
thet aie embodied will long retain its intcrtst md
its value Heith, Tyrwhitt Ritfcon, and Ma=on each
produced a minute but appreciable and beneheial ef
feet upon the text — an eflect -n hich m the aggre-
gite IS considerable and which pioraiaes to be per
manent, although most of their su^i^estiuns have been
rejected by the lerdict of their successora
"Whitei s labois did little for the test but his book
has a permanent ^alue in critical literature from its
promulgation and contmued application of i new
principle oi cnticiam based upon Locke s doctrine of
the association of ideas Whiter maintained what
no close cbserver of his onn mental action can deny
that th jroce ses cf tl o ^ht aie net al«ajs loj,icil
,1 Google
cclsxvi HISTOEICAL SKETCH OF
b J f 1 hi t
d 1 t h f th t U t 1 f h
b 1 thi gh til ^ h p b bil
ti f t tl h 1 -n; f tj
t bl th w t 11 ti t b aid
t n pt Th p pi h b b
ff Uy ppl d h t by tb ly
h m t fi t p nig ted
E t m g tb mm t t f 1
mgjtdimint dbm df to
tb tb 1 k h t 11 t t M
D H tb m wb t M 1 g
th d t tb t h 1 b b t 1
gfkil d Iht d ymp
th ppl fthplb fSbk
p thMl p lltmlfhill
t t td til 1 flmt 1 h f
tetilm t Igt fbtl I
P, bl hfirllb dytemti
I t m t tb p 1 t p fi t d th p
dp t 1 h ■ul d th ht tb
J b 1 f Sh k p bf t It 1
tl n th 1 t m tl 1 tl t t
pdthmth dthtt plhdBt
t h 1 tr fl Ij t d t f tb
pt lltUgtpil b t
d th dram d f b 1 gbt b b f
tlmb-d gaddth gm tflg thhh
httbdb 11 dtb IP t in
fllilty hbb Idh i td
Sra Bkt IJk ai iyf
tte t nly typ f tin h I th
1 f m t t 1 h d m (
mm — tt p t i tl fti by
m ur p t th d t d mm t t wl ar
,1 Google
J. RE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE, cclxxvii
peU^oi,nie not cntics Ihe kno\lel.,i, tlut a veil
should agree with, its nominative case and that ten
syllibles make an heroic bne form the staple of the
qual fieat ons which he biouRlit U> his ta k He
w ould have iemo\ ed the iiom m ill cases in
^hich it 18 used with w he ice or thence because
it IS tautologicdl thus endeavoring to cciif im tie
languaj,e of Shake peare a day to that of his own
and he sought by mutilition adlition and transpo
Bitiou to make an unbroken series ot peifect lines of
ten sjUahles from the bcj,innmg to the end ot eieij
Becket IS facile p vi cjis of the comment t is wl o
have a mi aion tnd nothing else and who led
ot upjn ewth to lefam the text
special revelation Of him
that they ;
with plenary po V'
it IS diftitult to hpeak iMth patiei
r decorum His
stupidity run mad Ihe time honored simile
of a hull 111 a china shop was never moie applicable
than to his dehghted plungo gs among the tcndei and
e-iqiisite beauties fashioned hj the hand of Shake
Bpeaie Anl when he las shiveied and crushed and
scattered to his heait s content he stands with inef
fahie complacency amid his fiagnientaiy labois and
lookmg round upon them lellows out Shakespeare s
himself agam A notion of Beeket s book could onlj
be convejed by e'^tiacts and it would not be noith
the space which they would occipy
Zachar^ Jackson was a printer and ss the moat of
the corruptions of Shakeapcire s te^t sie due to the
carelessness or meompeteace of compositors and the
lack of proofreading he juatlj thought that a piac
tie<tl kao V ledge of his ait would be of service m then
conjectuial (.men! t on He hal cinectei nuch proof
ani thus it woull stcii hould have Icon aUo to
,1 Google
cclxxviii HISTORICAL SKETCH OF
tt 1 I f t h t d t
Idpddth tlbkbt h
B t tl k f il d al t t h d wh
f ttin tl t h t d t til fl Id
fg 1 tdtishmd h. b
ird d t han th t t th t t d f
It b h h m ti k f ml b th t
faidt dyth thmtli Ih
I tltilkit! y S [ I f m
B t th 1 th t t f SI k 1 ff 1 p
t mj rv f h m tat tl d
th h th V d th Ch k ht p
tdth ksftl td ttm ly
Ipldthmtl fhyhd bf p
p 'u d p mt th d t f th
W f th t hi n g tl mfl t
hmbl dihlftmpthm
d th 11 k f t ti t th 1 11 m y
dprt tl dt fi h tbttet
h h t 1 t m ght h dl t d d
f t t nf m J t t tly t tl p m
tl ta 1 d d 1 1 40 t dito t pp d
f ard t pply this t Th Mi
f relat»] odI; to Uiose who wrote upon tbo Uxt, and of tboes odI; to Bucb
ml at Uteratura. It ia worthj of otacrTatton, Rltliougli It la not mrprislng,
Lt tha Oormiin crltks luiTe BcwmpUnbed nothing fbr BhakeEpeaie In UilB
,1 Google
THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE, cclxxis
Knight and Mr. Colliei'.* Thoy each did much to
effect that nearer approximation of the test to the
" True Origiiiall " which was so mncli needed. Both
were sparing of conjectural emendation ; hut Mr. Col-
lier admitted the " stolen and surreptitious " c[uai'toa
to a higher authority than that awarded to them by
Mr. Knight, who deferred only to the original and
authentic hut badly printed folio. Mr. Collier had
the advantage of a long devotion to the study of old
English literature, especially to that of Shakespeare's
age ; but Mr. Knight brought to his task an intelli-
gent veneration for his author, and a sympathetic
apprehension of his thoughts, which distinguished
him in this respect above all his predecessors. But
both editors committed errors, and lefi others uncor-
rected. Mr. Collier admitted readings from the quar-
tos, and the commentators, which are icdefensihle ;
and Mr. Knight's almost superstitious veneration for
the first foKo caused him to reproduce from it, with
attempts at explanation, many passages which are evi-
dently corrupted. This was sho^vn with no less ad-
mirable temper than ability by the Rev. Alexander
Dyce, the editor of Beaumont & Fletcher, Mai'lowe,
Green, and Peele, &c., in his " Remarks on Mr. J.
P. Collier's and Mr. C, Knight's Editions of Shake-
speare," which appeared in 1844. f
a DTiUcal eeraja
,1 Google
HISTORICAL SK-ETCH OF
H TOig tr d th h y f th -n t mt n hid
htagfit thrght! ft f
tbddd fifty? n pdf
I d te t t d H tl t th 1
gg fbhkj Id fflf h
^Itir hht gn ce diil
ft b d p t and f m th it
thp pt dtpdytlt d
mm tat Its p t d fs t
(ft ddtobf d wll tb d
hi) d nl) t th f thf 1 1 b th
gM th 1 Ity d th tni t g ty f
m f th 1 1 d d tak t p fe mj n
1 te f f d plEu t b t N t
mgl b wr tt by h k p ar was kn ii t
t t 1 t 1 i! y f I wh 1 tl
tbl h wpfM crpt t mpo-
y th ty f fh h bil t t f tl t t th
dthm f to w Imtdt
t dj d d tl I J t It T tl th
w b lldiH ptl hlaslrad
t mp y ly t p y th ty I
1852 MJhPyCll h di f Shak
p khdth b bf thpbhf
in 3 h I d b f bly k t
d t f E gli 1 d p t larly f Eb b tl 1 1 ra
tl f m than tin ty y d h was
fth qt dh aji dthtth hd
dtllfC th land pyfti fl
dit f 1632 tl oi f 1 h fill d th
t m pt t f th t t h 1
f gr t t t d -a I 1853 M C 11 i b
lish d h tear f h di ry and d t il d p
,1 Google
THE TEXT OP SHAKESPEARE, eclsxxi
t f 1 ai'y character, in a volume entitled
2ft d E dations to the Teat of SkaJiiespeafe
f n Ea Jy Man script Gofrections in a Copy of the
F I f 1632 * He therein sustained all the react-
g w th f w ceptions, thus brought forward; aad,
alth gh hi d t on of Shakespeare had exhibited an
aim t la h d ference to " the oldest authority," he
ta tl d h readers not only by expressing his
t n tl at far the greater body " of these mar-
gi 1 t ere " the restored language of Shake-
p ai d t ngly intimating that their source must
h b n f 111 her authority than any theretofore dis-
d hut by publishing an edition of the plays in
wl h th y ather such of them aa he thought it pni-
d 1 1 m k p blic, were embodied. Only a very few
t th b 1 1 t d readings were manifestly sound, hut
a ult t 1 f them were plausible : the mysterious
mann f ti ir d covery, and their supposed antiquity,
ex t d p p ilir interest, and even blinded critical per-
r. Collltr's aocouHl, he bought Ihla folio, in Iha (
died '\>e!an his «vldeai» nss needed,) to complete
daoiaged and defii(»d. R« then In
the epriag of 1860 UiBl be " oliaerv
Yet BubEequently, looklD^ &rther.
tie hook, or that tJiaj were added
le body of [hem were ao added iB
,1 Google
cclxxxii HISTORICAL SKETCH OE
cpption the JVbfes and Emcnhti r^ and tie le^
elition of tJie plays sold lapidly ai d 1 i i shoit
time it seemed as if the whole noild woull leccne
with, jojfil s 1 mis 81 on tic icw le^elatioii of '^hake
spe re J\o soonei was tie boh of the ne v readings
well before the public thin at ong piotests were made
against them ind a sharp and minute discussion arose
upon then individual merits But it was plam that
their hold upon the faith of tbe generaj public would
) ot be shaken bj meie critical opinion of then sepa
rate value because to mere opinion opinion co ild be
opposed A dosi. exammat on of the body of the
readings brought forwarl in Mr Colhei s Ajfes and
ErrtPndjiions con v need me that whatever might be
then importaace on the ^romd of their antiquity
(they could not have been written until lb32 sixteen
leais after Shakespeare s death) or on their own eii
dence of accest by their author to sources of informa
tion more authentic than, the early printed copies of
the pla^s the) had no such claims to consideratioa as
should lemove them from the category of conjectural
and arbitraiy change to be j idged &okl> upon theii
meiits * This conclusion was based 1 1 o i t! e follow
iDg points which I bel e\e were suftiuei tly estab
The maigmol readings in many instances debased
the poetrj ol Shakespeare and extinguished his humor
In some cases they weie made in palpible disiegaid of
the ooitext In others they were no less plainly it
vanince with Shakespeare s manifest dramatic purpose
• See Putnam's Xagatim tOr Ootolier, 1863, nnd Shaiariifare-t Scholar, 1854,
ti>T aa HCBHiiaaliaa of Ur. OoUler's Mio, ivliLch, In the \iaiAa ot Ois pref.ic? to tho
InHEf, la not a " detjuled npptoyal or disapproval " of anch of tho jnarglniil
rendlitgB of thic volnme as bad been made puhlEc^ bad "purely an ailment,
■hich alms to show Uial thoss omcndatloiis were made tu such a way and at
«uch a tima thai «e (0 Uieii aothorlty thsf 6ie nUetiy without a ciym npoD
,1 Google
THE TEXT OP SHAKESPEAEE, cclxxxiii
S m f th 1 a m ly b th
k f 1 d t pp li d th m f I 1
pt d p a^ M J t ± fl ur 1
d g t d 1 t! b tit t h
h 1 th 11 ti f J t t th d f
th tv & m f h 1 g th 1 I ar hai t
f h h t tl fi t bl h d t 1 ly t
h th t th J !d t h b J t 1 1 d
th trjb b Itf dl hf th
PI ar f th f 1 th f t t m
jti ddtib fthmtg t
1 g 1 1 1 f tl t Th j,ms
f tl 1 fill d th p li bl 1
Uy d t d f 11 th It d 1 h
hdb mmttdh It im tt f
y gi 1 f p ty d p ty aad th y t
ly ta d 1 h f th i fi m 1 1
t pittdhh b d tt
btdddthm th bib bf t
tempt 1 by 11 m tl t f tl t t mb d Th
m 1 f t f tl b p t pi y
U tld ptf hh hj,d
h t t f th b t) fr
1 to th dff t tl gl m y Tl
t d g d <ni f th t m
d th phi 1 gv f ii 1 p d gl t t
mk&lkp l<nig i tthfh
fpodhlf tuylt rUjtl dl
w ttdpth mitliafl tl
ftthRto tltt t Ity b
q t t t p bb t d t t f 1 m th d tl
f SI I p 1 tl p t t p hi
pasd ytltht hdb Id 1th
,1 Google
cclxxsiv HISTORICAL SKETCH OP
p ■ d p p ty disp 1 ddtijddiiig
th t 1 1 th C mm Ith d
d t f h 1 p ■« pi ) t f th
f th 1 1 th
A tm p 1 ( t J ) th f th
f th m th ghtf 1 d b t d f th h
hdwl dthmgal dgsfth th
h fft I3 d ] t d t! rapl tly b an t
bhk th 11 dml'*f)MiGll
hm If f d tl t ! as 1 tl t th
CT t J ty t th t d t f
b tt pts 1 11 1 h m k p 1
p fthpijbtfi th ta fll
t 1 1 h pi J p li g Id th t
h Id d 1 t y t 1 t d
t h h tl IT t t 1 h t 1
dlmdti b ht mtlkp
t — h hlhd pt [p h
ta^Jf titt t k tfdfti
Up gbtlhd tp tth h
tittfShkpar -i. tmi d d
th C U f 1 ( all d th P km f b 0 t
B tai f t! f f 1 h.
J ti ) P t f d it
th nt J d th t di wh Ai
IB 9 ) ai fte t t 1 bl t t
pi d tl h d f Sir F 1 M dd
K p 1 th JI pts tl B t 1 M
bytlDkfD h t h fth hd
b b} t d P th nly
J f I d h t «ih k I
hi h d bee f d th s;] p ft
At th M t 1 ly m d by M N
,1 Google
THE TEST OP SHAKESPEABE. cclxsxv
C S \ Hxmilton, a piWographer aiid one of the
assiatints m tlie Mdauacript Depaitment of that insti-
tution Hia puipose m making the exaniimtion was
" to attempt an accurate and unbiased descnption of
the \olume '■" In the piosecution of this design he
di-.co\eied that, of the corrections originally made on
the rtnrgins ol this folio, the mimhet which had heen
"holly or paitiJly ' obhteiated with a penknife
[1 the emplovment of chemical agency" were "almost
ds numerous J.B those eufieied to remain," he also
concludi-d that, of the corrections allowed to stand,
many had been " tampered with, touched up, or
painted o\er, a modem character being dexterously
altered, bj touches of the pen, into a moie antique
foiin , and he found that the mai^ms weie "coh-
ered ^ith an intinite numbei tf taint pencil mirks m
obedience to \\h.ich the supposed old corrector made
his emendations, and that these pcnexUed memoian-
dums hid "not eiea the pretence of antiquitj m char-
icter Ol spelling, but were ' written in a bold hand
of the piesent century'
Upon this disco^eiy the aid of natural science was
invoked, and the volume was placed m the hands of
Ml Neiil '^tory Maskelvne, Keeper of the Mmeralogi
dl Dcpiitraent of the Museum, who examined the
marams with a Miy poncriul microscopt, and tested
the mk oi the lorrections Mr Maskelyae s mvesti-
gations confirmed entirelj the eiidence of Mr Ham-
ilton 8 ej es He found the penciDed memorandums
' plentifuUv distributed down the maigms,' and " the
particles oi plumbago in the hollows of the paper m
every instance that he examined. He thought, also,
tliat what seemed to he ink was not ink, but " a
paint, removable, with the exception of a slight
,1 Google
cclxKSvi HISTtJRIGAL SKETCH OF
stain, by mere wafer," — which paint, " formed per-
haps of sepia," would enable an impostor to sim-
ulate ink faded by time ; and, most important of all,
in several cases iii which " the ink word, in a quaint,
antique-looking writing, and the pencil word, in a
modern-looking hand, occupy the same ground, and
are one over the other," the pencil-marks being ob-
scured or obliterated, Mr. Maskelyne found, on wash-
ing off the ink, that at first " the pencil-marks
became much plainer than before, and even when as
much of the ink-stain as possible was removed, the
pencil still ran through the ink line in unbroken,
even continuity." These points established, Mr. Maa-
telyne's conclusion, that in the examples which he
tested " the pencil xmderlies the ink, that is to say, was
antecedent to it in its date," was unavoidable.*
These annoimeements excited hardly less attention
than that of the original discovery of the readings.
So important a literary iraud, and one which awa-
kened such general interest, had been never before
discovered. It seemed as if Mr. Collier must have
been either an impostor or a dupe, or the victim of a
conspiracy. Investigation was aroused, and the in-
quiry was prosecuted in regard not only to the folio,
but to several other manuscripts relating to Shake-
speare, his works, and his contemporaries, which had
been brought forward by Mr. CoUier as his own discov-
eries. The literary inquest sat for nearly two years,
hearing counsel on both sides, and, in the end, these
points were clearly established in regard to this famous
folio : —
The volume contains more than twice, nearly three
tjmes, aa many marginal readings, including stage-
. and changes of orthography, as are enu-
,1 Google
THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE, eclxsxvii
mtralpJ m a Ii=t which Mr Colliei, aftei ha^m^, to
I '• his own woids often gone oiei the thousands
of marks of all kinda in his folio and iee\.
ammed everj hne mi letter pubbahed as ' A List
of Ezeiy Manuscript Note and Emendation m Mr
Culliers Copj of Shakespeare s Woiks, folio 16>2 *
The margins retain numerous traces of peacil
memoiindums
these penc 1 memoraniin a are m aorae instances
written in a modem cuisne hind to ■w}ic}i mainino!
readuiga m ink, wiitten in an antique hind CDiie
TheiP ire soni prncil memorandums to which no
cciieapoiiJins cliaiige in ink has heen made and
one of these la in short hand of a system ivhich did
not come into use until 1774 f
The e pencil memorindums m some instances un-
deilie the woids m ink which correspond to them
Similai modern jencil writing, underlying in like
mailer antaque seeming words m ink, appears m the
Bridgewater folio (Lord Ellesmeres) the manuscript
leadings m which Mr Collier was the fiist to bring
into n tice
Some ot the pencilled memorandums in Mr Colbei s
folio of 1632 seem to be unmistakabiy m his own
hind writing
Several manuscripts professing to be co ite nporary
with Shakeapcire, and contammg passages oi inteiest
in regard to him or to the diamatie affairs of his
time and which Mr Colliei brought forward as the
firuita of his researches m the Bridgewater and Dul-
* See the HppBQdii ta Saiai Lectares m Shakafwn and MiCon. Lotidoii>
,1 Google
cclxxxvili HISTORICAL SKETCH OF
hCUti h b p A I by
tl h 1 t 1 1 gi i.ii tk t n England nd
m n f th n ( 1 tt Id d t H 1 d
btrgMt gt)th pilini
f th k hk th 1 t d
In th p t d p t f m n pt by Mr
C lb t nly d 1 d b t 11
1 ti s t Sh k p II lb Id t p bly
h f dptftlj IhJifd
to p d
Th t tgptanthlt^ftli
Ira d th m pt h h b Id i t nt
apla thhitryfShkpan Itt
" Abonts A weeks a goe tbere cddib a yontlie itho said be n
have bought things for . . . and mid fu wm femn™
iBi(osou atidJUr.^iciiesptareiifeiegloti, leSocoms
. . . laid tie taewe Jtym, jmt, nndp he hetdt of Aym Una Mm
a rf^e m . . aohs was glads tag did no£ l&id Idtn
the monnejf , . . Richard Johneg [wetU] to seei:e
lb tbls pqglBcript ia written ia veiy much decayed, and 1
torn away by the accidents of lirne i but enough repiainfl
h»lo[BBr]s man 1* wou]ld have l,or,'ow[e]d x'
br[hl]>Mri[B] [tru]s,l,
i after tha fellow," to.
IS evidence of Mr. HalliwelJ, Mr. HamUton,
examiDstioD will convince tbo reader Uiat
,1 Google
THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. cclssxiK
but tliey fail to show that the tody of the mai^iaal
readings in Mr. GoUier's folio are spurious, that is,
%vritteii in a pretended antique character; and, conse-
quently, they fail to fix on. him, in that instance, the
guilt of absolute imposture. For auch of the pencil
tracings on those margins (so warn as to be always
faint, and often imperfect) as are not manifestly
modern may well have been made as memorandums,
or first entries, in the seventeenth century. Lead,
or, properly, plumbago pencils were then used ; and
plumbago is an unalterable, inorganic substance,
which does not fade like ink, and the traces of
which are very difficult of entire removal, especially
when old, even by attrition and wasHng.* Pencil
marks which are certainly two hundred years old are
known to exist upon the fly leaves and margins of
other books. It is a significant fact in this regard
that pencil guides or memorandums were discovered
in this volume for even the lines by which long
In the course of their laborious efibrts to establish
the spuriousness of the marginal readings in Mr.
■oMls of Mt.
thf place to wlileh li
,si«slj;iia th™
Isaphyai.
in ot Shnkwpeors, and -bal
which
has bwn tn
jiaHe certid
ugh of the to
7er margliiloi
iha» that n
of the
Tkeths bottom
of the first
• U. Bonnanjot, the highest French &uthoiitjr npontha euttject on nhich he
wtlt*s, In MiSnaimirVAHie Heslavrerlei Bslan^ et la Llnrea, aoder Oie
heiul— '■ TarAri des crajfom. (Ptomdajfiw, lattgvive, crayon nnir," Sc,) — sajs,
"LeB trutxgricailesqnblaltsBatearlB papier una dlvera erayone e'effacent an
oenUct Aa. cneuteheuc, on do la mle do pain ; maSSr quand dba amU trop
aneieimes, eties riify/mi d ess weyens ; on a reconrB slors & I'appliP&tloii du
satoo," Sc. "S'il reataLt, apr*8 cello epilation, des traceo opbaidtrea jini
le papier, U faudraiE disetpdnj- les ttUfVir^ p. Gl- Ur own DbserTAtloD
,1 Google
ccxc HISTORICAL SKETCH OF
Collier's folio, the London palaaograpliers and critics
unwittingl}- brought evidence to light, the bearing of
which they did not perceive. A part of Mr. Hamil-
ton's valuable and interesting book was devoted to a
record of all the manuscript readings on the margins
of Samlet in the famous folio.* An examination of
this list discovers facts which are irreconcilable with the
supposition the great mass of these marginal readings,
points, and stage-directions, (many thousand in num-
ber,) were written by any one in a pretended antique
character, for the piirpose of giving them authority
on account of their apparent age, and which should set-
tle this part of the question forever.
The number of the manuscript marginal readings in
Hamlet is four hundred and twenty-six.f But for this
large number of readings the sharp eyes and the mi-
croscopes of the British Museum, and its co-workers,
were able to discover only twelve pencilled memoran-
dums. Of these, three are for mere punctuation,
three for stage -directions, and two for the mere add-
ing of letters which do not change the word or the
sense,!; leaving hut four instances in which memo-
randums are found for a change of reading.§ And,
• See An^tpUry
(Hto »e GaiKi
I«™™^tte Jlto«M=Hp<
OoTrecaims
,fio.
ByN.B-8.A.
LIOD. London,
t Aomrding
.Inelebj-.in hi
E Ci™pt^
fcssnol the aled
ingeato'
'He«™rf<
'4t,
and thBTB la n
pfflicLl
orthsaM^
I Tlia Wto™
s the four pnsas
«e8j Iheci
maSelng
tnltaUsI
ottoi
"On,«
rtparn
IdoDB^Boman
t"
1 ■
ffBdj^r^Sm.
,1 Google
THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. ccxd
f th f i dj d d tw ty m-u-^ 1 h g
ylgpprt q hlf mg
fi It 1 h dlt h as It
1 k g m pt tl d
p f p bi d 1 t th p f 1 f
th p tin fti b I th all d i t
1 T Ik th th li 1 f
m h dtdm tl hliktm df
th tl tj p th £" ; f fill h f 1
f h f pi f th h 1 f th f g
lb ( d D I gl by > th t t it
pl f th th pi 3 tl t 1 ) h
th t m tl th I f
h 1 d t 1 tt Ij 1 h p th
blip t th t 1 m It t! th
f tl rr 13 mp t h h
lb dilhlbdftllb sal
tl Id b ly
B g th 1 b g Hit
I I p t ry trk g d <ti fl t
p 1 ai ty Tb t p 1 ty m d -n t f
th t t b ! t !y f t 1 t th ly 1 t
f tl 111 d t pp th g I t
tb 1 p lb \, p I t t tb p hi t f th
fl df 55 ftbjthtddf
h 1 d J p tl t Ij 1 f h
f 1 te p d d L tb tab! 1 t f
• Sncli ST« tlie chBi
l«BOf "»
lit«"to"B'B«>ropa,"fii^-J
ilnotllketheklDg'lD'
■■'Look.
.J It," Ac.;
to "He
<'£r«iven
)"fl-™Bijwm," Ac; 'MH
3amU,
lu,l,"lo"liit,HamW,llst!"'
'lheJ»™(nps Ajre" to'thejarniinp
"MyLiegBS,
iAXaOrm
■MyLifwi
md JftKio«f""tooIf of Wit"
!(eof Wit;" '
■ judffeme-U iojn
e " to "botli our jtidgaKenia
Jojae;'
"mji
"th8i(HcJ™»e™i'
"■Rtialt
Hiep"M"i!«(«aehim,"4o.;
m(ot m s^t"-,
n!,"4=.; "
,1 Google
ccxcii HISTOllICAL SKETCH OF
grammatical concords, which, enfiicly disregarded in
the former period, weie observed by well-educated
people in the latter.* Of such corrections I discov-
ered twenty-eight (and there may be more) among the
collations of Hamlet alone, which is a "just sample"
of the volume. Twenty-eight corrections for the thirty-
one pages which Hundd occupies in the folio give, for
the nine hundred pages of the whole volume, about
eight hundred and fifty instances in which the cor-
rector modernized the text, though he obtained thereby
only a change of foi'm, and not a single new reading, in
any sense of the term.
Kindred evidence is furnished by the stage-directions
to other plays. In Love's Labour's Lost, Act IV, Sc.
3, when Birone conceals himself from the King, the
stage-direction in the folio of 1682, as well as in
that of 1623, is, " He stands aside." But in Mr.
Collier's folio of 1632 this is changed to "Se climbs
a tree," and he is afterward directed to speak " in
the tree." So again in Much Ado aJwut Nothing,
Act II. Sc. 8, there is a manuscript stage- direction
to the effect that Benedick, when he hides "in the
arbour," " Betwes behind the frees." Now, as this
use of scenery did not obtain until afler the Res-
toration, these stage- directions manifestly could not
have been written until after that period. f
' sirile phniBa, beHiiUfl«l
omesay
.■""lej-M
lids
"to"Mi/fedlld.!"'
Jmatoc
lesUtbeiw
'"Itllteaupiii™
idMBghM'
m-MpiniM
.DdfiaHeavfidphim
i^ifepU
rBse;""Ho
win
, luy vocis nmeea- a]
■ vhiai was &st nmda li
,1 Google
THE TEXT OF SHAKESPEARE. CKtcin
Yet more : theae marginal readings, as shown by the
coDation of Hamlet, not only prove themselves that they
were not the worlt of an impostor, — they show, with
an approach to exactness, the period when they were
entered upon the margins of the folio. Not more
sui-ely did the lacking aspirate betray the Ephraimite
at the passage of the Jordan than the spelling, the
punctuation, and the grammar of this unknown cor-
rector reveal the period at which he performed his
labors. For instance, the word 'vile' was almost
universally spelled vUd or vilde down to, and even past,
the middle of the seventeenth century ; of which no
man who could make the body of the corrections in
this folio could possibly be ignorant. Yet this mar-
ginal corrector modernized vUd into vile in three pas-
sages of a single play, — Samlet, — though he thereby
obtained not a shade of difference ia meaning ; and
he did likewise in some eight hundred and fifty sim-
ilar instances. That this is the work of an impostor
passes aU belief. But to return to the evidence of
the period of the marginal writing, which may be
briefly shown by tracing the history of ' vile,' which
occurs five times in Hamlet. In the folio of 1623,
in all these cases except the first, it is spelled vild;
Octobsr, 1S53 — Mr. HsIUwell rays (fol. Shak. Vol. IV. p. 310) that the itrHer
of tlia.t article "fairly adilucesthess MS. direcUons as iDCODtestable eildeucH
of the lite porioa of tlie writing Id that Tolnme, ' practfcnljls ■ trsss wrlainlj
uot hBTtiig been Introdiieeil no the Enj-liah slago unUl after the EsBtoiation."
Bee, tco, (n the following paaeaga from the NdbU Stranger, by Lemla Shnrpo,
After Ihe pnbllcatioit of Mr. Collier'a folio, in attuEttlooa lite those ofBinmsBi
Benediak : —
,1 Google
ccxciv HISTORICAL SKETCH OF
in tlie folio of 1682, witli the same exception, we also
find vi!d; even in the foho of in64 the spelling in all
these instances remains unchanged ; but in the folio of
1685, vitd gives place to vile in every case. As with
' vild,' so with the other words subjected to like
changes. In brief, the spelling throughout the mar-
ginal readings of Mr. Collier's folio, judged hy the
numerous fac-similes and collations that have been
published, indicates the close of the last quarter of
the seventeenth century as the period about which
the volume in which they appear was subjected to
correction. The careful removal throughout the vol-
ume (though with some oversights) of those irregu-
larities and anomalies of spelling which were common
before the Restoration, and the haimonizing of gram-
matical discords which were disregarded before that
period, and, on the other hand, the retention of the
superfluous final e, (once the e of prolongation,) and
of the I in thp cnntractions of ' would,' in accord-
ance with a pronunciation which prevailed m Old
and New England untU 1700 and later, all point
to this date, which is also indicated by various other
internal pioofs, to which attentiou has been heretofore
sufficiently directed. The punctuation, too, which, in
Mr. Collier's words, is corrected " with nicety and
patience," is that of the books printed after the
Restoration.*
• The Bsamplfs of moaernlzition of the tf it given In Ihe Eoto iipoo page 38S
Indt<^Bie B period not enrlior ihnn the BeBtoiatlon.
It IB perhmis a7so worthj of notice that tiio flltanpt to mflke the subaUtotion
of tho word duxr tot cSair In Corlolimi!, Act IV. 8c. 7, —
aclmlriktive applann" nntil that date, filled, becaiiHe tlie Diary orilenrTTeong,
a British navy ohaplaln, amed 1675-79, Bhows Uiat three ohecu wuro glvtn at
that date, BE the; are now; audlp Phaer's transiatlDii of Uie.^netii,puhllahed
,1 Google
THE TEXT or SHAKESPEARE, ccxcv
The many erasures throughout this volume must
also be taken into consideiation nhea ive exanine
the question of the good fa th m which the bulk of
its alteiations were madt. In Hanild there are no
less than tJiirtv bi\ erasures which are tiom a few
11 Olds to fifty hnes in extent and wh ch mdude
''ome of the moat characteristic if not some of the
fine^it \ assagea in the tragedy It is imi ossihle to
believe tliat aii-\ man in his senses makn s, conrec
tiona for nhich he meant to set up a oJaim for
highei authont) than that of the eiiliest punted
te\t would make ^uch and so n imerous erasures
The fotegoing con deritions apply to the great
mass in fact to alnost the eatiie bodi of the mar
ginal readmgs and to the penc 1 memorandums m
Mr Collier s toho But there are also on those
margins niani memonnl ms m cirsiie pencil -Mnt
ing The pubhcition of between twenty and thnty
fac simdes of this pencil writing alt! oi gh they enn
sist in only li\ e instances ot more thin a single
word letter oi point shons that these memoian
dums are the work of a hind jf the present tenturj
and aceordmg to the judgment of all the Biitish
critics viho have compared them Mith Mi Colliers
pencil writing and who hive home te'itimony m the
matter theie can, on the score of rescmllance be
no doubt as to tJicir or gm
Thus the externa), or, more exactly, the physical
and literal evidence of this folio sustains, and, I may
say, establishes the conclusion which, eight years
before it was made public, I had drawn from a crit-
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ccscvi HISTORICAL SKETCH.
ical e;:>:ammatioii of tiie internal or literary evidence,
— that its manuscript readings were entered upon its
margins in tte seventeenth century, and after the Ees-
toration. It seems first to have been subitiitted to
erasure for stage purposes ; and afiierward (for tlie
changes in text and punctuation extend through the
passages marked for omission) to have been care-
fully corrected for the pre is, with a view to the
publication of a new edition.* Of its fate after it
fell into the hands of Mr. Collier, I need say noth-
ing here ; and I gladly avail myself nf the privilege
of silence upon a subject, in my polemical treatment
of which heretofore I may unwillingly and unwit-
tingly have wronged a gentleman whose labors have
made all readers of our early poetry, and especially
of Shakespeare, his debtors, and who, before the ap-
pearance of his corrected folio, had home into the
vale of years an unsullied reputation. The topic
brings nnpleasantly, yet somewhat fitly, to a close
the history of a literature often turbid with ignorant
presumption, deformed by prejudice, and embittered
by acrimony ; but I dismiss it not without the hope
that facts yet undiscovered, or explanations yet un-
made, may preserve this page of letters from the
dark stain of imposture.
1 This view of the eTtilence brought Oirward (o uUbllsb the BpuriouRDen
ot (he niarKin^ itHtdings In the Ca[IIer folio wag presented 1b two articles
which I wrote npon the eubiect, tbr the AlUaiHi! MmMy, In which they wen
pnWIshnd, October, 1858, and SepKinibet, 1861.
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POEMS.
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COMMENDATORY VERSES.
Ih the volame published in 1840, as " Poems wriitert hy Wil.
Shahe-speare Qent." and which, ih made up of Shakespeare's
Sonnets, fancifully aitanged, songs talten from the plays, and
poetioal translations by olher writers, are commendatory versea
by Leonard Digges, John Warren, John Milton, William Basse,
and an anonymous writer. Of these the second and last are of
no interest, and are evidently not contemporary with the works
■which they celebrate. Milton's, and all that is interesting in
Digues', are given in Volume 11. of this edition. The following
are Bale's Un^, which aie said by Malone to eiiist in manit-
Bcript written about 1621 ; —
On the death of William Shakespeare, who
died in Aprtll^ Anno Di/m. 1616.
Renowned Spenfer, lie a thought mort nigh
To learned Ckaufer ; and raie Bsaumount lie
A little neerer Spnfer, to make roome,
Fof Skakefpeare in your three-fold, four-fold Tomb.
To lodge all foure in one bed make a shift
Vntill Dommes day, for haidly will a fift
Betwixt this day and that by Pate be slaine.
For whom your Curtaines may be drawne again
But if precedencie in death doth baite
A fourth place in youf sacred Sepulchre I
Under this facred Marble of thy owne.
Sleep care Tragedian Skakejfeare, ileepe alone;
Thy uninoleiled peace, in an unlhar'd Cave
PoITbss as Lord, not Tennant, of thy Grave.
That unto us, and others it may be,
Honour hereafter to be laid by thee.
W. B.
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VENUS AND ADONIS.
foculft Caatalia pieni
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" Vtnva and Adonis.
Vilia tniretur vulgia i mifti jjmnu Apolh
Pocala C'aslaHa plena minislrel aqua,
London Iraprinted by Richard Field, and are to be sold at the
signe of the white Greyhound in Panics Chuteh-yai-d. 1593,"
4to. 27 leaTe^
The title page of the edition of I59i, 4to., does not differ in
Oie most minute particular from that of thu edition of 1S93, ex-
cepting that there is a full point after the word " London," It
also has 27 leaves.
" Venvs and Adonis.
Vilia mirelur vulgits; mihifiaitus Apallo
Pocala Caslalia plena minislret aqt/a.
finprinted at London by E. F, for lohn Hariaon. 1596."
8vo. 27 leares.
Field's device of the Anchor is found upon oaeh of the above
imptesaions. The edition of 1600, 8yo,, only varies ftom that
of lfi96 in the imprint, which is "London. Printed by L H.
for lohn Harison, 1600," The imprint of the 8vo. Edinburgh
edition runs thus: "Edinburgh, Printed by John 'Wreittoun
and are to bo sold in his Shop a little beneath the salt Trone.
1627." [Collier.
(*)
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VENUS AND ADONIS.
INTRODUCTION.
THE Btory of the loves of Venus and Adonis, told by Ovid
and by earlier writers, was modified in the middle ages —
wa Itnow not exactly when or in whose hands — by malting
Adonia insensible to the transcendent charms of Hie Goddess of
Lore and Beauty. Shakespeare adopted this version of the
myth, and, when he wrote the following poem, may possibly
have been nnacqutunted with any other.
Veniis and Adoais was entered upon the Stalionecs' Register
on the !8th of April, 1593, and published in the same year.
How long before that date it was written, cannot be determined.
In the dedication Shalceapeare calls it " the first heir of his in-
vendon," which has been regarded as a designation of it as his
earliest work. But such espressions must not be received in
evidence implidtly. It would seem from the same dedication
that this poem, as well as its successors, was the production of
the aathor's " idle hours." He regarded his dramatic writing
aa professional business ; it was only his leisure that he devoted
to the Muse. Still, Venus /otd Adonia is plainly a youthful
production, and may have been two or three years in hand
before it was published.
The text has come down to us in almost absolute purity.
(5)
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HENEY WRIOTHESLY,
EAHL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BAKON
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VENUS AND ADONIS.
EVEN as the sun with purple- colout'd face
Had ta'eii his last leave of the weeping morn
Rose-cheek'd Adonis hied him to the chase ;
Hunting he lov'd, but love he laugh'd to scoi'n :
Sick-though ted Veaus makes amaiu unto him.
And like a bold-fac'd suitor 'gins to woo him.
" Thrice fairer than myself," thus she heyan,
" The field's chief flower, sweet above compare,
Stain to all nymphs, more lovely than a man.
More white and red than doves or roses are ;
Nature that made thee, with lierself at stiife,
Saith, that the world hath ending with thy life.
'* Vouchsafe, thou wonder, to alight thy steed,
And rein his proud head to the saddle-bow ;
If thou wilt deign this favour, for thy meed
A thou&and honey secrets shalt thou know :
Here come and ait, where never serpent hisses.
And being set, Til smother thee with kisses ;
" And yet not cloy thy lips with loath'd satiety,
But rather famish them artiid tiiclr plenty,
Making them red and pale with fresh variety ;
Ten kisses short as one, one long as twenty ;
A summer's day will seem an hour but short.
Being wasted in such tiiae-beguiling sport."
C7)
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8
VENUS AND
ADONIS.
■\\ th th 1
t!
h
gplm
rh p 1
t i I ti
i 1
11 d
Alt bl
h
11 t b Im
E til
g d
t d
g dl d
B s
d d 1 tl 1 d h f
C
lyt ii
1 h
1 h h
0
th 1
ty ui
U d h
h
h t
d by
Wh bl hd dp
t d
d 11 d d
wth 1 d
pp
pt
t ty
Sh d
d h t
1
Ui fi
H d f
h m
b t fi
ty d
Th t dd 1
b dl
^
db gh
Nimbly 1
f t
(0 h
q k 1 )
Tl t d
tall d
P d
T t th
d h
bg
I
B k ard
h 1 1
d 1
1 Id b th
A 1 g
d 1
t
tl tl h 1
S
1 1
h
d TO
E li 1
th
lb
1 th 1 p
N 1 til ]
1 t k
h 1
k d tl h f
And fc t
1 d I
t
h t p 1 Ip
And k
g 1 ^
tl
I tfiil 1 b k
If th
wilt hd
thy bp h 11 p
H bir
th b hf 1 h m
h th h t ar
D th q i
th
d h
f h h k
Th h 1
')
gh
d g Id h
T f d bl tl
n dy
h k
H 1
1
m 1 t
hi m h
Wh f E
h m
th th k
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VENUS AND ADONIS.
E pt) cl li 1 Ij f t
T tlihhk ftK fll Ah
SI k h d g U h t
TU th ggb tffd pjb
En hklhb hlkh
A a wl h d 1 a tl w 1
F d t t t b t t b y
P t g h 1 a b tl tl b f
Sh f a tb tb t p J
A a 11 t b ly tm f g
\\ h b bk ga fllff! r
btl adtb bdtllgbw
Lo k b b 11
■3 f t a b
I d
^^b b b d
Ra n J t
p -f II f
fl tb
St II 1 t ts I 1 tt 1 tr
Ft p tty IT b b t 1
StU h U tUblw dft
T t bra 1 g a^bj p 1
B d 1 1 1 m b t d b
H b t b te d tb i 1 bt
L k h w b h t 1
And by h f mm t 1 b d 1
F m h ft b m t m
T 11 b t k tr tl 1 t d
Wh 1 1 h d k 1
Ad t k b II p y tl
t I
b k 1! t;
tl 1 bt
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10 TENUS AND ADONIS.
Tip th p m 1 d h his chin,
Lk didppp U gha wave,
"VM b glkd dkas quickly in ;
S ff ktgi hthdd crave,
B t h h 1 p Ij for his pay,
H 1 d t 111 another way.
N d d p mm he It
M th t f dr k tl 1 for this good turn.
H h 1[ h b t h Ip 1 cannot get ;
Shbtl t jthfie must bum.
0 p tj g h ) fl nt he-uted boy !
Tis hut a kiss I beg, whj iit thou coy?
"I have been woo'd as I fntieat thee now,
Even by the stern and dnelul god of war.
Whose sinewy neck in battle ne'er did how,
Who conquers where he comes in every jar ;
Yet hath he been my captive and my slave,
And begg'd for that which thou unask'd ahalt have
" Over my altars hath he hung his lance.
His batter'd shield, his uncontrolled crest.
And for my sake hath leam'd to sport and dance,
To toy, to wanton, dally, smile, and jest ;
Scorning his churlish drum, and ensign red.
Making ray arms hia field, hia tent my bed.
" Thus he that over rui'd, I oversway'd,
Loading him prisoner m a led rose cham
Strong-temper' d steel his stronger strength obey'd,
Yet was he servile to mj eoj diadam
O, be not proud, nor brag not ot thy micfht.
For masterii^ her that foil d the god of fight.
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VENUS AND ADONIS. 11
" Toucli but m) lips \Mth those f ii lips of thine, —
Though mme be not ao fair, ytt ire thi,} icd, —
The kiss shall be thme own as «ell as mine: —
Whit «eest thou m the giound' hold up thy head:
Look m mine eje balls, there th> beiutj lies;
rh(,ii, nhj not lips on lips, since ejes m eyes?
"Art thou ashamil to kisa ' th^n, nmk again,
And I will wink, ao shall the day seem night;
Love keeps his revels wheie there are but twain;
Be bold to play, our sport 13 not ra 'uglit
These blue vem'd violets nheieon y,e lean,
Never can blab, noi Itnow not nhit we mean.
" The tender spnng upon thy tempting lip
Shows thee uoripe, jet may'st thou well be tasted.
Make use of time, let not idi intage "ilip ,
Beauty within itself should not bi. wistcd
Fair floweis that are not gather d m their prime.
Rot and consume themsehes in little time.
" Were I hard-favour'd, foul, or wrinkled-old,
ril-niirtur'd, ciooked, chuilish, harah m \oice,
O'er-worn, despised, rheumatic, and cold.
Thick-sighted, barren, lean, and lackmg juice.
Then might' st thou pau^ie, for then I were not for thee;
But ha\mg no defects, why dost abhor me ?
" Thou canst not see one wrinkle in my brow ;
Mine eyes are grey and bright, and quick in turning ;
My beauty as the spring doth yearly grow.
My flesh is soft and plump, my marrow burning :
My smooth moist hand, were it with thy hand felt,
Would in thy palm dissolve, or seem to melt.
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12 YENtJS AND ADONIS.
" Bid me discourse, I will enchant thine ear.
Or, like a fairy, trip upon the green.
Or, like a nymph, with long dishevelled hair.
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen ;
Love is a spirit all compact of fire.
Not gross to sink, hut light, and will aspire.
"Witness thia primrose bank whereon I lie;
These forceless flowers like sturdy trees support me ;
Two sfrengthless doves will draw me through the sky.
From morn till night, even where I list to sport me :
Is love so light, sweet boy, and may it be
That thou should' st think it heavy unto thee ?
* I tl h t t thi w f ffected?
C 1 y 1 1 d iz 1 p tl J 1 ft ?
Tl w hy If h f thj If J t d
St 1 th f d m d pl theft.
N 1 If h If f k
A i 1 d t k his h d th h ook.
' T 1 d t 1 gl t 1 It ear.
Dm tttflb yfth ;
H b f th 11 d pp pl t to bear;
Th ^ g t th 1 g th s abuse :
Sdj. f d dbtjb deth beauty;
Th b to J, t t tl y d t)
' Up th
h
why h Id
thou fe
U 1 th
th
th thy
b fd?
By 1 f
t
th t
b 1 t b
\
Th t th
) 1
h
1 tly If
t dead;
\ 1
1 t
f d tl
th d
vive,
L tl t
thy
Ik
tu
1ft al
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VENL'8 AND ADONIS. 13
B) li tl 1 k I b t t
Fo 1 e th } 1 y th h d h i f 1 th m,
A d T tan t 1 n th n d d j 1 at
W th b nin^ d d h tly 1 k tl n
■\\ h ng Ad n h d h t t i
& he 1 k t d h) "\ d
And n Ad n w th a 1 j ht
And th a h y d k d 1 kmg )
HI h wh Im ng I f ctt
Lk m ty i u wh th y hi t tl 1 j
Souring his cheeks, ones, " F;e 1 no more of love :
The sun doth hurn my face ; I must remove."
"Ah me!" quoth Venus, "young, and so unkind?
With bare excu'fes mak'st thou to be gone !
I'll sigh celestial breath, whose gentte wind
Shall cool the heat of this descending sun :
I'll make a shadow for thee of my hairs ;
If thpy burn too, I'll quench them with my tears.
" The sun that shines from heaven shines but warm,
And lo I I lie between that sun and thee :
The hiMt I have from thence doth little harm,
Thine eye darts forth the iiie that bumeth me ;
And were I not immortal, life were done.
Between this heavenly and earthly sun.
" Art thou obdurate, flinty, hard as sfcel ?
Nay more than flint, for stone at rain relenteth ;
Art thou a woman's son, and canst not feel
What 'tis to !ove ? how want of Jove tormcnteth ?
O, had thy mother borne so hard a mind,
She had not brouglit foitb thee, but died unkind.
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14
VENUS AND ADONIS.
^\^ t
I tl t th h Id t t this ?
0 h t
t 1 I 11 p ) t
\\h t
h) Ip th f p k ?
Si k f
1 t 1 k f I lb mute:
Ad f t t f ti wilt h t
F Ifl 1 t Id d 1 t
Will tddlmglll Idd
Stat t b t tk y 1
11 g Ik b t f m b d
Th t m t! 1 f pi ion,
r U 1 bj th d t n."
11 d p t h k h pi I t g e,
Adwll p Ithp k p
K d h 1 1 fi y y bl f tl 1 g;
B J d 1 h m t ght h ;
A d w h p 1 h f 11 peak,
Ad h 111 t d t b k
8 m t h h k h 1 d d tl h 1 ind,
N g tl 1 1 h g d
St h rnf U 1 Ik b 1
Sh Id 1 U t h h b d
1 b gne,
■■ I IwYO liemm'd thee
h It b ) d
n 0 nt n d 1
I d f tl h 11 h d
Stra3 1 1 th pi as-u t f ta 1 e
A I h
8h 1 k
f m th
k lly fi
"Fondling'
" she saith
W tl n th
111 b p
Fe I h e
t f tl
k a 1 tl
tho It
my Ip a
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VENUS AND ADONIS.
15
"■\\ th til 1 t
Swe t b tt mg d li h d Igltf 1 il
Eou d ghllkbkb d 1
To 1 It th f t 1 t If
Th 1) mj d I 1 P k
^ d h 11 h th gl ] d bark
At th Ad 1 d d
That m h h k pp ii p tty d ].l
Lot m 1 tl h 11 f h m If 1
He m 1 1 b b d t mb pi
F k w 11 f th h t 1
Whj th L Id 1 th h 11 t d
The 1 h th d h t p t
Op d th ir th t II w \ hk
Bei g m d b f 1 1 th h f t
Str k d d t fl t 1 t 1 1 t k g
Poo q t I th 1 f 1
T ! h k th t 1 t tl
Now 1 h J
1 11 1 t w
He d d
h th
Th tm p t
h 1| t 11
And f m h t
g 1 th
'Pty h
f
A h p
1 hast th t
wl t I U
But 1 f f tl [ t! t lb hj
Abdfej tlty dpd
Ad pi d th pj
An 1 f tl 1 h t and gh 1 d
Tht nkdtdb tidt t
B k tl h d t h t ght h
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16 VENUS AND ADONIS.
I 1 1 1 1 1 1 t,l L b I
A d 1 gu-th h b 1 1
TK b ai th th h h 1 1 f i
"H h 1 U w mb I 1 k h tl
Th ir b t h h th tw h t tli
C t Ding h t J tl n d th
H ar ppkdhbdlhggra
Up h p d ci t t d d
H t il dr k th d f th
Afmf p dthh d
H J h h fully gl t 1 k fi
hh 1-ht g dhh^hd
S t 1 t ts f h t Id th t p
W th g tl m J ty d d t p d
A h rs p ght t dip
A h h n 1 tl t t! t
A 1 tl I 1 t pt t th y
Of tl f b 1 tl t t d bj
Wl t k th h 1 d y t
Hflttghll 1 Sdlj
Wh t h w f 1 p k g p
F h pai t pp g g
H hi d th 1 h
F thi g 1 tl 1 J d ht IT
LI h p t w Id p th If
II g t wllppt dtl
H t h tux k hp t f
AfthddthbghH I
S d 1 1 1 1
I h 1 1 ur p d b
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VENTJS AND ADONIS. 17
R Utdhtjtitlkl 1 long,
Bdb tfU) mllld A 1 vide,
Hf^t tht trhtlg dp ti'ong,
Tl m hktlbdbtktlhde:
Lk lit 1 hldh hldnt lack.
Is lid 1 1 b k
S 1 1 f ft a h I t
A 1 t t ^ t f th
T b 1 tl nd a b h w p pir
A d wh h n fly tl y k t h ther ;
Fth Ihn dtailthhl 1 sings,
V t; th li ^(h Ilk f tl 1 ings.
H 1 k J hi nd n gh t h
&h k flkwhmd
B g p d f 1 t h m her,
SI p t t 1 tr m knd;
Sp ns t h I d ns th h t h f els,
B t g h kud mb m ts tl 1 1 U.
Tl 1 k 1 k Ij m I t t
H Ik I th t 1 k fall g pi
Clhd th It bttklt
Htap dbtthp fl Ifn.
His ! p g h h agd
G w kmd nd 1 f y was as ag I
H t ty m t th b t t t k 1 m
Wh 1 th b k d b 1 f 11 t f
Jl ftl fllthfkhm
W th h tk 1 1 1 ft Ad tl
A th ) d t th 1 tl 1 them,
0 t tl pi ^ h t t t fly tl m,
vol.. I. B
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18 TENUS AND ADONIS.
All swoln with chafing, down Adanis sits.
Banning hia boisterous and unruly beast:
And now the happy season once more fits.
That love-sick love by pleading may be blest ;
For lovers say, tlie heart hath treble wrong
When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue.
1 tl t toppd
L h b tl
d
11 th tl
S
S f Id
b d
F t t d 1
fi d tl
E t h h h t
y
t
Th h nt b k
d p t h
t
H h
dbg t 1
E n as dy t, 1 vi th 1
Adwtlhb hiil cny h
L k tl d 11 tl
w tl d t h d
d
T ki g f tl
F all ask h
t I gh
1 Id 1 h J
0 h t ght t
H h tig
w 1)
t th ; d b
7
T n t tl hgl t g
H wht d d
fl t fl 1
1 tl dd d
B t h h k
It flObl d f 1 ii
pi d by
1 t,l t 1 tl
d by
ky
N h J t h f hm h t
And ! k 1 ly 1 1 h k 1
W tl f hmd h h th p h h t
H th dhlhf hktl
H t d h k 1 It 1 d
Apt fllna tk jdt
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VENUS AND ADONIS. 19
O, ^^hBt i mai if lool s \ias tl en Ijctween them!
Her eye-i, petilioneis to liis eyts s ling ;
His eyes saw her ejes as thej Jiad not aeea them;
Hei ejes wood stiU, his eyes disdiin'd the wooing:
And all this dumb play had his acts made plain
With tears, which, choius like, her eyes did rain.
Full gentlj now '•he takes him by the hand,
A lih prison d m a jiil of snow.
Or lyory in an alabaster band ,
So white a friend enguts so white a foe
This btautPOus combat wiltul and unwilhng.
Show d like two tilvci doies that sit a billing.
Once more the engine ot her thoiit;h.ts began :
"O fairest mover on this moitd round,
Would thou wert as I im, and I i man,
Mj heait all ^vhole a^ th ne, thy heait my wound;
For one sweet look thy help I would assure thee,
Though nothing but my body's bane would cure thee."
" Give me my hand " saitli he " why dost thou feel it ' "
"Give me my heart saith she and thou shalt ha^e it;
0, give it me lest thj hard heart do steel it
And being itedd soft s gi s can j eier g ave t
Then, love s deej groins I never sbill lei^did
Because Adonia htirt hath made i line haid
"For shame he cr es let go and let me go.
My day's delight is pi^t mj h ise ^one
And 'tis yo ir fd It I am bereft 1 1 n so
I pray you hence, and leave me here alone ;
For all my mind, my thought, my busy care.
Is how to get my palfrey from the mare."
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20 VENDS AND ADONIS.
Thua "he replie'* "Thy palfre>, ai* he -hotild.
Welcomes the mrm ^pplO■lch of Bwpet dcJire
Affection la a cual that inuat be cool d ,
Else, sufler d, it will set the heart on flre
The sea hath bounds, but dLtp desue hath none;
Therefoie, no manel though thj horse be gone.
" How hke a j ide he stood, tn,d to thi, tree,
Strvilclj mastered with a leathern rem ,
But when he saw his loie his joutt's fiir fee,
He held such petty bondage in disddin ,
Throwing the base *hong from his bending crisE,
Enfranchising his mouth, his bick his bieast
" Who <iees hia true love m her naked bed.
Teaching the sheets a whitei hue thT,n white.
But, when his glutton eje bo full hath fed.
His other agents aim at like delight '
Who la so faint, that dare not be so bold
To touch the flie, the wedthei lein„ cold''
"Let me excuse thj couiser, gentle boy.
And learn of him, I heaitilj beseech thee.
To take adiintdo'e on presented joy.
Though I were dumb, yet his proceedings te^ch thee ;
0, learn to love , the lesson is but phin,
And, once made perfect, never lost iga n
" I know not love," quoth he, " nor will not know it :
Unless it he a boar, and then I chise it
'Tis much to borrow, and I will not own it
My love to loi° is love but to dis^iaec it.
For I have heiid it i* a life m death,
Thit laughs, and weeps, md all but with a breath.
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VENUS AND ADONIS. 21
"Who cir' a ^arn e t i ap less nd unfinisli'd ?
Who plucks the hul hefo e one leaf put forth?
If s\ r Hq ng th ni^s be anj jot J ish'd,
The; T tl er a the r [ r me p o e nothing worth ;
The colt that ? b-iok da 1 bu tl ea'd being young,
I oseth h s IT de ind e er v^seth strong.
" You, h t my hand v th wr ng ng , let as part.
And leave t! s idle the e tl s bootless chat:
Uen ove yo r s ege from mj any el ling Keart;
To love 3 alani s t II not ope tJ e gate :
D s sa your o ts your fe gned tears, your flattery.
For ivl ere a h t s hard thej make no battery."
"What' canst thou tilk ' " quoth she, "hast thou a
t g
O Id th hit t I 1 i no hearing!
Th m d 1 th d m double wrong !
Ihdmyllbf p d with bearing :
Mil d d h nly t harsh-sounding,
t; d p t d h t deep sore ivound-
H d I It
would love
Tl t d b ty d
bl
0 w I d t thy
ard p
would move
E h p t m h t
b
iible :
Th 1 h
hear nor see
Y t 1 Id I b 1
b t
iiig thee.
S y tl t h f f
1
3 bereft me.
A 1 tl t I Id t
h
nor touch,
A d thm b t th y
11
re left me.
{ t Id V 1 t th b 1 11 as much ;
For from the stillitory of thy face excelling
Comes breatL perfum'd, that breedeth love by smelling.
,1 Google
32
YENUS AND ADONIS.
t! t tl t t
P t 0 1 b q t
B I f 1 f I I f
■W Id th y t h tt f t ght
Adbd p *bllkthd
L t J 1 y th t 1 m
&h Id by 1 t 1 d urb th t
O
th
I
t 1
Whith 1 hddh >p gjld
L dm til y t b t k 1
\\ \ th t mp t t tl fi Id
t h pi d w h b d
Gt dflfl thdm Itbd.
Th ill I d dly 1 lb
E h dlhdbft tb
0 h If 1 th If 1 b k tl
O 1 b rry b ks b f tl
O 1 k tl d dly b 11 f
Hi g t k h h 1 b g
And t hi 1 k h fl ly f 11 th d
F ! k k 11 1 d 1 by 1 k fli
A ml th d g f f
B t bl d b k 1 1 th t by 3 th th
Th lly b b 1 VI 1 d d
CI p h pi Ik II 1 pp g k t ed;
AdUm Ibk ffh It tt
F h lly 1 dd fl k t p 1 d h
Wh h I d 1 tt Ij p t
F 1 II h th t w 11 d f d h
r tl "r I 1 1 1
r 11 hi 1 t! b tl tl bf h
,1 Google
He ivrings ker nose he strikes he on th? cl eeka
He bends her fingeia 1 olds her 3 Isei haid
He chafes her lips; a thousand vij he seek-i
To mend the hurt that h s k di ess n arr d
He kisses her ; and she by hei good v 11
Will never tiae, so he siU k as hei still
The night of aoirow no v s turn d to day
Her two blue windt va f intly she p heaveth
Like the fair sun, wben m 1 1« fre h aTay
He cheers the morn a d all tl e earlh rel eveth
And as the bright lun glorifies the sky
So ia her face ilium n d v th her eye
Whose beams upon ill hairless face arc fix'd,
As if from thence they horrow'd all their shine.
Were never four such lamps together mix'd.
Had not his clouded with his brow's repine ;
But hers, which through the crystal tears gave light.
Shone like the moon in water seen hy night.
" O, where am I?" quoth she, " in Earth or HeaveOj
Or in the ocean drench'd, or in the fire ?
What hour is this ? or morn or weary even ?
Do I delight to die, or life desire ?
But now I liv'd, and life was death's annoy;
But now I died, and death was lively Joy.
" 0, thou did'st kill me ; kill me once again ;
Thy eye's shrewd tutor, that hard heart of thine,
Hath taught them aoomful tricks, and such dbdain.
That they have murther'd this poor heart of mine ;
And these mine eyes, true leaders to their queen,
But for tby piteous lips no more had seen.
,1 Google
24
VENUS AND ADONIS.
L y th J k 1 tl f tl
O 1th 1
Ad h y 1 th d 1 11 1
T d f t fr th d-ai
Th th tar g h mg t d h
My y th pi is b h d b} thj b th
P lip w t tJ my ft hp p t d,
Wb t b ga m y I k t !1 t b 1
T 11 my If I b 11 t t d
Sob wltbj djy d gddbg;
Whi 1 p ha, f !i m k f t f 1 p
S t thy 1 I 1 1 1
A th Ik b 3 m} h t f m
And p y tl t thy I bj
V.ht t i d d t h t tl
At th y t q kly Id d q kl g
«i J f p J t th tl d bt h U d ble,
I tw ty 1 di d k 1 t 1 1
1
q h h f y 1 j
M
B f I k J It k t k
Nfihbtth gr fijfb
Th il pi 3 th f U tb ^ t k f St,
0 b g ly pi k d t t t
L k th Id f t w th ) g t
H ijlttkhh dd th t
Th 1 1 1 h Id h k t y 1 t
Tlhp g tfldbdth t
Ad 1 bl k 1 ds th t h d 1 1 ght,
T> mm t p t d b i 1 ! t
,1 Google
VENUS AND ADONIS. 25
" Now let mc say good night ; and so say yon ;
If you will say so, you shall have a kiss."
" Good night q th li A 1 j Ad
TL 1 y f t part g t d d
H arm d 1 d h n k t mh
I p t th n th J f gi t f
Tillhthlashdj d dbk dd
Th h nly tu th t t 1 m tl
"Wh p u ta t h thir ty 1 p 11 k w
Wl th y f t y t pi n n d gl
H w th h pi ty p d h t t hi h
Tl ir 1 p t g th gl d f U t h th
No q k d h th ht th j 1 1 p y
And gi tt hk h f 1 J t n fill th
He Ip q h Ip h y
Pa g h t th I 11 Ii
Wh It th ht d th p t h tl p 1 yk,
Th t 1 U d hip 1 tl d7
And h g f It th w t f th I 1
Witl I di Id i y h b gm t f
Hef dh k Imkl blddtlhl
And I I t tir p 1 p
PI g bl b b k
Fgttgl p blh ih k
Hot f m 1 5 th 1 ! Ttd b g
Lil Id 1 1 b g t d th t h li dl ,
Or tl fl t i th t d th h !,
Or 1 k th 1 d mf t ill d th 1 J! ng
Ha b 1 d n m t th
Whil h k 11 h t U h 1 t th
,1 Google
26 VENUS AND ADONIS.
What wax bo frozen but dissolves with tempering.
And yields at last to every light impreasion ?
Things out of hope are compass'd oft with venturing.
Chiefly in love, whose leave exceeds commission :
Affection faints not like a pale-fac'd coward.
But then woos best, when most his choice is froward-
Whhddf Oldlthg
Sk tfmhiiphhdt kd
F 1 d d tr t t 1 1 I
■\^h t th 1 th 1 I kl y t pi k'd;
W h ty d tw y 1 ks k pt t t
Y t 1 b k thr gh d p k th 11 t last.
F p ty h d t h
Thp flijhtltlmydpt
SI I d I g f h
Bdh t II dlk llthh-t
Ih wh h by C 1 d b w I d ti I t t
H arr th g d h h t
S tb y h y th ghtlll row.
For my sick heart commands mine eyes to watch.
Tell me, love's master, shall we meet to-mon'ow ?
Say, shall we ? shall we ? wilt thou make the match ? "
He tells her, no ; to-morrow ho intends
To hunt the boar with certain of his friends.
" The hoar ! " quoth she ; whereat a sudden pale,
Like lawn heiog spread upon the blushing rose,
Usurps her cheek : she trembles at his file.
And oa his neck her joking arms she tuows;
She sinketh down, still hanging hj hi^ neck.
He on her bcUj falls, she on her back.
,1 Google
VENUS AND ADONIS.
Now is slie in the very lists of love,
Her champion mounted for tlie )iot encounter :
All b imaginary she dotk prove.
He will not manage her, although he mount heri
That worse than Tantalus' is her annoy.
To clip Elysium, and to lack her joy.
EvSn as poor birds, deceiv'd with painted grapes,
Do surfeit by the eye, and pine the maw,
Even so she languisheth in her mishaps.
As those poor birds that helpless berries saw.
The warm effects which she in him finds
Slie seeks to kindle with continual kissing :
But ail ia vain ; good queen, it will not be :
She hath assay'd as much as may be prov'd ;
Her pleading hath deserv'd a greater fee :
She's love, she loves, and yet she is not lov'd.
"Fie, fie!" he says, "you crush me; let me go;
You have no reason to withhold me so."
" Thou had'st been gone," quoth she, " sweet boy, ere
But that thou told'st me thon would'st hunt the boar.
0, be advis'd ; thou know'st not what it is
With Javelins point a chuilish swine to gore,
\Vhoae tuihes never sheath A, he whetteth still.
Like to a moitil butcher, bent to kill
" On his bo« hick he hxth a battle set
Of biistl> pikei, thit e\ei threit his foea.
His e>es like glow worms shine when he doth fret;
His snout dig* lepulchres wheie er he goes;
Rein5 mo\ d, he strikes whitt. cr is in his way,
An 1 «lioni he stiiki,;. his ciuel titles -lay.
,1 Google
28 VENUS AND ADONIS.
' His bra^vn) s des with hairj bnatles armed
Are better proof than thy ipeai s point can enter;
His slort tl ick neck cannot be easily hirmel
Being ireful on the bon he ■niU venture
Ihe thorny brambles and embracing bu'ihes.
As fearful of him part, thiough whom he rushes.
' AIiB he n^ ight esteems that face of thi e
To wl ich. lo^ea eyes pay tributary ga/e
Nor thy soft bands sweet lips and cijstal e}ne
Whose full perfection aU the woild amazes
But haiin^ thee at vantage (wondrous diead')
"Woild root these beauties as he roots the n ead.
" O let him keep his loathson e cab st 11
Beaut) hath i aught to do with = ch foul henda
Come not withm his danger b) thy wiJl
They that thrive well take counsel of tbeir friends.
W hen th 11 d d st name the boar not to dissemble,
I t ai d th> tort ne and mj joints d d tienibl''
Did t tl ou 1 ot mark my face ^ ^^ aa it not white ?
Saw st thou not signs of fear iuik m mine eye ^
Qiew I nit fa.mt> ind fell I n t dDnmi„ht>
Withm rav boson wheieon thou d)st he
JIv bod ng heart pants beafs and takes no rest,
But like an earthquike shakes thee on my bieast.
' For where lo've reigni disturbing jealousy
Doth call himstlf affection s sentiuLl
Gives false alarms su^gesteth mutiny
And m a peaceful ho u doth cry k 11 1 ill ,
Distempering gentle love m his des le
As air and watci do ibit the fiie
,1 Google
VENOS AND ADONIS. 39
" Thu «oui infoimd, tins bate brepJ ii^ spy,
Ttis cankei thit eats up loies fender spimg.
This carry-tile, dissentious jealouij.
That sometime tme aews, sometime fahe doth bring.
Knocks at mj heart, and whispeia in mine ear.
That if I lo^ e thee, I thy death should fear :
"And moie th-in bo, presenteth to mme eye
The picture of an angiy chafing boai,
Undfei whose sh'\ip fangs on his back doth lie
An image like thyself all stiind with goie ;
Whose blood upon the fresh flower*? being shed.
Doth make them droop with grief, and hang the head.
■Whthldid gfh 0 indeed,
Tl ti bl th m t
Th th t,ht f t d th k y lunt heavt bleed.
And f d tl t h t d
I p ph y thy d th j 1 }, boitow,
If th n nt h tl b to-morrow.
B t f tl da It h t b ul'd by me;
U il tl t flj g 3 'e,
0 t h f 1 h ! by blety,
O t th h h t dare:
P li f f I tu 1- the downs.
And n thy 11 b th d h k p with thy hounds.
" And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare,
Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles.
How he out-runs the wind, and with what care
He eraaka and crosses with, a thousand doubles :
The many musets through the which he goes,
Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.
,1 Google
30 VENUS AND ADONIS,
S t h fl 1 f heop,
T m k h g h d t 1 tl eir smell;
And mtm h thdlg keep,
T top th 1 d p h J 11
Ad tm tthwth hif deer.
D g d th 1 ft vit t fear:
F th li 11 th h b mingled,
nit t ffi 1 d d to doubt,
C g th 1 J 1 11 tl J 1 'e singled
W th m h 1 th Id f It 1 Ij t ;
Tl d th y p d th 1 bo replies,
A f th h w th k
Ej th [ W t f fF p h 11
St d h 1 d 1 g th 1 g ear,
T h k fb f p 1 til
A tl Idl bdtlhir
A d w h gr f 1- I 1 well
T k th t I ai th pis ng bell.
Th h 1 tl th d b 1 bbl 1 wretch
T d t It tl th y;
Ehvi b h ylgltl cratch,
Ehhdw k hmtp h murmur stay ;
F m } tr dd bj J
And b g 1 w 1 d b y
L q I) 11 11
N y d t tni 1 t h h It t rise:
1 ktl h thhtgfth boar,
U hk ) If h h t 1
AppU (, tl t h 1 t
F 1 m t 1 ye.
,1 Google
VENTT3 AND ADONIS. 31
"Where did. I leave?" — "No matter wliere," quoth he;
" Leave me, and then the story aptly ends :
Th n'gl t ■ p t " ' Why h t f fh f " q th
1
"1 qhl ptdfjf d
Ad t d k d I 1 U f 11
* I ht q tl h d b t f U
" B t f h f 11 O fh n g tl —
Th I m 1 th th 1 J t t g t 1
And II b t t b tl f k
Rid I } 1 tr tl d hj Ip
Ml 1 t D Id) d f 1
L t h 1 Id t 1 k nl d f n
" N f th d k ght I p ti as
Cj-ith 1 h 1 h ] 1
Tffl f g N tin h 1 n d f t
For t 1 m Ids f m H tl t d
■Wb b f d tl h 1 H d p t ,
T h m tl by d } d h by gbt
" A d t! f h b h b b 1 t! D t
To m gl
b tj
h b
And p I
f t
tk I d t t
Mk g
t bj
t to tb ) in )
Of d
h
dm 1 a y
"A b
f
pi d f
Lif p
g p tl d f
Th
ting
k h t
Dis d b
d b)
b t g f tb bl d
S f ta
P
k f d d
b ^
1
1 tl 1 1 tl
,1 Google
32 VENUS AND ADONIS.
"And not tke least of all these maladies
But ill one minute's figh.t brings beauty under:
Both favour, savour, hue, and qualities.
Whereat th' impartial gazer late did wonder.
Are on the sudden wasted, thaw'd, and done,
As mountain snow melts with tlie midday sun.
" Therefore, despite of fruitless chastity,
Iiove -lacking vestals, and self-loving nuns.
That on the Earth would breed a scarcity.
And barren dearth of daughters and of sons.
Be prodigal : the lamp that bums by night
Dries up his oil to lend the world his light.
" What is thy body hut a swallowing grave,
Seeming to hury that posterity
Which by the rights of time thou needs must hav
If thou destroy them not in dark obscurity ?
If so, the world will hold thee in disdain,
Sith in thy pride so fair a hope is slain.
" So in thyself thyself art made away,
A mischief worse than civQ home-bred strife.
Or theirs whose desperate hands themselves do slfl
Or butcher sire that reaves his son of life.
Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets.
But gold that's put to use more gold begets."
" Nay then," quoth Adon, " you will fall again
Into your idle over-handled theme :
The kiss I gave you is bestow'd in vain,
And all in vain you strive against the stream ;
For by this hlack-fac'd night, desire's foul nurse
Your treatise makes me like you worse and wot
,1 Google
VENUS AND ADONIS. 3
" If love have lent you twenty thousand tonnes.
And every tongue more moving than your own.
Bewitching like tlie wanton mermaid's songs.
Yet from mine eai' the tempting tune is blown ;
For know, my heart stands armed in mine ear.
And will not let a false sound enter there ;
" Lest the deceiving harmony should run
Into tke quiet closure of my breast,
And then my little heart were quite undone.
In his bedchamber to be barr'd of rest.
No, lady, no ; my heart longs not to groan,
But soundly sleeps, while now it sleeps alone.
" What have you nrg'd that I cannot reprove ?
The path is smooth that leadeth on to danger ;
I liate not love, but your device in love.
That lends embraoements unto every stranger.
You do it for inei'ease : O strange excuse !
When reason is the bawd to lust's abuse.
" Call it not love, for Love to Heaven is fled.
Since sweating lust on earth ugurp'd his name ;
Under \vhose simple semblance he hath fed
Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame ;
Which the hot tyi'ant stains, and soon bereaves,
As caterpillars do the tender leaves.
'* Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.
But lust's effect is tempest after sun ;
Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain,
Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done:
Lave surfeits not, lust like a glutton dies ;
Love is all truth, lust full of forged lies.
,1 Google
34 VEXUS ASD ADOSIS.
' More I coull t 11, but nioie I due not s3j ;
The text i= old, the oiatoi too green
Theiefoie, m sadnesi iion I will amy,
Mv face is full of shame, my heart of teen
Mme ears, that to jour wdnton talk attended,
Do burn themschos for havmg so offended"
With this he breaketh from the sweet embiace
Of those fail aims which bound him to her bieast,
And horaewaid through the daik Imn luns apace;
Leases Loto upon her hack deeply diitu--sd
Look, how a bright star shooteth tiom. the sky.
So glides he m the mght from "Vtmis eje.
Which after him «he darts, as one on shoie
Gazing upon a lite-embitked fnend.
Till the wild wave? will have him s^en no moie.
Whose riJges with the meeting clouda contend
So did the mcicikss and pitchy ni^ht
Fold in the object that did feed hti sight.
Whereit amaz'd, as one thit uniware
Hath diopp d a precious jewel in the flood.
Or 'stonish'd as night wandeiers often are.
Their light blown out in some misfiustful wood;
Even ''o contounded in the dark slie lav,
HiMiig lost the fair discovery of hei w ly
And now she beits her heirt, wheieat it gioans.
That all the neighbour -cave's, a'! seeming troubled,
Make leihal repetition of her moans
Passion on passion doubly ii redoubled
"Ah me'" she cries, and twentj times, 'Woe
And twenty echoes tnentj timos. cij so.
,1 Google
VENUS AND ADONIS, 35
Sht mailiin^ them, begini a waihi ^ note.
And smgs exteniponll) a woeful ditfj ,
How love makes young men thrall, ami old mea dote ;
How love IS wise in folly, foolisli witt>
Her heavy anthem still concludes m woe.
And stiU the choir ot echoes itiswer so
Her song was tedious, ^nd outwore the night.
For loveis' houri are long, though seeming short:
If pleas'd themselves, others, they think, dehght
In such like circumstance, with ^uch like iport*
Their copious stones, oftentimes begun,
End without audience, and are neier done
For who hath she to spend the night withal.
But idle sounds resembling parasites ,
Like shrill-tongu'd tapsters answering cieij cill.
Soothing the humour of fantistic wits ''
She saya, "'Tis sot" they answer all, "'Tis ao;"
And would say after her, if she said, " No."
Lo, here the gentle lirk, we"iry of rest
Prom his moist cabinet mounts up oti high.
And wakes the morn ng from whose ailver breast
The sun ariseth m his mijestv
Who doth the world so gloriously behold
That cedar-tops and hills seem buniishd goll
Venus silutes him with this fair good morrow
" O thou clear god and patron of all light.
From whom each lamp and shin ng star doth borrow
The beauteous influence that makes him blight
Theie livps a son, that suck d an eiithlj mother.
May lend thee lifiht, as thou dost lend to other."
,1 Google
36 VENUS AND ADONIS.
ThiK said, she liasteth to a myrtle groie,
Aluamg the morning is so mupli o'er-wom;
And jet she heais no tidings of hci lo^e
She heaikens, for his hounds, and for his horn:
Anon she hears them chant it lustilj ,
And all m haste she coasteth to the cry
And as -the runs the bushes m the way
Some citch hei by the neck, some kiss her face,
Some t« ine about h^r thigh to make her stay.
She wildly breaketh from their stiict embrace.
Like a niilch doe, whose swelling dugs do ache,
Histing to leed her fawn hid m some brake
By tins she lieai* the hounl-' aic it a baj,
Wbere<>t ahe starts, like one that spies an iddT
Wreath d up in fatal fold*", ]u>it m his waj.
The fear whereof doth make him shike "md ihudder :
E*en so the timotous yelping of the hounds
Appals her senses, and hei spirit confounds
For now she knows it is no gentle chase.
But the blunt boai, lOugh bear, or hon proud,
Because the cry iomaiin,th in one place.
Where foaifully the dogs exclaim iloud ,
Finding their enem) to be so emit,
They all strain couitesy who sbill cope him first.
This dismal eiy rings sadly m her eai.
Through which it enters to surprise hci heirt,
Who, oveicome hj doubt and bloodless fear,
With cold pale weakness numbs each feelinj; pirt :
Like soldiers, when their captain once doth jield.
They basely fly, and dare not ataj the field
,1 Google
VEN"C"S AND ADONIS,
Th 11 ti bl t T
T 11 li I 1 Jl d y i
Sh t 11 tl t 1ft)
And bild Ii t t h y f d
ISdthl qlx bdtl f m
Adwtltht dl pdthi tdb-u-
W h f tb m tb b > d 11 tb, d
Lkmlk dbldb mldbbgb
Wb 1 dly b b b k t
Tb y b d h 11
B t b k t t I b f
A tb 1 p! b h tl d
Sh t d th p tl h t b t d
H in t5 has m d tb d ! j
Lik tb p d f d k b
1 tl
f tb
tl
y
J?llr pt&yt K'*''" 1
In b 1 th all U gbt t 11
Hkld bkbfilh
s
ff g
d
A d k th w Y ff f 1 ast
A d th th 1 k f b 1
& t d tb 1) g
And 1 h m ts h dly
Tbmbpk dl plw
Wb 1 b th d 1 11 nding n
An b fi p m th d m n bl k and
il t
1
h h 1 g
grim.
Ag t tb Ikm 11 y t h voice ;
An th d n tl h
CI pp g tl p d t 1 t ti ground below,
Sh k ng th t 1 d bl ding as tbey go
,1 Google
38 VENUS AND ADONIS.
Look, how the world's poor people ava amazed
At apparitions, signs, and prodigies,
Whereon with feavfd eyes they long have gased.
Infusing them with dreadful prophecies ;
So she at these sad, signs draws up hec hreath,
And, sighing it again, exclaims on Death.
" Hard-favour'd tyrant, ugly, meagre, lean.
Hateful divorce of love," thus chides she Death,
" Grim griuning ghost, earth's worm, what dost thou
To stifle heauty, and to steal his hreath.
Who when he liv'd, his breath and beauty set
Gloss on the rose, smell to the violet?
" If he be dead, — O no, it cannot he.
Seeing his beauty, thou should' st strike at it ; — ■
O yes, it may ; thou hast no eyes to see,
But hatefully at random dost thou hit.
Thy mark is feeble age ; but thy false dart
Mistakes that aim, and cleavc! an infint's heart
" Had'st thou hut hid beware, then he bad tpoke.
And hearing bin thy po e h 1 1 t lis power.
The . destinies nill se tl ee t tl troke.
They bid thee c op a eed tl o plu 1 'st a flower.
Love's golden a o tin h Id have fled.
And not death ebon la t t t 1 him dead.
" Dost thou diink tears, that thou provok'st such
Whtnyah yg d tgth
Why 1 th t t t n 1 1 I
Th th t t ght 11 th J t
^ w N t t f tl y tig
8 n h b t k u n d tl thy ur."
,1 Google
V13NUS AND ADONIS. 39
Here o eicoiiB, is one full oi dcbpdU
She ^aild hei eye lida who hke sliices, stopped
The ciyatil tide that fiom. her tno cheeks tair
In the sweet channel of hei hoaom diofpcd
But thiou^li the flood gates Weak- the sih ?r rain.
And \nth his stiong couisc opens, th m agiin.
O, how her ejes and tears did lend anl boirow!
Her ejes seen la the tears tears in hei eje
Both ciystala, wheie they iiewd eich otlui s sorrow,
Sorrow tliit fiiendlj sighs sought still to dij ;
But III e a stomj di) no« wind no« riin,
Si^h div her cheeks teais make them net again.
Variable passions thiong het constant woe.
As stuving who should best become hei grief;
All eiiteitam d each passioa hbouia so
That eveiy present sorrow seemetk chief
But none is best, then jcin thej all together.
Like many clouds consulting foi foul weather.
By this far off she he^rs some huntsman hollow;
A nurse & &ong ne er picas 1 hei babe so w 11 :
The dire iruaginatioa she did follow
This sound of hope doth labour to expel ,
For now leMvmg joy bids her lejoice,
Anl flatters her it is Adonis loiee
Whereat hei tens bc„an to turn their tide
Being piisond n her eye like pearls in glass;
Yet Bometmies falls an Oiient drop beside
Which het cheek melts as scorning it should pass
To wash the foul lace of the siuttiah ground.
Who i' but diunken nhen she seen th drown'd.
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40 VENUS AND ADONIS.
0 hard believing loit, tow strange it sec
Not to beheve, ind ;ct too crednlous !
Thy weiJ ind woe are botli of them e
Despair aud hope make thee ridiculous:
The one doth flatter thee in thoughts unlikely.
In likel) thoughts the other kills thee quickly.
Now she unweaves the weh that she hath wrought;
Adonis lives, and Death is not to hlame ;
It was not she thit caU'd him all-to naught ;
Now she adds honoms to his hateful name ;
She olepes him Ling of gi'aves, and grave for kings,
Impeiious supreme of all mortal things.
" No, no quoth she, " sweet Death, I did but jest ;
Vet paidon me, I felt a kind of fear.
When as I m<,t the boar, that bloody beast,
Which knows no pity, but is still severe ;
Then, g ntlp '.hidow, (truth I must confess,)
I raild on thee, fearing my love's decease.
" 'Tis not mj fault the hoar provok'd my tongue;
Be wreak d on him, invisible commander ;
'Tis he, foul cieituit, th'*! hath done thee wrong;
1 did but act, he s author of thy slander
Giiei hith two tongues and ne\er woman yet
Could lule them both, without tun woni-n's wit.
Thus hoping that Adonis la aine,
Hei rash suspect she doth e-^temiate ,
And that his beautj may the hetter thiive,
With Death she humbh djth iiismmte ,
Tells him of tiophies statues, tombs, iiid stories.
His victoiies, hio triumphs, and hii gloiits
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VENUS AND ADOX:
[S.
"0 J
1 1
h h
1
f 1
s r,
To b
f h
k d lly
1
'Jo
11 d tl
h 1
1
t t
lie.
Till
1 t!
t til
1
F
h b 6, d
d h h
1
) 1
in,
A d
b ) d
d bl 1 h
"F
fi f d 1
th t
f 11 f f
As
til tr a.
Id 1 m
d
th tl
jves
Trifl
d th y
Thy
ard 1 t
til fid b h
1
33."
E
t th w
d h h
y ii
Wh
t h 1
p h b
t 1
f 1
1-
As f !
t tl
1 > 1
t h tr d
ft
1
The
t 1
It;
And
1 inst
ft t 1 I
The f
i 1
1 t h
1
d I It
The f i 1
i t hi d I It
\\} 1
h th d th the Yie
LI t
a. h d t d ) th m I kdrew.
Or, th
1 h t d 1 b hit.
Shri k b
k aid h h lly tl I n.
And h
11 III 1 d 1 th t.
Lon it
i -u to p 1 th ?
S t h
bl dy 1 J -u- fl d
Into th
d I dittk b f h h d
Wh th y g th ffi 1 th bght
Tohdp gfh tibldb
Wh b 1 tl m 1 11 t th 1 ght
And d th h t th 1 k a^, ;
Wh Ik 1 p pi d h th
Bl tl i U
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42 VENUS AND ADONIS.
Whcrtat c xtli iiibutaij -(iibiect qu'^kes
As when the wmd impnson'd m the giound,
Struggling foi paaiai^e. Earth s fouaddtion shakes,
Which with cold terror doth men's miads confound.
This mutiny each part doth so surprise,
That from then daik beds once moie leap her eyes ;
And, hemg open'd, threw unwilling light
Upou the wide wound that the boar had trench d
In his sott flank, whose wonted lily white
With purple teiri, that h^ wound wept, wis diLnch'd:
No flower was niejh, no grass, herb, leaf, ni weed.
But stole his blood, and seem'd with him t bleed,
This solemn sympathy poor Venus noteth
O^er one shoulder doth she hang hei head
Dumbly she pisaions, franticly she doteth ,
She thmka he could not die, he is not dead
Her voice is stopp d hei joints foiget to bow.
Her ejes are mid that they have Mcpt till now.
Upon his huit she looks so steidfisfh
That hei sight dazzling makes the wound seem three ;
And then she leprehends her mingling eje,
That makes more gashes where no breieh should be :
liis fice seems tn iin, each several limb is doubled;
For oft the eye mistaket, the hiain being tioubled.
•' Mj tongue cannot express my griel for one
And ytt quoth she, " behold two Adons dead !
My sighs are blown awav, my salt teats gone.
Mine eyes are tuind to file, mj heart to lead
Heavy heart's lead, melt at mine eyes' red fire !
So shall I die by drops of hot desire.
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VEXUS AND ADONIS. 43
" Alas, poor world, what treasure hast tlinu lost !
What face remains alive that's worth the viewing ?
Whose tongue is music now ? what canst thou boast
Of things long since, or any thing ensuing ?
The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim ;
But true sweet beauty liv'd and di'd with him.
" Bonnet nor veil henceforth no creature wear ;
Nor sun nor wind will ever strive to kiss you ;
Having no fair to lose, you need not fear ;
The sun doth scorn you, and the wind doth hiss you :
But when Adonis liv'd, sun and sharp air
Lurk'd like two thieves, to rob him of his fair :
"■ And therefore would he put his bonnet on,
Under whose brim the gaudy sun would peep.
The wind would blow it off, and, being gone.
Play witii his looks ; then, would Adonis weep.
And straight, in pity of his tender years.
They both would strive who first should dry his tears.
"To see his face, the lion walk'd along
Behind some hedge, because he would not fear him ;
To recreate himself when he hath sung.
The tiger would he tame, and gently hear him ;
If he had spoke, the wolf would leave his prey.
And never fright the siUy lamb that day.
"When he beheld his shadow in the brook.
The fishes spread on it their golden gills ;
When he was by, the birds such pleasure took.
That some would sing, some other in their hills
Would bring him mulberries, and ripe red cherries ;
He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.
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44 VENUS AND ADONIS.
" But this foul, grim, and urchin- snouted boar,
Whose dowu^vard eye stili looketli for a grave.
Ne'er saw the beauteous livery that he wore ;
Witneaa the entertainment that he gave :
If ke did see his face, why then, I know.
He thought to kiss him, and hath kill'd him so.
" 'Tis true, 'tis true ; thus was Adonis slain.
Ho ran upon the boar with his sharp spear.
Who did not whet hia teeth at him again.
But by a kiss thought to persuade him there ;
And nuzzling in liia flank, the loving sM'iae
Sheath' d, unaware, the tusk in Ilia soft groin.
" Had I been tooth'd Kite him, I must confess.
With kissing him I should have kill'd him hrst:
But he is de;id, and never did he bless
My youth with his, — the more am I accurst."
With this she falleth in the place she stood.
And stains her face with his congoelcd blood.
Siie looks upon his lips, and they are jiale ;
She takes him by the hand, and that is cold;
She whispers in his ears a heavy tale.
As if they heard the woful words she told :
She lifts the coffer-lids that close his eves,
Where lo ! two lamps, burnt out, in darkness lies:
Two glasses, where herself herself beheld
A thousand times, and now no more reflect ;
Their vurtue lost, wherein they late excell'd.
And every beauty robb'd of his effect ;
"Wonder of time," quoth she, "this is my spite,
That, thou being dead, the day should yet ho light.
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tl
VENUS AND ADONIS,
i d 1 i 11.1
S w 1 h ft Wl tt d
ItiiUb td wtKjI J
t d w t b b t y
^ ttl d q Uy b t h gh 1 ^
rh t 1! 1 pi 1 11
1 1
It l! 11 b fi kl f 1 1 t 11 f f d
B 1 d b U d b tl wh I
Tl b t m p d tb t p 1
WthwttlthUh htb I
Tl t t b ly h 11 t k t 1
t k th 1 b d t 1 th f 1 p k.
It 1 U b 1 d t f U f t
Thdptg dtbm
Tl t mg fti btdl t k p q t
PI k d th h HI h tb p w ! tr :
ItbUb ^ md dOy 11
M k th y Id th Id b h Id
It h 11 p t wl
Ithll tfar h thHm
It 3 11 b m if I d t
A d m t d g h t IS I
P t ball b h t ^
P t f ar t 1 t tJ
f 1
It 1 all b f d i
A d t d tw t h 1
«l bj t d 1 t 11 d t t
A bj b tt t fi
h tl 1 p d th d th y !
Tl y tb t 1 b t th ir 1 ]
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46 VENUS AND ADONIS.
B) this tht boY, thit li) hei mic hi kllVd,
Was melted like a vapour iiom litr sight.
And m his blood, Uiit on the ground li) 'ipill'd,
A purple flowei sprung up, checquer d witli iihite,
Resi'mblmg well his pale cheeks, and the blood
"Which in round diops upon then whitene-js stood
bbe bows hei heid the new ■'piimg flu«a to smell,
CompTiing it to her Adorns breath.
And saja, withm iter bosom it shiD d\^ell.
Since he himielf is reft fiom her by death
She ciops the stilk, and m the breach appears
Green diOpping lap, which she I'ompircs to teais
" Pom flowei," quoth she, " this n^a thj litlier'a
Sweet issue of a moie ineet smelling sue, —
Fat every little guef to wet his eves
To grow unto him=elf was his desire
And so 'tis thine , but know, it i« is ^aoi
To -nither m m} bre'ist, ts m his blood
"Here nas thy fUhei'a bed, here m my breast.
Thou art the next of blood, and 'tis tin right
Lo, in this holloii cradle take thy icst
My throbbing heait shall lock thee dav inJ night
There shall not be one minute m an >iiui,
Wheiein I will not kiss my sweet love o flower"
Thus weary of the woild, iway she hies.
And jokes her silver do^es, by whose snift aid
Their mistress mounted through the empt) skies
In her light chariot qiuckl> is conie> d.
Holding then coiuse to Tiphos, nhtie then queen
Means to immure heiself and not be seen
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NOTES ON VENUS AND ADONIS.
p. 8. " — - blames her 'miss" ; — i. e. her amiss, her error,
" " alje ffl-uriftera with a kias" ; — Thus the first three
4to3. ; the last three, " she amathBTi with a. kiss," which,
in my judgment, is ths better reading ; and any one may
see how easily either word might he misprinted for the
other. But a ehange in the text is hardly ivarronted,
p. 9. "For to a pretty mr," &c.i — The old edifiona, "a
pretty ear," which is plainly a mere phonographic error.
Sea twelre stanzas below, where ' ear ' rhymes irith ' hair.'
Possibly a play upon thu two words was intended.
p. 11. " rheuTnatie, and cold" : — In Shakespeare's time
' rheumatie ' was accented npon the first By liable. See
Midsmnmer Night' s Dream, Act II. So. 2, "And iheu-
matia diseases do abound."
p. 16. " now stands on end " ; — Some of the old edi-
tions, at least, haTe " stand on end," which I cannot but
regard as due to a mere Bcoidental omission of the final
s; although Malone thought that here 'mane' was used
in a plural sense, as composed of many hairs.
p. 17. " To bid the teind a base" : — See the Note on "bid the
base," 2too Gentlemen of Veroaa, Act I. Sc. 2.
p, 19. " And all this imni play," &c. : — An allusion to the
dumb show^ which were explained by a chorus, as in
Pericles.
p. 27. "To cKp Elysium" : — To embrace Elysium, -■. ■
p. 28. " he will venture" : — In Shakespeare's day 'ven-
ture ' was pronounced venter, and so was a perfect rhyme
to ' enter.' See ' Teaturing' rhymed with ' tempering,' a
few stanzas above.
" •> Come not wiUdn his daoffer" : — See the Note on
" You stand within his danner," Merchant of Venice,
Act IV. Sc. 1.
(iT)
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-i8 VENUS AND ADONIS.
n, 30. " to oyec-shimt liis trouHes " : — The old copies,
" ovcrsMii," Sic. — a mere plionogrnpliic; evror.
" "The ranny miiseta" : — 1. e.. little apEriares in a
hedgs through which harea paased.
p. 34, " my heart aiteen" : — L e., of uare, ti'ouhle.
" " Poidon on passion dmi% is redooMed " : — The old
oopiea, " detphj is redoubled ; " and the reading has hith-
erto been fStained without question. l!ut I am sure tlia.t
here "deeply" is a miaprint for ' doably." "Deeply le-
doubled " is 0 notably infelioitona expression ; and the
last two lines of the atsnza ehow that the poet had in
jniod only the number of the repetitions. So in Maaleth,
Act I, Se. 2, " doably ledoubled atr k dm
King Ridiard IF. Act I, Sc. 8, ' h d b y
doubled fiill." — 'Passion' here m th iH an
emotion. A soliloquy espiessiv d p m^ a
called B, passion.
p. 36. " she coasteth to the cry" h h re h.
See the Note on " «-ill coast my g ry
Sixth, Part 8, Act I. Sc. 1,
" Some twine about her thigh " ; — T d p S m
twind," &c., which has been hith tain bu
■verba in the two foregoing and th 11 wu ea
the stanaa leave no doubt that w b gh typo-
graphical error in the early text.
" " and ber (pm{ confound Th d w
pronounced, and perhaps should b her p m d iipnte
or ipright. Hie i having the sound
" " ivho shall cope him ftra p «ra A
him. The use of cope, arrive, ui d Uk b
without a preposition, was comm n Sh p
day.
p. 37. " is j)io(erf with delays " : — ind d
en th
" a3 murflier'd with the view" ; — The first edi-
tion only misprints " are murtherd," &c.
" threw unwiUinB KgJtt" : — So tlio earlier edi-
tions; those of 1600 and 1037, ve^ij plausibly at least,
" unwilling sight."
" and lu'i^iB-snouted boar " : — A hedge-hog was
called an urchin.
" and the top o' CT'stratc' d" : — i. e,, o'et-strewed.
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L U C R E C E .
,1 Google
"Lvcroce. London. Printed by Richard Field, for laiax
Harrison, and are to be sold at the signs of the white Grey-
hound in Paules Chmh-yard. 1S94." 4to. 47 leaves.
" Lvcteee At London, Printed by P. S. for lobn Harrison.
1598." Svo. 36 leaves.
" Lvcrece London. Printed by I. H. for lohn Harrison.
1600." Svo. 36 leaves,
" Lvcrece, At London, Printed be N. O, for lohn Havison.
1607." 8-vo. 32 leaves. [Collieh.
Note. The full argument, taken from the early Boniatt an-
nals, which the author prefixed to this poem, its dedication, and
tlie above transcript of the titles of its old editions, leave no oc-
casion for any introductory remarks upon it. It was entered
upon the Stationers' Register on. the 9th May, 159i, and was
doubtless written in 1693,
(SO)
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HENKY WKIOTHESLY,
liAEL (Ih SOLTII Wtl Kl-V VJ-D liAKON OF TICHFIKLD.
The loie I dedicite to lour lordship is without end ; whereof
this pamphlet, mlliout beginii ng, is but a Buperfluous moiety.
The nninnt I have of youi honourable disposition, not the
north of my untutoied 1 nea, maltes it assured of acceptance.
What I hive done is yours , what I have to do is yauTB ;
being pRi-t in all I have, deioted yours. Were my worth
greitei mv duty would "how greater ; mean time, as it is,
it 13 bound to loui loidship to -wlioni I wish long life, still
lengthened with all happmcts
lour Lordship's in all duty,
WlLLIAU SlIAKliSFEARE,
(51)
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THE ARGUMENT.
Lnciiia Tarqumiua (for liis
bus) after he had caused his O'
to be cruelly murdered, and, coni
cuetoms, not requiring or Btaying
possessed himself of the kingdor
SODS and uther uob men R i
■which fiiege, the pri m
at the tent of Sext arq
coiirsea after supper
own wife ( nmong wh m C 11
chastity of his wife L Ii
arrival, to make ti al
avouched, only Coll
in the night) spinni g ar
were all found dan
whereupon the nob m
his n'ife the £ime. A Ch
flamed with Lucree
the present, depart d
whence he shortly af p
cording to bis eatat al
at Cnllatium. The sain
her chamber, violently
Bpeedeth away, Lucrece,
patehetb messengers, <
;esaive pride surnamed Super-
father-in-law, Servins Tullius,
itrary to the Boman laws and
)r the people's sufli-ages, hod
went, accompanied with his
besiege Ardea ; during
rmy meeting one evening
king's son, in their dis-
m, ended the virtues of hia
11 xtolled the incomparable
Ii pleasant humour they all
m their secret and sudden
ha hi h every one had before
u dfe (though it were late
g h maids : the other ladies
11 g or in several disports ;
d latinus the victory, and
tmi SextuB Tarquinius, being in-
I 81 otbeiing his passions for
back to the camp ; from
1 ew himself, and was (ae-
te ai d and lodged by Luoreee
g treacherously stealeth into
d nd early in the rooniing
this lamentable plight, hastily dis-
ber fether, another to the
camp for Collaline. Tbey came, the one accompanied with
Jimius Brutus, the other with Publins TaleriuK ; and finding
Ijucreee attired in mourning habit, demanded the eauae of her
sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them fbr her revenge, re-
vealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and ivithnl
suddenly stabbed herself ; which done, with one consent they
all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins ;
and bearing the dead body to Bome, Brutus acquainted the
people with the doer, and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter
invective against the tyranny of tlie king ; wherewith tlie people
were so moved, that, with one consent and a general acclama-
tion, the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state government
changed from kings to consuls.
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LUCRECE.
FROAI the bpsieged Aidei all m post
Borne by thi, fruitless wmgs of f^lse (le«iie,
I ust breithed luiquin leases the Roman, host
And to Coilat um beais the lightlesa fire
Which, m pole embcis hid luil s to aspire
And girdle « ith embracing flames the w list
Of Collatme s fair love, L iLiece the chaste
Uaplv thit name of ' chaste ' unhappil) set
This bateless edge on his keen appetite
When C ollatuie unw sely did not let
To pnise the dear tinmatchod red and white,
\VliicK tnumpli d in that sky of his delight ;
Wheie morti.1 stais, as bright as heaven's beauties,
\\ith puie aspecta did him peculiar duties.
For he the night before, in I'arquin's tent.
Unlock d the treasure of his happy state;'
What pricde'fs wealth the Heavens had him lent
In the possession of his beauteous mate ;
Reckoning his fortune ^t such high proud rate,
Thi.t kings might he espoused to more fame,
But king nor peer to such a peerless dame.
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54
LTTCRECE.
O happiness enjoy'd but of a law !
And, if possess'd, as soon decay'd and done
As ia the morning's ailver-melting dew
Against the golden splendor of the sun ;
An espir'd date, cancell'd ere well began :
Honour and beauty, in the owner's acms.
Are weakly fortress'd from a world of harms.
Beauty itself doth of itself persuade
The eyes of men without an orator;
What needeth, then, apologies be made
To set forth that which is so singular ?
Or why is CoUatine the publisher
Of that rich jewel he should keep unknown
From thievish ears, because it is Ms own?
Perchance his boast of Lucrece's sovereignty
Suggested this proud issue of a king.
For by our ears our hearts oft tainted be ;
Perchance that envy of so rich a thing.
Braving compare, disdainfully did sting
His iiigb-pitch'd thougiits, that meaner men
Tl t 11 h p wK h tl ir p " t
t m ly th ht d 1 t
Tl y 3 ty p ^ 1 11 bl t
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LUCKIJCE. 55
When at CoUatium thn f.ilse lord arrived.
Well was he welcom'd by the Roman dame,
Within whose face beauty and virtue strived
Which of them both should uuderprop her fame ;
When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame ;
When beauty boasted blushes, in despite
Virtue would stain that o'er with silver white.
But beauty, in that white intituled.
From Venus' doves doth challenge that fair field ;
Then, virtue claims from beauty beauty's red.
Which virtue gave the golden age to gild
Their silver cheeks, and call'd it then their shield ;
Teaching them thus to use it in the fight.
When shame assail' d, the red should fence the white.
This heraldry in Lucrece' face wa.^ seen,
Argu'd by beauty's red, and virtue's white :
Of cither's colour was the other queen.
Proving from world's minority their right.
Yet their ambition maltes them still to fight.
The sovereignty of cither being so great,
That oft they interchange each other's seat.
This silent war of lilies and of roses,
Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field.
In their pure ranks his traitor eye encloses ;
Where, lest between them both it should be kill'd,
The coward captive vanquished doth yield
To those two armies that would let him go.
Rather than triumph in so false a foe.
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56 LUCRECE.
Now thinlts he, that her husband's shallow tongue.
The niggard prodigal that pvais'd her so.
In that high task hath done her heauty wrong.
Which far exceeds his barren skill to shew :
Therefore, that praise which CoUatlnc doth owe,
Enchanted Tarquin answers with surmise.
In sileat wonder of still gazing eyes.
This earthly saint, adored by this devil.
Little suspecteth the false worshipper.
For unstain'd thoughts do seldom di'eam, on evil ;
Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear :
So guiltless she securely gives good cheer.
And reverend welcome to her princely guest.
Whose inward ill no outward harm oxpross'd :
For that he colour'd with his high estate,
Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty ;
Tliat nothing in him seem'd inordinate.
Save sometime too much wonder of his eye.
Which, having all, all could not satisfy ;
But, poorly rich, so wanteth in his store,
That cloy'd with much, he pineth still for i
But she, that never cop'd with stranger eyes,
Could pick no meaning from their parling looks,
Nor read the subtle shining secrecies
Writ in the glassy margents of such books :
She touch'd no unknown baits, nor fear'd no hool
Nor could she moralize his wanton sight,
More than his eyes were open'd to the light.
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LUCRECE. 57
He atiiies ti hci ens hci husbands fame.
Won 111 the fields of fiuitful Italy ,
And decks with praises Collatine s high name,
Made gbiious by his m-mly chuali).
With bruised aims and ^sipatlis ot \ictory
Her joy with hei^ d up hand she doth expiess
And woidkss so gretts Heavun for his success
Far ftoin the purposp of h s coming thither
He makes e-ccu'jea for his bem^ there
No cloudj shew of storm) blustcimg ncathcr
lloth 1 ct in his fair w elkm once appear ,
Till sable ni^ht mother of dread and fear,
Upon th'' world dim darkness doth display.
And m hei ■\aulty prison Btows the da)
For then is Torquin brought unto his bed.
Intending weariness with Le^\) sprite,
For iftei suppci long he questioned
With modi-st Lucrece, and ^sore out the night
Now leaden si imber with fife s strength doth fight
And every one to rest themselves betake,
8a\e thieves and cues, and troubled minds, thit
«akc
As one of which dotli Tarqum lie ib^olimg
The sundry dangers of his wills obtain ng ,
Yet ever to obtain his will resolving
Though weak built hopps persuade him to abstaining
Despair to gain doth traffick oft for gaining.
And when gieat beasuie is the meed proposed,
Though death be adj met there s no death supposed
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58 LUCRECE.
Th th t 1 tl t d
Tl t 1 t til 1 1 t h h tl > p
Tl y tt d 1 t i th b d
Ad byhpg tlyh btl
O g !, 1 1 bt t
I b t t ft d 1 g f
n t tl ) 1 b k i li p li
Th m f II b t t va th lif
W h h Itl d w mg
A d tl th h h trt
Th t f 11 II f g
A 1 f 1 h f II b 1 1 g
H f It 1 ft h t Ith 1 h
Tl 1 tl t 11 1 11 t tl 1 t
b th t t II 1 I
lb th ir f tl t h h w It
A d th bt f ul fl-n tj
II gmhtmts wthdft
Of th t h th d It
Th t[ h d 11 f t f
M k h th 1 ) g t
?fh 1 11 1 tl
Wh h 1 b
T 1 d t
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LUCRECB. 5&
Now stole upon the time the dead of night.
When heavy sleep had clos'd up mortal eyes ;
No comfortable star did lead his light.
No noise but owls' and wolves' death-boding cries !
Now serves the season that they may surprise
The silly lambs. Pure thoughts are dead and still,
While lust and murder wake, to stain and kill.
And now this Instful lord leap'd from his bed.
Throwing his mantle rudely o'er his ana,
Is madly toss'd between desire and dread ;
Th' one sweetly flatters, th' other feareth harm ;
But honest fear, bewitch'd with lust's foul charm.
Doth too-too oft betake him to retire.
Beaten away by braiu-siok rude desire.
d h d h d b
Lv m h
h d h d pu
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60 LTJCRECE.
" Fair torch, burn out ttj liirht, and ktid it not
To darken her uhuse light cxccUctli tiune.
And die, unhallow'd thoughts, belore ;ou blot
With your uucleanneas that which is liiiine:
Offer pure incense to so pure a shiine
Let fair humanity abhor the deed.
That spots and stains love's modest snoiv-white weed.
O f 1 d I
0 1
A mart 1 n
1 gh h d d t
Y th
gh ]
\ h d 1
A d b
S
i gH
S m 1
th
d h tl h Id
1 Ih
h
f lly I dd d
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t
ty h d th tl
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1
th t
I th II f th h d
\\ uld t} t!
ft th
th
f f
t
1
1 y-
ek.
1
b
tr
>
11 h
t
h
h
b
th crown,
cken down
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LUCliECE.
"If Collatmus dieani of mj inttnt,
Wnl! lie not wake, and m a desperate rage
Post hithei, this vile purpose to pievent?
This ? cge that hath engirt his maniage.
This blur to jouth, this '.oiiow to the sage.
This djmg vutue, this sumvii g shame,
Whose crime will bear an e\ei duiin' bhti
"0, whit e\ci'je tin mj in^Lntion mtkt
When thou shalt chaigc me with so hlick a deed?
Will aot my tongue be mute, mj fiaii joints shake.
Mine eye'! forego then light, my filse heart bleed ?
The guilt being great, the fear doth still e'^ceed ;
And ettieme fear an neither fight nor fly,
But, coward like, with trembbng terror die.
" Had Collatinus kill'd my son or sire,
Or lain in ambush to betray my life,
Or were he not my dear friend, this desire
Might have excuse to work upon his wife,
As in revenge or quital of such strife ;
But as he is my kinsman, my dear friend.
The shame and fault finds no excuse nor eni
" Shameful it is ; — ay, if the fact be known :
Hateful it is ; — there is no hate in loving :
I'll beg her love; — but she is not her own:
The woret is but denial and reproving.
My will is strong, past reason's weak removing;
Who fears a sentence, or an old man's saw,
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe."
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as LUCEECE.
rhu s^ 1 Ii 11 h d p t
T n fi 1 h
And tl g 1 th j^ht k d
U th 1 taj
"Wl h n nt d tl 1 <
AU 1 ft ts d 1 th f
Th t 1 t II Ik
G tl h Sh t k k dl> by tl land
And It t Img m n j ag y
F har 1 n t ti 1 k b d
W h k b 1 d f 11 t 1
0 h h f dd k h 1
F I th t 1 1
lb h 1 th t 1 y
A d h hid V b
d b
F 1 t to hi th h 1
Jlf
Whi k t k h 1 and th
t f
U I h 1 b d ^ If 1
Id 1
Wh t h 1 d th
Th t h d N ah
h
^^ hy ) t I tl e 1 fni c loui oi e\ uics ?
U.1 01 tola "lie Im b ^(hen be^it} plealeth:
Pool \\ictches have remoise m pool ibises;
Love thiivea not in the heait that shidowa
Affection is mj eapta n and he It leth
And when h h t, dy banner is 1 ijlxj d,
The cowaid fij,ht3 ml mil not bi. dismay' d.
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LUCRDCE. 63
" Then, childiBli fear, avaunt ! debating, die I
Respect and reason, wait on wrinkled age !
My heart shall never countemiand miae eye :
Sad pause and deep regard beseem the sage;
My part is youth, and beats tliese from tlie stage.
Desire my pilot is, beauty my prize;
Tken, wto fears sinking where such Measure lies ?'
As corn o'er^grown by weeds, so lieedful fear
Is almost chok'd by unresisted lust.
Away he steals with open listening ear.
Full of foul hope, and full of fond mistrust ;
Both whieb, as servitors to the unjust,
So cross bim with their opposite persuasion,
That now he vows a league, and now invasion-
Within hb thought her beavenly image sits,
And in the self-same seat sits Collatine ;
That eye wbicb looks on her confounds his wits ;
That eye which him beholds, as more divine,
Unto a view so false will not incline ;
But with a pure appeal seeks to tite heart,
Which, once corrupted, takes the woraer part;
And therein heartens up his servile powers,
Who, fiatter'd by their leader's jocund show.
Stuff up his lust, as minutes fill up hours ;
And as their captain, so their pride doth grow.
Paying more slavish tribute than they owe.
By reprobate desire thus madly led.
The Roman lord marcheth to Lucreco' bed-
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64 LTJCB.ECE.
The loi,ks bctneen hci ihuubT wd hi3 will,
Lacli one Lj him Liitorcd letuea liis Hdrdj
But as thoy open thej all late his lU,
\Vhich diives the cieepmg thief to some icgiid*
The threshold grates the dooi to haie him heard.
Night- wandering weasels shriek, to see hini there;
They fright him, jet he still puisUB^ hia feir
As each unnilling portal jields him way,
Ihrough little vents ^n.d ciinnies of the pUce
The wmd wars mth his torch to make him stay,
And blows the smoke of it into his lace.
Extinguishing his conduct m this case ,
But his hot heait, which lond desne doth scorcl
Putf-, tilth another wind that fiii.^ the forth
And being lighted, by the light he spies
Lucretia's glove, ^^hcrcm her needle ■itirks'
He takes it trom the rushes where it lies.
And griping it, the needle his finger pucks,
As who should SI) , thifl glove to wanton tucks
la not rnui'd, return agiin m haste,
Thou &eLSt our mistress ornaments aie chaste
But all these p? i fiibiddin^js cjuld nol In him;
He in the wont spuse conatiues thtir demil
The doors, the wind, the glove thit did delaj hin
He takes for accidental things of tiiil
Oi as those bits which stop the hu iilj dial.
Who with a ling ring stay his courso doth let,
Till every minute pays the hour his debt
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I.rCKECE. 65
"So, sn," quoth lie; "these lets attend tlie time.
Like little frosts that sometime threat the Spring,
To add a more rejoicing to the prime,
And give the sneaped birds more cause to sing.
Pain pays the income of each precious thing ;
Huge rouks, high ivinds, strong pirates, shelves and
sands,
Tiie merchant fears, ere rich at home he lands."
Now IS he come unto the ehamhei dnir
That shuts him from the hciien of his thought.
Which with a yielding Iitch, and \Mfh no more.
Hath ban d him fiom the blessed thing he sout,lit.
So Irom himsell impiety hath wrought
Thit lor his piey to piay he doth begin
As if the Heavens should countenuice his sm
But in the milst of liis unfiuitful piaicr
Having solicited th eternal power
That his fou! thoughts might compa'is his fur fair.
And they would stand auspicious to the houi,
E^ea there he starts — quoth he "I must deflower;
The pou'iis to «hom I pray abhoi this fact,
How can thci thin issist me in the a f-
"Ihen LovL. and FortuiiL he my god&, m> guide!
My will If hack d with lesolution
Thoughts are but dreams till then effects be ti'i'd;
The blackest sin is clear d with absolut on
Against loies fire fears frost hath dissolution.
The eye of heaven is out and misty night
Coders the shane that follows siieet delight."
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68 LTJCIIECE.
This saici, his guilty hand pluek'd up the latch,
And with his knee the door he opens wide.
The dove sleeps fast that this night-owl will catch:
Thus treason works ere traitors be espi'd.
Who sees the lurking serpent steps aside ;
But she, sound sleeping, fearing no such thing.
Lies at the rnercj of his mortal sting.
Into the chamber wickedly he stalks.
And gazeth on her yet-unstained bed.
The curtains being close, about he walks,
Kolling his greedy eye-balls in his head :
By their high treason is his heart misled ;
Which gives tlie watch-word to his hand fall soon.
To draw the cloud that hides the silver moon.
Look, as the fair and fiery pointed sun,
Bushing from forth a cloud, bereaves our sight;
Even so, the curtain drawn, his eyes begun
To wink, being blinded with a greater light :
Whether it is that she reflects so bright.
That dazzleth them, or else some shame supposed.
But blind they are, and keep themselves enclosed.
O, had they In that dai'ksome prison di'd,
Then had they seen tlic period of their ill ;
Then CoUatine again, by Lucreoe' side,
In his clear bed might have reposed still ;
But they must ope, this blessed league to kill.
And holy-thoughted Lucrece to their sight
Must sell her joy, lier life, her world's delight.
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LTJCKECE.
Her lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss,
'Who therefore angry, seema to part in sunder.
Swelling on either sido to want his hliss.
Between whose hills her head intomhed is ;
Where, like a virtuous monument, she lies.
To be admir'd of lewd unhallowed eyes.
Without the ted her other fair hand waa.
On tho green coveilet ; whose perfect white
Show'd like an April daisy on the grais.
With pearly sweat, resembling dew of night.
Hev eyes, like marigold'!, had sheath'd their light.
And canopied in darkness sweetly lay.
Till they might open to adorn the day.
Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath ;
O modest wantons ! wanton modes,ty !
Showing life's triumph in the map of death,
Aad death's dim look in life's mortality :
Each in her sleep themselves so beautify,
Aa if between them twain there were no sti'ife,
But that life liv'd in death, and death in life.
Her breasts, like ivory globes circled with blue,
A pair of maiden worlds unconquered ;
Save of their lord, no bearing yoke they knew.
And him by oath they truly honoured.
These worlds in Tarq^uin new ambition bred ;
Who, like a foul usurper, went about
From this fair throne to heave the owner out.
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88 LUCHECE.
What could he see, hut mightily he noted ?
What did he note, but strongly ho desired?
What he heheld, on that he flrraly doted,
And in his will his wilful eye he tired.
With more than admiration he admired
Her azure veins, her alabaster skin,
Her coral lips, her snow-white dimpled chin.
As the grim lion fawneth o'er his prey.
Sharp hunger hy the conq^ueat satisfi'd.
So o'er this sleeping bouI doth Tarquin stay,
His rage of lust hy gazing qualifi'd ;
Slak d n t [ p d fo tandin hy h si
H J 1 h 1 t th 8 n ny t n
U t g t 1 t pt h
A d tl y 1 1 ti g 1 I f p 11 fi 1 1 ng,
Obd at as 1 t 11 pi ts ff nt,
In bl dy d a h and a hn nt d 1 ght ng
N h Id n t n n th t> 1 * ig.
Sll 1 ].d honttll i-tg
A 1 b t 1 ait I n trl g
G th 1 t har and b d th d th 11 ing.
His drumming heart cheers up his burning eye,
His eye commends the leading to his hand ;
His hand, as proud of suth a dignity.
Smoking with pride, march'd on to make his stand
On her bare breast, the heart of all her land,
Whose ranks of blue veins, as his hand did scale,
Left their round turrets destitute and pale.
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LUCRECE. fi
Ttej, mustPimg to th^ quiet cabinet
Where theii dear governes'. and ladj lies.
Do tell her she is dieadfuUy beset.
And flight her nith conlusioa ol then cries
She, much amaz d hieaks ope hei lock d up eyes,
Who peeping foith this tumult to bi^hold
Aie hs his fldmmg toii,h dimm d and controll'd.
Imagine h r as one m dc id of ni^ht
From f ich djU sioep by dieadful iani-i iviking,
That tliiiilw she hath beheld some gtastlj sprite.
Whose glim aspect sets e*ei) joint a shaking;
What terror tis ' but she m norser taking
From sleep disturbed, heedfullj doth iicw
Tlie sight which makes supposed tenor tiuo.
Wrapp'd and confounded in a thousand fears.
Like to a new-kiU'd bird she trembling lies ;
She dares not look ; yet, winking, there appears
Quick-shifting antics, ugly in her eyes :
Such shadows are the weak brain's forgeries ;
Who, angry that the eyes fly from their lights,
In darkness daunts them with more dreadful sights.
His hand, that yet remains upon her breast,
(Rude ram to batter such an ivory wall)
May feel her heart (poor citizen !) distress'd.
Wounding itself to death, rise up and fall.
Beating her bulk, that his band shakes withal.
This moTCs in him more rage, and lesser pity,
To make the breach, and enter this sweet city.
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70 LUCRECE.
First, 11 t I t I tl 1 t
To sou 1 1 I y t 1 h -u I
Who o ! h t h t 1 fa
The re f h hi f !
Which h bj duab d
But h h h It nt 1 y
, Und 1 t 1 1 mm t
Ihu? he replies "The coloui m thy face
That eitn for ■in^ci make^ the lily pale.
And the red roae blush at her own disgiace.
Shall pleid for mc. ^nd tell m) losing tale.
Under that colour am I come to scale
Thy nPVLi conqiiBi d foit the liuU is tliine,
Foi those thme e"ves betn.\ thee unto mine
"Thus I forestall thee if thou mfin to chide
Thy beauty hath ensnar d thee to this night,
"Where thou with pitience must my will abide,
Mj "sil! that m^rks thee for my eaiths delight.
Which I to conquer sought with all mv might.
But a=i repioof and rea><on beat it dead,
By th) blight btautv wis it n£^\Iy bred
"I sto what ciossts mj attempt will biing
I know libit thorns the giowmg lose defends,
I think the honey guarded with a iting ,
All this befoieh^nd counsel compiebends.
But will IS d;,al, and beoii no hpedful fiicndg
Only he hath an e^ to ^Me on beaut}.
And dotes on what be look*:, ^^ms.t law oi i
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"I have debated, even in my soul.
What iVTong, what shame, what sorrow 1 shall breed ;
But nothing can affection's course control.
Or stop tke headlong fury of his speed.
I know repentant tears ensue tlie deed,
Reproach, disdain, and deadly enmity,
Yot strive I to embrace mine infamy."
This "iaid he shikcs iloft his Roman blide,
"WTiich, like a falcon toi\ciing in the skies,
Coucheth the fowl belon with his win^s shide,
Whose ciooked beak threats if he mouat he dies
&0 under his insulting falchion lies
Haimless Lucretia, marking \sliat he tdls,
With tremblmg fear, as foul heir tilcons bells
' Lucrece, quoth he, this night I miiit enjo} thee
If thou dcnv, then lorco must woik my waj.
For in th) bed I puipose to destioj thee
Thit dune, simi, worthless slave ot thme III olay,
lo kill thine hoaoir with th( hies decij ,
And m thj deid arms do I mean to pln,e him,
few taring 1 ilew him, seeing thee embnte him
thy h b d h U
1] t 1 m k f y I y
riyk h hhdtthl dun.
Thy bl UT d th ml b t dy
And th tl tl f tl bl q y
^h It 1 thj t p t 1 I 1 ,
\ d b hll d tim
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72 LTTCRECE.
" But if tliOTi yield, I rest tliy secret friend ;
Tiie fault unknown is as a thought unacted j
A little harm, done to a great good end,
For lawful policy remains enacted.
The poisonous simple sometimes is compacted
In ft pure compound ; being so applied.
His Tenom in effect is purified.
"Tlien, for thy husband and thy children's sake.
Tender ray suit : bequeath not to their lot
The shame that from them no device can take,
Tke blemish that will never be forgot ;
Worse than a slavish wipe, or birth-hour's blot;
For marks descried in men's nativity
Are nature's faults, not their own infamy."
Here, with a cockatrice' dead-killing eye,
He rouseth np himself, and makes a pause;
While she, the picture of pure piety,
Like a white hind under the gripe's sharp claws.
Pleads in a wilderness, where are so laws.
To the rough beast that knows no gentle right,
Nor aught obeys but his foul appetite.
But whfn a black-fac'd cloud the world doth threat,
In his dim raist th' aspiring mountains hiding,
From Earth's dark womb some gentle gust doth get,
Which blows these pitchy vapours from their biding.
Hindering their present fall by this dividing:
So his unhallowed haste her words delays.
And moody Pluto winks, while Orpheus plays.
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LUCRECE. 73
Yet, foul n £,ht n k n„ cat he doth but dillj
WMle in ha hold list fuot tin, WLdk raoust. pintethj
Her sad behaviour leeds his vultuie folly,
A swalbwmg gulf that even m plenty wantetii
Hia ear her prajera admits but his heait gianteth
No peneti^ble entrance to her plaining
Tears harden lust thougli miihle wear with laming.
Her pity pleading eyes are sadly fixed
In the lemotaelesa Hrmklfs of hia tdce ,
Her modest eloquence with, sighs it nn\ed,
\Vliich to her oratory idds more ^iice
bin. puts the peiiod oftt,n liom hia place,
And 'midst the sentence so hci ai-tnit biciks.
That twice she doth begm, ere oni,e she speak^i
She conjures him by high almighty To\e,
I \ knighthood gentij, and ■Jweet fiiendship a oitk,
B^ her untimtlv tear^, her husbmds Io\e,
B) holy human law , and common troth,
Ev Heaien and Eaith, and all the powti of both
Thit to h\i bonowd bed he make retiie.
And stoop to honoii, not to foul desiie
Quoth ilii,, "Re«aid not ho'jpitdit>
With s\ii-h blick payment aa tho i hist pii-ttnded;
Mud not the fountain that ga\e drink to thee,
Mir not the thing that cannot be amended
Mend thy ill aim befote th.) shoot be ended
He IS no WDod man that doth bend his bow
lo strike a pool unseaaonable doe
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74 LUCRECE,
Myhbd lyf dfl
TLj If t gh J f tl
Mj If kl d t th
Tl 1 k t t ! k d 1
M) 5I Ik hi d 1 b w 1
If ai d h
B m d th t J
11 h h t th hi
3 t t thy 1 y and 1
r ft t I th
? t di 1 d t
3 f hirl th
M It t mj t 1
S ft p tj t t
I T q Ik I U t tl
Htth pt 1 litdhml
T 11 h h t f h I pi
Tl thi h d tl I 1} am
Th art t h t tl t d tf th e,
Tl m t h t th t d k g;
F kgslkgd hldg yhig.
H Uh>h b dd h f,
"ni tl tl b d b f h) 1
It thy h p tl d t d h g
\thtdtth th th tkg?
Ob b 1 tl th
From vassal actors can be wip'd away ;
Then, kings' misdeeds canuot be hid in clay.
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LUCllECE. 75
"lhi5 d pd % 11 n il thee onlj lovd for fear;
But hapi J mo at hs still are f ai d for love :
With foul offi-nder^ fliou perfosce must bear,
Whea tbev m thee the hke offences prove :
If but foi t ar of this thy will remove ;
For princes ue the gli. s the school, the boot,
Where subjects eyes do leam do read, do look.
"And wilt thou b(! the ichool where lust shill learn r
Must he in thcc read lectuies of such shane*
Viilt thou be glass, wherein it "shall discern
Authority for sin warrint ior blame
To privilege dishonour m thy airoe '
Thou bick st icproarh agamst lon^ living Uid,
And mak st Ian leputdtiD l but a bawd
"Hast (hou command by him that ga^e it thee.
From a puie heart command thy lebel will
Di'iw not thy sword to guird iniquitj.
For it was lent thee all that biood to kill
Thy princely office how canst tliou fulfil.
When, pattern d by thy fault fou! sin may say.
He leaind to sin and thou dil t teach the waj?
"Think bit how vile a specticle it wcic.
To view thy present tiespass m another
Mens laults do seldom to themselves appear.
Their own transgressions p-wtially thej smothci
This guilt would seem death woithy in thj biothcr
0, how aie they wiappd m with mfxmies
That from their own misdeeds askance their eyes !
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76 LUCEECE.
" To thcc, to th.ce, my heav'd-up hands appeal,
Not to seducing lust, thy rash relier ;
1 sue for exil'd majesty's repeal ;
Let him return, and flattering thoughts retire :
His true respect will prison false desire,
And wipe the dim mist from thy doting eyne.
That thou shalt see thy state, and pity mine."
"Have done," quoth, be; "my uncontrolled tide
Turns not, but swells the higher by this let.
Small lights are soon blowa out, huge fires abide.
And with the wind in greater fury fret :
The petty streams, that pay a daily debt
To their salt sovereign with their fresh falls' haste.
Add to his flow, but alter not his taste."
"Thou art," quoth she, "a sea, a sovereign king;
And lo ! there falls into thy boundless flood
Black lust, dishonour, shame, misgoverning.
Who seek to stain the ocean of thy blood.
If all these petty ills shall change thy good.
Thy sea within a puddle's womb is bears'd.
And not the puddle ia thy sea dispers'd.
" So shall these slaves be king, and thou their slave ;
Thou nobly base, they basely dignifl'd ;
Thou their fair life, and they thy fouler grave ;
Thou loathed in their shame, they in thy pride:
The lesser thing should not the greater hide ;
The cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot.
But low shrubs wither at the cedar's root.
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LUGRECE. ''
"So let thy thoughts, low ■vassals to thy state" —
" No more," quoth he ; " by Heaven, I will not hear
Yield to my love ; if not, enforced hate.
Instead of love's coy touch, shall rudely tear thee;
I'hat done, despitefully I mean to bear thee
Unto the base bed of some rascal groom.
To he thy partner in this shameful doom."
This said, he sets his foot upon the light.
For light and lust are deadly enemies :
Shame, folded up in blind concealing night.
When most unseen, then most doth tyrannize.
The wolf hath aeiz'd his prey, the poor lamb cries ;
Till with her own white fleece her voice controll'd
Entombs her outcry in her lips' sweet fold ;
For with the nightly linen that she wears.
He pens her piteous clamours in her head.
Cooling his hot face in the chastest tears
That ever modest eyes with sorrow shed.
O, that prone lust should stain so pure a bed !
The spots whereof could weeping purify.
Her tears should drop on them perpetually.
But she hath lost a dearer thing than life.
And he hath won what he would lose again ;
This forced league doth force a further strife ;
This momentaj-y joy breeds months of pain :
This hot desire converts to cold disdain.
Pure chastity is rifled of her store,
Aad lust, the thief, far poorer than before.
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Look, as the full fed hound, oi goi^^d hawk,
Uiupt foi teiidei inid!, or '.pccth flight,
■Mike alow puisuit, oi ■lUogethPr balk
The prey nhereia hy Hdture thej delight
So auifeit taking Taiquin fates this mght
His t'i&cc delicious, m digestion aouimg
Devours his will, that Irt'd by foul devouring.
O, deeper sm than hottomless conceit
Can comprehend in still imagination '
Drunken desnc must ^omit his leoeipt.
Ere he can see his own abomination
While lust IS m his piide, no exclamation
Cin curb his heit, or rein his iish desire,
Till, likL ijddc, afclf will himself doth tite
And tlicn, vnik ianlv and iein discolour d cheek.
With heavy eye knit biow, and stieuj^thless pace,
Feeble desire, all recieant, pool, and meek.
Like to a bankiupt beggar wads his case
The flesh being pioud, desiie doth figlit with grace.
For theie it leiels , and when thit decaysp
The guiltj rebel foi remission prays
So fares it with this faultful lord of Rome,
Who this accomplishment so hotly chased ;
For now against himself he sounds this doom.
That through the length of times he stands disgraced;
Besides, his soul's fair temple is defaced ;
To whose weak ruins muster troops of cares.
To ask the spotted princess how she fares.
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LUCHECE.
Sh(, a ) ln,i subj£(ts ^utli f")ul m^ ui ction
Have battel d down tei consecrated n \11
And by th^ir mortal fault brought in subjection
Het immoitality, and made lier tbiall
To living death and pim perpetual
Whacb m hei prescience &lie contioUcd still
But hoi foresight could not fore stall their will
El en m this thsught thiough the (Jaik night he stoaleth,
A captive \ictoi that hath lo^t in ^iin ,
Bearing awiy the wound that nothing heileth.
The scar that will despite ut cuie remain.
Leaving his spoil puple\d m greiter piin
She biu= the bad of lust he left behind,
And be the buitben of a guilt j mind
He, like a thie^iih dog creeps sidiv thence,
She hke a wearied lamb lies panting there ;
He scowls, md bates himself for his offence,
She desperate with her nails her fle'.b doth tear ;
He faintly flies, sweating «ith guilty feai ,
She stdj'! exclaiTOins on the diieftil night;
He runs and cbidts bis lamshd, lo^tli il delight.
He thence depiit-. a hea\y convertite.
She there remains a hopeless cast-away ,
Ho in his speed looks for the morning light.
She prays she ne\er may heboid the daj ,
" For day,' quoth she, " night a scapes doth open lay,
And my true eyes have neier praetis'd bow
To cloak oJtences with a cunning brow
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80 LUCRECE.
' Tl J tl k t b t 1 } 3 SCO
■ri It 1 1 th ) 1 1 behold ;
A d th f Id th y t U Ik be,
T I J ir us m imtold
F th J th g It w th 1 g w 11 fold,
A d gr hk t th t d tl t steel,
Up my h k wh t h Ipl h I feel."
Aidbdh y h It
Sh k h h hy b
Ul b bl
g h
d.
breast.
A d b is t 1 p t th
Som p h t t 1
F witl f h h
h t
p m
h h i
ay find
d.
th her a-
A t th
t ht
' O f kill ? N ^ht f H 11 !
D gi t d t J f h
Bl k t f tr d d m th f II !
V t 1 h f bl !
Bldmffldbddkhb fd fame!
G m f d th wh p p itor
W th 1 t d t d th isher!
' 0 1 t ful po anl f N h I
S ce h « t ^ lt3 f y cu 1 e,
M ster thy a sts to neet the easte 1 gl t.
Make vix ag st proport on d co e ot tune :
Or f thou lit p Tl t the sun to cl mb
H B onted h ^ht yet ere 1 e go to bed,
Kn t po honous clouds about 1 s golden head.
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LTJGRECE. (
""With lotten (Umps ia-\nli tlic Mraniiip^ air;
Let their e\h'\i d unwholeBome breaths make sick
The hfe of pmitj, the supreme hir.
Ere he ainie hn weaij noon tide prick,
And Itt thv mist) iipour"! maich so thick,
That m then smoky ranks his smother d light
Mty set at noon, and make peipetual night.
" Were Tarquin Night, (as he is but Night's child )
The silver-shining queen he would distain ;
Her twinkling handmaids too by him defil'd
Thr igh n ht bi k h m h 11 p p in:
Shldlh pt nnjim
AdfUwhp Itl
Aaplm It k Ith pig
Wh I h n t hi I w tl
r th m n 11 tl h d th m
r k t! b d h d th t ■>
B t I 1 1 m t t 1 p
S ngh thwthbw tl h
Ml t 11 It J -n f h g
P t 11 t
t 1
th J
1
U y b h Id th t t
h h
d
th
thy bl k all h d g 1
n d
tlj b
tyid th d
P
tllp
f thy gl my ^1
Th t
11 tl
f
It h 1 n tly
Mj
Ik
b
p 1 1 d n thy h
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82 LL^CIIECE.
"Make me not olijcct to t}ie tell-tale Day!
The light will shew, cliacaGter'd in my brow,
The story of sweet chastity's decay.
The impions breach of holy wedlock vow :
Yea, the iEiterate, that know not how
To cipher what is iviit ia learned books,
"Will quote my loathsome trespass in my looks.
" The nurse to still her child will tell my story,
And fright her crying babe with Tarquin's name;
The orator to deck his oratory
Will couple my reproach to Tarquin's shame ;
Feast-finding minstrels, timing my defame.
Will fie the hearete to attend each line,
How Tarquin wronged me, I Collatine,
" Let my good narao, that senseless reputation,
For Collatiny's dear love be kept unspotted !
If that be made a theme for disputation.
The branches of another root are rotted.
And undeserv'd reproach to him allotted,
That is as clear from this attaint of mine,
As I ere this was pore to Collatine.
" 0 unseen shame ! invisible disgrace !
O unfelt sore! crest- wounding, private scar!
Reproach is stamp'd in Collatinua' face,
And Tarquin's eye may read the mot afar.
How he in peace is wounded, not in war.
Alas ! bow many bear such shameful blows.
Which not themselves, but he that gives the
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LUCUECE. 8a
"If, C>.lktinc, tliiiifc lioiioui lai in mp,
Fioia me bj stioug assiult it is bcieit
My honey lost, and 1, a diont like bee,
Ha\e no peifection of my summer lefl,
But robb'd aad lanaacVd bi mjuiious theft:
In thy weak hive a wandeiiiig ■nasp h^th crept.
And suck'd the honey which th) chaste bee kept.
" Yet am I guilty of thy honour's wrack ;
Yet for thy honour did I entertain him ;
Coming from thee, I could not put him back.
For it iiad been dishonour to disdain him :
Besides, of weariness he did complain him,
And talk'd of ■virtue. — 0, nnlook'd for evil.
When virtue is profan'd in such a duvil !
"Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud.
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows' ncsta?
Or toads infect fair founts with venom mud ?
Or tyrant folly lurk in gentle breasts ?
Or kings be breakers of their own behests?
But no perfection is so absolute.
That some impurity doth not pollute.
"The aged man that coffers up his gold,
la plagn'd with cramps, and gouts, and painful fits,
And scarce hath eyes his treasure to behold.
But like still-pining Tantalus he sits,
And nseless barns the harvest of his ivits ;
Having no other pleasure of his gain,
But torment that it cannot cure his pain.
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" So, then lie hath it, wlicu he cannot iiso it,
And leaves it to be master'd by his young ;
Who in their pride do presently abuse it :
Their father ivaa too weak, and they too strong,
To hold their cursed-hlessed fottune long.
The sweets «'e wish for turn to loathed aonrs,
Even in the moment that we call them ours.
" Unruly blaats wait on the tunder spring.
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers,
The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing.
What tirtue breeds iniquity devours ;
We have no good that we can say is ours.
But ill annexed opportunity
Or kills his life, or else his qualify.
"O, Opportunity, thy guilt is great:
'Tis thou that esecuf 'st the traitor's treason ;
Thou sett'st the wolf where he the lamb may get ;
Whoever plots the sin, thou 'point'st the aeason :
'Tis thou that Bpurn'st at right, at law, at reason ;
And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him
Sits sin to seize the souls that wander by him.
" Thou niak'st the vestal violate her oath ;
Thou hlow'st the fire, when temperance is thaVd ;
Thou smother'st honesty, thou murther'st troth;
Thou foul abettor ! thou notorious bawd !
Thou pisntest scandal, and displacest laud :
Thou ravisher, thou traitor, thou false thief.
Thy honey turns to gall, thy joy to grief!
,1 Google
" Tliy secret pleasure turns to open shame.
Thy private feasting to a public fast ;
Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name,
Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter wormwood taste :
Thy yioleat vanities can never last.
How comes it then, vile Opportunity,
Being so bad, sucii numbers seek for thee ?
"Wh It th 1
tl h 11 ppl t friend.
And b 1ml
h t V b bt ned?
Wh It th
t 1 IT t f i t) end,
Or f th t 1
1 h t h d h h chained ?
Gi pi} t th
k t fl ] 1?
n p 1 1
1 1 1 lit p > t for thee,
B t tl J
t th Oj.p t t)
p t t d wh 1 th pi T 1 ps ;
ph p wh I th pp f 1 ;
i t g hi fl d p
W th t as p 1 th rages ;
Thj 1 h t tl tl pages.
" W h T tl d V t h f 1 th thee,
A th d k p th f n thy d:
Th J b ) thy h Ip b t S g fee ;
He g tis d tl t 11 pp J d.
As 11 t 1 ai g t h t h h th d.
My C 11 t ! I 1 h t e,
Wh laiq dd bth as tydby thee.
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80
LUCHECE.
G 1
1-
t
f
th
1 f th ff
C Itj
f I
J i
1 b
G Jty
ft
i
y
A hft
G Jy
f
th
b m
t ri
An
7 by
tl
nl
t n
T
u
1
t
1 11 tl t t
F
th
"
i th
1 d
M
tp
T
P n
t f ugl N
ht
■t. ft
btl
P *
f
g Ij
E t
i
h 1
L,
1
f 1 1 1 ght
B
t h
f
P
ki t
Th
t 11
d t!
t U th t
0 I
h
J
hf K T
\Yh 1 tl h) t Opp t t
B t yd h h IT h g; t t i
Can 11 d ny f tun nd 1 d
T U d t f n nd g
T m ffl f tl 1 t f foe
T t (ip by p b d
Ntp Itl \ yf ! flhl
r 11 s f,lor t !m c nt n 1 k
To u a k t Is hood nd b nij h to 1 ght
To tamp the seal of t me n agel tl n^s
To wike the morn ind e t el tl e c „ht
To wro "tie vionger till he e der r ght
To te proud b Id ngs Fifh thy ho
And sn ear v th dust the r glitter ng gold n to
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LUCIIECE. 8
" To fill with worm holes statelj moiiumenta.
To feed oblivion inth deca} of things.
To blot old hooks, ind altei theit contents.
To pluck the quills fiom ancient ravens wing^,
To div the old oaks sap, and cherish ipiing^ ,
To spoil mti j^mties of hamraei d steel
And turn the giddv round of Foituues wheel
"To '^how the heldime diu^hteis of hn dT,ui;l ter
To make the child a min, the aiaa a child,
To slaj the tiger that doth live by sHughter,
To tame the unicorn and lion \iild.
To mock the subtle, in themsehes beguild.
To cheei the ploughman ■nith increaseful crops.
And waste huge stones with little watei-diops
"Why woik'st thou miichief m thy pilgrimige.
Unless thou could st return to make amends. >
One poor letiring minute in an age
Would puichase thpe a thousind thousand friends.
Lending him nit thit to bad debtors lends
O, thiB dread night, nouldat thou one hjur com
buk,
I could present thii stoim, md shun thi mi ick
" Thou ceaseless lackcj to eternity.
With some mischance ooss Tarqum m \n~, flight
Devise cxtiemes beyond extremity
To mike him cuise this cursed ciimetiil night
Let ghastly shadoivs his lewd e\es affright
And the dire thought of his committed bmI
Shipe eiPij bush a hideous shapeless de^il
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S8 LUCRECE,
Disfiiib his 1 Dura of le*;! with ipstkis trances,
AfHia him 111 hio hed iiith bhidiid gioana ;
Let there beclnnce him pitiful raisohances.
To make him moin, but pitv not hia moans ;
Stone him with haiden'd heaiti, hirdei than stones;
\iid let mild women to him lo^e then mildness.
Wilder to him thin tigers m then- wildness.
" Let him have time to toar his curled hair.
Let him hive time against himself to rave.
Let him have time of time's help to despair,
Let him hv,e time to Ine a loathed slave;
Let him hive time a beggai s oits to crave,
And time to see one that by aim'* doth livi
Disdiin to him disdaini-d sTips to gne.
"Let him hiie tune to see hi** ftieiids his foes.
And meny fools to mock at him re^iort ,
Let him have time to ma.k hon slow time goes
In time of sorrow, and how snift anl '.hort
Hifl tim« of follj and his time of spoit
And evd let his unrecalling crime
Have tine to wail th abusing of his time.
"O Time a on tutor both to gool uil bad,
Teach me to curse him that thou taught'st this lU !
At his own shidow let the thief lun m'id,
Himself himself seek every hour to kill '
Such wretched hands such wretched blood should spill ;
For wlio so base would such an oflice have
As slanderous death'a-man to so base a slave ?
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LUCllECE.
"T b k
Toil hihp dddn
Timgli nn null hhig
Til k n d bf,hni hate ;
F gr a n (jr
Th n b g ud m s'd,
B s nyhdhra wli n h y lis!
"Th m J b th 1 1 n k m? in mire.
And 1 d fly tit til fil h j
B t f h hk th wh t d
Th p h 1 d w ill tay
P trr gl tl gl t k 1 ioua day :
G ta t d 1 th J fl
B t gl g d p til 5 J
'* 0 t 11 w d t t h 11 f Is,
U p fit bl i k b t t
B y HI 1 k 11 t d 11
D b t h 1 h d 11 d b ters ;
T t mbl h t b J d t
P 1ft t
S tl t p h h Ip f kw.
"I II Opp tj
At 1 m t r q I h f 1 ght ;
In m I 1 th f mj
In I p t mj fi d d 1 t
Tl t Ipl k f d 1 tl right.
Th ly d d t I ]
I t 1 t f th Toy i 1 d fil d bl 1
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90 LTJCEEOE.
"Pooi band, why qunei st ttou \t this decree?
Honour thyself to rid mo of this shiinr ,
Foi if I die, my honoui lues m th[.i, ,
But if I live, thou, hv'st in my delame
Since thou could'st not defend thj loi il dame.
And wast afeai d to scratch hLi wi^kid foe.
Kill both thyself and hei for jiddiiiE; fo "
This Slid, from hei he tumhled couih she staiteth,
To find some despeiate instrument of death ,
But this no aku^htei house no tool impaiteth,
To make moie vent foi pai'iagc ol hei hicith,
Which, thronging thiough hei lips, bO ■vanialieth
As smoke fiom ^tna, that m air consumes,
Ol that iihich fiom dischaigcd cannon lumes
"In iim,' quoth she, "I Inp ind sftk in
Some happy mean to end a hapless life ;
I fear'd by Tarquin's falchion to be slain.
Yet for the self-same purpose seek a knife ;
But when I fear'd, I was a loyal wife.
So am. I now: — O no, that cannot be;
Of that true type hath Tarquin rifled me.
"0, that is gone, for which I sought to live.
And therefore now I need not fear to die.
To clear this spot by death, at least, I give
A badge of fame to slander's livery ;
A dying lifj to living infamy.
Poor helpless help, the treasure stol'n away.
To burn the guiltless casket where it lay !
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"\Vell, well, dear CoUatine, tliou slialt not know
The stained taste of violated troth ;
I will not wrong thy true affection so,
To flatter thee with an. infringed oath ;
This bastard graff shall never come to gi'owth:
He shall not hoast, who did thy stock pollute;
Tiiat thou art doting father of his fruit.
N 1 11 y 1 t tl t tl ight,
N 1 1 vith I- p t tl ) t e ;
B t th h It k thj tt t t hought
B ly th 1 1 1 t t 1 f f -th thy gate.
F m I n tl t f y f t
\ I tl J t 1 11 d t 'e,
1 11 1 f t d tl It J f d ff e.
I ill t p n th th my tt t
N f Id mj i It 1 ly d 9 ;
M hi g nd f I 11 p t
T h d tl t tl f h t 1 n ^h b sea :
M t g h 11 tt 11 n ; 3 k sluices
A tl m t, I th t i 1 dale,
bl 11 1 I t i pure ta!
B) th I m t 111 1 h d Id
Th 1! t d w hi I; h ghtly n w.
Ad In ght nth 1 w d g t d cended
To ugly H^ll, h lo h llu h „ row
Lends light to all fan eyes that light will bon'Ow;
But cloudj Lucrece shames herself to see.
And therefore still m night would cloister'd he.
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92 LIJCEECE,
Bevelling day tliiou^h eiery eriniii spies,
And sjcra? to point hti out ivhpic -.he sifs weeping;
To whom sliB sobbing speaks "0 nt: of eyes!
Why pii'st thou tbiough mj window ^ leave thy
peeping .
Mock with tb\ tickling beams eyes that aie sleeping :
Blind not my foichead with thy pien,mg light.
For ddj hith naught to do what's done by night."
Thus cavila she with every thing she sees.
True griet la fond and te'ity as a child,
Who waywaid once, liis mood with njught agi'eea:
Old woes, not lafant BOirows, bear them mild ;
Continuance tames the one , the other wild,
Like an unpiii'ti'id swimmei plunging still.
With too muLh liboui drowns ior w tnt of skill.
So she, deep dienched va a sea of care.
Holds disputation with each thing she views,
And to herself all sorrow doth eompire:
No object hut het passion's ttiingth renews.
And as one shift's, another stidight ensues:
Sometime her grief la dumb, and hath no words;
Sometime 'tis mad, and too much talk affords.
The bttle birds that tune their morning's joy.
Make her moini mad with their sweet melody;
For miith doth seaicb the bottom of annoy:
Sad souls are slain in merrj company ;
Grief best is ple"isd with griefs society;
True soiiow then 18 feckn^jli siiffic'd,
When with like semblince it is sympathiz'd.
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LUCKECE. 9;i
'Tis double death to drown iu ken of slioi'c ;
He tea times pinea, ttat pines betolding food ;
To see the salve dotli malie tlie wound aclie move ;
Great gi'ief grieves most at that would do it good ;
Deep woes roll forward like a gentle flood,
Who, being atopp'd, the bounding banks o'erflows:
Gilef dallied with nor law noi limit knows.
"You mocking birds," quoth she, "your tunea entomb
Within your hollow swelling feather'd breasts.
And in my hearing be you mute and dumb :
My restless discord loves no stops nor rests ;
A woful hostess broolts not merry guesls.
Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears ;
Distress Ukes dumps, when time is kept with tears.
Mak
As h d
"And
To k p h
T q
h -p k
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94 LUCKECl';.
"And for, pool Viil, tliou •.izi^ '.t not lu tlie day.
As shaming auv e\e should thee behold.
Some dajk deep deaeit, seated fiom the way.
That knons not pirching heat noi fteezing cold.
Will we find out, aui thcie we will unfold
To ereatuies sttrn so,' 1 tunes to change their kinds :
Since men piove heasf s, let heists hear gentle minds."
As the poor flighted deer, that stuids it gaze,
Wildly detei mining which way to fly.
That cannot tread the way out le^dily.
So with heiself is she in mutmj,
To live 01 die winch of the twiin wtre better,
Wlipn hte IS 'iliara'd, and ileath lupioich's dehtnr.
" To kill myself," quoth she, " alack ! what were it,
B t w th y h d) y p I j II t ?
Th y t) t 1 h'df w h i, t p b ar t
Th th Y h hi w 11 d f
Th t m tl t ml 1
W h 1 t h h 1 d tl t k
Will 1 y th th d b t
"VIj h I J 111 th 1
^\1 tl p tl th d 1
Wh 1 f h t my It
\Vh b h t pt f H d C 11
Ah m h h k p 1 d fi tl Uty p
His 1 II th d h p d y
S tmy Ihbkb pld
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LUCRECE. W5
" Her house is satk'd hi.i qiu t interrupted.
Her mansion batter'd by the enemy ;
Hei saored temple spotted, spoil d, corrupted,
GrosKly engirt with daimg infamy
Then, let it not be calld impicty.
If in this blemish'd toit I make some hole,
Through which I may con\cy thib troubled soiil.
"Yet die I will not til! mj Colhtme
Have heaid the ciuae of m\ untineh death
That be may ion, m that sad hour of mine
Kevenge on him that made me stop mi breath
My stained blood to Tarquin III bequeith
"Which hy bim tainted '■hill lor him he -.pent
And as li die ^•,n\. m iiy tcstantit
" My boiioui 1 11 bequeath unto the knife
That wounds mi body so dislionoired
'Tis honoui to deprive dishonour d hfe ,
The one -niH live the othei being deid
So of shame -s ashes shall mi fame be bred ,
For in my death I muither shameful scorn
My shame so dead mine honour is new boin
"Deal lord oi that di. i ] w 1 I bne lost
What legacy shiU I bequeath to thee *
Mj lesolution, love shall be thi boast
By whose evimple thou, levengd may it be
How Tarqum must be nsd lead it lu me
Mjseli, thy triend, will kill myselt tbi foe,
And for mj sake sene thou foise Tarqum so
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96 LUCRECE.
Th b f b d Dt f my 11 I m ke
"\Iy I 1 b d) t tL k ct gr nd
My It li b d d th k
M h b th kn f tl t m 1 j
Mj h b h tl t d d ny 1 f c
A I 11 J ± tl i 1 d b d b
r tl tl t 1 d ttmk 1 i
Th C II t h It th il
H w I th t th I It t
Mj bl i h 11 1 tl land f 11
My hf 1 1 d d my lif f d h 11 fr
r Hit f h t b t t tlj J b
Y Id t > h 1 y 1 1 1 II 1 i
T 1 d b th 1 d 1 tl 1 11 t
Th 1 1 t f d tl h lly t 1 d 1 d
Ad pdtl h hp Ifi-mh b ght y s,
■W h t d t J, h h Ij 11 h in d,
Wh ft b 1 n f J nust h
For fieet-wiag'd duty witlx thought's feathers flies.
Poor Lucreee' cheeks unto her maid seem so.
As winter meads when sun doth melt their snow
^^ th it 1
t m 1 f \
And t d 1 i
t h 1 iy
F hy h f
W i J
P d t t k f
1 d ly
Wh h t
1 d ]p 1
N hj h f 11
Ik Id
,1 Google
But as the earth doth weep, the sun heiHg set,
Each flower raoisten'd like a melting cyo.
Even so the maid with swelling drops 'gan wet
Her circled eyne, enfore'd by sympathy
Of those fair suns set in her mistress" aky,
Who in a salt-wav'd ocean quench their light,
"Which makes the maid weep like the dewy night.
A pretty while thoie pretty creitnres 'itand.
Like ivory conduits coral cisteras filling
One justlj weepi the other takes in hand
No cause but company oi her diop"! ipilling
Their gentle se^ to weep ire often willing,
GneMng themsehea to gueas \t ntheis imaits,
And thea thcj dionn their ejp or licak their
hearts
Foi men haic marble, women wi\en, minds
Aad therefoie ire the) form d as raaible will.
The weak oppress d th impressim ot tiange kinds
Is form'd in them by force, by fraud, or skill;
Then, call them not the authors of their ill,
No more than wax shall be accounted evil.
Wherein is stamp'd the semblance of a devil.
Their smoothness, like a goodly champaign plain,
Lays open all the little worms that creep ;
In men, as in a rough-grown grove, remain
Cave-keeping evils that obscurely sleep.
Through crystal walla each little mote will peep :
Though men can cover crimes with bold stera looks.
Poor women's faces are their own faults' books.
VOL. I. a
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98 LUCSECE.
No n -m e gli Sp n t tl e he d flo er
B t h de gh. nter U t tl fi 1 1 1 II d
Not that deyo d b tat vh h doth \e our
la vo tl y blame O let t not be 1 1 1
Poor women a faults tbat tl ej are so tultiU I
W th nens b es tl o e po d lo ds to bl me
M ke e k m^do omen te ants to 1" 1 a ne
Tl e precedent vhereof n L c ece e r
Assa 1 d by n ght v th c c nstances ft ong
Of p eaent death an! eh'in e tl at n gH e s e
Bj thit her death to lo 1 er hiishi d roi^
Such danger to re stai ce d d belo "
That d ng fear tl ro gl all her ho 1 ^p ead
A 1 1 u an ot al a bod d 1
By tl s Id p t e ce b d fa r L c e j 1
To the poor cou te t of he con pi n °-
Mv g rl q oth she on vhat ooca. o b ak
Those tears f om tl ee that low i thy ch ek ar
rirang>
If tho lo t voep for gi ef of y ta n„
Kuo T ^entle ve cl t 11 a Is j nood
If tears could help n e own vouH do e };,ood
B t tell me g I vhen ent (an I the } e tij 1
T 11 ft a lecp groan) laiijum horn heace .
"\Ial eel vas up replied the maid;
Tl e nore to bla le i ly sluggard negligence :
Ttet V h the fault 1 thus far can. dispense ;
Mjselt St T g ere the break of day,
4nd eie I o e vas Taiquin gone away.
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LTJCKECE. 9'J
" But lady, if your maid may be so bold,
She would request to know your heaviness,"
"O peace!" quoth Lucrece : "if it should he told.
The repetitioa cannot make it less ;
For more it is than I can well express ;
And that deep torture may be call'd a hell.
When more is felt than one hath power to tell.
"Go, get me Hther paper, ink, aad pen, —
Yet save that la"bour, for I have them, here,
WJiat should I say ? — One of my husband's
Bid thoa be ready by and by, to bear
A letter to my lord, my love, my dear :
Bid him with speed prepare to carry it ;
The cause ci-aves haste, and it will soon b
Her maid is gone, and she prepares to write,
First hovering o'er the paper with her quill.
Conceit and grief an eager combat fight ;
What wit sets down is blotted straight with will;
This is too curious-good, this blunt and ill ;
Much like a press of people at a door
Throng her inventions, which shall go before.
At last she thus begins: "Thou worthy lord
Of that unworthy -^ f tl t t th th
Health to thy person n xt ou h f t afford
(If ever, Jove, thy Lu th u wilt se )
Some present speed to ome an 1 s t me
So I commend me f o ou hou e g ef:
My woes are tedjo s though ny d are
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100 LUCBECE.
Here folds she up tlie tenour of her woe.
Her certain, sorrow writ uncertainly.
By this short schedule Collatine may know
Her grief, but not her grief's true quality :
She dares not thereof make discovery.
Lest he should hold it her own gross abuse
Ero she with blood had stain'd her stain'd i
Besides, the life and feeling of her passion
She hoards, to spend when he is by to hear her;
When sighs aad groans and tears may grace the fashion
Of her disgrace, the better so to clear her
From that suspicion which the world might bear her.
To shun this blot she would not blot the letter
With words, till action might become them better.
To see sad sights moves more than hear them told,
For then the oyo interprets to the ear
The heavy motion that it doth behold,
When every part a part of woe doth bear :
'Tis but a part of sorrow that we hear ;
Deep sounds make lesser noise than shallow fords,
And sorrow ebbs, being blown with wind of words.
Her letter non is se il d, and on it writ,
" At Ardex to my loid with more than haste."
The post attends ind she delivers it.
Charging the sour fac d groom to hie as fast
As liggng fowls betoie the northern blast;
Speed moie than spt d but dull and slow she deems ;
E\tiemLt) still uigeth such extremes.
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LUCRECE. 101
Tlie homely ^ilbin lioui't'sios to her low.
And hlushing on her, with a steadfast eye
Receives the stroll, without or yea or no.
And forth ■with baihful innocence doth hie:
But they whose gmlt within their bosoms lie.
Imagine eierj eje beholds their blame.
For Lucrece thought he blush'd to see her shame ;
When, silly groom ! God wot, it was defect
Of spirit, life, and bold audacity.
Such harmless creatures have a true respect
To talk in deeds, while others saucily
Promise more speed, hut do it leisurely :
Even KO this pattern of the worn-out age
Pawn'd honest looks, but lay'd no words to gage.
His kiadled duty kindled her mistrust,
That two red fires in both their faces blazed ;
She thought he blush'd, as knowing Tarquin's lust.
And, blushing with him, wistly on him gazed ;
Her earnest eye did make him more amazed ;
The more slie saw the blood his cheeks replenish.
The more she thouglit he spied in her some blemish.
But long she thinks till he return again.
And yet the duteous vassal scarce is gone.
The weary time she cannot entertain.
For now 'tis stale to sigh, to weep, and groan;
So woe hath wearied woe, moan tired moan.
That she her plaints a little while doth stay.
Pausing for means to mourn some newer way.
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102 LUGllECE.
At last slie calls to mind where hangs a piece
Of skilful painting, made for Priam's Troy ;
Before the which is drawn the power of Greece,
For Helen's rape the citj' to destroy,
Threatening cloud-tissing lUon witli annoy ;
Wliich the conceited painter drew so proud.
As heaven it seem'd to kiss the turrets bow'd.
A thousand lamentable objects there.
In scorn of nature, art gave lifeless life.
Many a dry drop seem'd a weeping tear.
Shed for the slaughter'd husband by the ivife:
The red blood reek'd to show the painter's strife;
And dying eyes gleam'd forth their ashy lights.
Like dying coals burnt out in tedious nights.
Th It T 111- p leor
B g d tl t
d i all with dust J
A d 1 th t w
f T y th uld appear
Th y y fm
th h 1 p 1 les thrust.
G g p th &
k ti ittl 1 t:
hi t h
h 1 was had.
Th t m ght
h fai ff 3 s look sad.
I gr t m d
d m, ty
■V 1 1 h 1 Id
ph th faces ;
I J th q 1 h
e; d d t ty
A d 1 d th
tl p f I 1 ces
PI w d m t
g tl t mbling paces :
Wh h h tl 1
d d 11 resemble,
That one would
swear he saw them quake and
tremble.
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LUCRECE. i03
In Ajas and Ulyssea, O, what art
Of physiognomy might one behold '
The f ce of e her c j her d e ther 8 heirt
The c lace the ma era most e p easly told
lu Ajax ejes bl t rage a d r ^o roUd
B t the mdd gl nee that si tl)a es lent
bho d deep egarl an I n ling ^over ent
The e il ad „ m ght yo ee gr tb Ne o stand
As t ve e o n^ the & eek to fi h
Mak ng B ch sob r a t on v th J s hand
Th t t begu 1 d atte t on chirra d the s ght
In j eecl t seen d 1 a be 1 ill sil er h te
Ws. ] p ind lo n an 1 f h 1 p 1 I ily
Th vin i n^ I a 1 vh i j rl J i t tl e sky
About h m vere a press of gap c; f es
Wf d eSTid to vailov p ha ni 1 co
All JO tlj 1 sten ng but th sever 1 g e
As f some mer a d d d their ear ent ce
So e h gh so e low th j nt r vjs so ce
The scalps of a alnost hd heh nd
1 ] np p hi^h r seen 1 to raoch the nd
Hr e o e n in han 1 1 n 1 on a otl e led
His no e 1 g 1 lo d b) h s ne „hho user
He e o e he n" throng 1 bears ba k all boll n and
Another smothe 1 see s to pelt ads vea
Ai d a tl e r rage such a gns of tat;e the^ be r
As but for loss of Nestor s g Hen wo ds
It seemd they vo Id debate t th angiy s vords
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For mAieh imaginary work was tliere ;
Conceit deceitful, so compact, so kind,
That for Achilles' image stood his spear,
Grip'd in an. armed hand : himself hehind
Was left unseen, save to the eye of mind.
A hand, a foot, a face, a leg, a head.
Stood for the whole to be imagined.
And from the walls of strong besieged Troy
When their hrave hope, hold Hector, march'd to field,
Stood many Trojan mothers, sharing joy
To see their youthful sons bright weapons wield;
And to their hope they such odd action yield.
That through their light joy seemed to appear
(Like bright things stain' d) a kind of heavy fear.
,And from the strond of Dai'dan, where they li
To Simois' reedy hanks the red blood ran.
Whose waves to imitate the battle sought
With swelling ridges ; and their ranks began
To break upon the galled shore, and than
Betire again, till meeting greater ranks
They join, and shoot their foam at Simois'
To this well-painted piece is Lucreee come,
To find a face where all distress is stnld.
Many she sees, where cares have carved some.
But none where all distress and dolour dwell'd,
Till she despairing Hecuba beheld,
Staring on Priam's wounds with her old eyea,
Which bleeding under Pjrrhus' proud foot lies.
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LUCEECE. 105
In her the painter had anatomiz'd
Time's ruin, beauty's wreck, and gi'im care's reign :
Her cheeks with chaps and wrinkles were disguis'd,
Of what she was no semblance did remain ;
Her blue blood chang'd to hiack in every vein,
Wanting the spring that those shrunk pipes had fed,
Show'd life imprison'd in a body dead.
On this sad shadow Lucrece spends her eyes,
And shapes lier sorrow to the beldam's woes.
Who nothing wants to answer her but cries.
And hitter words to ban her cruel foes :
The painter was no God to lend her those ;
And therefore Lucrece swears he did her Avrc
To give her so much grief, and not a tongue
ril t thy w h my 1 m
t <,
And d p t b Im P
p t 1
And I Pj 1 h h th 1
h
And th y q h T J
h b
And th y k f t h t
th
Of 11 th & k th t tl
" Sh m tl t I t th t I
h tu-
Th t tl m a 1 h b t) I
rn) t
Thj h t t 1 f d P d d
Thi i d f tl h t b ^ T y 1 th b
Thm ykdldtih htb
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106 LUCBECE.
Viiv, si 0 IJ tilt pi lite jlcasuie ot somu one
Become the public i-lxgue ol minj no''
Let Bin alone co emitted light dione
Upon h " tcttd thit hath traiisgies cd ao ,
Let guiltless souls be fieed fiom gidty ^\oe
For one s offence wh} sh d il 1 so n inj lall
To plague a piivate &m in guii.idl''
" Lo, heie weeps Hecuba here Priam dies
Heie manlj Hector faints here Troilus awounds;
Here friend by friend in bloodj channel lies.
And friend to fiienJ gives unadiisel woui Is
And on? man >! lust these man^ lues confounds
Had doting Piiam check d hit. bona desue
Tioy had been biight w ith fa ni, ind not with fire."
Heie feelingly she weeps Tioys pi uted »ocs.
For sorrow 1 ke 1 lieivy hmgmg bell
Once set on ringing with his own ueight goes,
Then little stiength rings out the doleful kneil
So Luorece set a work sid tiles dolh tell
To pencill d pen&iveness and c loui d &o to i
She lends them words and shi. then lool s dolh
She throivs her eyes about the painting, round.
And whom she finds forlorn she doth lament :
At last she sees a wretched image bound,
That piteous looks to Phrygian shepherds lent ;
His face, though full of cariis, yet show'd content.
Onward to Troy with the blunt swains he goes,
So mild, that patience seem'd to scorn his woes.
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LTICllECE. ■
111 hira the p^mt i hboui d uitli his ^kill
To hide deceit, and give the harmless shew ;
An humble gait, cilm loolc*, ejes wailing atill,
A brow unbent that secmd to welcime woe;
Cheeks neitbei led nor palp, but mingled so
That blushing red no guilty invtanLe gave.
Nor ash) pale the fear that fal^e heaits have.
But, like a cunst iiit ind confiimed deyil,
He enttitamd a shew so ^cemlng ju'it.
And therein so ens cone d his aeciet e^il,
That jealousy itself could not mistrust
False -cieepmg ciait and peijuiy should thrust
Into SI) bu^'ht d (Iv, such blick find ■storms,
Or blot nith hell hoin sin such o nut like, forms.
Th w u kiin
km th
mil
d
F p j dS
1
1 tug
t y
Th 11 Id P ft
1
Wh. w d Ik
wldfi t
th
h m g gl y
Of h b lit n
tl t th
k
And 1 tH t
h t f m
th fi
dpi
vrti fh ^1
fll h
thj
1 i i
Th p t h
d rtlj p
n d
A d td h p
t f h
dr
kUl
S y s h p
m b
b d
S f f Id
d t
m d
11
A d tU h
h fe 1
Ig
g tn
h gn t t
th 1
pi f
! p d
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108 LUCRECB.
It t 1> q 1 h It
(SI Id 1 1) Ik
B t T q li p c }
And f m h t 1 k fi
It t b ii th t f
A d t d t tl It t 1
E t li f 1 Id b
F btl S t p t d
S b d w y 1 11
(A t w Ii g f t 1 h 1 d 1 t 1)
T T q ar d b Id
W th t d b t h t ) t d 61 1
■W ti d P ! 1 1 1 1
So did I iaiqum, so mj Ticj did ptrish.
" Look, look ! how listening Priam weta his eyes.
To see those borrow'd tears that Sinon sheds.
Priam, why art thou old, and yet not wise ?
For every tear he falls a Trojan bleeds ;
His eye drops fire, no water thenoe proceeds ;
Those round clear pearls of his, that move thy pity,
Ate balls of quencUess fire to burn thy city.
" Such devils steal effects from lightless hell,
For Sinon in his Hre doth quake with cold.
And in that cold, hot-butning fire doth dwell ;
These contraries such unity do hold.
Only to flatter fools, and make them bold ;
So Priam's trust false Sinon's tears doth flatter,
That he finds means to burn his Troy with water."
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LUCREGE.
Here, £ill enrag'd, such passion her assails,
That patience is quite beaten from her breast.
She tears the senseless Sinon with her nails,
Comparing him to that unliappy guest
Whose deed hath made herself herself detest :
At last she smilingly with this gives o'er;
" Fool ! fool ! " quoth she, " his wounds will r
Tt bl d 11 th t 1
A d t d h Y th 1 pl g
Sllkf Itdthhl i 1
Aidbhltlltoolgwhl m g
Sh t tm 1 h p mg
Th -tl b h y t t Id 1 1
Altljtht th mh iwt p
Wh 1 all h t 1 h 1 1 p 1 h th s,ht
n h tl p 1 1 tl 1 t
B fe f m til f 1 t h g 1 b ght
By d p f th d m
B t n w th dt 1 b k
B g h h 1 1 1 th 'wp y
MlfilbL Id m ?llk
Ad d b t 1 t or I d J
Bl It 1 Ik b h ky
Th t II 1 di 1 t
F tei n t t th 1 dj p nt
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UO LUCIIECE.
Which when her sad-beholding husband saw,
Ainazedlj in her sad face he stares :
Her eyes, though, sod in. tears, look'd red and raw;
Her livery colom kiUd mth deadlj cares.
He hath no power to ask hei how she laies ;
Both stood like old icquaintance m 1 trance.
Met far from home ivondciinj each other's chance.
At last he takes her by the bloodless li md,
And thus begins "What uncouth lU e^ent
Hath thee befall u that thou doat tiembling stand?
Sweet love, wliat ipue Lath thy fwi colour spent?
Why art thou thus attir d m discontent ''
Unmask, dear dcir, this moodi hemness.
And tell thy ^iu,f that wc ma\ j,i\i. ledress,"
Three times with sighs she 511 ea hei soirow fi.
Ere once she can discharge one woid of woe:
At length, address d to answer hit de'iire.
She modestly prepares to let them know
Her honour is ti en prisonei by the foe ,
While Collatine and his coiisorted lords
With sad attention long to heai her words.
And now this pale swan in her \Mtc.i\ ne^t
Begins tlie sad dirge of hci ceitain ending
" Few words," quoth she, " shill fit the tiespiss best,
Where no excuse can giie the fxult amendmg
In me more woes than woids iie now depending;
And my laments would be diawn out too lung,
To tell them all with one pooi tned ton_ii6
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LUCEECE.
"Then, be this ail tkc task ic huh to saj :
Dear hushiatt, in the interest of thy b d
A stranger tame and oil that pillo« li^
Where thou nist wont to lest th} weiij head;
And what wrong else maj be imagined
By foul enlorceraent might be done to me.
From tlidt, alas I thy Luciecc is not tiee.
"E 1 in th& dieidful kil of d il ii idmght,
With shining falchion in raj chambci i,anie
A creeping ereatme with a flaming Ight
And softly ciied, 'Awalte thou Eomin dame,
And entertam my loie else koting shame
On th e ind thine this night I w U inflict,
If thou my lo\ea di-sire do tontiidict
'"For some hard-favour'd gi-oom of thine,' quoth he,
" Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will,
I'll murther straight, and then I'll slaughter thee,
And swear I found you where you did fulfil
The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill
The lechers in their deed : this act will he
My fame, and thy perpetual infamy.'
" With this I did begin to start and cry.
And then against my heart he set his swoi'd.
Swearing, unless I took all patiently,
I should not live to speak another word ;
So should ray shame still rest upon record.
And never fae forgot in mighty Rome
Th' adulterate death of Luoreoe and her groom.
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112 LUCRECE.
M n J a "k } }<> 'f 'eak,
Ai d i^ he al e h so o „ fea ;
My bloody julge forbade n y to „u to i.eak;
No r gl tful plea m ght } lead ior ju t ce there :
H 3 SCI let lu3t ■ime e\ dence to s ear
Th t n y poor beauty bad purlo n 1 h s eyes,
A d vl e tl e judge s rob d tl e p oner dies.
0 teach me Lo r to n ake ne o n e cuse,
Or at tl e lea t tl s refuge let e fl I
Though ny ^ °^^ blood be sta n d h his abuse,
In a ulatG 1 sp tl ss ^ y d
That V s not fore d that ne er w a 1 n'd
To accesso y ) Id ngs b t stdl p e
Do h h I 1 lo t ) t lu '
Lo, here tbe hopeless merchant of this loss,
W th 1 d d 1 ! d d ra d p irith woe,
W tl d t I n h d n roas,
Fmlp nplbmtblT
Tl f th t t p h w
B t t 1 d I It n in,
\\hthb th th h thd ksup agiun.
At) „1 r h the ole t o n„ t de
Out M th TC tlat lotl b loU hs I iste,
\et iQ the eliy bo ndeth in h s pr de
B^ck to the stra t th t for d him on so fast.
In. rage sent out lecall 1 ii rage be g past;
Even so bis sigi s his sorrows i a! e a saw.
To pttan griLf on and back the sime grief <
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LtlCRECE. 113
Which &penhli.S6 woe ot hs po r 1 ttp dcth.
And his uutimel) frtnyj thus a« ikc-th
" Dear lord thy sorrow to my sonow letidetli
Aaother power no flood hy raining slaketh
My woe too sensible thy pi&sioii miketh
More ieel ng painful li,t it tb ii suffice
To drown one T\oe one pair of weeping ejes
"And foi my sale -when I mip;ht chim thee so,
Foi she thit was th^ Lucrece now ■attend me
Be suddpnh revenged on nij foe
Thme mine hia own suppose thou dost defend me
From whit IS pait the help that fhow shalt lend me
Cone., all too htL jct let the traitor de
Foi sj 11 1 g luftioe leeds iniq iitj
" But ere I name him you fair lotds quoth she,
(Speaking to those that cime with Coliatine)
" Shall plight jour honourable ftiths to mp
With awift pursuit to venge this wrong of mine ,
For tis a meritorioua fair design
To chase injustice with leiengefd arms
Knights by their oaths should tight poor ladies'
At this request with nolle dispo itua
Each present lord hcgin to piomise aid
As bound in knighthood to hei imposition
Longing to hear the hateful foe bentayd,
But she thit jet hei sad task hath not said.
The piotestation stops 0 speik qi oth she
'How m^y this forced stain be wipd fiom me!
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114 LUCllECE.
" What is the quality of mine offence,
Being constrain'd with dreadful circumstance ?
May my pure mind with the foul act dispense
My low-declined honour to advance ?
May any terras acquit tne from this chance ?
The poison'd fountain clears itself again,
And why not I from this compelled stain ? '
With this, they all at once hegan to say.
Her body's stain her mind untainted clears ;
While with a joyless smile she turns away
The face, that map which deep impression beais
Of hard misfortune, carv'd in it with teais.
"No, no," quoth she; "no dame, hereafter living,
By my excuse shall claim excuse's giving."
Here, with a sigh as if lier heart would break.
She throws forth Tarquin's nime ■ " He, he," she says,
But moie than " he " het poor tongue could rot apeak ;
lili aftei many accpnts and dehys
Untimely breathin^i, -ick and shoit assign
She utter"* this "He, he, fan loids 'tis he.
That guides this hind to ^no this nound to me."
E^en hcri, she aheithed in hei haimless breist
A harmful knife thxt thence her ■ioul uniheathed:
That blow did bail it Irom the deep unrest
Of that polluted prison where it breathed
Her contnte sighs unto the clouds bequeathed
Her wingid ipiite, and thiough hei nound^ doth 3j
Lile s lasting date from cincr^ll'd dctinj
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LTJCRECE.
Stone-still, astonist'd witli this deadly deed.
Stood Collatine and all bis lordly crew ;
Till Luorece' father, that beholds her bleed.
Himself on her self-slaughter' d body threw ;
And from the purple fountain Brutus drew
The rouj'therous knife, and as it left the plac
Her blood, iu poor revenge, held it in chase
And bubbling from her breast, it dotli divide
In two slow rivers, that the crimson blood
Ciiclea her body in on every side.
Who like a late-sack'd island vastly stood,
Bare and unpeopled, iu this fearful flood.
Some of her blood still pure and red remain'd,
And some look'd black, and that false Tarquin stain'd.
About the mourning and congealed face
Of that black blood a watery rigol goes.
Which seems to weep upon the tainted place :
And ever since, as pitying Lucrece' woes.
Corrupted blood some watery token shows ;
And blood untainted still doth red abide,
Blushing at that which is so putrefy'd,
" Daughter, dear daughter ! " old Lucretius cries,
" That life was mine, which thou hast here deprived.
If in the child the father's image lies.
Where shall I live, now Lucrece is unlived ?
Thou wast not to this end from me derived.
If children pre-decease progenitors.
We are their offspring, and they none of ours.
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116 LTJCliECE.
"Poor broken glass, I often did behold
In thy sweet semblance my old age new-horn:
But now that fair fresh mirror, dim and old.
Shows me a haie-hon'd death hy time out-worn
0, from thy cheeks my image thou hast torn,
And shivor'd all the beauty of my glass.
That I no more can see what once I was.
" 0 time, cease tliou thy course, and last no longi
If they surcease to he that should survive.
Shall rotten death make conquest of the stronger.
And leave the faltering feehle souls alive ?
The old bees die, the young possess their hive :
Then, live sweet Lucreee ; live again, and see
Thy father die, and not thy father thee ! "
B th t t 0 II t i
A d bd L t 1
Adthnnkj IdL b
H f 11 d b t} th p 1 f
And f t d h h
Tllmlyhnldl p
And 1 t b d a h
Th d 1 t f 1 II
H th 1 d b P li K"e;
Wh m d th n h 11 h ontrol,
Okphmf ht nwls long,
6 t llbtt! hhlpd throng
Weak words, so thick come in hi^ pooi heutN aid.
That no man could diatinguisli what he siid
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LUCRECE. U7
Yet 'snmctime T^iqiin ^\is proiiounc:ed plain,
But thiough hi', teeth as if the name iio tore.
Thi» wmdj {empe=t tU t bl p rain,
Held back his sorr w t d t n ke it more ;
At last it rains and b y nds ive o'er :
Then, son and t th w f tl equal strife,
Who should weej n t f d ghter or for wife.
The one doth call het his, tho other his.
Yet neither may possess the claim they lay.
The father says, "She's mine:" "0, mine i
Replies her husband : " Do not take away
My sorrow's interest ; let no mourner say
He weeps for her, for she was only mine,
And only must be wail'd by Collatine."
" O," quoth Lueretius, " I did give that life.
Which she too early and too late hath spiU'd."
"Woe, woe!" qnoth Collatine, "she was my wife,
I ow'd her, and 'tis mine that she hath kill'd."
"My daughter" and "my wife" with clamours fill'd
The dispers'd air, who holding Lucrece' life,
Answer'd their cries, "my daughter and my wife."
Brutus, who pluok'd the knife from Lucrece' side.
Seeing such emulation in their woe,
Began to clothe his wit in state and pride,
Burying in Ijucrece' wound his folly's shew.
He with the Romans was esteemed so
Aa silly jeering idiots are with kings.
For sportive words, and uttering foolish things:
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But now h t w tl t 1 11 h b t bj
Wherein Ij-pl dlli dg
And M-ra d 1 I Ii d t d dly
To check bL t C U t }
" Thou d 1 d f R m q il h
Let n y d d If j p i f 1
"Why, cut
Do won d t Ip
th f
d g f h li gr
I eds?
Is it rev g t
For his f 1 t by
Such child h h m
Thy 1 t 1 d f
To si J 1 11 tl
tl) If bl
h ffl thj f f b! d
f m k m 1 p
t k th m t
t 1 Id h 1 h f
ds;
" Courag E
la such 1 t g d
But kne 1 w th
To rous R
That th U ft
Since R 1
By our
t t p tl y 1 t
f 1 m t
d h Ip to b ar thy p
g d 1 t
tl b t
If m tl d h d 1
ft f thh f t t
t
'r ed,
lased.
" Now, by the Capitol that we adore.
And by this chaste blood so unjustly stained,
By heaven'a fair sun that breeds the fat earth's store,
By all our country rights in Rome maintained,
And by chaste lAicrece' soul, that late ccraplaiiied
Her wrongs to us, and by this bloody knife,
We will revenge the death of this true wife."
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Tl s 1 J e str k li han 1 po 1 breast,
And k as d the f tal k fe to en 1 1 s ow
And to i s protestat on ug d the t
Who ode gathn ddlia od How :
Tien JO tly to tlie gio d their knee they bow,
And that deep vo v vh ch B utus made before,
He dotl agft n r peat and tl at tley snore.
Wl n th 1 ad n 0 to th s a 1 1 1 om,
The d d CO d de to bear le d Lu e e thence ;
lo she 1 er bleed ng body tl o o gh Rome,
And o to ( ubl sh Tarq s fo d off n e
WL h b g done h sj ee ly d 1 ^saoe
The Eonan ^laus lly d d g ve coisent
To Tarqu s eyerlastiug ban shn ent
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NOTES ON LUCKECE.
p. fi4. " Sftft^esled this proud issue," &c.: — i
tempted.
p. 67. " Intending weariness " : — i. o., pretending w
" " And eixry me to rest," &c. : — Some copies of the
ediUon of 1694 read in. tliis passage, —
"And every one to rest Mmaelf betakes.
Save thieves, acd cares, and troubled minds that
wftlces."
In either case there is a laelt of graniraalical accord,
p. 59. "Doth (oo-too oft," &o.!— See the Note on "Othat
this too, too solid flesh would melt," Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 2.
p, 60. " 8oft_/fflJicj/'s slave " : — i. e., soft love's slave.
p. 61. " Shall hj e. painied-doth" ! — i.e., ptunted hangings.
See the Note on " I answec vou right painted cloth," As
Ta« Like B, Act HI, Sc. 2.
p. 0t. " the nmdU Ma finger pricks": — Here 'needle' ia
a monosyllable,
p. 66. "And give the snenped birds": — i. e., the nipped
birds — birds nipped by the early frosts,
p. 69, "Beating heshtUi": — i. e., her breast, 8q in 7Jo»i-
let. Act II. Sc. 1, "a sigh that seemed to shatter all Lis
bulk."
p. 72. " nnder the gripe's sharp claws" : — i. e., the vul-
ture's sharp claws,
p. 73. "Yet, foul n^ht-ioaiinj eat" ; — Surely we have here
a slight misprint for " mght-wniSifi^," The author did
not mean to accuse Tarquin of caterwauling.
" "Meiirf thy ill aim": — The old copies, '■J^frffhyill
aim," which has been hitherto accepted ivithout a qucs-
ne (121)
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tion; but surely there can be no doubt as to the reading
of the text,
p. 73. " as thou hast pretended " i — i. e., as tliou hast
intended. See the second Note upon this poem.
p. 81. " Ere he airioe 7ils weary noon-liiJe prick " : — i. e.
Birive at his weary, &o. See a few stanzas below, " "Why
sbonld the wonn intrude the maiden bud ? "
" "And let thy ih(j;>/ vapours " r — The edition of 1594
misprints " i/iust;/ vapours." Subsequent old editions
are correct.
. 1. to j?n* the hate of foes" ; — i. e., to end the
hate, &C.
" I^j-se not argument a straw"; — i. e., I care
Dot for argument a straw.
"While thou on Tei-ens deacnnfet": — See the Note
on " some Tereus hath defloured thee," Titus Androtticaa,
Act n. Sc. 6.
;. "Thou, Collatine, shalt ottei-see this Mi«".- — In the
time of Shakespeare, aaya Mr, Collier, it was usual tor
testators to appoint not only executors, but overseers ot
their wills. Such was the case with our poet, when be
named John Hall and his daughter Susanna executors,
and Thonins Bussell and Francis Collins overseers of his
last will and U
I, " O, letitnotbeMW".- — !. e., beheld. The old
spelling is retained for the sake of the rhyme. The word
was spelled both held and /aid, regardless of rhyme.
13. " which piirFd up to the sky"; — Query, which
curl'd up to the sky.
" all lolTn and red": — i. e., all swollen and red.
In reading this deseription, it must be remembered that
the poet had in mind the stiff drawing, confused group-
ing, and perspectivelesB composition of old tapestries and
illuminations.
)4, 11 and than" : — i. e., and then.
" where all distress is steld" ;■ — So inthetweutj-
finirth Sonnet : —
" Mine eye hath play'd the painter, and hath steel'd
Thy beauty's form in table of my heart."
No explanation of these passages has yet been given,
except that of Mr. Collier, who supposes that steel'd
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NOTES. 1:^3
"meant engraytd as with sted." I am inqlinPil to tha
opinion that in both instsncBs tiie word is 'etiled' or
'Btyled' (from t^iiis) = written, drawn. See the Note
on "My tables," Sic, Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 6. 'Stile'
seems to have been pronounced iteel in Shakespeare's
early years, if not afterwards.
i to carry feiiiTes and daggers,
p, 106. " of many mo"; — 'Mo' was a common fovm of
" "OncEaetonrtn^iMj".- — i e., a ringing, or, in the
abominable neolo^sm of the day, being rung. In the
second line below, "a work" is a mere abbreviation of
p, 108. " so begml'd " : — The old copy, "to beguild."
The contest sustains Malone's supposition that ' f ' was
misprinted ' t.'
p. lis. " awatery rigol goes": — A ligol is a. ring, a
p. 116, " Weak words, eo thich come " : — i. e., so rapidly,
p, 119. "The Romans platmUij did give consent"; — i, e.,
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THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
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e Klgrime Ey W. Shakespem-e. At London
Rialed Ibr W. laggard, and are to be sold by W. Lcakc, at the
Greyhound in. Paules Churchyard. 1699." 16mo. 36 leaves.
" The Passionate Klgrime. Or Certaine Amorous Sonnets
beCweene Venus and Adonis, newly corrected and augmented.
By W. Shakespere. The third Edition. "Where-Tnto is newly
added two Loue-Epistles ; the first from Paris to Hellen, and
Hellen'a answere backs againe to Paris. Printed by W. laggard.
1812." [C0IJ.1BK.
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THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
INTRODUCTION.
THE collection of Sonnets end short poeiiiB unBtrinntably
entitled The Passionate FUgitm, seems to have been made
up in part of rq'ected passages of a poem upon, the subject of
Venia and Arlonis, m the sonnet stanza. It was publi-fhed in
1599 by William Jaggard, who was a most untiustworthy
person, at least in regard to the representations of his title
pages. He made up his books out of such misi'ellaneoin ma-
terial as he could lay his hands on, and attributed them to the
author whose name would command the readiest sale. Some
of the pieces in the foUowuig collection were almost surely not
written by Shakespeare ; others bear unmistakable marks of his
hand. Two Sonnets which made a part of Jaggard's book were
also printed in the edition of the Sonnets which appeared in
1609 ; and as they are of course given in this work hi their
plice in the latter coUecrton (Nos. CXSXVm. and CXLIV.,)
tl ey a e om tted from the immediately ensuing pages. Three
other p eoes wh ch are foui d n Lone'a Labour's Lost, are also
he e 0 n tted The o d r of the poems in. this edition is fJiat
hi th J w e fi t published, allowacco being made for
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THE PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
SWEET Cythorca, dttjjig by a broot.
With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, aad green,
D d u t the lad with many a lovely look,
S h 1 k as none could look but beauty's queer
bii t H him stories to delight his ear;
Sh 1 d him favours to all h
T n ii s heart, she touch d 1 m 1 nd th
T h s soft still conquer 1 t ty
But whether uni-ipe years did a t t
Or he refused to take her fi^ d p ff
The tender nibbler would not t u h tl b t
But smile and jest at evpry 1 ft
Then fell she on her b; k f q n 1
He rose and ran away ; — ah, fool too froward !
Scarce had the sun dried up the dewy morn,
"And scarce the herd gone to the hedge for shai
When Cytherea, all in love forlorn,
A longing tarriance for Adonis made.
Under au osier growing by a brook,
A brook, where Adon us'd to cool his spleen.
Hot was the day ; she hotter that did look
For his approach, that often there had been.
Anon he comes, and throws his mantle by,
VOL. I. I (129)
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130 PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
And stood starlt naked on the bi-ook's green brim;
The sun look'd on the world with glorious eye,
Yet not so wistly as this queen on him :
He, spying her, boucc'd in, whereas he stood ;
"O Jove," quoth she, "why was not I a flood?'
F 1 h t f fi kl
Miid as d b t th t t ty
B ght tl gl d y t gl b ttl
8 ft th d y t u ty
A ! Ij p 1 th d m k dy t g h
N f n f I t d f h
Hlpt hwftnhthhj d
B t 1 1 h th f t 1 ling!
H m t 1 t pi m h th h d
D d y 1 tl 1 } t 11 f
Y t tl d t t H h p I
H f 1 h tl 1 f 1 11 J tings.
SI b d w h 1 t th fi fl th,
Sh b d t i t b -neth;
Sh f d tl 1 1 t h f 1 d tl f ii^,
&h b d 1 It d 3 t h f 11 t g
■Vi t? 1 I h 1 th
B d tl b t tl gh 11 t th
rv
If n s c and s veet poetry agree
As tie} t e Is the s ter nl tl brother,
Tl n n t the 1 be great t \t thee and me,
Be ause tl o lo t the one ind I the other.
Do lanl to h e s lea who e he"* enly touch
Lpo 11 I tl a h 1 n n e ;
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PASSIONATE PIIfiFIAI
Sp n? 1 to nt nhoiie Icep c iceit is uch
\a passing all conceit needs no liefence
Thou lovit to heai the sneet milodious sound,
That Phcebus hte the queen of ro isic malte^ ,
And I m deep delight am chiefly diownd,
Whenas himselt to singing he betakes
One 5od !■- god of both as poets feign
One Imight bies hot] and loth in thee lem'
Fair was the moi'n, when the fair queen of love.
Paler for Borrow than her milk-white dove.
For Adon'a sake, a youngster proud and wild ;
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill ;
Anon Adonis fomes with horn and hounds ;
She, silly queen, with more than love'a good will.
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds;
" Once," quofh she, " did I see a fair sweet youth
Here in these brakes deep-wounded with a boar.
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth !
See in my thigh," quoth she, " here was the sore ; "
She shewed hers ; he &aw more wounds than one,
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.
Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck' d, soon vadcd,
Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring !
Bright orient pearl, alack ! too timely shaded !
Fair creature, kill'd too soon by death's sharp sting t
Iiike a green plum that hangs upon a tree.
And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.
I weep for thco, and yet no cause I have ;
For why ? thou left'st me nothing in thy will.
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132 PASSIONATE PILGBIM.
And yet thou left'st me more than I did crai
For why ? I craved nothing of thee still :
O, yes, dear friend, I pardon crave of thee
Thy discontent thoa didst bequeath to me.
Venua, with [young] Adonis sitting hy her,
tSnder a myTtle shade, begaa to woo him ;
She told the youngling how god Macs did try her.
And as he fell to her, [so] fell she to him.
" Even thus," quoth she, " the warlike god embrac'd
And then she clipp'd Adonis in her arms :
E en tl u quoth she the viil ke god tmlac'd
As t the boy sho Id se 1 1 e lov ng chaims.
Eve th q o h she he se z 1 on my lips,"
And th he 1 pa on h s 1 1 ct the eizure ;
B t t^ she fet h II re tl a vay 1 e skips.
And coull not take 1 er ea g or her pleasure.
Ml tlat I hal ny I dy at th s b j.
To 1 3 a d I i ne t U I a a vay I
Crahhed -ige anl youth
Cannot live together.
Youth la fuU uf pleisinee.
Age IS full of cue
Youth like summer mom.
Age like wmtei weather ;
Youth hke summei hiave.
Age like wmtei b lie
Youth is lull ot sport.
Age's hieath is shoit;
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PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
Youth is nimble, age is lame ;
Youth 13 hot and bold.
Age is weak and cold ;
Youth, is wild, and age is tame.
Age, I do abhor thee,
Youth, I do adore thee ;
O, my love, my love is young !
Age, I do defy thee ;
0 sweet shepherd, hie thoe.
For methinks thou stay'st too lo
B ty b d d 1 f I g d
A 1 g 1 tl 1 h Id ly
Afi thtd hfi gtbd
A b tl gl h t b k p tly
A d btf 1 g 1 gi gl fl
L t 1 d 1 k Id h h
A d g d 1 t Id f 1
A 1 d gl bb 11 f !
A fl d d 1 th d tl nl
A b k 1 t d
S b J bl hd t It
Ipttph pt P dt
G d If d t Ab fl b }
Sh b d 1 3 1 th t 1 pf t
Aldffd t bh dth
T d t til d bt f ) d y
F 11 q th h d
Fare well I could not, for I s pp d with s
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134 PASSIONATE PILGEIJI.
Yet at my parting sweetly did she 'imile.
In acorn or friendship, mil I conatiue whether:
'T miy he, she joj'd to jest at my etile,
'T mav be, again to make me wander thither :
' W'lnder,' a woid for shadows like myself,
Aij take tht, pam, but ciiinot plurk the pelf.
Lord, how mine ej
"s thro^
V ga7i.s
to the
Eif,t
My heart dath chai
gethe
"S iteh ,
the m
Dinmg ns€
Doth cite each mov
mg sen
se from
idle 1
^st
Not dinng tru'it the office
of mm
e ejes.
While Philomek
siti, and sin^^.
I sit
■ind mark,
And wish her kj
s «eie
tuned like th
e lark.
For she doth nelcome dai light with her ditty.
And drives away daik diamal dreaming night
The night so pack d I post unto my prett\
Heart hath his hope, and eves then Mishcd sight;
Soirow ehang d to solace, solace mix d with borron
For wh> ' she sigh d, and hade me come to mo
Were I with her, the night would post too soon ;
But now are minutes added to the hours -,
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon ;
Yet not for me, shine, sun, to succour flowers.
Pack, night ; peep, day ; good day, of night now
Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to-mor-
It was a lordlng's daughter, the fairest one of three,
That liked of her master as well as well might he,
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PASSIONATE pilgrim:. 135
Till looking on an Englislmian, the fair'st that eye
could see,
Her fancy fell a-turning.
Long was the eomhat douhtful, that love with love
did fight,
To leave the master loveless, or kill tlie gallant
knight :
To put in practice either, alas, it was a spite
XInto the silly damsel.
But one must be refused, more mickle was the pain.
That nothing could he used, to turn them both to
gain.
For of the two the trusty knight was wounded with
disdain ;
Alas, she could not help it !
Thus art, with arms contending, was victor of the
Whick by a gift of learning did bear the maid away ;
Then luUahy, the learned man hath got the lady
gay;
For now my song is ended.
M) fl
My
1 f
h
d t,
d ot.
M m
i
d ot.
411
L
dy
F h
dfy
g
H t
1 5
g
C
ft!
All my
m
r J g are quite forgot,
All y
Idj
1 is
1 lost, God wot
Wh
1 f
tk 'as
firmly flx'd in.
love,
Th
y
plac\
i without remo^
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136 PASSIONATE PILGRIM.
One silly cross
Wrouglit all my loss ;
O frowning Fortune, cursed, fickle dame!
For now I sec,
Inconstancy
In black mourn I,
All fears scorn I,
Love hath forlorn me.
Living in thrall ;
Heart is bleeding.
All help needing, — •
O cniel speeding,
Fraugkted ivith gall !
My shepherd's pipe can sound no deal,
My weUier's bell rings doleful knell;
My curtal dog that woat to have play'd,
Plays aot at oil, but seems afraid ;
With sighs so deep,
Procures fo weep,
la howling-wiso, to see my doleful plight.
Hoiv sighs resound
Through heartless ground,
Like a thousand vanquisli'd men in bloody i'lght]
Clear wells spring not.
Sweet birds sing not,
Green plants bring not
Forth, their dye ;
Herds stand weeping.
Flocks all sleeping,
Mymphs back peeping
Fearfully.
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PASSIONATE PILGKIM. 13,
All our pleasur3 known to us poor swains,
AH our merry meetings on the plains,
All our evening sport from us is fled,
All our love is lost, for love is dead.
Farewell, sweet lass,
Thy lilte ne'er was
For a sweet content, the cause of all my moan;
Poor Corydon
Must live aloiio ;
Other help for him I see that there is noae.
xry.
Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame.
And stall'd the deer that thou ahould'at strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blamo.
As well as fancy's partial might :
Take counsel of some wiser head.
Neither too young, nor yet unwed.
And when thou com'st thy tale to tell.
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk.
Lest she some subtle practice smell ;
(A cripple soon can find a halt :)
But plainly say thou lov'st her well,
And set her person forth to sell.
What though her frowning hrows he bent,
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night ;
And then too late she will repent,
That thus dissembled her delight;
And twice desire, ere it be day.
That which with scorn she put away.
What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay.
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■i PASSIONATE PILGBIM.
Her feeble force will yield at length,
"When, craft hath taught her thus to say :
"Had women heen so strong as men,
In faith you had not had it then."
And to her will frame all thy ways ;
Spate not to spend, — and chiefly there
"Where thy desert may merit praise.
By ringing in thy lady's ear :
The strongest castle, tower, and town.
The golden bullet boats it down.
Serve always with assured trust,
And in thy suit be humble, true ;
Unless thy lady prove unjust.
Press never thou to choose anew :
When time shall serve, be thou not slack
To proffer, though she put thee hack.
The wiles and guiles that women work,
Dissembled with an outward shew.
The tricks and toys that in them hu'k,
The cock that treads them shall not know.
Have you not heard it said full oft,
A woman's nay doth stand for naught?
Think women seek to strive with men.
To sin, and never for to saint :
Here is no heaven : be holy then.
When time with age shall thee attaint-
Were kisses aU. the joys in bed.
One woman would another wed.
But soft ; enough, — too much I fear,
Lest that my mistress hear my song ;
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PASSIONATE PILGEIM.
She'll not stick to round me V tV ear,
L"o teach my tongue to be so long :
Yet will she blush, here be it said,
To hear her secrets so bewray'd.
As it fell upon, a day.
In the merry mouth of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a grove of myrtles made.
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring :
Every thing did banish moan.
Save the nightingale alone :
She, poor bird, aa all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn,
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty.
That to hear it was great pity:
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry,
Teru, Teru, by and by:
Ttat to hear her so complain.
Scarce I could from tears refrain ;
For Ler griefs, so lively shewn.
Made me think upon mine own.
. Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain;
None take pity on thy pain ;
Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ;
RutMess beasts, they will not cheer thee.
King Pandion, Jie is dead ;
All thy friends are lapp'd in lead:
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Oareless of thy sorrowing.
[Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.]
Whilst as fiekle fortune smil'd,
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PASSIONATE PILGB.IV .
Thou anil I were both beguil'd.
Every one that fiatters thee.
Is no friend in misery.
Words are easy like the mnd ;
Faithful friends are hard to find.
Every man will be thy friend.
Whilst thou hast wherewith to sper
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one he prodigal.
Bountiful they will him call:
And with such like flattering,
' Pity but he were a Iting.'
If he be addict to vice.
Quickly him they will entice ;
If to women he he bent.
They have him at commandement;
But if fortune once do frown.
Then farewell his great renown:
They that fawn'd on him before,
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed.
He will help thee in thy need.
If thou sorrow, he will weep ;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep :
Thus of every grief in beart
He with thee doth hear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.
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NOTES ON THE PASSIONATE PILGEIM.
p. 130, " as glass is, brilile" ! — Perhaps, for tlie rhyme,
we should read ' briokte,' which was a qommoa form of
'brittle.' So "While bricHle houre-glaase," &c.. Arm-
dirt, Book 2, p. 209, Ed. 1606. But I and A have a ten-
dency to pa?9 ink) eaoh other. So for ' letters of marque *
■we have " letters of mari," and for ' mate,' " make."
" ivith fire jScHBeiS " ; — Perhaps the author wrote
" with fire jlaming" by which the rhyme would be pre-
served. But the whole staiiza is very imperfect in thia
leapect.
p. 131. ITic eccond line of this BOimet is lost.
p. 132, This sonnet appears, with some important TEiriations,
ii) Gi'iffin's Fidessa, Sre., published in 1596. I believe it,
however, to be Shakespeare's.
" "Tenus, with [yojoij] Adonis": — So the text in Fi-
deasa. TSe Passionale Pilgrim omits " young."
" " aofoU she to him " ; — So in Fidcssa, The Paa-
aionale Pili/i-im hua, "she fell to him," which the rhyme
shows to be wrong.
" " flai as she fctohed breath": — The old copy, "And,
SB," &c. — Bn obvious error, caused by the 'Ands' above
and below.
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THE PASSIONATE riLGRIM.
and auppoited by the rhyme, was made by Steevens.
p. 135. This poem was printed in 'WeelUe'a Madrigals, 1697,
and ill Englan^s Helicsa. 1600, with the signature Ignoto.
It is most probably not Sliakespeare.
" " JjOyR is Aging" : — So The Passionate Pilgrim; Piig-
land's HeUcan, " Love is denying." In the next line but
one below, that version has, " Heart's ™mj™^."
p. 136. " TTiift sighs so deep"!— In ■Weelke'9 4/o(iHi7a&,"Jlj(
" As well asfiats^a parlial might " : — In The Piutsiort-
ate Pilgrim, " As well as fanef/ party oH migbt." Por the
change of ' fancy ' to ■ faiLcy'a ' I am zeaponsible. In an
old MS. copy of tbia poem collated by Mr. Collier, this
line stands, "As well es parlial fimcy like," which Mr.
Dyce prefers. I admit that I cannot iindi^rstHnd it. That
there is mere assonance, but not rhyme, between the
second and fourth lines of this poem, is of small impor-
^' AxiA se\, her person forth to seU" : — i. e., praise ber
person highly, as a salesman praises his wfu'cs. So in
Troibis and Ciesaida, " Well but commend what we intend
to sell," and in Sonnet XXI., " I will not praise that pur-
pose not to sell." All modem editions hillierlo have
adopted a very absurd reading, " And set <% person forth
to sell," found by Malone in a MS. copy of the poem.
13, " TMnh iBomert seek to strive," &o.! — The first four lines
of this stanza are corrupted in the old copies, which read
thus unintelZigibly; —
■ ' Think women sHU to straie irith men
To suine and neuer for to SMnt ;
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The following ia the reading of file MS. yersioii used by
ilalone : —
" Think women tove to maieh with men.
And not to Uve so like a saint :
Here is no heaven ; thei/ holy then
Begin, ui?i4ii age dolh them attaint."
This MS. version haa no authority; and the reeding
■which it furnishes, at so very great a variation from the
old printed text, seems to me fer inferior to that which is
attained by the comparatively alight correction that I have
p. 139. An imperfect copy of this poem was published in R.
Barnefi.eld'3 Enamiim of Ladij Peemtia, 1598. It also
appeared in Englmtd's Selicon, 1600, wgned "Ignoto."
Perhaps it was Bamefield'a, — hardly Shakespeare's.
From "Whilst as fieltle Tortuiie smil'd," Shi., is found
only in The Passionats PUgrim.
" "Bnthless beoits" : — The old copy, with manifest
error, " ruthlesse bears."
" " [Even so, poor birrl," &c. : — This and the following
line cioae the poem in Bwj&buTs Helicon. They are omit-
ted in The Passionate Pitgnm.
p. 140. " They have him at comtrumdement " : — Commandemeia
is here a quadrisyllable. Bee the Note on "Be valued
against yonr wife's commandment," Vol. IV. p. 260,
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SONNETS.
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" SHAKE-SPEARE'S SONNETS. Neuer before Im-
printed. At London By O. Eld, foT T. T. and sre to be Bolde
by William Asplei/, 1609." 4to. 40 leaves.
The same. By the same, " and are to be solde by loha
Wright, dwelling at Clirist ChTirch gate. 1B09."
"ALouer'8 complaint. By William Shake-epeare," is printed
at the end of this volume, of wtioli it makes eleven pages.
(146)
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SONNETS.
INTR0DTJC110N,
SHAKESPEARE'S Sonnets were first printed in 1609 in a
email quarto volume, tlie publisher of wMcll dedicated
them to a Mr. W. H., whom he stj'les their " only begetter."
They, or eome of tliem, or possibly some others of Shakespeme's
writing, are mentioned in Meres'a Palladis Tamia, (which ap-
peared in 1698,) in company with their author's Veiais and
Adonis and Lacrece, as "his sugred Eoniiets among Ms private
friends." In only three of them, those numbered 1 11 135 and
130, is he anmiatalcably speaking in his own pero h h
the first of thess seems dearly connected in 6pi w h
predecessor. As to the motives of the rest we har h
kind of inti
I
■d
1
h ddresse
t 1ft
ath gi n
of the indi'
ual
a h
been the di
ovn eei! g
and some •
e h
which the i
eedi
fii
connected, are
of such a
re why they
ehonid havf
that we know
about a eol
only in imj
dramatic pro-
duotions of
ConjectuJ
purpose of
tliese Sonne
. they were
addressed.
at they were
written to "^
th
T
ittsusgeatfd
that the lini
"An
lan in hue.
all Ee>v^ i
n his CO
QfroUi
ing" —
in the twentieth sonnet, indicates William Hughes, or Hews, as
tlieir subject ; George Chalmers argued that the recipient of tlia
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148 SONNETS.
impassioned adulation which pervades so many of them was no
other than the virgin Queen Elizabeth herself! Dr. Drake sup-
posed that in '■ W, H." we have the transposed initials of Henry
Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton ; and lastly, Jlr, JJoaden
brought forward "William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, na the
beantdful youth, the dearly loved false friend, whose reluctance
to marry, and whose readiness to love lightly the wanton and
alluring woman whom the poet loved so deeply, were the oocn-
Mon oE these mysterious and impressive poems.*
Of these hypotheses, the latter, which alone is worthy of
serious consideration, «-as adopted by Mr. Armitage Brown,
and very minutely worked out in his book entitled Shaie^eare'i
Ault^iiopyiphiaal Poems. Mr, Brown thinks that Shakespeare
used the sonnet fbim merely as a stanza, and that all his son-
nets, exclusive of the last two, (which manifestly have no con-
nection with any others,) were written as six consecutive poema.
He thus divides them, and designates their sobjeeta : —
First Poem. Sonnets 1 to 2S, To Ma friend, persuading him
to many.
Second Poem. Bonnets 27 to 66. 3b hie friend, farffining
himfor having robbed Mm of his miali'ees.
Third Poem, Sonnets 6S to 77. To Ms fHend, emnplaimng
of hie Bolinese, (mA woiwin? Mm of lifie decay.
Fourth Poem. Sonnets 78 to 101. To Msfnend, nomplainiiig
that he prefers imOther poefa praieea, and repraiiinj Aim for faults
thcU mai/ iiywv hie aharaoes;
Fifth Poem, Sonnets 103 ti
himself fbr hamiig Seen some time
of ineoiistaiiey.
Sixth Poem, Sonnets 127 to 152. To 7iis mistress, on her
ii^delity.
These divisions are merely arbitrary ; and all the author's
ingenuity has failed to convince me either that the limits which
he has drawn esist otherwise than in his imagination, or that
the sonnets within those limits ore consecutively interdepend-
ent. He himself admits that In the sixth poem or division the
order of the stanzas or sonnets is confased in the edition of 1509
* AprDlbiind Qcrmnn, Hf rr BnmstDrlF, And an acnie FiEDchinno, Monsieur
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INTRODUCTION. 149
— tliu only one of even quaai autlioclty. That niany of the
sonnets which weve pj-inted togetlier are upon the Kame subject,
or have some connGction mith each other, is dear enough ; but,
excepting the first seventeen, (all of which urge a very j-oung
man to marry,) continuity of porpose is rarely traceable through
more than half a dozen of tbem in the order in which they
were first given to tha world. In my opinion they were printed
in the first edidon much in the sequence in which they were
gathered together, with little attention to syatemntic arrange-
ment ; and the consequenee is a distracting, and, moat probably,
a remedilera confusion after the twenty-second sonnet, even as
to those which hare manifestly some connection with each other.
The Mr. "W. H., to whom these poema are dedicated as their
only begetter, could not have been bo designated because they
were all addressed to him, or because he alone was in any senso
their suhject or tlieir object. Por some of them are addressed
to a woman, others to a lad, others to a man ; in three Shake-
speare speaks unmistakably for himself, and npon subjects
purely personal \ and the last two are mere &noifnl and mde-
pendenl prodnctions. But though it is thus manifest that no
one man could have been the only inspirer or occasion of all
these sonnets, yet Mr. W. H. could easily have been their only
procurer for the purposes of publication, and thus have per-
formed an office which Thomas Thorpe might well have acknowl-
edged by something more substantial than the barren wish
which has proved such a riddle to after generations. It is true
that two hundred and fifty years ago the word 'beget' was
testricted, as it is now, to the expression of the idea of procre-
ation. But this dedication is not written in the common phrase-
ology of its period ; it is throughout a piece of affectation and
elaborate quaintness, in which the then antiquated prefix 'be'
might be expected to occur; 'beget' being used for 'get,' as
Wielif uses 'betook' for 'took' in Mark sv. 1 — "Andledden
him and betoken him to Pilat."
Mr. Dyee n as the first, I believe, to advance the opinion that
most of these sonnets were composed "in an assumed character
on different subjects, and at difierent times." * This supposition
is in apcordanee with the custom of Shakespeare's day for poets
to wiite songs and sonnets for the use of those who could not
* In his Mouioli at Shakespeare prefixed to rickedng's edition of the Poems,
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160 SONNETS.
write verse tliemselves. Sometimes this was done for ftiend-
ahip's sake, sometimes for money, and often for tlie mere plens-
iire oE bolli parties. That Shakespeare, who had such fedlity
witli his pen, and who seems to have been so obliging and bo
eoeiable, and whom we know to have been so thrifty, should
not halt hud oecssion to conform to this literary custom of hia
time, wonld have been hardly credible, ever, without lliat singu-
larlv phrased testimony of I^ancis Merea, " Ms sugred sonnets
oiHOHp kis prinaie /eieitds." By these words Meres seems to
point diTPCtly to aueh an ori^ for at least some sonnets which
Shakespeai-e had written before 1698, But were the sonnets to
which Meres refers those which have come down to ns ! For
nnl^s we can regard the sonnets which were published in 1609,
and which are all of Shakespeare's that are known to esist, as
mere fenciful esercises in poetry, we must ask, Wonld Shake-
speare, or the man for whom he wrote, have ehown about among
Ms friends these evidences of so profound an emotion, these wit-
nesses of an internal straggle that went near to shatter his whole
being ? I confess that 1 can neither believe that he would, nor
quite accept, as I once did, the alternative. It is, however, to
be observed, tliat Shakespeare, who so carefally published bis
Venus and Adoaia and his iMoreee, and who looked so shai-ply
after his interests, did not publish his sonnets, although he must
have known how eagerly they would have been sought by the
public — a fact which favors the supposition that they, like the
pUys, had been sold, and were not properly nnder his control.
On the other hand, the fact that he for whom the sonnets speak
is described as one who knows his "years be past the best," as
"beaten and chopped with tanned antiquity," and as having
" travelled on to age's sleepy night," which I was once inclined
to regard as evidence that Shakespeare could not have written
them in his own person, because in 1S99 he was but thirty-four
years old, and in 1609 hut forty-five, has no such signiiicanoc.
There is evidence enough that in those days a man was called
old, and even aged, when he had passed tlie freshness of bis first
youth. Even in 1041-2 Sir Simonds D'Ewea, the great authority
on precedents of the Long Parliament, and who was its manu-
script ohromcler, was styled " an ancient gentleman," and he was
then but thirty-nine yeai's old. In those days men seem to
have shown the marks of age sooner than they do now. They
lived harder lives, put less restraint upon their passions, gave
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INTRODUCTION. 151
emotion freer way, drank moie al ohol wert thiol li muili
wear and tear which the expeiieni-e of the iHca has ta\ ght Vii
to avoid ; and even among the wealthy ulisiie? tiiey enjoyed
less of those daily household comforts iihioh liy affoiding
present ease husbancl the vitnl enurgies
Fiveof the somieta — NoE, SO 8a So SB and 131 — iiere evi
dently written to be presented to some lady who had verses
addressed to her by at least one other person than the supposed
writer of these; for the praises of another poet are explicitly
mentioned in them. No, 78 was addressed to one who was the
theme of many pens, for it contains these lines :—
" So oft I have invoked thee for my muse,
And found such fair assistance in my verse,
Ajs every alien pen liath got my use,
And nnder thee their poetry disperse.
These are of the number which Mr. Brown classes as part of
the Fourth Poem, the chief subject of which is a complaint by
Shakespeare that his friend prefers another poef s praises. But
making all allowance for a warmth in the expression of friend-
ship, which, admissible then, would seem ridiculous in our day,
I cannot but regai-d niEiiy of the sonnets in this supposed Fourth
Poem, and the six above mentioned among them, as addressed
A singular and strildng feature of these sonnets is the poet's
reiteration of the immortality which they seonro for their sub-
ject. These boaats of giving deathless fame to the subjects of
his verse seem inconsistent with the notion of Shakespeare's
character which we derive from what we know of him, as well
as from what little we are told of him by his contemporaries, —
■with bis indifference to fame, with that modesty, and simplioity,
and sweetness which made Mm beloved even by those who
thought themselves his rivals. He might have written thus jest-
ingly ; but could he have made such an assertion repeatedly in
sad and serious earnest, and in his own person! And if his
sonnets «'ere merely complimentary, would he not rather have
said that immortality was secured for his verses by their subjects
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These poems are peculisr in this respect ; anil the peculiarity
adds tq our perplexity in considering the question whether tJieir
author wrote them in his own person or in another'?,
For, whom, these sonnets were written, if they were indeed
TicariouB, it ia more difficult to discoyer, than to whom they
were addressed. I hare, I confess, no opinion npon the sub-
ject which is at all satisfaotoiy to me, or perhaps even worthj-
of the reader's serious attention. But I have thought that the
first seventeen may have been written at the request of a doting
mother, who wished to persuade a handsome, wayward son
into an early marriage. Why should one man beseech another
to take a wife with such tender and impassioned importunity ?
Why should Shakespeare have entreated a youthful friend,
whom be loved with a love passing that of woman, to marry
'• for love of me " f There seems to be no imaginable reason for
seventeen such poetical petitions. But that a mother should be
thus solicitous, is not strange, or that she should long to see
the beautiful children of her own beautiful offspring. The de-
sire for grandchildren, and the love of them, seem sometimes
even stronger than parental yeaining. But 1 hazard this con-
jecture with little confidence. An obscurity which seems im-
penetrable has fallen upon the origin of these impressive compo-
sitions. Mr. Thomas Thorpe appears in his dedication as the
Sphins of literature ; and thus far he has not met his Q5dipus.
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SONNETS.
FROM fairest creatures we desire
Tliat thereby beauty's rose might never die.
But aa the riper should by time decease.
His tender heir might bear his memory ;
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with, self-substantial fuel.
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring.
Within thine own bud buriest thy content.
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be.
To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.
J 3 a53)
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When forty winters shall besiege thy brow.
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now.
Will be
a tatter'd v
feed of simll worth held'
Tl I
askd
1 11 hj b 3 b
WL
alltl t
f th 1 ty d y
T y
th th
d p k y
W
11
h d th f 1 1
H
h p
& d th) b ty
If th
Id t
w — Ibis f h Id t
ShU
m mj
d k my 11
tl y 1 d t 11 tl f I
h tm h f h U t -m
iewest,
ther;
1 p f n w th n t
est,
t b g I h Id bl
m mother.
b f h
d omb
th 1 11 g f thj 1 b d J
h t d U b tl t mb
Ifl t p p t tj
thy B tl ' 1 ss, and she ii
n thee
k th 1 ij A] 1 of her prin
th gh 1 of thine a.ge
Shalt see.
5 p t f w nkl tl thy golden time.
But f tl u 1 mber'd aot to be,
D ng] d th lage dies with thee.
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IV.
Unthrifty loveliness, wliy dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy ?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend;
And being frank, she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give ?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a aura of suras, yet canst not live ?
For, having traffic with thyself alone.
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost doceive.
Tien how, when Nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave ?
Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee.
Which, us'd. Uvea th' executor to be.
Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
Tiie lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same.
And that unfair, which fairly doth excel:
For never-re sting Time leads Summer on
To hideoua Winter, and confounds him there ;
Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beautv o'er-snow'd and bareness every where :
Then, were not Summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass.
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was ;
But flowers distill' d, though they with Winter meet,
Leese but their shew; their substance still livea
swcot.
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VI.
Then let not Winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy Summer, ere thou be distiU'd :
Make sweet some phial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use ia not forbidden usory.
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one :
Ten tim.e3 thyself were happier than thou art.
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd t)iec.
Then what could death do if thou should'st depart.
Leaving thee living in posterity?
Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be death's conquest, and make worms thine hen.
Lo m thp oiicnt when the ^TUioui, li^ht
Lifts up his burning he id, s,ich undci eye
Doth homage to his new-appeanng sight,
Serving with looks his sacred mijesty ,
And having ciimb'd the steep up heavenly hill,
Resembling stiong youth m his middle age,
Yet moitdl looks adoie his beauty still,
Attending on his golden pilgrimage
But when fiom high-niost pitch with ueiry car.
Like feeble age, he recloth from tlio diy.
The ejes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his Ion tract, and look another way.
So thou, thyself out-^omg in thy noon,
Unlook'd on di at, unle&s thou get a son.
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SONNETS.
vm.
Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly ?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly
Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy ?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear.
They do hut sweetly chide thee, who confounds
la singleness the parts that thou should'st bear.
Mark, how one string, sweet hnshand to another.
Strikes each in each hy mutual ordering;
Eesemhling sire and child and happy mother,
Who all in one one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song, hejng many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee, — Thou single wilt prove none.
IX.
Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye.
That thou con'ium st thyself m single hfe ^
Ah' if th)u issueless slialt hip to dn.
The world will iMil thLP, like a mal cless wife.
The woild mil he tli) widon and still weep,
Ihit thou no foim ot thee hast lett b hind,
Wh n every piivite widow well miy keep
By chillrens eyes her husbinds shape in mind
Look, what an unthiift m the world doth ipead.
Shifts hut his place, for still the woild cnjovs it.
But be\utj s «aate hath, in the worll an end
And, kept unus d the user so d stiojs it
No love ton vid othei'* in thit bosom sits
Ti-it un lira 11 t h rauitKioui ah m mmits.
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For shame ! deny that thou bear'st love to any.
Who for thyself art so unprovideiit.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou ait belov'd of many.
But that thou none iov'st is moat evident ;
For thou art so possess'd with murthGtoua hate,
That 'gainst thyself thon stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate.
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O, change thy thought, that I may change my mind 1
Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love ?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind.
Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove :
Make thee another self, for love of me.
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
XI.
A f tl h It f t tl ^rowest
I f th i tl t 1 h h d partest ;
4. d th t fir 5 bl d h h -y ^Ij h bestowest,
Th y -ai th h th f youth con-
t t
HI d b tj d ;
W h t h f lly g d Id d )
If 11 d d th tm 1 a ease,
\ d thr y 11 1 th w Id away.
Lttl hm"^t hh tmdfr store,
H h f t 1 d d b 1> p ish:
L k h h b t 1 w d 1 the more ;
Wh h b t g ft th h Id t b nty cherish.
Sh d h f h Id t thereby
Th hllti tm tlttht copy die.
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XII.
Wh I do n tl clo 1 that tells the time.
An I see the h ave d j ^ nk in hideous night ;
When I behold the olet past prime,
A 1 able cu i all s Iver d o'er with white ;
■^ he lotty t ee I see ha en of leaves,
Wh cl erot from heat d 1 anopy the herd,
A d Sum ner s gr e all g ded up in steaves.
Borne on tl e b e th wh te and bristly beard ;
Then of thy beaut do I question make,
Tl at thou among he &>> es of time must go,
S nee sweets an 1 bea es do themselves forsake,
ind d e as fast as th j see others grow ;
And noth g ga nst T n e & scythe can make defence,
Save breed to brave 1 n when he takes thee hence.
O that you were yourself! but, love, you are
No longer yours than you yourself here live :
Against this coming end you should prepare.
And your aweet semblance to some other give :
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination ; then you were
Yourself again, after yourself's decease.
When your sweet issue your sweet form should bea
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay.
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of Winter's day,
And barren rage of death's eternal cold ?
O, none but unthrifts. — Dear my love, you kaoi
You. had a father r let your son say so.
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XIV.
N t f m th ta d I j j Ig t pi k
Adjtmthklh ast y
B t t t t 11 t d yil ! 1
Of pla^ f d aitl q Ity
N -u I f t t b f t t 11
P t g t h h tt I d w nd
O } tl p f t h 11 11
Bjftpdttltl h lid
B t f m th y y k wl dg I I
A 1 t t th m I d li t
A t th d b ty i U t h th
If f th It t t th Id t t
0 1 f tl tl I p g t
T! 1 h d b tj d d date.
XV.
^\l I 1 th L t g
H Id p f t b t 1 I m
11 t th h, p t th gbt b t h ws,
■\V] th t m t ii t
Whip th t pi ts la
Ch 1 d b kd bj b 1 ky
V t tb y tkf 1 p t h ht d
Ad tb b t f V
Ih th t f tb t t t y
btj tb jthbf It
^\b a,t f 1 t d b t tl th d J
T b y d y f J th t ull d gbt
A 1 11 It th 1 t 1 f
Aa b tak fi 3 I f j
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XVI.
But wherefore do not )ou a mightier way
Mate war upon thii bloody tyriut Time
And fortifs )ouistlf m ^our decaj
\\ith means more blessed thm my barren ihyme ?
Now stand j->a on the top of happy houis
And ma ly ma de i gardens yet unset
With Mrtuous wi-fh woild be^r yom liv ng flowers.
Much hker than your painted counterfeit
bo should the hues of life that life lepau
Which this Times pencd oi m> pupil pen
Neither n in vird worth nor outwaid iau
Pan mike jou hxe jourself m eyes of men
To giie awij yourself kee[s yoiraelf atll
ii d ) ou ra I t IiTe di n n bj yo u n a tout skil!
Who will belioTe my verse in time to come.
If it were fiU'd with your most high, deserts ?
Though yet. Heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shews not half your
If I could write the beauty of your eyes.
And in fresh numbers number all your graces.
The i^e to come would say, ' This poet lies ;
Such heavenly touches ne'er tQuch'd earthly faces.'
So should my papers, yellow'd wifh their age.
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage.
And stretched metre of an antique song ;
Hut were some child of yours alive that time.
You should live twice — in it, and iu my rhyme.
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xvni.
Shall I compare thee to i
Thou. Bit more lo\elv and more tempei'ite*
Rough winds do shake the daihng buds of May,
And bumraei s lease hiih all too shmt a date
Sometime too hot the eje ot hca\tn slimes.
And often la h.ia gold comple\ion. diram d
And eveiy tair liora fan" sometime declines
By chance, oi natme'a chinging course, untiimm'd;
But thj eternal summer shall not fide,
Nor lose possession ot thit fair thou owe^it
Nor &hall death biag thou windei st m his shade,
When m eternal linps to time thou groi^est
So long as men Can breathe, oi e\cs can ';ee.
So long li\e'5 Ihis, md this jji\t3 hit, to Ihco.
XIX.
D g 1 m II th th 1 paws,
Admlth hi h vcet brood ;
PI k h 1 f th f 1 fi t ger's jaws.
Alb th 1 1 d pi (B h blood :
Mkldd y aath tleets,
\dd it h il ftftd Time,
T h d H d U 1 f d weets ;
B t I f b d tl m t h ne ;
O ar t h thy h y 1 fair brow,
N dr 1 th th 1 ique pen ;
H tl y t t d d 11
F b 1 tt t d g m
"i t d tl } t 1 1 T \ I thy wrong,
My 1 Ml m 1 young.
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XX.
A won in'! f^ce witt Natme s o\ml Iiand painted,
Hilt thou the ma'iter mistress of my pao&ion;
A woman b gt-ntk heait but not acqiamted
With shif mg change as is lake won en s fashion ;
An e^e more bright than the a less talsL in rolling,
Gdd ng the object wheieupon it ga?i,th
A niiin m hue all hues in his contiolhng
Which steals mens eyes and women a soils amazeth;
And ioi a noman mett thou fiiat ertated
Till ISatiie 83 she wrought thee fell a doting,
And by addition me ot thee defeated
By oddintr one thing to my purpose nothing.
But aince she prick d thee out tor women s pleasure.
Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their treasure.
XXI.
So t th tl ti t M
St I b3 I t d b tj t h
Wl h If f t d th
Ad i t ii hhfaill h
M k g pi nt f p d rapoi
W th ai d m \ th d rich ge
W h Ai 1 fir t b fl ni 11 th gs rare
Th t 1 tl h 1 h is.
O 1 t tl Q ! b t ! t
And th b 1 1 t
As anj mothei s child, though not ..o bright
A.B those gold candles fls'd in heaven's air :
Let them say more that like of hear-say wellj
I will not praise, that purpose not to sell.
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My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date ;
But when in thee Times furi'ows I behold.
Then look I death my days should expirate;
For aU that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me.
How can I, then, be elder than thou art ?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary,
As I, not for myself, but for thee will,
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain ;
Tiiou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.
As an nnperfect actor on the stage.
Who with his fear is put besides his pan.
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart.
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rit«.
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'er-charg'd with burthen of mine own love's might.
0, !et my books be, then, the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast.
Who plead for love, and look for recompense.
More than that tongue that more hath more express'd.
0, learn to read what silent love hath writ :
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.
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M n y h th jl J d th p t 1 Iiith Bteel'd
Thy t t) f m t bl f y 1 t
My b d} th ft ! n t h Id
And p rap t t b t p nt t
F th t.!" *!> P t «» t y h 3 skill,
Tfidl y tr mgp dhes;
"Wlh yb m hp hgg till,
Ih t h h h d gl d th tl eyes.
Nw hglt ji have done :
M y h d w thy h p d tline for me
Awl t > b t ] th gh the sun
D 1 hts t p p t g th tl 0 ;
"i y h f, t t theu- art,
Th J dr b t 1 t t] J k w ot the lieart
xsv.
Let those who aie in faiour with their stats
Of public honour and pioud titles boast.
Whilst I, whom fortune of such tiiumph hars,
Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the mangold at the sun's eye ;
And in thtmsehes their pride lies buried,
Foi at a flown they in their glory die.
The pimful natiior, famoused for worth,
After a thousand viftories once foil'd,
I^ fiom the book of honour razed forth.
And all the itst forgot for which he loil'd :
Then happy I, that love and am belov'd,
Where I may not remove nor be recaov'd.
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SONNETS.
XXVI.
Lord of my love, to ■whom
Thy merit liath my duty strongly knit.
To thee I send this written embassage.
To witness duty, not to shew my wit:
Duty so gi'eat, which wit so poor as mine
May malie seem hare, in wanting words to shew it,
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought, all naked, will bestow it :
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving,
Points on me graciously with fair aspect.
And puts apparel on my tattered loving.
To shew me worthy of thy sweet respect ;
Then may I dare to boast how I do Jove thee ;
Till then, not shew my liead where thou may'st
prove me.
XXVII.
Weary with toil I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travel tired ;
But then begins a journey in my head.
To work my mind, when body's work 's expired :
For then my tiioughts (from far where I abide)
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide.
Looking on darkness which the blind do see:
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view.
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night.
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new
Lo, thus by day ray limha, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.
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xxvni.
Ho« can I t! en leturii m liapp^ plight.
That am debair d the bencht of lest?
When da; s oppression la not eas d by night,
But day by mght, and mght by day, oppress'd?
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do m consent shake hands to torture me ;
The one b-\ t 1 th oth r to complain
How far I t 1 t U f ther oft trom thee.
I tell the d ) t pi I im tbou art bright.
And dost h n in clouds do blot the heaven :
So flatter I th w t mple-i o d night,
When "parkl n tax tw e not thou gild'st the even ;
But day d th d iy d n y so rows longer,
And ni^ht 1 th n ghtlj make giief s strength seem
XXIX.
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone heweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featui'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desu-ing this man's art, and that man's scope,
^Vith what I most enjoy contented least :
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising.
Haply 1 think on thee, and then my state
(Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate :
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth bringa,
That then I scorn to change my state with kmgs.
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SONNETS.
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up reiaembrance of things past,
I sigh the lact of many a thing I sought.
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste ;
Then can I drown an eye, umis'd to flow.
For precious friends tid in death's dateless night.
And weep afresh love's long- sin ce-cancell'd woe.
And moan th' expense of many a vauish'd sight,
Then can I grieve at grievances fore-gone.
And heavily fi-ora. woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-he moaned moan.
Which 1 new pay, as if not paid before :
But if the while I thinlt on thee, dear friend.
All losses are restor'd, and soitows end.
XXXI.
Thy hosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I hy lacking have supposed dead,
Aiid there reigns love, and all love's loving parts.
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear religious love stol'n frma mine eye.
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things remov'd, that hidden ia thee lie !
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live.
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone.
Who all their parts of me to thee did give ;
That due of many now is thine alone :
Their images I lov'd I view in thee,
And thou (all they) hast all the all of lae.
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xxxn.
If thou survive my well- contented djy.
When thdt uhurl death my bones with dust shall cove
Aad shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover.
Compare them, with the bettering of the time ;
And though they be out-stripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
0, then, vouchsafe me but this loving thouglit:
'Had my friend's muse grown with this growing aj
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage ;
But since he died, and poets better prove.
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'
Full manj a glorious morning ha^e I seen
Flattei the mountain tops with soieieign eye,
Kissmg with golden face tlie me'tdows green.
Gilding pale stioams with heavenh akhj'myj
Anon permit the bsisest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial ftce.
And from the foilorn world his visage hide.
Stealing unseen to We^t with this disgiice.
El en to mj sun one eail\ morn did shine.
With all triumphant splendoir on mv blow;
But out alack' he w ts but one hour mme,
The region cloud hath mask d him from me now,
Yet him for this my love no wliit disdameth ;
Suns ot tht 1 Olid m \ stain wlcn h ivcn's
stameth
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Why did t tl p h b t Ay
And m k t 1 f li th t 11
T 1 t baa 1 1 t k m my j
H dmg thy b y ti ir tt k
Tis t ?ii h th gi th 1 d th b
T d y th my t b t f
F U f li 1 ca p k
rh t h 1 th 1 d t tl d gr (
N tl y 1 g phy t y g f
11 gh th J t ) t I h till th 1
Th ff 1 1 d b t k 1 f
Thmthtb-utl h a
Al b t tl t -u p 1 h h th 1
A d th J hi U U 1 I
XXSV.
No n DTL be ;, I ' d. at thit v,hid thou hist doi-e;
Koiea haie thotni, and siber tountam^ mud.
Clouds and eclipsci stain both moon and sun
And loathsome cankei h\es m sweetest bud
All men make fmlt' and e>en I in this.
Authorizing th.) tiespaas with compare,
Mjself corrupting, salving thy amiss.
Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are
For to thy sensual fiult I bnng in sense —
Thj ad\eiie paih is thy adiocate —
And gainst myself a knful plet commence
Such cml wai is in my loye and hitc.
That I in ictesiary needs must be
1o that sweet thief winch somlj lobs fiom me.
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XXXVI.
Let me conk% that ne tno must lie tMain
Although, om undnided loves ne one
So sli^Il ttoie blots thit do Mith nic rLmaiii,
Without thv help by me be bome alone
la oui two loies theie is but one lespect,
Titiugb m our lues d separable spite,
Whicb though, it alter not love t, sole effect,
'iit doth it steal sweet houis fiom loves delight,
I may not e\eimorc ickno«lcdge thee
Lest my ben ailed guUt slould do thee hbame;
Nor thou with pubbc 1 ludness honour me
TJnle'!'! thou tike thdt honour fiora th\ name:
But do not fO, I lo\e thee m ^och soit.
As, thou, bna^ mmt, mine is thj good leport.
XXX vn.
A d pfhtkdl}t
T h hlddddfjth
h I m d 1 m ly f t d t pt
1 It 11 y t t f thy ! 1 t th
F h h I ty b tb Itl t
0 J f ti aU II
J^tldohjptd nl t
1 k my 1 n^ f d t th t
Stlnl tlmp dpd
Whd t tJ t tl h d w d th h b
Th t I by b d n Hi i
And bj p t f 11 thj gl J 1
L k wh t b th t b t I 1 n tl
Th ish I b tl n t n t h pp} n
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XXXIX.
O, how thy wortli with maimer-; mjy I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me ?
What can. mine own praise to mine own self bring?
And what is't but mine own, when I praise thee ?
Even for this let us divided live,
And our dear lore lose name of single one.
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee which tho« deacrvVt dlone.
0 absence, what a torment woulJ'st thou prove,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive.
And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
By praising him here, who dotli hence remain 1
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XL.
Tokc all mj lo\ n-, loie jei take them all:
WliaE hast tliou tlion mwe tlian tlioa liad'at before?
ho love my lo^e that thou m^ytt true love call;
All mine 11 as thine before tho i had'st this more.
Then if loi my lo^e thou my lovo receivesC,
I cmnot blame tln,e for mi love thou usest;
But \Pt he blamd if thou tlii&elt deceiveat
B) 1 ilful tasl of whit th>selt refusest.
I do furgiie thy lohbfrj gent!(, thief.
Although thou steil thee all mj poverty ;
And \et loie knoi'i it is a greater grief
To bear loies iviong thin hates known injury.
Liscmous grace in whom all ill well shews,
"Kill me with spitea jet we mist not he foes.
SLI.
Those pretty wronj^s that liberty commits.
When I am sometime absent from thy heart,
Thy beauty and thy years full well befits.
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won,
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assailed ;
And when a woman woos, what woman's son
Will sourly leave her till she have prevailed?
Ay me ! but yet thou might'st my aeat forbear,
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
Who lead thee iu their riot even there
Where thou art forc'd to break a two-fold truth ;
Hers, by thy beauty tempting hor to thee.
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.
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SONNETS.
XLU.
That thoTi hast her, it is not all my grief,
And jet it may ho sud I lo^ d het deaily,
Thit she hath thee is of mj «aihng chief
A loss in love thit touches me more neaily
LOMQ? offendeia thus I will excuse ye —
Thou doat love hei, because thou know "t I lo\c her ;
And foi my sake e^en so dotl t,he ibuse mc
Suifering mj fiicnd for my sake to appioM. hi.r
If I lose thee, mj loss is my love s j,ain
And losing hei, m) friend hith found that loss.
Both find c^ch othei, and I lo^e both twain
And both for mj s^ke \a-\ on me this cio'-i
But heie-J the joy, m\ fur id and I «e one
Sweet flattcij ' — then she loiea but mc dlone.
XLHI.
When most I w iik th n lo ill oc: be t see,
foi all the di> they ■Mew things unrespected
But when I skep in dieams they look on thee
And dirkly blight aie bright in daik d rL''ted
Then thou whose shidon !5hado\is doth m !e hiigiit,
Hjw would thy shadows form foim hap[ j shen
To the ckn day with thy much cleaiLi light
When to unseeing ejes thy shade sh s so '
How would I SI) mine ejes be 11 ssed made
By looking on thee in the living diy
When m lead night thv fair impeiieet sh^de
Through heivj sleep on si^htlpss ejes doth stay?
All dijs are nights to see till I oee thee
And nights biight days, when dreams do shew thee
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XLIV.
If tl d U b f mj fl h th h
I jua- 1 h Id t 1 m J
F til 1 p f p I Ud b b ght
F h f iflthtldty
N tte tl U gh y f d d t d
Up th f h t ei m d f til
F mbl th ht J p b h did
A hilh]! hh Mb
B t h th ght kill tl t I t tl 1
T 1 p 1 g 1 gth t il 1 fh t
E t tl t 1 f th d w t ^ht
I t tt d t 1 th y
K It by 1 t 1
B t h y t -u b 1 f tl
The other two, slight air and purging iiie,
Are both with thee, wherever I abide ;
The first my thought, the other my desire.
These presciit- absent with swift motion slide :
For when these quicker elements are gone
In tender embassy of love to thee.
My life, being made of four, with two alone
Sinks down to death, oppress'd with melancholy,
Until life's composition be recuied
By those swift messengers return'd from tliee.
Who even but now come back again, assured
Of thy fair health, recounting it to me ;
This told, I joy ; but then, no longer glad,
I send them back again, and straight grow sail.
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M e eye a d he'ut a e at a o t 1 var
Ho V to d V de the conq e t of thy 1 1
Mne eje j he rt tl y p t e i s gl t ould bir
My heiut n e eye tl e fr e Ion of that r ght
My heart dott plead tl at thou h u lost 1 e
(A closet never p eicd * th c jsttJ ejes )
But the defe da t doth tliat jlea leny
And says n h thy fa r api earance lies
To c de th a t tie is pannelled
A quest of tl ougl ts all tena ts to the heart
And by tl e r ei li t la leterm ne 1
lie clear eyes n o ety and the dear hearts part
^ th s m ne eve 1 e a th ne o t d j rt
And my heart's riglit thine inward love of heart.
XLVn.
Betviixt ramp ejp and hoiit ■x kiguc is tooli.
And each doth good turns now unto the other
When thit mine eye ts t'lmisli d ioi a look.
Or heart in lo^e nith siaihs himself doth smother,
With my love's picture then mv eye doth feast.
And to the painted hanquet bids 1115 heirt
Another time mine eie is iny he Tit s guest.
And in hia thoughts ot loie doth shaie 1 part
So, either by thy picture or my lo^e,
Thyself away art piesent still with me,
For thou not faither than my thoughts canst move,
And I am still inth them and the\ with thee ;
Oi, if thej sleep, thj picture m my sight
AwakpB my heart to hearts and eye's delight.
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SONNETS.
XLVm.
H w f 1 I h 1 t It y
L 1 t fl d t t b t tJ t
Tl t t V t ght d t J
Fmhlfflld dftt
B t th t 1 y J 1 t fl
M t thj t rt y gr t t f
Ti b t f d t d ly ai
A t 1 ft th p y t y Ig tl t
Th h I 1 kd p y b t
S h th tntth hlflh
Wthm b g tl 1 f ) li t
Fmh tpl tl m-vtm d part ;
Ad t) th il b t 1 I f
F t th 1 tl h f p d ai
XIJX.
Agiin<it thit time, it eM.i tliit time come.
When I shdll sec tbee liown on mj defects,
Whenas thy lo^e hath oast his utmost sum,
Cilld to that audit by advis'd lespects.
Against th^t time, when thou sbilt stiaagely pass,
And scaictly gieet me with that sun, thine eye;
When love, converted from the thing it ■uas.
Shall reasons find of settkd gtayitj ,
Against th^t time do I ensconce me here.
Within the knowled^ of mine own desert,
And this my hand agiinst myself upieai.
To guird the lawful reasons on thy part
To leave pooi me thou hast the stiength of laws.
Since nhj to love I an allege no cause
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How heiAy do I jounipy on the \^aj,
Wlien what I seek (mj «eaij tiiTols end)
Doth teach that ease and thit lepose to say,
" Thus fai the miles are measui d firom thy fiiend!"
The he'ist tliit bears me, tued with my woe,
Plods duUj on to bear thit weight m me.
As if by some mstinct the wretch did know
Hi3 rider lo\ d not speed beinf; mide from thoe.
The blood; spur cinnot piovoke him on
That sometimes aager thiuats into his hide.
Which heavily he an^wei* with a gioin
More sharp to me than spurnng to hia side ,
For that same fiioin doth put this m my mmd,
Mj giiel bcs on^irl ad mj ]fi behind
LI.
fhus can mx Iryc excuse the sloi^ offence
Of in> dull beiiei, when fiom thee I s] et,d
Fiom wheie thou ait why should I haste me thence ?
Till I letuin, of posting is no need
O, what excuse will my poor bsist then find.
When snift extremity can seem but slow'
Then should I ^pur, though mounted on the wind;
In winged speed no motion shall I know
Then can no horse with mj desiie keep pace,
Therefoie desue (of perfect lo^e being made)
Shall neigh (no duU flesh) in his fieij lace.
But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade ,
Since fiom thee going he went ivilfulslo«.
Towards thee 111 jun, and gi^e him lea^e to go,
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Ln.
So am I as the rich, whose blessed kej
Can bung him to Jus siveet up lonked trcisure.
The which he will not e^eiy hour -urvey,
For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure,
Therefore are feiits so solemn und hO lire.
Since, seldom coming, in the long jeai set
Like stones of worth, they thmly placed are,
Or captain jewels in the caicinet
So IS the time thit keeps you is my chest.
Or as the wirdiobe which the robe doth hide.
To mdke some special instant ipecial blest.
By new untoldmg his impiisond piide
Blessed ire jou. whose worthiness ^^cs scope.
Being had, to tiiumph, bem„ lack d to hope.
Lin.
What is yonr substance, whereof are you made.
That millions of strange shadows on you. tend ?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you, but one, can everj' shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you ;
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set.
And you in Grecian tires are painted new :
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year.
The one doth shadow of your beauty shew,
Tiie other as your bounty doth appear ;
And 3'ou in every blessed shape we know.
In all extemEil grace you have some part.
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.
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LTV.
O, how much more doth beauty beauteous seem.
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give !
The rose loolis fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live.
The canker -blooms have full as deep a dye
As the perfumed tincture of the roses ;
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
When Summer's breath their masked buds discloses ;
But, for their virtue only Is their shew.
They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade ;
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so ;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made :
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, my verse distils youi- truth.
LV.
Not marble nor the g Ided no ents
Ot pr nccs shiU o it Ine this po eif 1 il m e ,
Bit you ihall "shme mote bright m thP5e contents
Than unswept stone beimeai d ^Mtli si ittish time.
'^\len wasteful vai shiU statues oieituin
And broils root out the woik of masonrj
Nor Mais his void nor wai s quck fiic 1 II burn
The living recoid ot you memory
Giin^it death in 1 all iblii loua enmity
Shall you pace torfh jour prai e iholl sfill fi I rooi]
Even in the eye? of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending do i
So till the Jul ment that yourielf ir e
\ou Ine m tl la i 1 dicll ii loiei eje=!
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I.VI,
S t 1 ly f b t t 1
Th d^ h 11 1)1 t h th IP t
Whlib tljbyfd all yd
T h p d h f mght
1 b h I b fch d J tl fill
Th h cry J 1 11 tl y 1 w b f 1
T m s d d t kU
Thptfl hpP 1<11
L tb d t m 1 1 tl b
Wh h pirt tl 1 It t t 1
C m d ly t tb b k tb t wh th j
Rt-Etl m bit jbthvi
0 iltWt bbbgfllt
M k ^ 1 m tb i 1
LVII.
Emgj 1 htbldldbttd
Up tb h d t f 3 d
I h p t m t 11 t I nd
N to d til j
N d'ir I h d tb Id h d !
"Wblly thhlkf X
N tl k th b t f b
Wl y b 1 i y d
N 1 I q« t n th my J 1 th gb
Wb y n 3 b fi pp
But 1 k d 1 t y d th k t n ^1
S hy hhipy mktl
fa t a f 1 1 th t ill
(li h 3 d y th ) 1 th k 11
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SONNETS.
Lvni.
Ttat Cod forb 1 that nade ne fl at ou alave
I sho H n tto --lit eoa ol jo t e of pleisu e
Or at yoiu h n 1 th a count ot 1 o t ave
Be g 10 I 1 sal bound to staj jo le suie 1
O let me s 3n (b ng at youi beck)
Th impi son 1 ab ence of jour 1 be ty
And pat ence tame to s fferance b le each check
W tho t acctts ng you ot njuy
Be vhere jou 1st your darter s ao stro g
Tli'it you J o Tself ra p lege vour t me
To h t -vo Vill to yo t lotl beio g
"iou self to p Ion of self do ng c e
I an to va t thou^l t ng so be h 11
Not bb e J u p e su e I e 11 u 11
UX.
If theie be nothn „ new but thit nlirb is
Hdtb been Icfoic how are on biiiis begudd.
Which labouiing foi imention he^i amiaa
The second buitben of a formet child ''
0 that record could with a backnard look.
Even of five hundii-d courses of the sun.
Shew me your image m some antique book
Since mind at iirit in chaiacter «ia done
That I might sec whit the old woild could say
To this composed wonder of youi frime
Wiietber we aie mended or whe i bettei they,
01 whi-tkei resolution bi, tie sine
0 suie I dm the wits of f ji nei dijs
To subjects worse bavi, given idmirii g piaise.
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I.X.
I il p IS the wiiPi mike tiwirb tic pebbled shore
So do oui minitcs hapten to th ir enl
Each changing pUce with that nhth gops before.
In sequent toJ all forwards do cjnt^nd
NttiTity once m the main ot light
Crawls to inatuTity wherewith being crown'd.
Crooked eclipses ^am>it his gloiv fight
And Time that giie doth now his gitt confound,
lime doth tiia'.fi\ the flouiish set on jouth,
And dehes the parallels m heauty d biow
Feeds on the r'uities of Niture s truth
And nothing stands but for his scjthe to mow:
And yet to times m hope my veise shall stand,
Praising thy worth despite his cruel hand.
r t thy II tl 1 Id fc p p
M h vy ) 1 ds t h J f.ht
D t th I u- ) I ml h 1 1 b 1 rokcn,
■nil Id Iktt! dmkj sight ?
I thy p t th h d t f m th
Sffmh t jdltp
T fi d t h 1 dl h m
Th p d t f tl J 1 J
0 thy ! t! gl h t great :
It y 1 th t k p m ) k
M wt 1 thtdthy td feat,
T pi y tl t 1 f thy 1
F tl t 1 I h 1 t tl d t 1 " "
Framf ff thth aUt a
,1 Google
& f Ifl
P
th 11 in y
A I 11
1
d !1 y yp t
A d f th
tl
mdy
It <n
d d
d my h t
M th k
f
g
N 1 p
t
t h f h at;
A d f J
If
wn w h d 1 fi ,
A I all h
U th t
E t 1 m
ygi
h m m If d ed.
B t d h pp d tl t 1 q )
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read ;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis tlie9 myself that for myself I praise.
Painting ray age with beauty of thy days.
A t } 1
1
11 1 , as I am no^^-
■Whim
J
h nd ca-ush'd and o'erwom;
Wl 1 h
d
d his blood, and fill'd his br
W h h
I
kl , when bis youthful morn
H h tl Ud
t
a^ s steepy night ;
Ad 11 th
h t
vhereof now he 's king.
A h g
h d out of sight.
^ 1 g y
th f
e of Ms spring;
F h t
d
I w fortify
A t f
)
g 3 cruel knife,
t from memory
Tl h h 11
:^Iy t 1
1
t though my lover's life :
H 5 ty
I 11
these black lines be seen.
A d th y 1
HI
and he in them still green,
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LXIV.
When I taie sptn by lime a fell hand defaced
Till- iich pioid CO t of uut worn buiicd age.
When sometime lofty towers I aee down la^-cd.
And br^ss eternal slive ta mortil rage
When I haie seen the hunstiv ocean gain
Adiantage on the kingdom of the shore.
And tl-e firm soil wm of the wateiy mdin
Increasing >!tore with loss and loss with «tore
When I ha've ^een such mteichange of state,
Or state itself confounded to deca\
Ruin hath ta,ught me thus to ruminate —
Thit Time will come and take my lovi s.\vv,
This thought is as a drath which cannot chor
But "neep to hale that ivhicli it tula to li'^e
B t 1 t lit) y ti J
H th tl g h 11 h ty h Id pi
Wh t tr tl fl
Oh ! all ■? h J 1 th h 1 1 t
Ag tl V! kf 1 g f b tt g J y
Wl k mp hi t t
Ng f 1 gbttmdy
Of ful m ditat 1 1 k
ShET btj Ifml htlhd
Ohtt I \ hldh fftbk'
0 wh h p 1 f 1 ty f b d
0 1 th 11 git
Th t hi k k ) 1 y t U i m b ght,
,1 Google
LXVI.
Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry; —
As, to behold deseit a beggar bom,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity.
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honoui shameiully misplac'd.
And maiden virtue ludely stiumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully diagrac'd.
And strength h} limping bway disahleed.
And art mide tongue-tied b^ authoiity.
And ioUy (doctor-like) contiollmg skill.
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity.
And captive good attending captain ill
Tir'd with ill thpsp, from the^e would t be gone,
Sd^c thit to dit I Icaie mj lo^e alone
Lxvn.
Ah, wh(.iefiie with infection should he Ii\e,
And with his presence grace impietVi
That sin by him idvintage should achieve.
And lace itself with his society '
Why should false painting imitate his cheek,
And stcil dead seeing of liis liiag hue*
Why should poor heiuty indiiectly seek
Eoses of shadow since his lose is tiue '
Why should he live, now nature bankrupt is,
Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins ?
For she hath no exchequer now but his,
And, proud of many, lives upon his gains.
O, him she stores, to show what wealth she had
In days long since, before these last so bad.
,1 Google
Lxvin.
Thus is Ilia cheek the map of days out-worn.
When beauty liv'd and di'd as flowers do now.
Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inliabit on a living brow ;
Before the goldea tresses of the dead.
The right of sepulchres, were shorn away.
To live a second life on second head ;
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay.
In him. those holy antique hours ace seen.
Without all ornament, itself, and true.
Making no summer of another's green.
Robbing no old to dress his beauty new ;
And him as for a map doth N^ature store.
To shew false Art what beauty was of yore.
LXIX,
Ibose paits oi thee thit the -noilK e\e doth "^lew.
Want iiotl ing thit the tho i^jH ut he its cin mend;
AH tongues (the voice ot louls) gne thee th^t due,
Uttermg bare tiuth e^en so as foes commend
Thine outnaid thus with outwaid piaiae is crown d;
But those same tongups that gii e thee so thine own.
In other accents do this priihe confound
By seeing tarther than the eye h^th shewn
Ihey look into the beiutj ot thy mind
And thit in gue s thev mea>:u!-e bj thy deeds
Then chuils, their thoughts although then c^ls were
lo thj tair floflei add the lank smell of woe Is
But why tl J Clio I matchLt! net tU slew
The boliL IS thi —that thou dost co oi b»0W'
,1 Google
oald'st c
LXSI.
No loncpr mourn for me, «hen I ^.m dctd,
Ihm ^oa 'ihiii Leai tlit surh ■< ilkn bsll
One warning to the world ttat I am fled
Fiom thia vile world, with, vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, it vou read this line, remember not
The hajid thit writ it, for I lo^e }ou so,
TKat I m jour sweet thoiiglits w duM be foigot.
If thinking on me then should make JOu woe.
O, if (I aaj) 'vou look upon this M.r'io,
When I perhaps compounded am witli clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let lOur love even with mj lifs, decay,
Lest the nise i^orld should look into your moan.
And mock lOu with me iftLi I am ^m\.
,1 Google
SONNETS.
0, 1 ! U 1 Id t
1 t t
Wh t t 1 d m tl
t ^ 1- U 1 e
AfE y 1 h 1 )ir 1
f gt q t
For y mm th
tl 1
Unl !^ y Id d
m :
To 1 f h
d t
And h g m p i
d d I
Tt ggard t th Id
ill ly mpart
0, 1 t J t 1 my
f 1 th a.
Th t J f 1 I k
11 f t
My b b d h
h d>
And 1 to I m
y •
PI } d by th t
h h I b g forth.
Ad h uld J t 1
h g th g wortii.
Thit time of jLU thou u aj st m kil behold
When yellow leaves, or iioae, oi few, do hang
Upon tbose boughs which shake against the cold, —
Bare ruind choir'J, wheie late the sweet hnds sang.
In me thou seest the twibght of such di)
As aftei aun set fadttb in the west
Which by and by black ni^bt doth take in ay,
Death's second self that seals up all m lest
In me thou seest the glowing of such file,
That on the ashes of his ^outh doth lie.
As the deathbed n hereon it must expire
Consum d witb that which it was nourish d h)
This thou percen st which mikes thylmeroore strong.
To loi e that well which thou must leu,\ e ere long :
,1 Google
But be contented : ivKeii that fell arrest
"Without all bail shii.ll cariy me away.
My life hath in this line some inteiest,
Wticli for memorial still with thee shall stay;
When thou reviewest this, then dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee.
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me :
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead;
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife.
Too base of thee to be remembered.
The worth of that is that which it contains.
And thd.t is thi^, and this with thee remains.
So are lou to ni) thoughts as foid to 1 te
Or as SMcct sLiscn d showeis iie to the, giound;
And for the peace of you I hold such stiife
As 'twii-t a miser and his wealth is lound
Now piond as an enjoyer, and anon
Doubtmg the filchmg age uill steal hi' treasure;
Now counting best to be with jou alone
Then hettei d that the world may see m} pleasure;
bometime ill full with feaatmg on jom sight,
And bv and by clean starved for a look ,
Possessing or pur^umg no delight,
Sa^e whit IS had oi must fiom you be took
Thus do I pme and suifcit di^ by di^ ,
Or gluttonmg on all, oi all a^aj
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LXXYI.
Wlij y 1 f pride.
So f f q k t e ?
Why w h th t d I t gl n e aside
To wf dmthl dt p unds strange ?
Wliy I til U h ame,
And k 1 t a t d d,
Tiia J d d tl 1 t tell y name,
Shen i; th b tl Ah. tl y did proceed?
0, kn t 1 I il y vr t of you,
And ) 11 1 11 my g meat :
So, U y b t i ig Id ds new,
Spei di g h k ty p nt ;
F th d 1 1 Id,
S mj 1 ill t Um h told.
Thy ijli&i Mill sliPH thee tow th\ beauties wear,
Thy dial how thj pic&ious minutes waste,
The vacant lea es thy mmd's impiint will bear.
And of thi3 book this Je'unmg may'^jt thou taste:
Tie wiinkles wbich fhj glass will truly shew.
Of mouthed giives will give thee memorj ,
Ihou b) till dills shadj stealth maj at know
Times thievish piogiess to etemitj
I ook, what thy mcmoiy cannot eontiin
Commit to tkese waste blanks, ind thou shilt find
Fho?e children nuifd dolnei d from thy bum,
To take a new acquaintance of thj mind
Thei-e of&ces, -.o oft as thou wilt look,
Shall profit thee, and much eatich thy book.
,1 Google
SONNET&.
LXXVin.
So oft haie I involi'd thee foi mj Muse,
And lound such tau asaiatance m my T«ae,
As e\eiy aben pen hatli ^ot my use.
And under thee their poesj dispene
Thine ejes that taught the dumb on high to siii
And heav) ignoiance alott to fiv,
Ha've added fiathtis to the learned'^ wmg.
And given grace a double majesty
Yet be most proud of that which I compile.
Whose influence is thine, and hoin of thee;
In others' works thou dost but mend the style.
And aita with thy sneet graces grieed be;
But thou Alt all my ait, and dost advance
As high j& leiining mj lude ignoiance.
V< hiist I ilonc 1 I ciU upon thi aid
M) *eiie iloie had dl thj gentle giace.
But now mj giacious numbers aie decay d
And my sick Muse doth giie inother place
I giant sweet lo^e thy lo^elj oigument
Beieives the tiaviil of a woithier pen
\et ^hit of thte thj poet doth invert
He lobs thee ot and pays it thee again
He lends thee virtue, ind he tile that word
From thy beha%iour beauty doth he give
And found it m thy cheek he ciq aftord
"Vo praise to thee but what m thct, doth live
Then, thank him not foi that which he dnth say,
bince what he owes thee thou thjscli dost pay.
,1 Google
LXXX.
Oh 1 f t li n I f d t
K g b tt ]. t d til m
Ad tl p tl f 1 i 11 1 gl t
T k tog dplgfj fm
B t m y th { d th )
T! 1 bl th p d t 1 d h b
My y b k f f t h
O y ur h dm d th If lly PI
"V hall h Ip 11 h U 1 fl t
Whilst he upon yaui soundless deep doth ride ,
Or, being wveck'd, I am a worthless boat.
He of tall building, and of goodly pride :
Then, if he thrive, and I be cast away,
The worst was this — my love was my decay.
LXXXI.
Or I h 1! 1 1 t 1 ! t 1
Or 1 I h tt
From 1 ) y d th t t I
Alth h m 1 pirt 1! b f t
Yoi f 1 lit hall have,
Tho gh I g t 11 th 11 m t die:
The th J Id m b t m gr e,
Wh t mb d 1 h 11 b
Yoi h 11 h y £, 1
Wh h ; t 1 h 11 d
And b J b g h 11 h ,
Wh 11 th b th f th la ar d ad ;
1 till h U 1 ( h h th mi pen)
the mouthe
f
,1 Google
Lxxxn.
I grant thou ^sert not minied to my Muse,
And theretoie maj '.t without attiuit oer-loofe
The dtdicated words which iwiteis use
Of then fdir subject hlesiimg eveiy book.
Thou art as fan in. knowledge -is m hue.
Finding th] woith -x limit past my pi'u''e;
And, therefore, <»rt entorc d to seek anew
Some fiesher ^tamp of the time bettering days.
And do so love, let when the} hue devis'd
^\ hat strained touches rhetoric can lend.
Thou tiuly fair, weit truly sympathiz d
In tiue plain words by thy true tellma friend;
And then gross p-nntin^ might be better used
"\\ here cliecks nei-d blood . m thee it is abused.
LXXXIII.
I never saw that lou did painting need,
And, therefore, to ioni fiu no p\mting set,
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
The bairen tender of a poet's debt
And theiefoie, have I tlept in ■vour report,
That J on yourself, being extant well might shew
How fai a modern quill doth come too short.
Speaking ot woith, what worth m you doth grow.
This silence tor my sin tou did impute.
Which shall lie most my gloiy being dumb,
For I impaii not beauty being mute,
"When otheis would give life and bring a tomb.
Ihere Ines more life in one of joui Itn eyes.
Than both jou poets cm in pnise demise
,1 Google
SONNETS.
I,XXXIV.
\Mio IS it that S'lib mr t^ wl ich can tiy more,
Thdn ttis iich pi u^c thit lou iloi e iip you?
In whose confine immured is the store
Which should example where loui equal grew.
Lean penuiy withm that pen doth dwtll
That to his "iubjeft lends not some sni 1! glory;
But he that writes of lou if he can tell
That lou are you so digmfiei his ston
Let him but copj what m jou is ni t.
Not making woise what nature mide so clear.
And such a counterpart shall tame his wit,
Making hia stjle idnired every wheie
You to your beauteous blessings add a curse,
Being fond on praise, which makts ^oiir praises
My tongue-tied JMuse in manners holds her still,
"While comments of your praise, richly compil'd,
Keserve their character with golden quill.
And precions phrase by all the Muses fil'd,
I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words,
And, like unletter'd clerk, still cry "Amen"
To every hymn that able spirit affords.
In polish'd form of well-refined pen.
He"i Qif ■\o pra a 1 I aj T o t true,'
And to the n o t of 1 ra e add on th ng ore ;
B t (hit s n mi thou"! f Vil o e io e to you,
llougl worls cone hndnost tolls h ank before:
Then others fo the b eath of or Is respect,
Me for my dumb thoughts speal ng effect.
,1 Google
SONNETS.
W t th p (1 f U 1 f h
t
B If t I f 11 t p
y
Th t 1 1 J I th gh b
h
M It g tl t b th mb h
th y g
W t 1 p t by p ts t ght t
t
Ab 1 p t 1 th t t k
d d?
N th h h mp by
ght
G h d my t h d
H tl t ff bl f b gh t
Wh h ghtl) g 11 h m w th t 11
A t f y 1 t b t
i-sxxvn.
F 11 th t t d f ) p essing,
i. d bl gh tl k t thy t late :
Th h t f th tl g h 1 asing;
M b d m th 11 d t t
F 1 d I h 1 1 th b t by tl y iting ?
A d f h t J wh yd ng?
Th fthfgftinm w ting.
Ad mj]ttbkg g.
fh) If th g t thy th th not knowing,
O t wh g t t 1 t k g ;
S t! y t g tt p m p w ng,
Cmhrn bttjd t making.
Th h I } 1 th d m d th flatter,
1 1 p 1 b t 1 g h matter.
,1 Google
When thou shalt be dispns'A to set mo light.
And place my meiit in the eye of scorn,
Upon thy side against myself I'll fight.
And prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn;
With mine own weakness being best acquainteil.
Upon thy part I can &et down a story
Of faults conceal'd, wherein I am attainted.
That thou, in losing me, shalt win much glory j
And I by this will be a gainer too ;
For bending all my loving thoughts on thee,
The injuries tJiat to myself I do.
Doing thee vantage, double vantage me.
Such, is my lo\e. to thee I so belong.
That for thy right myself will bear all wrong.
Say that thou dulSt forsake me for some fault.
And I will comment upon that offence :
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Tlion canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change.
As I'll myself disgrace: knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle, and took stiange;
Be absent from thy walks ; and in my tongue
Thy sweet beloved name no moie shall dwell.
Lest I (too much profane) should do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee, against myself I'll vow debate.
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.
,1 Google
xc.
Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now :
Now, while ths world is bent my deeds to eross.
Join with the spite of fortune, make me bnw,
And do not drop in for an after loss.
Ah do not when my h t 1 th p d this sorrow.
Come in the rearward of a qu d oe ;
Give not * vindy night j
To Iingei out a purpos'd th
If thou wdt leave me, d t 1 n last.
When other petty griefs h d h spite,
But in the onset come : so shall I taste
At Slat the very worst of fortune's might;
And othei strains of woe, which now seem woe,
Compar d with loss of thee, will not seem so.
h
gh
And
Wh
A d h m^ 1
W h d h al
AU his y and r
,1 Google
SONNETS,
XCII.
B t d tl y
t
t 1 tlj If
Ft til
tl
t (1
A 1 hf 1
th thy 1 a tay
F t di 1
1
tl t I f ti n
Til d I
t t
f tb t f w g
W !i n n th 1
t
f tl y lit h th d
I btt
t t
f b 1 ^
Th th t wh
h
thy h m 1 tl 1 p d
n tn
t
m tl t tm d
S tl t my
If
tl y It d tl !
0 h t 1 ny '
tl d I fi d
H PI y t h
tlj
1 h ppy t d
But what's I
io blessed fair that fears no blot?
Thou may's t be
false, and yet I know it not.
xcin.
S h 11 I 1
p tl t tru
Lk d d ! b d ! f
M y till ml t tl gb Ite d new}
Tl 1 k h m thy h t th jl e:
F h 1 nhtdnthnj
Tb f m tl t I t 1 by b fee.
I J 1 1 tl fl h t h t y
I t m d d f 1 kl strange ;
B t H thj t Id d
Tl t t! V f 1 h uld d eU ;
Whate'er thy tboiights or thy heart's workings be.
Thy looks should nothing thence but sweetness tell.
How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy shew !
,1 Google
They that have power to hurt and Mill da aone.
That do not do (he thing ther moat do bhaw',
Who, moving other?, are themselves as stone.
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slon ,
They lightly do inherit Heavens giaces.
And husband natuies nches from expense;
Thej aie the lords and owners of their fices,
Otheia but stewaids of then excellence
The summer s flower la to fbe summer sweet.
Though to itself it only live and die ,
But if thit flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves hia dignifj ,
For bweetest things turn sourest b'v their deeds :
Lilies that festei smell fii woise thin weeds.
(Mk g
m n
)
C dap
b n knd
^ n g h
m b 0
h m
h h
Vh h h
h b
,
b tj
il d h
A d U g
n
I h d
h
li) haid
k f d d h
,1 Google
BONNETS.
S m y thy f It j li n t n
S y thy gr yth dgtlpt
B th trr d f It 1 d i I I as
TJ m k t f Its ^ h t to th t
A til fig t h dqn
Th b t J w 1 11 b U trad
S ar tl t! i tl ir
T t tl t n 1 t d and f t 1 g d d
H y 1 mh ght th t n If b t j
If 1 k I b h uld his 1 k t 1 te
H m ht t I 1 d J
If th Id t th g 1 f U tl y t t I
B d t I 1 th It
Alb IS th) g d p t
xcvir.
Ho F i 1 e 1 ntpr 1 ath ti i bsfjicp bs n
Fiom thet the plcasuie of the iieetmg year!
What f eezugs have I felt h^t dark dajs seen,
■\\hat old Decembers baienesa eieij ivheie!
And yet this time reraov d was summer a time ;
The teeming Autumn, big with rich increase.
Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime.
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease :
Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me
But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit ;
For Summer and his pleasures wait on thee.
And, thou away, the very birds are mute ;
Or, if tliey sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer.
That leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's iiea
,1 Google
SONNETS.
Fmyuh Ibai tnth png
WliniudpdApld dnUlitrm
Hatl It 1 t f tl n ) h g
Tf hvjS fllghd dlpd hln
"it tllifbdn Lwt 11
Of d ft t fl 1 d h
C uld m 1 y J t U
Of tl p dlppl kth 1 thy grew:
N d d I d t 1 1 Ij h t
N ] th d p In t!
Tl y but w t b t ft u' f d Lgtt
D a n ft y y pat n f 11 t
Y t nd t t til nl ^ w y
A tl 11 I tl tl d 1 pi )
Tifwd I h Idlhl —
S tit 1 1 1 t th t 1 tl y sweet that
11
If t f 1 b th t! p rl P^'^e
Wh h thj tt 1 k f ] 1 dwells,
I my 1 th h t ((i 1 dy'd.
Th 1 Ij I d If 1 y h d
A d h d f m J Id 1 th) h r :
Th f arf Ilj th d d t 1
O bl h g 1 m h ltd pah-;
A th d d wh t h d t 1 f both,
A d t th bb y 1 d d thy b ath;
But, for his theft, m p d of 11 1 gi wth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see.
But Bweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.
,1 Google
Where art thou, Muse, that thou forgett'at sn long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might ?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song.
Darkening thy power to lend base suhjecta light ?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so JJly spent ;
Sinjf to the ea.r that doth thy lays esteem.
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there ;
If any, be a satire to decay.
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life ;
So thou provcnt'st liis scythe and crooked knife.
CI.
0 truant Muse \ What shall he thy amends,
For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?
Both truth and beauty on my lore depends ;
So dost thou too, and therein dignified.
Make answer, Muse : wilt thou not haply say,
"Truth needs no colour, with hi'i colour fix'd;
Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay :
But best is beat, if never intermis'd?"
Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?
Excuse not silence so ; for 't lies in thee
To make him much out-live a gilded tomb.
And to be prais'd of ages yet to be.
Then do thy office, Muse : I teach thee how
To make him seem long hence as he shews now
,1 Google
SONNETS.
CII.
My love is strength en' d, tliougli more weak in seeming;
I love not less, though less the shew appear :
That love is merchandis'd, whobe rich esteeming
The owner's tongue doth publish every where.
Our love was new, and then but iu the spring.
When I was wont to greet it with my lays ;
As Philomel in Hummer's front doth sing.
And stopa his pipe in growth of riper days :
Not that the Summer is less pleasant now.
Than whsn her mournful hymns did hush the night.
But that wild music burthens every bough,
And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.
Therefore, like her, I sometiiue hold iny tongue,
Bc-CdU-'e I wuuld not dull you with my song.
Ala k what po ty n y M
bn f th.
That h ng ha { t
h h p ide.
T! at U b IS f
w h
Th n 1 h th y dd d
p b de.
O bl n m n t f I n
t :
L 1 ) gl d 1
IP a face.
Th t i, n y bl nt
nt n q
D 11 g J 1 n d d
m d
W t t f 1 th
? 1,
T mar th hj t h t b f
■u w 11
F t n th p my
t d
Tl fy g d
ft t til;
Ad h n tl
m se c:
Y ^1 h J
J n y look
,1 Google
CIV.
To me far liiend )oi ni,\ci can be old
Fot IS jou neie when fiist jour eje I eyd
Such seoni'i joui beauty still Ihree ivinteis cold
Have fiom the foieats shook, three auiimeis piide
Thrte beduteoua springs to ytllow autimu tuind.
In process of the seisons hi\e I seen
Three Apiil perfumes m three hot Junes b irn d
Since fiist I aa« you fresh, which jet ire green
Ah jet doth be^uty like a dnl hind
Steal liom h s iiguie and no paue peiceiyed
So voui 3 veet hue whi:,h methmks still doth stiad.
Hath motion and mine eje maj be deceived
Foi f cii of which hear this thou i^e unbrt, I —
Ere yon weie boin was b autjfs summu di-ad.
L t n t J 1 b Ud I 1 t J
N J b 1 d n d 1 1 w
5 n all 1 1 my d i b
T I tUi h d
Kind y ! t d J k d
6 dl t m d 11
Th f J t t fid
0 tl p 1 t dff
Fkddtr llyi^ t
F kind d t u ary t tl ds ;
\nd m h h y m j t
Th th m in h h dr i e affords.
F lu d a 1 t h ft 1 d 1 ne,
Whi h th till n n k pt t n one.
,1 Google
SONNETS.
cvr.
th II
pt
tj k
f 1 d
h 11
f t d t
f th f t W gll
b tfl Id 1
d d d 1 ly 1
f w t 1) tj
ff t
tq
h b
P
f Ip t y It
p Id h
> > m t
b t p ph
I tb
E h
S aU tl
Of tl t U J p I
And 1 til y 1 k d b t th d
Til y li d t k U qh. }
F li } b h li 1
H t d b t 1 1-
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come.
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd,
And the sad augurs mock their o\m presage ;
Incertaintias now crown themselves assur'd.
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now, with the drops of this moat balmy time
My love looks fresh, and death to me subscribe
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes
And thou in this shalt find thy monument.
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are i
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SONNETS.
W g
CIX.
O, never say that I was false of ]icart.
Though ahsence seem'd my flame to qualify
As easy miglit I from myself depart.
As from my soul, wliich in thy breast doth He.
That is my home of love : if I have ranged,
Like him that trarels, I return, again,
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged ;
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reign'd
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stain'd,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good ;
For nothing thb wide universe I eall.
Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.
,1 Google
Ala t t II ^ li d th
Add It tl J th
Gin th ^hts li li ^ h t is moat
d
At d Id ff f fF
M t t th I h 111 ( th
A ! d t g ly b t by 11 b
Th bl h ^ nv 1 t 1 J th
Adw yi dtl m-vbtfle
N II d wh t h U h nd
MnppttI m U^d
0 p f t t Id f d
Agd 1 twlmlm hd
Th n g 1 m n t J 1 th best
Entthjpir dmtmtl gb t.
Of J k 1 J II F ) 1
Th g Ity g dd f y h mf 1 d i
Thtdlnfb f my Up d
Th p bh 1 1 p bb b
T! t th t uy b
A d 1 th y t bd d
T h t t k n 1 k tl ly 11
P t> n th 1 1 I w d
Whltlk llgpt tl Ud k
P t f y 1 t V t g f t
N b t tl t I 11 b tt th k
N d bl ] t t t
P t m th d f d II
,1 Google
SONNETS.
cxn.
Your love and pit)" doth th' impression flll
Wiiioh vulgar scandal stamp'd upon my brow ;
For what care 1 who calls me well or ill,
So you o'er-green my bad, my good allow ?
You are my all- the- world, and I must strive
To \uow my shames and praises from your tongue ;
None else to me, nor I to none alive.
That my steel'd sense or changes, right or wrong.
In 30 profound ahysm I throw all care
Of others' voices, that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stopped are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispcnso : — ■
You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
That all the world besides methinks they arc dead.
GXin.
Sincp I Irfc ^ou mme eje is in mi mmd ,
Aiil that which governs ini to ^o about
Doth pait his fuuction, and is piitly blind.
Seems seeing, but effectually is out ,
Foi it no foim dehvei'i to the heirt
Of bird, of flowei, or shape, which it doth latch:
Of his quiclv objects hath the mmd no part.
Nor his own vision holds what it doth, catch ;
Foi if it flee the rud at or gentlest si^ht
The most sweet favoui, or defoimedst creature.
The mountain oi the sea, the day oi night.
The crow oi do^e, it ihipes them to }our feature:
Incipable d1 more, leplete with you,
RIj most tiue mind thus mtketh mine untrue.
,1 Google
SONNETS.
Or whether doth my mmd, being crown'd with you,
Drink up the mou'wcli a pligue. this flattery ?
Or whether shiU I ''ay mim, eye siith true.
And that toui love taught it this ilLhymy,
To make ol monsttrs and thms^s indigest.
Such oheruhins as your sweet self reaemble,
Creating eieiy bad a perfect best.
As fast as objects to his beams assemble ?
O, 'tis the first 'tis flatter} m my seeing,
And my great mind most kmgly dnnlts it upi
Mine eje wpU knows what with his gust is 'greeing,
And to his palate doth piepare the cup
If it be poison d, ti^ the lesser fin
That minp e\e l)ics it, and doth fiiift begin.
E th th t d I Id n t 1 u dearer ;
Y tl n J 1 io t k w vhy
My n t t 11 fl h Id ft ard b n clearer.
Btk t h ullinl dents
Cpntwt adhn d sof kings,
T n d b ty bl t th h-vrp t tents,
Dttgndtth -a fl ering things ;
Alas! why, feaiing of times tjranny.
Might I not then bay, ' Now I love you best,'
When I was certain o'er incertainty,
Crowning the present, doubting of the rest ?
Love is a babe ; then might I not say so,
To give full growth to that which still dotli grow ?
,1 Google
SONNETS.
CSYI.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments love is not love
Which alters uhen it alteiation. finds
Oi hends with the remoier to remote
O no , it IS an ever fixed maili.
That look's on tempests and is nevei slnken ;
It is the fltar to e^ery wandeiing baik
Whose worth s iinlmowc, although his height he taken.
Lo^es not Timfi s Fool though rosy lips and cheeks
Withm hii bending sickle s compiss come ,
Love alters not with hia hiiet hours and weeks.
But bears it out even to the edge of doom
If thi'' be euoi ind upm me ]ro\cd,
I never writ noi no mxn c^ti lo^cd
cxvir.
Accuse mo thus : that I have scanted all
Wherein I should your great deserts repay;
Forgot upon your dearest love to call,
"Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day ;
That I have frequent been with unknown minds.
And given to time your own dear-purohas'd right;
That I have hoisted sail to all the winds
Which should transport me farthest from your sight;
Book both my wilfulness and errors down,
And on just proof surmise accumulate ;
Bring me within the level of your fro^vn.
But shoot not at me in your waken'd hate.
Since my appeal says, I did sti'ive to prove
The constancy and virtue of your love.
,1 Google
cxyiii.
Like as to n ike oi i '^ppet te? more kpen,
With eagef compounds we our palate uige ,
As to pieient our maladies unseen
We sicken to bkun sickness when we p irge ,
Even so beinj;; full of youi ne ei cloying t
To bitter sauces did 1 frame mv feeding
And siclc of welfare louni a kind ot riieetness
To be diseas d ere that theie was true needing.
Thus policy in lo^e t anticipate
The ills that neie not giew to faults as uied.
And brought to medicine a healthful state
^^ hieh lank of £,oodness Mould by ill be cured;
B t tl ence I learn and fin 1 the lesson true,
D ^3 poison him th t so tell ifk of \oii
CXIX.
What potions ha\e I diunk of siren tears.
Distill i fioni limbecks foul as Hell within.
Applying teais to hopes, and hopes to fears.
Still loamg when I saw mjself to wm'
What wretched enors hath my heait committed,
Whdst it hath thought itself so blessed nevei '
Howha-\e mine e>es oit of their spbeies bu n fitted,
In the distraction of this madding feyei I
0 benefit of ill' now I find tiue.
That better is by evil still made bettei ,
And rum'd love, when it is budt anew,
Glows fiiiei than at hist, more strong, fai greater.
So I ittuin leb k d to lay content
And gun by ill thiice moie thin I haic spent.
,1 Google
SONNETS.
CXS.
That you weie once unkind befiiends m;. now.
And for that soiron \^hii,li I then did feci
Needs mu&t I under m> tran-jgiession how
TJnless nij nenes were hiaas or himmei A steel.
For if ^ou weie by my unkindnesa shaken
As I by youis you have pasi d a hell of time;
And I a tyrant have no leisuie taken
To weigh how once I tufiei d m youi crime.
0 that our night of woe might have lememher'd
Mj deepest sense how hard true Rorion hits;
And soon to you aa lou to me, then tender'd
The humhle sahe vhich wounded hoscnis fits!
But that ^oui ticspdS? now becomes i, fee;
Mme lansoms yoiia and joura mist rin'iom i
CXXI.
'Tis bctlir to be vile than vil8 eatccinod.
When not to be receives reproach of being ;
And the just pleasure lost, which ia so deemed.
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing :
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood .^
Or on my frailties why are frailer spiea.
Which in their wills count bad what I tliiak good ?
No, I am that I am ; and they that level
At my abuses, reckon up their own:
I may be straight, though they themselves be bevei.
By their rank thouglits my deeds must not be shewn;
Unless this general evil they maintain, —
All men are bad, and in their badness reign
,1 Google
Thy gift, th) tables, are within my brmn
Full character'd witb, lasting memory,
Whicli shall above that idle rank remain,
Beyond all date, even to eternity ;
Or, at the least, so long as brain aaid heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist ;
Till each, to ras'd oblivion yield his part
Of thee, thy record never can be miss'd.
That poor retention could not so much hold.
Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score ;
Therefore to give them from me was I bold.
To trust those tables that receive thee mote :
To keep an adjunct to remember thee,
Were to import forgetfulness ill me.
cxxin
No, T tl 1 It t b t h t r d 1 ge :
Thy p) 1 b lit p th gU
To mc th n 1 n th t g
They b t d f f ht
Our d ar b f d th f 1
"What tl d t f t I tl Id
And r 1 m k h b t d ir
Than tl 1 th t b f h 1 1 1 m t Id.
Thy r g d tl I b tl d f)
Not « d t th p t h p
Foi th d d h d 1
Made m 1 by h til
Thi Id I th 1 all b
I w II b d p t thj tl d th
,1 Google
CXXIV.
If iii> dPM loif mie but tli£ cliilil ot ^tite.
It miglit lor imtunes ba^taid be unfitliEipd,
As subject fo time's lo\e, oi to times hate.
Weeds among weeds, or flowers with flowers gathered.
No, it was builded iar fiom accident ,
It suffers not m amihng pomp, nor falls
Under the blow ot thralled discontent,
Wherpto th' inviting time oui fashion calls •
It fears not pobcy, that heretic,
Which works on leises of slioit numbei d horns,
But all alone stands hugely politic,
Thit it noi grows ^ith heat, nor drowns with sliowers.
To this I witness cill the fools of time,
Which die for goodness, who have lu'd foi crime.
CXXV.
Were 't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outivard honouring.
Or laid great bases for eternity.
Which prove more short than waste or ruining?
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all, and more, by paying too much rent ;
For compound sweet foregoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivecs, iu their gazing spent?
No ; let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor hut free.
Which is not mix'd with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou subom'd informer ! a true soul.
When most impeacli'd, stands least in thy control.
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216
SONNETS.
CXXVI
0 tl y I
ij ly '
hy p
D h U Tm
fl 11 1
li kl 1
Wl h t bj
lag g
a th h t
Tl y 1 nth
s t
t If ^ w t
If N tui
h, t
w k
A th g t
aid till
ill pi k tl b k
■51 k p i
t th p p
tl t h 1 11
M t 1 g 1 t h d
Y t f h 0 th f h pi
Sh m ) d h t t 11 k p h t
H dthghdlyd dm
A d h q t t 1 th
cxxvn.
In the old age hlack was not counted fair.
Or if it were, it bore not beauty's name ;
But now is black beauty's successive heir.
And beauty siander'd with a bastard shame ;
For since each hand hath put on nature's power.
Fairing the foul with art's false borrow'd face.
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower.
But is profan'd, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore my mistress' eyes are raven black.
Her eyes so suited ; and they mourners seem
At such, who, not bom fair, no beauty lack.
Slandering creation with a false esteem:
Yet so they mom'n, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says, beauty should look so.
,1 Google
SONNETS.
How ft wh tl
y tl t
Up a th t bl d
d t t 1
Wit! tl y t fi
h tl ti)
1-h J d 1
m f A,
Do I y h J 1
th t n bl 1 p
To k tJi t 1
d f thy b d
Wl It y p hp
h b 1 Id tl t h t
At h d b 11
by th bl ! t d
To b t kl d U
J Id h g h t t
And t t with h d g 1 1
O'e wl hy fi g w Ik w th g 1 g t
Ma! g d a d bl d th 1 g 1 p
S n y J k 1 PP> th
G tb m thj fi tl J 1 1 t k
CXXIX.
Th' expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action ; and till action, luat
Is perjar'd, mui-tberous, bloody, full of blame.
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight ;
Past reason hunted, and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait.
On purpose laid to make the taker mad j
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so ;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, — and prov'd, a very woe;
Before, a joy pvopos'd ; behind, a dream.
All this the world well knows, yet none knows well
To sliun the heaven that leads men to this heO,
,1 Google
Mj mistress ejes
are noth ng Ii! e the sun ,
Coral If, far moie
led than her lips led
If mow be ^hite
why then hei bieasta ate dun;
If tairs be iviies
black wires giow on hei head.
I have seen loses
damask d red and white
But no such lo-^e
see I m her cheeks
And in some peil
umea IS there mo e dehght
Than m the breath tliat fion my mistiess reeks.
I love to hear her speak jet well I know
T) at mu^ic hath a lai moie pleasing sound
I giant I ueiei sav a goddess go
My mistre s when she walks tieads on the ground.
And jet bj hsaven I thiik nj loic as lare
As anj sic belied with lalse conpiip
t;
p Hy m k fl ru
F 11 th k t t J d d t g h ait
Tl u t tl f t nd p J 1
"Vtngdfh m ythtth bhld
Ihj f h th t th p t m k ! gr i
T y th y Id b b Id
Aitl hi t t -nj 11 I
A d to b th t ft I
A th nd g n b thi k ng tl y f
O on n tl k d n b
Thj bl k f t n n J 1 m t pi
I h t ti n 1 tl J 1 1
A d th hid I tl 1 1 d
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SONNETS.
Thiae eyes I love, and they, as pitying me.
Knowing thy heart tormenta me with disdain,
Have put on black, and loving mourners be.
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.
And, truly, not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the East,
Nor that full star that ushers in the even
Doth half that glory to the sober West,
As those two mourning eyes become thy face.
0, iet it, then, as well beseem thy heart
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee gr
And suit thy pity like in evei'y part :
Tlien will I swear, beauty herself is black.
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
A d
0 h
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SONNETS.
CXSXIV.
So, now I haTe confeos d that lie is thine,
And I myself am mortgag J to thy will ,
Myself I !1 forfeit, eo thit othpi mine
Thou wilt lestoie, to be ni) comtoit still:
But ttou wilt not nor be will not be fiee.
For thou art covetous, and he is kind ,
He learn d but suretj like to wiite for me.
Under thit bond that him as fast d)th hind.
The stitute of thy beautj thou wilt take
Thou usurei th"it putt st forth all to use.
And "iMe a fnend came debtor for my sake ;
So hiva I lose tliiough my unkind abuse
Him have I lost thou hast both hira and r
He pija the whjle ind \t.t im I n t free.
CXXSV.
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thj -nill.
And Will to boot, and «ill in o^ci plu-^,
Moie than enough am I, that vex thee still.
To thy ''weet Tidl mtking addition thus
Wilt thou, whose will is lirge and bpicious,
Not once vouchsafe to hide my vnH m thine ?
Shill will in otheis seem iight gricious.
And in inj will no fan atcept'ince shine ?
The sea, all witer yet leceives lam still.
And m abundance "iddeth to his stoie.
So thou, being rich in will, add to thy will
One wdl of mine, to make tli) Krge niU more-
Let no unkind no fiii bestechers kdl;
Think ill but one, and me in thif one Will.
,1 Google
If thj soul chtolt thee tint I 'onit sd n w,
&«eai to thy blinl soul thit 1 lias tl.v IHZ/,
And will, thy soul knows is admitttd there;
Thus far foi lo^e, laj lD\e suit, sneet fulfil.
Will will fulfil the tieasure of thj love,
A>, fill It full with wiUs, and my will one.
In thiag' of greit receipt with ease we prove,
Among a numbei one is reckon d none
Then m the number let me p'ss untold.
Though m thj stores' account I one must be ;
For nothing hold me, so it please thee hold
That nothing me a something sntet ta thee:
Makp but m\i name th) love, ind lo\e that still.
And then tliou lo\ st mi, — foi iin name is Will.
CXXXTII.
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyi
That they behold, and see not what they see .'
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.
If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks,
Be anchor'd in the bay where all men ride,
Why of eyes' falsehood hast thou forged hooka.
Whereto the judgment of my heart is tied ?
Why should my heart think that a aeveraJ plot.
Which my heart knows the wide world's common plac
Or mine eyes, seeing this, say, this is not.
To put fair truth upon so foul a face ^
In things right true my heart and eyes have em
And to this false plague are they now transferrt
,1 Google
When my love swears that she is made of fxuth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies.
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the ^vorld's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young.
Although she knows my days are past the best.
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue :
On both sides thus is simple truth supprest.
But wherefore says she not, she is unjust ?
And wherefore say not I, that I am old?
0, love's best habit is in seeming trust.
And age in love loves not to have years told :
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
CXXXIX.
0 11 t J tfy h
Tl t tl k in I J p raj h wt ;
W d t tl thm y b t th thy tongue,
Up tl p w d 1 y t by art.
T II m th 1 t L h b t y sight.
Dear heart, forbeir to gKnce thme eyi^ iiidt.
What need'st thou wound with cuumng, i\hen thy might
Is more than my o'er-piessd defence en.n 'bide*
Let me excuse thee ih ' my love well knows
Her pretty looks ha^e been mine enemies.
And therefore from my face she turns my foes.
That they elsewheie might dart then injuiie'i
Yet do not so , but since I am near slain,
Kill me out-right with looks, and iid mj paiu.
,1 Google
CXL.
Be wise as thou art cntel ; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdains
Lest Borrow lead me words, and words express
The manaer of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were.
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so ;
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near.
No news but health from their physicians know:
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad.
And in my madness might speak ill of thee ;
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
Beai thine eyes straight, thougli thy proud heart.
CXLI.
I I t! I I t 1 1 tl
r tl J th h d rr t
B t t J h art th t 1 h t th y 1 j
W h m I p t f VI w pi 1 t d t
N m th th} t d 1 gl t d ,-
N t d f 1 t b to h 1
N t t 11 d t 1 t d
T J f t tl 1 1
B t y fi t y fl
D i f 1 h h t fi m th
■^1 1 y 1 h Ik f
Tljpdl 1 1 Iwthtb
Olyyplg 1 fl yg
Th t h th t k m ards p
,1 Google
CXLII.
Lo y n nd tliy 1 t h te
Htfmj t dd fll-n
O b t th m 1 ai tl tl n t te,
A d th h It 1 d t t t I g
O f t 1 n t f m tl 1 p 1 tl
Ih t b p f d th 1 m t
Anl Idfl b d fl it n
it bb d t3 b 1 u f tl ir f
B t 1 wf 1 I 1 th as til 1 t th
Wh m tl ) m mp t h
R t p ) ty b t th t w! t "i
Thy p y J 1 t p t d b
If tb d t k t 1 1 1 d t hide
Bj If 1 1 } t tl bid
CXLIII,
Lo aa a ar ful 1 wif n t t h
One f 1 f tJ d t b k y
S t d wn h b b d k 11 ft d pati
In p t f th thug 1 \\ h }
Wh 1 t h n 1 t d h Id 1 Id 1 h
Ct t 1 h h b y b t
Tlil h hhfl bf hf
N t ] h p f t di t nt
S t th ft 1 t whi 1 fl f m tb
Wlltlthybb h tl fbhd
b t f tl h thy L p tu n b 1 t la
A, d pi th th 1 t k b k d
S ill I p ] tl t tl m J t h tl y Wdl,
If th t 11 1 1 ] d J n 1 11
,1 Google
CXLIV.
Tw 1 I h f mf t d d p
%\ hi h 1 k t p t d gg t 1 11 :
Th b t fe 1 aa ht f
Th p t m 1 tu 1 ill
T w m t h 11 > f 1 J
T mpt th my b tt g 1 fi m j cl
Ad Id npt my t b 11,
W gl p tywthli flpl
A d h th th t y lb d fi d,
<l yyt td ly 11
B b b h 1 m b th II end,
I gi g 1 th h U
1 t 1 1 11 I k w b I doubt,
TJl ray b d 1 fi ) g 1 t.
Those lips that Love's own hand did make,
B tb'd f tl ti d tl t W 1 " I 1 ite,"
T tltlgihdfl k
B t h h y 1 1 t t
8ti ght h h ait 1 1
Ch d tl t t th t
W dug gntldm
And t 1 1 t til aji t gi t
' I h t I alt d h nd
Th t f 11 w d t g tl d v
D th f 11 n gh h , 1 k fi d
From Heaven to Hell is flown away :
" I hat« " from hate away she threw.
And sav'd my life, saying — "Not you."
YOI-. I, o
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Poor soul, the centre of my sinfiii earth,
[Fool'd by] these rebel pow'rs that thee array,
Why doit thou pine within, and suffer dearth.
Painting thy outward walla so costly gay ?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upoa thy fading mansion spend ?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's losa.
And let that pine to ag^avate thy store ;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dioss;
Within be fed, without be rich no more :
So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men.
And, death once dead, theie's no more dying then.
My 1 f 1 til
I tl t h h 1 tl tl dis
F d tl t 1 1 d h p n th UI
Th t klj pp 1 1 t 1 1
My th phy t J 1
An y tl t h p pt t k pt
Hhlfm dldpt pi
D d th h h p! d d pt
P law It
And f t d tl m t
My th ght d y d dm
At ai d m fi: m th th mly p d
F I h w th f nd th ght th b ght,
Wh art a hi 1 H 11 as d k ght
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cxLvin.
O me, what eyes hath Love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight 1
Or, if they have, where ia my judgment fied.
That censures falsely what they see aright?
If that be fair ivhereon my fake eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not SO ?
If it he not, then loTe doth well denote
Love's eye is not so true as all men's ; no.
How can it ? O, how can love's eye be true.
That is BO vex'd with watching and with tears ?
No marvel, then, though I mistake my view ;
The sun itself sees not, til! heaven clears.
O cunning Love, with tears thou keep'st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find.
UXUX.
Canst thou, 0 ciuel' stv, I lo\e tliEt, not,
When I, aqamst mjsdf, with thee paitake?
Do I not think on. thee when I foigot
Am of mjself, all tjTint, for thj sake'
Who hateth thee that 1 do ciU mt fnend?
On whom frowa'st thou that I do iaim upon?
Nay, if thou low r st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon mjsell with present moan *
What merit do I in mjself respect.
That is so proud th) service to despise.
When aU mj best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded bj the motion of thine ejes'
But, loie, hati, on, for now I know thy mind:
Those that can see thou lov'st, and I am blind
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CL.
O f n wl t p h t th th p w f 1
■Wth fti ymyh-tt y
T m k g th 1 t J t ht
A d w th t b gl tD d th n t "T th <
W h h t tl th h f tl U
Th t th ; f f thj d d
Th IS Ii t th d t f lill
Th t m m) d th t 11 b t d
Wh t It tl h t m k m 1 ti n
Th m I h ) J t tit
0 th h I 1 wh t th d bh
Wth th tl 1 11 t n t hh y t t
If h\ th 11 m
More woi'thy I to be belov'd of thee.
CLI.
Love is too youiig to know w
Yet who knows not conscience ia born of love ?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amisa.
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove ;
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love ; flesh stays no farther reason.
But rising at thy name, doth point out thee
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He ia contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it, that I call
Her love, for whoae dear love I rise and fall.
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SONNETS.
CLn.
In loim^ thep thou knon st I im fn sworn
Livt thou irt tmcc furs»orn, to mc Iovl •.neuing;
In act thj bed^o" hinke and ne\i taith torn
Tn lowing new hate after new lo\e betiing
But Mhj of t«o oatts bleach do I ■iccuse thee,
When 1 break twentj * I am pequr d most,
For all mj \oivs are onfli'i hut to n isuse thee.
And all mj honest faith m thee i<i let
Foi I have sworn deep oaths of thj deep kindness,
Oaths of thy loie thy truth, thy constanc} ,
And to enlighten thee, ga^e e)e» fo blmdness,
Oi nnde tliem -ineir agaiuift the fhm^ they see;
Poi- I haie snoin thee fair more perju) d I,
To Bwear against the truth so foul a lie'
Cupid laid b) his brand ii d Icll abloop
A maid of Dian s this adv^Iltage found
And his lo^e kmdl ni^ file did quicth steep
In a cold valky fountain of thit ground
Which borrow d fiom this holy fiic ol love
A dateless luelj teat still to enduie
Aiid grew a aeethmg hath which ^et mei prove,
Agaujiit stiange maladies a sovereign cme
But at my misttesa eje loies btand new fired.
The boy for trial needs would touch mj bieast;
I sick with'J the help of b^lh desued
And thither hied a sad distempei d guest
But found no cure t! e bath for mj ) clp lies
'Wheie Cupid got iie« fiie m> n sties eyes.
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SONNETS.
The little Luve-god lying once asleep.
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand.
Whilst many nymphs, that vow'd chaste life to keep,
Came tripping by ; but in her maiden tand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd :
And so the General of hot desire
Was, sleeping, by a virgin hand disai'm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath, and healthful remedy
For men diseas'd ; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove.
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.
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NOTES ON THE SONNETS,
"Lsesehrit their shew" : — 'Leese' is an old E
p. 157. " like a moieJess wife " r — i. e,, a widow, awoman
who has lost her mate. ' Make ' and ' mate ' were used
iuterchangeably.
I. 169. " And Bable curls all ailver'd " : — The first edition,
"or silvei''d," which Maloiie coiTected, Tyrwhitt sug-
gested, "are silver'd."
10. " I hn-ve asironomy " : — i. e., astrolojjy. All
knowledge of tlie stars was commonly supposed to have
divination for its abject; and henee, until a comparatively
recent period, theie was not a distinction drawn between
astronomy and astrology.
which, as the rhyme is lost, may be safely legarde
misprint. See in Sonnet VHI. for the rhyme, "They do
but sweetly chide thee who confounds."
i3. " in this huge j-otvim-B hems" : — i. e., this huge
sphere-. So in King John, Act It Sc. !, " *Tis not the
rondure of your old fac'd walls."
(231)
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p. 164. " Then look I death my days shonld eirpirale " : — The
first edition, "should expiate," See the Note on "the
hour of death is erpirate," King Riahard the Third, Act
m. Sc. 8. And see t^e last line of Tiliis Andnmiem,
" That like events mav ne'er it ruinate," and King Searg
the Sinlh, Part in. Act V. 8c. 1, " I --dll not niinate my
fiither's house." In the Note on Riahard JIL, by a slip
of memory, ' conspirate ' is mentioned as one of the yerla
which Shakeapeaie uses in this form.
" is put besides Ms part": — See the Note on
"and besides myself," The Comedy of En-ors, Act m.
Sc. 2.
- and hath eteel'd " ;
ess is steld," in LiKvei
Korth" ;• — i. e., for prowess, mar-
fial lienor. Valiant knights were said to gain great wor-
ship (worth- ship) in battle. See Kijig Arthur, passim.
" Is from the book of honour razed ftiiifl — Th Id
copies, "razed quite," wMch is clearly eorr pt I h d
supposed this reading to be peculiar to my 11 b flnl
that it was su^eated by TheobalcL. He al p p d
as a relief from tlie difficulty of the old tex h h
of ' worth ' to • fight,' at the end of the seeo d lin b
whicli has been adopted uniyersally, altb h m my
judgment, much the inferior reading.
i6. "- of i% siveet respect " : — The oldcopy, "of iSoff
sweet respect." In that volume 'they,' 'their,' 'thee,'
'them,* and 'thy' are very frequently mlBprintsd for
each other.
" Presents thy shadow "
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sages in wliich it would seem to mean lo twitter, to
twinkle, and to leer. Kichardson gives " to swerve from
a sti-aight line," as its radical thought.
p. 187. " grief'B strength seem af ronger " : — The old
copy, " grief's length" &o. — an error due to the last
word of the preceduig line.
like " ohaequiouB sorrow," in Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 3.
" that hidden in (See lie": — The old copy has.
"there" for ' thee.'
"Por to thy seiisual fcmlt" : — i. e., thy fault of senat
aa opposed to a mental or moral error. We should no^
use ' sensuous.' See the same word similarly used ii
Sonnet CXLI.
p. 171. "Eniitledin%parts"! — Thooldcopy, "(heit
■ till s7ie hare prevailed "
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p. 175. "Of (ftyfiiir health" : — The 4to., "Of their feire."
&E,; and in the third line of the next Sonnet, "Mine eye,
my heart their piotui'ea," &c. ; in the eighth line, " <Aeir
feire appearance ; " and in the thirteenth and foucleenth
lines, "i/ietr" for ' thine.'
ir whe'r better they" : —
1. 184. " Btti(«i and chapp'd " ; — The old copy, " Beated and
chopt," which hna been followed hitherto, nlthough a
manifest misprint.
p. 186. " by limping sway dieableEd " .- — The old copy,
••disabled;" but rhythm and rhyme show that the woid ia
to be prononuced in four syllables, in. the unconti-actcd
participial form.
" TIdne outward " ; — The 4to., *' Tfieir outward,"
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p. 189. " Bate ndii d choirs " : ~ The editioi\ of 1309, " rn'tud
quiets;" Hint of l(i40, " ruin'd " — a vaiiatiou hardly
p. 198. " fil'tl up his line " ; — So Ben Jonson, in his
verses on Shakespeare, —
" In his well torned and true filed lines."
And in the preceding Sonnet, —
" And precious phrase by all tho Muses fil'd."
" Potions of ri!/sel " : — "Vinegar was called e;
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" wWoh it doth laieh": — i. e., catch. See the
Note on " Where hearing should not latch them," Mae-
beth, Act IV. So. 8.
" thus maketh mine mdrue" : — i. e., makelh the
8emWiin.ee, the fictitious (and bo the false or untrue) object
which is constantly before me : ' untrue ' used sul^tan-
0 not know that this bne has elicited any comment ; hut
; presents a most remarkable instance of inTersioii for
■ Dost hold Time's ftokle hotir-glasa, his sidtle."
"In the old age black oma not coimled fair " : — This is
an allusion to the remarkable &tct that during the chival'
rie ages bnmettes were not aoknowledged as beanties
any where in Christendom. lu all the old Doi!(es, fohUaax,
and romances that I am acquainted with, the heroines are
blondes. And more, the possession of dark eyes and
hair, and the completion that accompanies them, is re-
ferred to by the troubadours as a misfortune. But the
brunettes have changed the fashion since that day. Is it
partly so because, as the naturalists inform us, the blond
type is disappearing, and taste conforms to necessity ?
" Do I envy those jncis " .- -
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p. 219. "Enowing tby heart tomisnts me" : —The 4to., " tor-
meni me " — the mere omission of the iiiial s so often
mentioned ia these Notes.
;0. " {Fool'd b!/] the^ rebel poVra" ! — In. the old copy
the last ivoj'da of the preceding hne are accideutsUy re-
peated at the beginnmg of thia : —
" My eiiifull earth those rebell powres that thee array."
Some change being necfssaty, that made by Maloiie may
be well accepted.
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A LOVEE'S COMPLAINT.
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A Lot^s Complaint was first printed in 1609, at the eiiil of
the litEt edition of Shall SBpeare's Sonnets. Its style fumishes
US our only means of conjecturing Ihe date of its compoBition ;
which hence appears to have been later than that of anj other
of his poems, ascept, perhaps, a few of Us sonnets.
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A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.
I7R0M off a Iiiil whose
A plaintful story fi'om a sist'riiig vale.
My spiritfl t' attend this double voice accorded.
And down I lay to list the aad-tun'd tale :
Ere long espy'd a fickle maid full pale.
Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain.
Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
tJpon her head, a platted hue of stiiw.
Which fortified her iis'ige fiom th;, sun.
Whereon tbe thouglit might thmk sometime it saw
The carciis of a beautj spent and done
Time had not seithed all that jouth begun,
Noi youth dll quit, but, spite of Heaieiib fell rage,
feome beautj peep d through htfice ol ■Je^i'd age.
Oft did ''he heave hei napkm to her ejne,
\Vhich on it had conctitid charaeters,
Laund'iing the silken figuies in the brme
That reasoned woe had pelleted in teais,
And often reading what contents it bears ;
As often shrieking undistinguish'd ivoe.
In clamouift of all size, both high and low.
1 II r P (^^'
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242 LOTEK'S COMPLAINT.
RomPtiiftC! kcr le\e!l'd eyes their cinuge ride.
As thty did bUtrj to the spheie^ intend;
Sometime diveited then poor halH aie tt'd
To th' oibed Eaith, sometimes they do extend
Then -new r!f,ht on , anon then gaze'J lend
To every place at once and nowheie &\ d.
The mind sjid sight distractedly c
Her Inn nni loo'ie noi ti d m foimd plat,
Piochini I in liei a ciiekss hind ot piidc :
For some, imtnck d descended hei sheiv'd hat,
Hanging her pale and pined cheek beside ;
Some in hei threaden fillet still did bid«.
And tmc to bouli^e would not breA from thence,
Thoi^h shc-Uy biiil d IX 1 csi. no^lig nee.
A thousand favour? fiom t maiand she drew
Of amber, cryital, and of beaded jet.
Which one by one she in a nvei thiew.
Upon whose weeping moigent she was set;
Like usury, appljmg «et to wet
Or monaichs hinds, thit let not bounty fall
Where want cries 'some bit whcio excess begs all.
Of f Ided sch d 1--, h id -il p 1 iin-i ■i nne
Which she perus'd, sigh'd, tore, and gave the flood;
Craok'd many a ring of posi'd gold and bone.
Bidding them find their sepulchies in mud ;
Found yet moie Ipttcis sadli penn'd in blood.
With sleided silk feat ani aftectedly
Enswath'd, and seal'd to cuiious secrecy.
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LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 34J
These often batli'd she in her fluxive ej-es,
And often kiss'd, and often 'ga,ii to tear ;
Cried, " O false blood ! thou register of lies,
What unapproved ivitness dost thou bear !
Ink would have seem'd more black and damned here I "
This said, in top of rage the lines she rents.
Big discontent so breaking their contents.
by
h y f
Admlydn hbh d
Vh n d h b s
H<T whhhn dyidi
ppli'd
b
m h h
g;h
b
P
horn
f I d
If p hd
my f
d 0
b d
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24i LOVER'S COMPLAINT.
"But wee i"! me' too eaily I itttndcd
A joutiilul suit (it "la to ^am mj ^nte)
Of one by natmea outvviids so commended,
Thit miiden s eje^ stuck over all his fa&e ;
Lo\e Itckd a dMelling and imde him her plj
And Vkhen m hia fur pirts she did abidi.
She u \s nevi lodg d, and newly deified
" Hi9 biowny loLki did hang in cioiltcd curls;
And eieij hght occ^slon of the wind
TTpon Ilia lips then silken paicels hurls
What s sweet to do, to do will ■iptly find :
Each eje that siw him did enchant the mind;
For on his Ms-i^e VtAS, m littk, diawn
What Iiigencsa thinks in piiidise w is suvn.
" Sin ill shew of man was jet upon his chin;
His phcenii down began but to appeoi,
I ike unshorn velvet, on thit termless skin,
Who'je baie outbraggd the web it seemd to v
Yet shew d his visige bj that cost moat dear;
4.jid nice iffections waveimg stood in doubt
If best tneie is it v.'ia or best without
' Hii qualities 11 ic beiutcnua as his foim
Foi maiden tont,u d he «<is, and theicol fiee,
Yet, if men moi d him, wis he such a stoim
As ott twi^t May and Apiil is to see,
■\Vhen winds breathe sweet, umuly thoua;h they I
Hi!j rudeness so with his authoiia'd jouth.
Did Inery falseness in a piide of truth
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LOVEIfS COMPLAINT. 245
" WeE could he ride, and often men would say
'That horse his mettle from his ridsr takes:
Proud of subjection, noble by the sway.
What rounds, what hounds, what course, what stop
he makes ! '
And controversy hence a question takes,
Whether the horse by him became liis deed.
Or he his manage by th' well-doing steed,
" But quickly on this side the verdict went ;
His real habitude gave life and grace
To appertaxnings and to ornament,
Aocomphsh'd in himself, not in his case :
All aids, themselves made fairer by their place.
Came for additions ; yet their purpos'd trim
Pieo'd not his grace, but were all grac'd by him.
' S on th ti] f ! bd g t g e
AUldfgnt Iqtndp
All pi t p ] i n t
Fl dt tUdd I lip:
T k h p 1 i{h h ! ),! eep,
H h 1 th d I t d 1 ff nt k 1!
C h 11 1 h f f 11
' XI t 1 d 1 h lb
Of 1 g f Id 1 b h h ted,
T d 11 1 h a tl ght t main
I p n 1 d ty f 11 1 1 h ted :
C n t b Id h d 1 g anted ;
Ajddl Ifh hth Id
Ask d th on li nd I tl Us obey.
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24(! LOTER'S COMPLAINT.
'Miin thtie wcie that did his picture ^et.
To seni, their eyes, and m it put their miQi
like fools that in th imagination srt
Ihe goodlj objects which abioad they find
Of lands and nnn^iona, thoiis in thought !*■(
And lahouriiisi in more pleisiires to best iw 1
Than t! c ti lo t,oiity landloid which doth ou
" &o minv hive, that never touch d his hind.
Sweetly suppos d tlitm mistress of his heart
Mv woeful self that did m freedom stind
And Wis my own fei. simple, (not in pift,)
Whit with his irt m >outh and youth m art,
rhiew mj affecfiois m his chaimeJ power,
Ppstn d th st Ih ml i.-i\c hn .11 n\ flower
'let did I not, IS ^ome my equals (iid.
Demand of him, noi beina; desiied, yielded,
Finding mjself m honour so forbid.
With siftst distance I mme honoui shielded
Expeiience for me miny bulwarks budded
Ot proofs new bleeding which remim d the foil
Of tills f Isp jew el and his imoroua spoil
" But ah, who ever shunn'd by precedent
The destin'd ill she must herself assay !
Or forc'd examples, 'gainst her own content,
To put the by-pass'd perils in her way !
Counsel may stop a while what will not stay ;
For when we rage, advice is often seen
By blunting us to make our wits more keen.
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LOYER-S COMPLAINT.
' N t t t 11 1
Tl fc w b p h p f
Tbfbdh ttht d
Ff fh tltpl bhf
0 pp tt f J d t t d 1 t
Th I 1 t I th tl ! 11 1st
li I w p d ) It ti) If t
' F f t I 11
Tl
A d 1 tl 1 t
i 1 f 1 1 It,
H d h li pi
til big
b h d ts
Id d ] ml
kn w w
b 1 t dfil
TJ- It 1 t
d d 1 b t
A 1 b tad f ! t
111 in
' A d 1 p h
t I h H J ty
T U tl h ^ b
g G 1 d
pty
1
" ' All my offences that abroad yo« see.
Are errors of the bloud, none of the mind ;
Love made them not ; with acture they may be.
Where neither party is nor true nor kind :
They sought their sbaine that so their shame did
find;
And so much less of shame in me remains.
By bow much of me their reproach contains.
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248 LOVEli'S COMPLAINT.
' Amon^ tl t maii> that mine eyes hayo
Not one whole flame my hoart so much ■
Or my aficction put to th smallest teen
Oi any uf my Jeisuies evei charmed
Hasm have I doue to them, but ne cr wa
kept hciits m livpiiea, hut mme oimi m
And reign d, commanding m his monych'
' 'Look here what tiibutes wounded ftncies sent h
Of paled pe^il-j and ruhies red as blood ,
Figuiing that thej their passions likewise lent me
Of giief and blushes, aptly understood
In bloodless white and the encrimsoi d mood ,
Effects of teiioi and dear modesty,
Pncimj 1 in 1 cirts bit ii„hti ^ out^iiidl)
' ' And lo, behold these tilents of then hair.
With tnisted metal amoiously impleach d,
I 1 IIP recen d from many a seveial fan,
(Then kind acceptance wecpingly be^ieeehd,)
Witb the annexions of fiir gems enrich d,
And deep brain d sonnets that did amplify
liach stones dear natuie, worth and quility
"'The diamond? — -why, 'twas beautiful and hard.
Whereto his invis'd properties did tend ;
The deep-green em'rald, in whose fresh regard
Weak sights their sickly radiance do amend ;
The heaven-hued sapphire and the opal blend
With objects manifold ; each several stone.
With wit well hiazon'd, amil'd or made some moan.
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LOVER'S COMPLAINT.
" ' Lo all tliQSL tiophiea of affections hot
Ot pen&i\ d and subdu d desiies the tcndci,
Natuie hath charg d me that I hoard them not.
But jield thera «p whete I mjself must render.
That la to you my oiigm and ender
For these, of foice, must your ohlations be.
Since I thenr altar, jou enpation me
' 0 then advance of youii thit phiisekss hand,
Whose uh te weighs down the airj scale of praise ;
like all these aimilea to jour o^mi command.
Hallow d with sighs that burning lungs did raise ,
What me your minister, for you obeys.
Works undpr jou and to ^Qur a dit romea
lleii d sti i(,t paiccls in cniihmed s inis
"'Lo, this device WIS sent me fiom a nun.
Or sister sanctifi d of holiest note
Which late her noble luit in court did shun
Whose larest ha^mgs made the blossoms doti, ,
For she was sought by spiiits of richest coat
But kept cold distance, and did thenco remote
To ipend her Imn^ m eternal love
"'But U mi swca, wh\t lahoui is t to 1 ave
The thing "n e haie not mast img what not strives, -
Paling the place ^hich did no form rGcei\e,
Placing patient sports in unconatraiaed gjves!
She thit hei fime so to heiseli contiivcs.
The acirs of bittle 'acapeth by the flight.
And makes hei absence valiant, not her might
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250 LOVER'S COMPLAINT.
" ' O, pardon me, in that my boast is true ;
The accident which brought me to her eye.
Upon the moment did her force subdue.
And now she would the caged cloistei' fly :
Religious love put out religion's eye :
Not to be tempted, would she be immur'd,
And now, to tempt all, liberty procur'd.
'"How mighty then you are, 0, hear me tell!
The broken bosoms that to me belong
Have emptied all their fountains in my well.
And mine I pour your ocean aJl among :
I strong o'er them, and jou o'er me heiug strong.
Must for your victory us aD congest.
As compound lovo to physic your cold breast.
" 'My parts had power to charm a sacred nun.
Who disciplin'd and dieted in grace,
Believ'd her eyes when they t' assail begun.
All vows and consecrations giving place.
O most potential love ! vow, bond, nor space,
la thee hath neither sting, hnot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and aU things else are thine.
" ' When thou impreasest, what are precepts worth
Of stale example ? Wh;n thOu wilt inflame.
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of wealth, of filial fear, law, kindred, fame?
Love's arms are proof, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense,
'gainst shame.
And sweetens, in the suff'ring pangs it bears.
The aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.
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LOVER'S COMPLAINT. 2
" Now ill these heaits that do on mine dppeud,
Feehng it bit ik, with bleeding groans the) pine.
And supplicant their bighs to you extend,
To leave the battery that you make 'giinst mine,
Lendmg soft audience to my sweet design.
And ciedent aou! to thit fetiong bonded oath,
That {.hall pieier and undeitake aij troth'
"This said, his wateiy ejci he did dismount.
Whose sights till then weie levelld on m^ face;
Each cheek a river lunniag from a toiint
With brmish current downward flowd apace
0. how the chaimel to the atieam gi\e ^race '
Whn ghzd with ciysta! g^fe the glowmg ro'-es
That flime fhiou^h watPi which, their hut incloses
"O fathei, what a hell of witchcidft lie^
In the small oib of one particular teai '
But with the inundation of the ejes
What locky heait to watei will not weu '
What hieaet so cold that is not nairaed here'
0 cleft cfiect ' cold modesty, hot wrath.
Both file fiom hence and chill extmctuie hath.
" For, lo, his p fiiion, but m \rt of craft.
Even there resoh'd my lea'jon into tears;
There my white btole of chastity I daff'd.
Shook off my sober guaids, and civil fears ;
Appear to him, as he to me appears,
All melting; though our diopi this difference bore.
His poison'd mo, and mme did him lestore.
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2r52 LOVEIi'S COMPLAINT,
" In him a plenitude of subtle matter.
Applied to eaulels, all strange forms
Of burning blushes, or of weeping water,
Or swooning paleness ; and he takes aad leaves.
In either'a aptness, as it best deceives.
To blush at speeches rank, to weep at woes,
Or to turn white and swoon at tragic stews;
" That not a heart wliich in his level came.
Could scape the hail of his all-hurting aim,
Shewing fair nature is both kind and tame ;
And veil'd in them, did win whom he would maiiu
Against the thing he sought he would exclaim ;
When he most burn'd in heart-wish'd luxury.
He preaeh'd pure maid, and prais'd cold chastity.
" Thus merely with the garment of a Grace
The naked and concealed fiend he cover'd.
That th' unexperienc'd gave the tempter place,
Which, like a cherubin, above them hover'd.
Who, young and simple, would not be so lovi
Ay me ! I fell ; aad yet do question make
What I should do again for such a sake.
" O, that infected moisture of his eye,
O, that false fire which in his check so glowed,
O, that forc'd thunder from his heart did fly,
0, that sad breath his spongy lungs bestowed,
O, all that borrowed motion, seeming owed.
Would yet again betray the fore-be tray' d,
And new pervert a reconciled maid ! "
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NOTES ON A LOYER'S COMPLAINT.
" - — — her shertn'd hat" : — i. e., hev straw hat.
" from a viaand" : — i. e., a basket.
.. and of headed jet": — The 4to., "of bedded
" " With sUided silk foot," &c. : —
nealiy, &c.
i. e.,
. With floss silk
p-
243. " gim to tear " : — The old copy,
— a manifest miapiiiit.
.',««. to teare-
" "Tow
love, or
mrds this afflicted fmiey " :
loved ona.
— i,
e„ this Hfflioted
p.
244. "Of
The eon
one by nature's " : — The
;eotion is Mr. Dyce's.
4to.
, "0 one," &a.
p-
245. _ ■' Can.
4to.,
.■.««for addi-
p-
348. "
or hair i
- these taleaia of their hair"
tat in gold.
.— i.
e., these loelcets.
II ..
- amoioualv im^l^ached " : -
-i. e
., interworen.
II "Whereto liis iiiissW properties
i"-.-
— i. e., invisible
properti
p.
, 249. '■ 0>
sister sancHfied":-Mr.
aoon, that we shoald read.
Dyoe suggests, with
"^BiatBr,"&c.
" by sptrtts of riel^st, caai" : — A plain allusion, I
thinU, to EliKftbeth's gorgeously arrayed band of gentle-
men pensioners. See the Note on " nay, which is more,
pensioners," Merry Wives of Windsor, Aut II. Se. 2.
Here ' spirits ' is e, monosyllahle.
•' PaUng the place " : — The old copy, ■' Playing," fto.
(253)
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■^54 A LOVER'S COMPLAINT.
i). 250. ' v.'ouldahebeiijHiijfr'J".- — Tlio4to., "eitw'd."
" ■' - ■ to charm a sacred nun"; — The 4co., "a aacred
siimte" — a ahght and obvioua miaprint.
" » and (Ketoi in grace ": — The old oopies, "audi
died," Sic, which Slaloue corrected on the Buggestion of
an anonymous correspondent.
" "Love's arms arepyoof 'gainst rule," &o. : — The *to.,
'• Love's armes are peace, gainst rule," Sc, which ia
clearly corrupt. The reading of the text is Malone's.
Mr, Dyce suggests, " Ijjve arma oiw peace," Stc.
p. 251. " his watery eyes he did damotmt " .- — Ail allu-
sion to the reat fi'om which smal! fire aims used to be
levelled.
" " 0 cleft efFect " : — The 4to., " Or cleft effect,"
p. 252. " Applied to cautels " : — i. e., deceits.
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ATTRIBUTED VERSES.
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THE PHCENIX AND TURTLE.
"lOVK'S MAIiTYH,
LET fie bud t lo ds^t Kj,
On the sole Al^bl■m tree,
Herald sad "ind ti mpet be
To whose sound chaste wings obey-
But thou stnel inj harbinger
Foul pr currei oi the ficn 1
Augur of the fe^ei s end
To this tioop c me tho i n t near.
From this session mtei lict
E\ery fowl of tyrant wmg
Save the eagle feather d king
Keep the obsequy so strict
Let the priest m suiplice white.
That defunctive muiic can
Be the death divming s van
Lest the requiem Hct h a nght.
4.nd fhoi tieble dated cio v
That ih\ sable gei dei n ak st
"With the breith tho i ^i st and tak'st,
Mong>it 0 o rne 'i shilt thou go.
I a (257)
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PIKEXIX AND TURTLE.
Here the anthem cloth commeneo ;
Love and constancy is dead ;
Phcenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual fla.ine from Hence.
80 they lov'd, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one ;
Two distincta, division none :
Number there in love was slain.
Hearts remote, yot not asunder ;
Dbtanoe, and no space was seen
'Twixt the turtle and his queen;
But in them it were a wonder.
So between them love did shine>
That the turtle saw his right
Flaming in the phcenis' sight :
Dither waa the other's mine.
Property was thus appaU'd,
That the self was not the same ;
Single nature's double name
Neither two nor one was call'd.
Reason, in itself confounded.
Saw division grow together ;
To themselves yet either- neither.
Simple were so well compounded;
That it cried, How true a twain
Seemeth this concordant one !
Love hath reason, reason none.
If what parts can so remain.
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PHtENIX AND TUHTLE.
Here enclos'd in cinders lie.
Death ia now the phcenix' nest?
And the turtle's loyal breast
To eternity doth rest,
Leaving no posterity : —
'Twas not tlieir infirmity.
It was married chastity.
Truth may seem, hut cannot be;
Beauty brag, but 'tis not she ;
Truth and beauty buried be.
To this urn let those repair,
That are either ti'ue or fair ;
For these dead birds sigh a prayer.
Wm. SHAKESPBAJtE.
ON THE KING.
Crowns have their compass, length of days their date,
Triumphs their tomb, Felicity her fate :
Of naught but earth can Earth make us partaker.
Rut knowledge makes a king most like hi'^ Maker.
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